When Computers Were Still New to Stores

Computers are ubiquitous in campus stores these days, both as an operational necessity and as a sales product. But it wasn’t always so. At one point, computers were new to campus stores—and kind of scary.

Nonetheless, the collegiate retailers recognized the potential of computers. Larger stores got into computers first, then helped pull the rest of the industry along, with the help of NACS. In the early 1980s, a NACS Computer Committee was established and store managers that already had some experience with computers were asked to serve on it. The committee’s mission was to develop a variety of educational materials to assist stores in understanding the use of computerized systems and how to sell computer merchandise.

Computer-related sessions abounded at CAMEX for many years (and are still on the schedule even now). However, even with all of this information and assistance, installing a computer system was a formidable task for college stores. One textbook manager wrote a humorous account about researching computer solutions for his boss, who wasn’t completely convinced a solution was needed.

The account appeared in the October/November 1983 issue of The College Store Journal magazine, which was entirely devoted to computers. The manager decided to remain anonymous, though.

(This is the third in a series of historical reprints appearing in Campus Marketplace during the NACS Centennial year.)

"Confessions of a computer addict"

A continuing and somewhat truthful saga in which our hero presents the rules of buying a microcomputer for a College Store book department

by Anonymous

Reprinted from the October/November 1983 issue of The College Store Journal.

As all textbook people do, I spent many an hour attempting to convince my boss that a computer would eliminate many menial tasks.

For some reason these discussions took place right before we had to type shelf tags, the buyback list, the book list, and perform other menial tasks.

“Boss,” I would say, “I don’t want to eliminate all 4,000 active stock control cards, but we do have three different card systems—the main order card, the used book cards and the author index cards. We could eliminate two of them. And we would still type the purchase orders and returns forms, because it would keep the staff knowledgeable about the books…”

His response, ever polite, was to lean back in his chair, clasp his hands behind his head, look towards the ceiling and say “Smith, you’re absolutely right…” Then came the expected pause, and finally, “…it’s too bad that we can’t afford it.”

So I’ll never forget that morning (or was it afternoon?) when the boss and I met for our daily cup of coffee. “Smith,” he said dauntingly, “I think we can computerize the Book Department using a microcomputer?”

“YES! You are probably right,” I promptly replied. “What’s a microcomputer?”

“I don’t know either,” he responded, “but micro means small, and small usually means cheap. Look at this…” and he unfolded a recent issue of the Chronicle of Higher Education. “There…” and he pointed to an advertisement which said:

Attention College Bookstore Personnel

You can probably do it with a microcomputer.

Free consulting service.

Call (123) 555-1234

“Smith,” my boss said, “draw up a list of things that you would want a computer to do, and I will call this number to see what happens.”

So I did, and he did, and shortly thereafter appeared a gentleman, named Mr. Jones.

Mr. Jones spent the day examining our textbook operation and my priority list, and after we bought him lunch, pronounced that all of our listed tasks could be accomplished using Apple II+ microcomputers. “I’ll send you a quote,” he beamed.

Time passed, and a letter did appear from Mr. Jones.

“Unfortunately you have too much data to use one computer,” he wrote, “but you can still get the work done using Apples.” Only $36,000, said the bottom line.

Needless to say, we felt that $36,000 was not a micro amount.

But my boss was intrigued with the idea and I was absolutely convinced that it could not be done with microcomputers. (Machines with cute names obviously weren’t of much use except as toys.)

“Smith,” he said, “get more information.”

So I embarked upon a journey to the Campus Computer Center, there seeking Mrs. WanKnobi, a mainframe user consultant and a microcomputer freak. I described our visit from Mr. Jones, and gave her a list of our priorities. She looked me in the eye and spat, “$36,000!!!! It’s simple, all you need is a micro with a hard disk, and that won’t cost anywhere near $36,000.”

“Fantastic,” I exclaimed. “Where do we get a hard disk?”

“You can’t, they aren’t available yet,” she said.

Then Mrs. WanKnobi imparted the first rule of computer purchasing:

RULE #1. “But wait.”

So we did. And six months later Mrs. WanKnobi called to say that hard disks were available for microcomputers, and that she would be glad to consult with us on how to continue the search.

“You need a data base manager. What software are you going to use?” she questioned. “We usually use Champion or Velva Sheen,” I replied knowingly. “You idiot,” she said as she twisted her cane and threw her hood back over her head. “There are three essential things to consider when buying a computer.”

RULE #2. “Software, software, software. Find the software package that will do your job, then buy the computer that will run it.”

“Get more information,” the boss ordered.

So I began to look for software and discovered:

RULE #2a. The computer store with the hardware/software you want to see is nowhere nearby.

So I went, and I played with all kinds of hardware and used all kinds of data base managers: PFS:File, DBMaster, TIM III, and a host of others.

I enrolled in a local adult education computer literacy course. I took books home to read. I talked to anyone who had microcomputer experience—to anyone who knew what one was, for that matter.

“Boss,” I reported, “it can’t be done. All of the data base managers can’t store enough records, or can’t generate the necessary reports. Besides, we have too much information to input at the same time to use one computer, and micros can’t network. Finally, they are too slow.”

