Every Generation Thinks the New Machine Is the Last Machine. It Never Is.
The rusty metal box was pulled out of the north wall of ROM Industries during renovations.
It had been there since December 1976.
Not hidden. Just there, the way things in old facilities are just there. Bolted into place, labeled clearly, and eventually absorbed into the building's memory.
The stencil on the lid had faded but was still readable.
ROM INDUSTRIES
TIME CAPSULE
DO NOT OPEN BEFORE DECEMBER 2026
They were a month late.
The building renovation had run over schedule.
Nobody minded.
The opening happened on Thursday afternoon.
Someone from controls brought a screwdriver. Someone from maintenance brought coffee. A few people from the floor wandered over after hearing there was a time capsule in the wall. The third-generation owner drove down from Berkeley to watch.
The lid came off.
A copy of the San Jose Mercury News from December 17, 1976.
A Polaroid of the original controls team standing outside the building.
A few folded drawings.
Then someone reached deeper into the box.
"Hold on."
He pulled out a package wrapped in red-and-green Christmas paper covered with candy canes and reindeer.
The tape had yellowed with age but held.
He tore it open.
A Fairchild Channel F video game system.
Still in the box.
Three Videocarts slid onto the workbench.
One of the floor techs laughed.
"No way."
"Does anybody have a television old enough for this thing?"
Nobody answered.
Then someone from maintenance looked up.
"Storage room."
Twenty minutes later the console booted.
The room erupted.
Within minutes, two senior engineers were arguing over who got the next turn.
While everyone else watched a fifty-year-old video game, Andy stepped back and reached down into the capsule.
At the bottom of the box sat a sealed envelope.
On the front, written in careful block letters: HELLO
Andy moved away from the noise and unfolded the paper.
December 17, 1976
To whoever opens this,
I assume somebody brought donuts.
Somebody always brings donuts.
We decided to leave something behind because every generation thinks it's building the future for the last time.
I suspect you're convinced of the same thing.
When I started here, people were certain automation was going to replace everyone on the floor.
Before that, they said it about numerically controlled machines.
Before that, they said it about electric motors.
Someone before them probably said it about interchangeable parts.
Every new machine arrives with the same promise.
This changes everything.
Sometimes it does.
Just not in the way people expect.
I've spent my career building systems.
Here's what I've learned.
The new machine does not erase the old one.
It joins it.
We don't throw the old machine away.
We build around it.
We squeeze one more idea into the corner.
Then we leave a note for the poor soul who has to figure it out after us.
And the machine keeps going.
The building becomes a little more complicated than it was yesterday.
And then it keeps running.
By the time you read this, your machines will be better than mine.
Faster.
Smarter.
Probably capable of things I would mistake for science fiction.
Someone will tell you that this one is different.
That this time the machine really is taking over.
Ignore them.
Every generation says that.
Every generation thinks the new machine is the last machine.
It never is.
We packed the video game system because one of our engineers believed every machine gets a second life if you wait long enough.
I hope it still works.
Merry Christmas.
Gerald
ROM Industries, 1976
P.S. My future is your past, and your future is someone else’s past. Yet somehow, here we are together for a moment, sharing the same human experience.