These essays, my radiology history books, my other regular columns, and even my letters to friends and neighbors are written on computers, mostly MACS, and some other types. In some of my efforts, I type on my home or office computers. And, in instances such as this one, I will print the draft, also record it on the thumbnail gadget, and persuade my wife or other helper to transmit the text to the target editor. Occasionally, when I was sending letters to international committees, I had arranged for someone to establish a linkage so that I finished my comment and pushed a button on the computer, and off it went to the target committees. And, when my message reached the targeted committee, I would look on my computer for most of the answers or other questions.
All of this means that most of those who read these monthly columns are holding in their hand a printed publication wherein my contributions are inserted in the back of each issue. So, for most of those in the worldwide communities of radiology, it is not just the indulging of essays from thousands of communicators but rather it means that x-ray images can be transported electronically to anywhere in the world, where the recipient can look at the images and interpret the dilemmas. And then, back comes an electronic version of a diagnosis or any other comments.
Sound slightly pompous?
For most of the younger generations, my children and my granddaughter, and their contemporaries, learning to use a computer in the third grade is as redundant as it was for me to write on a typewriter at age 11. There were no typing computers in the early 1940s when I had learned to type with all 10 fingers on pieces of paper. Even decades earlier, typing devices had been manufactured for printing the lines and sentences for newspapers, magazines, books, and other kinds of publications. I started working in the local newspaper printing shop, where I was coached to feed pieces of paper into printing devices. I also had to melt the typing metal and, occasionally, was pushed to set copy on the linotype, which composed all printed devices. I counted it very fortunate that I did not catch my fingers in the printers or splash melted metal on me or anyone else.
By the time I got to college, everything was typewritten, particularly term papers and the news releases I handled for the public relations office. When I filed an item to a nearby newspaper, I dictated some by telephone, occasionally sent my typed manuscript via Western Union, or simply mailed copies.
When I was hired by the American College of Radiology in 1961, part of my assignment was to deal with the production of the monthly newsletter, the annual directory, and the copies of transcripts of meetings. I even worked on the editing and putting together copies of several books and publications. The typescripts of the texts were sent to the printing company, and we reviewed the page proofs composed by the publishers and laid out to be published. Whatever I composed, including the drafts of speeches for ACR officers, all came spewed double-spaced from my typewriter. Then, when the ACR began dealing with the Congress and federal government, I drafted the comments and assigned texts on that same typewriter. Actually, I had two typewriters, one in the office and one at home.
It was after I had been assigned to move to Washington to provide government liaison that I acquired a few additional typewriters. In those days, the late 1960s and 1970s, some companies had begun to market computers with a typewriter keyboard. Some of them were obtained by some of the secretaries on the ACR staff. A bit later, my secretary knew how to use a computer and was given my drafts for polishing. I went right on with my typewriter, but in that circumstance, many publishing organizations were shifting to computers and even expected everyone to submit manuscripts in a form of their style of computer.