“Smith,” he said gently, “you obviously have learned a great deal about microcomputers. You have spent a lot of time on this, including your own time, and certainly you must be right…it can’t be done. Forget it.”

I couldn’t. I had become addicted to computers. Spreadsheets, word processing, games, I loved them all. I had discovered:

RULE #3. Computer literacy is a whole which appears to be a heck of a lot more complicated than learning each of its parts.

RULE #4. Computers are fun.

I became obsessed. I visited more computer stores. My wife and I took the kids on vacation and I spent the time visiting computer stores in other cities. I blew the kids’ college fund on computer magazines. I had to find a way to get the boss to buy a microcomputer for the textbook department!

Then I discovered dBase II. Thirty-two fields—65,000 records—fast indexing, so you could find any entry among 65,000 records in less than two seconds—and an unlimited report capability. It was more exciting than getting a compliment from a professor.

“Boss,” I said excitedly, “I found it.”

“Forget it,” he said. “It can’t be done.”

Ohmygod, what had I done?

“Boss,” I said confidently, “I have spent a lot of time on this, including my own time, and learned a lot about microcomputers. There is a way.”

“Smith,” he said, “you have lost your ability to look at this rationally. Forget it.”

Then he commented, “However, we should look into selling microcomputers, because they are becoming big business. Get some information.”

So I did. One option was to arrange to have a computer store lease space from us to sell computers. At their expense we could learn what would sell on our campus and then take back the lease at some future date. Boss and I trucked across the state to visit an interested store that sold Osbornes.

“Boy, do we have a deal on right now,” said the friendly store owner. “We are selling the Osborne, complete with a spreadsheet, a word processor, and, if a customer buys it before Christmas, we will throw in dBase II for free. Only $1,795.”

“Pardon me?” I said.

“Let’s go to lunch,” said the boss.

We had an exciting lunch, with ideas tossed back and forth. As he asked for the check the boss said to the store owner, “Since we might be selling these Osbornes, how about making us a deal on one for us to try ourselves?”

“Pardon me?” I said.

RULE #5. You can’t accidently break the computer by pressing the wrong keys.

RULE #6. It is worth the time it takes to learn to use it correctly.

RULE #7. You don’t have to learn the first thing about programming to use a computer.

Three weeks later I had dBase II and that Osborne dancing. We did the book list for the next semester on it. I was writing all of my letters using the word processor, and I had done the budget projections for the next year using the spreadsheet and had developed a report for the sales bookkeeper to record daily sales in 15 minutes instead of the two hours it took by hand.

And my wife was leaving the phone book open to the page marked Attorneys.

“I’m convinced,” the boss admitted.

“I wish I was,” I said.

“Pardon me?” said he.

“Well the Osborne isn’t reliable enough for full-time business use. The single density version only has 90k per disk, the program takes up one disk, and we have enough data for three disks. Also, we still have too much information to enter at requisition time to utilize just one machine, even if it had a hard disk. And microcomputers can now network, but there isn’t any software that will allow them to share a data base file simultaneously, at least not at a reasonable cost. And besides, the equipment to back up our data files would almost be as expensive as the computer.”

(See RULE #1.)

Weeks passed, and the Osborne was Waltzing and working on the Jitterbug, when the latest issue of BYTE Magazine was tossed casually on my desk. Inside was a review of the Victor 9000 microcomputer. The reviewer couldn’t say enough about it. Only $4,995 with a 10 megabyte hard disk, and floppys that could hold 1.2 megabytes each. And it could run dBase II.

And they lived happily ever after.

To make this long story end, we bought two Victor 9000 computers, one with two 1.2m floppy disks, and the other with one 1.2m floppy and the 10m hard disk. And even though we could not get them to network, we got around it by creating independent files using dBase II on the machine with the two floppys, carrying the disk to the machine with the hard drive (where we stored the master file), and appending the independent file to the master file—a process that took 90 seconds. All of the corrections are made to the master file. And even all of our records for an entire semester could fit on one neat little 1.2m floppy, so backing up was easy.

The set-up was completed with a Centronics 352 dot matrix 200-characters-per-minute printer. Total cost, including software, under $12,000.

The next semester we had the book list, shelf tags (in perfect order by course number, then alphabetized by author, and nary a mistake in them), an alphabetical by author reference list, the buyback list, the used book buying search/trip list, and immediate access to complete information about that semester’s books and courses.

(You should have seen the face of the McGraw-Hill representative when he asked about his adoptions. In five minutes we printed a list of all of the McGraw books for the next semester, with course numbers, professors’ names, and quantities requested.)

We had replaced two of our three card files, and all but two of our summer typists. First year savings was at least $4,000, not counting increased staff efficiency and our best buyback ever. And then we began with the general book department inventory.

And me, well I don’t use pen and paper unless there’s a power failure. I look forward to reading PC World more than Playboy, and I live in dread of magnets and thunderstorms.

Oh, and by the way, I’ve changed jobs. The opportunity came along to sell computer software, and maybe computer hardware, and it was like letting a cat loose in the catnip…

And please, don’t mention the word “c.o.m.p.u.t.e.r.” to my wife. Thanks.