Thursday, January 15, 2004
We Hadn’t Seen Anything Yet
The great hall was cavernous and imposing, but strangely comforting in its rich brown tones and proletarian intention. It still hearkened to a day when public transportation and public space bespoke, respectively, something of divine omnipresence and the cult of the cathedral. I’d never been there before and not too may others were there with us - the wide corridors and lofty archways were clearly proportioned for much larger crowds. But this was the early 70’s, pre-embargo, the height of car culture. The train, as a mode of common carriage, was as good as dead, certainly where I was in southern California; society positively disincentivized any option but the private automobile and, of course, air travel. So Union Station stood as something of an anachronism to me even as an 8 year old.
Many parts of the grand Mission-style terminal were tired and desuitudinous. But the grand concourse looked impressive still, as if some impending important or glamorous entourage was about to barrel beneath its heavy electroliers and beamed ceilings. But I couldn’t help but notice, as I scanned the grand waiting room, that, in one corner, a small group had gathered. Pretty much everyone in the room was huddled around one little area against the back wall. I was a curious tyke so I wandered over to take a look.
They were all watching something having to do with a freestanding plastic kiosk, about five feet tall, at which two people stood with more than a dozen more gathered to watch them. The kiosk was clad in plastic that had flashy swooping curves coming to a sharp point at the top, reminding me then of the fin on the back of the new Cameros… the plastic was molded full of sparkly flakes, millions of them, shimmering silver iridescence in a radical 70’s crest. Set into the kiosk was a good-sized television set, beneath which jutted a narrow control panel featuring two large silver knobs. Before these knobs stood two men - the coolest men in the world.
They were playing a game on the television. The tv screen was black, except for a simple schema of a tennis court and two vertical dashes, one at either side of the screen. Each of these two men controlled one knob, by which he controlled where the vertical dash on his side of the screen would appear. He could make it slide up and down at will. But - this was the impressive part - a small blip would bounce around the screen and would be affected, not only by whether either of them positioned his paddle to block it, but also how he made the impact - straight on, at an angle, with some velocity or sitting still… And every time the “ball” hit the “paddle” it would make a funny noise, like the name written proudly across the front of the game - PONG. I was amazed, as were all the gawkers around me. It cost a dollar in quarters to play it once, when pinball was a dime for five balls - but people were lined up to give it a try. It was a whole new frontier and all of us knew it. I don’t think any of us expected it to go as far as it has.
