Hey Mr. Computer Man, is Mr. Computer up and running? If not, you might want to start running yourself

The four most terrifying words in the journalist’s lexicon are “THE-COMPUTER-IS-DOWN.”

Say these four words in any newsroom and eyes will roll back in sockets. Mouths will sag into screaming O’s.

The computer is to journalism what cheap beer is to journalism: We cannot function without it. Our every breath hinges on the wellbeing of Mr. Computer. Mr. Computer is aware of this and occasionally will take an unscheduled vacation to keep us properly servile.

Our last episode with Mr. Computer only confirmed a personal conviction I have adopted since the advent of calculators: With technology, we are painting ourselves into a corner.

Actually, I’m falsely maligning the computer. It was Mr. Air Conditioner who dropped the ball. Mr. Air Conditioner worked SO WELL that its lines froze and its mechanical heart stopped beating, and because Mr. Prima Donna Computer cannot function when the temperature in his personal suite rises above 78, we had to put out the newspaper through our sister newspaper in Panama City.

What a swell Monday.

It was swell because I got to drive my old car to Panama City. Picture this: no speedometer in the car, an excuse to drive fast, and a passenger who had not decided if I had a death wish or was just plain crazy. Gee whiz, that was fun. I haven’t had so much fun since I draped the snake around Mom’s neck.

We arrived at Panama City and the denizens of that newspaper regarded us with “well-there-goes-the-neighborhood” stares. All the time our computer technician was prattling, “Don’t worry. You’ll be able to use your own codes. Don’t worry. You’ll have access to your own stories.”

The rest of the night went like this:

COMPUTER MAN: We have to change the codes.

DEL: I am going to kill myself.

Later, COMPUTER MAN: We have to change the codes again, and you have to redo everything you have already done.

DEL: I am going to kill you before I kill myself.

Later, COMPUTER MAN: We have to change the codes a third time, and you have to redo a third time what you have already done twice.

DEL: I am going to kill you three times.

A story for the front page came out of Mr. Panama City Computer composed entirely of moons, stars and airplanes. The computer man thought it was hilarious, until he saw that I was attempting to figure out how to insert his head into an electric pencil sharpener.

At 1:15 a.m., we were finished … in many ways.

The next morning I called the newspaper and asked the computer man, “Is the computer up?”

“Yes. The air conditioner is fixed and the computer is running.

Good. He just saved his own life.

The column was published in the Playground Daily News in the 1980s and is used with permission.