The System Manager's Guide to Power


by Charles K. Warner  &  Charles G.Davis

Copyright 1987



The tension in the air was stifling. As I put down the coffee cup, I rubbed my
eyes trying to clear my vision. A casual glance toward the window revealed
several perplexed and dismayed faces peering about the room as if they knew
what they were looking at. Some of them appeared to be making comments; others
were pointing simultaneously at their watches and at sheets of greenbar
clenched in angry, sweaty fists.

I turned away before anyone noticed I was looking. It occurred to me that the
coffee was gone and the only way to more was through that seething mob of
desperate, deadline-conscious users. You might tend to think that I'm not the
world's bravest man, but it would have taken more then mere coffee to entice
me into such courageous acts. Those wolves can strip a system manager to bones
in nanoseconds.

I successfully pretended to ignore the outside crowd and went over to examine
the console. A hush fell over them as I sat confidently in the operations
chair. I felt their eyes burning into my back; the only sound was the phone
slashing the air with its continuous, staccato clamor. Which brings us to:


Lesson #1

Never, under any circumstances, voluntarily communicate the nature of any
computer failure with the users unless:

a) You're absolutely certain they won't understand
b) You're trying to buy time while you figure out what is really wrong
c) You feel it will convince them to leave you alone

The messages on the console spoke of a rather simple problem, but I didn't want
to let my audience down. They had come form the far corners of the office to
watch my wizardry, and I was up for a good show that morning. They deserved the
full treatment. I walked slowly over to the system and turned the keyswitch to
the OFF position. An audible gasp was heard through the window as the POWER
light went out. A smirk stretched itself over my lips. I had their attention
now, that much was certain.

I pulled out my key ring and opened the CPU cabinet slowly, with a sense of
reverence that would had inspired Oral Roberts. Very carefully, I pulled the
console drive out of its resting place, acting as if the slightest wrong move
would spell eternal doom for the system. Yeah, they bought it all right... what
did they know?

I removed the floppy form the drive and examined it closely, as if looking for
mis-aligned bits. As I shook my head in mock disdain, I noticed the ballpoint
scrawl on the label, "PACMAN V4.3". Just as I thought, mis-aligned bits. As I
reached for a stack of floppies on the desk, the faces outside resumed their
muffled chatter. I thumbed through several backup floppies and some copes I had
made of the boss's mail file before finding what I was looking for. "PACMAN
sources". I wondered where that had gotten to. I nodded my head after scanning
the diskette, evoking an excited murmur from the audience, which brings us to:


Lesson #2

Always act as if you know exactly what you are doing, regardless of the fact
that:

a) The system has been down for days
b) The fault is completely your own
c) There is no one else to blame

I retrieved the console diskette from the stack and removed the sleeve. A quick
inspection revealed no mis-aligned bits, so I inserted it carefully into the
console drive and closed the latch. I hesitated for a moment before turning the
power switch back to the ON position, as if counting the exact number of
seconds needed between console drive closure and system power-up. The helpless
users on the other side of the glass were noticeably impressed with my skill
and timing. The red POWER light came on, and the console sprang into life
again.

I rushed over to the console as if any inattentiveness on my part would result
in the worst sort of catastrophe. With a practiced gesture, I issued the simple
commands that started the bootstrap procedures. I could almost feel the tension
in the air. Would it come up, or would the clerks be working late tonight? I
had them right where I wanted them; they were putty in my capable hands.

I strolled over to the door and opened it slightly. The Vice President was
standing at the doorway. I looked him straight in the eye and explained, "We
appear to have a rim-slipped vaccu-noz, Jim. It looks pretty bad, but perhaps
if I rewire the motherboard and put a jumper on the memory interface module I
can have it running in a jiffy."

"Uh, right. I was going to suggest you check that," he said with a slight
tremor.

I nodded solemnly, and glanced furtively back at the console. The system
startup procedure was about to begin execution, so I dashed back quickly,
taking care to shut the door before going. With a quick and confident motion,
I halted the processor before it became obvious the problem had already been
resolved. The show was still far from over.

I extracted the tool kit from the bottom desk drawer and removed a couple of
screwdrivers and some bits of wire. It was time to show them why they paid my
exorbitant salary! I might even demand a raise after this performance. With
that, we come to:


Lesson #3

When handling even the simplest problems, always have at your disposal:

a) A repertoire of technical buzzwords guaranteed to baffle your superiors
b) A ready supply of useless props that add credibility to your activities
c) A list of impressive sounding solutions that no one can dispute

As I powered down the system for the second time, a mournful grumble rose and
the throng outside began to pace around amongst themselves in bitter
frustration. I pulled some random cards form the CPU cabinet and overheard the
Vice President explaining that the Vaccu-Noz had slipped its rim and the
mother-memory required some interface jumpers. The look of utter remorse the
spread through their faces and the cries of "NOT the VACCU-NOZ" almost sent me
into gales of laughter. Before the smile had a chance to bend my lips, I
regained control of myself and returned to the serious business of
mother-jumpering that Vaccu-Noz interface.

My movements were quick and precise as I wrapped the wire around the
screwdriver and began to poke at various chips on one of the memory boards. No
spurious magnetic fields here... chips density seems adequate... Hmm, better
check for phased circuit loopback failure. I flipped some of the switches and
then pushed them back again to their original position. Yes, that should do it.

I wiped the contacts on the card before replacing it in the cabinet, then I
began to tap the various metal surfaces with the screwdriver, occasionally
moving the console drive in and out to position it precisely. Finally I pressed
myself against the open cabinet, twisting my arm to tighten the elusive
Vaccu-Noz. The strained expression on my face convinced those watching that
this was no easy task.

The crowd outside had doubled in size, and all the phone lines were flashing
furiously. The Vice President was explaining the grave situation to the new
arrivals with wild, swinging arm movements. When they realized that I had the
situation well under control, they joined in the pacing, continuously glancing
at their watches. This brings to mind:


Lesson #4

Always maintain control of your audience by means of:

a) Creative and meaningless test procedures
b) Occasional misleading status reports
c) Ignoring their pleas for help

A glance at my watch told me it was getting close to lunch time, and the
rumbling in my stomach confirmed that the problem was about to be resolved. I
decided to give a final status report to the anxious on-lookers. As I walked to
the door again, I saw the Vice President push his way through the crowd to meet
me. I cracked the door a bit, and called him in. He seemed grateful that I
invited him into the inner sanctum, and the others looked at him with an new
sense of respect.

"I think we're over the hump now," I informed him with a look of confidence.
"I'm about to try booting it again. Keep your fingers crossed."

"Well, I want you to know I think you're doing a fine job here. Good luck.
We're all counting on yo," he said as I ushered him back out into the hallway.

"Right," I muttered as I closed the door behind him.

He immediately began to pass the news to the increasingly anxious users. A look
of hope dawned in their eyes. I again issued the commands to initiate the
bootstrap, remaining at the console, ever-attentive. The system began coming
up normally. My fingers paused over the keys that would again halt the system,
but the growing hunger I felt convinced me to show some mercy.

The console was moving at top speed now, as the startup messages began
streaming past. At one point the messages halted for a second, and I leaned
forward with a concerned expression. You could feel the tension coming through
the glass. They were all holding their breaths as I slammed my fist on the
keyboard and put my head in my hands. When the messages resumed again, I sat up
with obvious relief and they breathed a collective sigh which fogged the glass
momentarily.

When the final startup message came up on the console, I glanced at my watch.
Noon exactly, a perfectly timed performance. I logged into the system manager
account and sent out the message indicating the system was up again. The bells
began ringing all over the building, but the cheers coming from the crowd
drowned out all other sounds.

In seconds, the hallway was empty, except for the Vice President. I opened the
door with a smile and shook his outstretched hand.

"Well done," he exclaimed with a broad grin. "That was excellent work. I knew
you'd come through for us."

"It was close there for a while, but once I saw that the multiplexed interleaf
cross-over emissions were out of phase, I realized that the variable bypass
logic-gate circuitry needed a minor adjustment," I replied, finding it
difficult to keep a straight face. "All in a day's work."

He patted me on the shoulder and I smiled appreciatively. "Well, I suppose I'll
head out to lunch now. I think I'd better pick up a couple of spare Vaccu-Noz
rims while I'm out," I said, looking for some excuse to take a three hour
lunch.

"Good idea. We don't want to get caught short, now do we?"

We exchanged knowing smiles, and I headed for my office to grab my cigarettes
and jacket. I looked out the window and noticed that it was another beautiful
day. It was a perfect day for a dip in the pool, and I decided that three hours
was not enough for lunch today. I had earned the afternoon off.

As I strolled toward the front door, I heard the keyboards clicking in every
office I passed as clerks and managers busied themselves catching up on the
day's work. As I stepped through the front door a warm breeze blew my hair
back. I walked the distance to my car with casual gait, in no hurry to be
anywhere in particular. The afternoon was mine now, and I had no intentions of
wasting it by coming back here. And so we come to:


Lesson #5

Never miss an opportunity to:

a) Explain to your superiors the difficulties behind even the simplest task
b) Take off early after a good performance
c) Expense off the three martini lunch

As I sat down at the bar in my usual place, the bartender greeted me with a
warm smile. "How's it going?" he asked good-naturedly.

"Couldn't be better," I said with a smile. "How about setting me up with a
double martini, Dave."

"You bet. Want to open a tab?" he queried.

"That sounds like a good idea."

He prepared my drink and handed it to me. The place was busy with the lunch
time traffic, but Dave took a moment to chat with me. "So, how's it going?"

"Not bad. I really didn't feel much like working today, so I managed to get the
afternoon off" I replied. "Hey Dave, have you got the yellow pages back there?"

"Sure," he said. He went down to the end of the bar, pulled out the thick
yellow book and brought it back. "What do you need this for?"

"I need to find some place to bye some vaccu-noz rims," I said in absolute
sincerity. He nodded and placed the book on the bar in front of me.

"By the way, how did you manage to get off early on your first day on the job?"
he asked with genuine interest.

"It wasn't too difficult," I responded while searching the yellow pages for
Vacuum Cleaner Repair. "I engineered a crisis, spent the morning pretending to
resolve it, and told my boss I had to get some spare parts in case the problem
recurs. He never doubted it for a second. I'll get a raise and a promotion out
of it, too."

Dave was obviously impressed at my ingenuity, but I took no notice. As I sipped
on the martini I began pondering my future. If I played my cards right I would
be Vice President within the year. Yes, it just goes to show what you can
accomplish with three months of operator training and a degree in method
acting.