Word: cursors
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...graphics display as vivid as the larger models'. To achieve that clarity, insiders say, the new machine has an active- matrix screen, in which each of its thousands of picture elements will be controlled by an individual transistor. Instead of Apple's famous mouse, the new Mac has a cursor-control device called a trackball mounted on the keyboard...
When I typed on the keyboard, nothing appeared on the screen. The cursor was nowhere in sight. I hailed (I'll call him "Bob") again and explained my problem. He gave me a disdainful and impatient smile and said, "Well, what do you do when that happens?" and rushed away to help someone else...
...take into account what is surely the most common task dial-in users will be performing with the system; to wit, dial-in users will be logging a transcript of their session to a file for later editing or printing. But HOLLIS, unfortunately, in its VT100 mode, moves the cursor for every display of cataloging information! (It could be scrolling the information instead.) What this means is that anyone seeking to print collected displays will have to edit the file first to get rid of the cursor-moving escape sequences. What gives? After years of modifying software...
...William Garman, 51, contracted Lou Gehrig's disease in 1982 and within two years was paralyzed, unable to speak or write. Then, last summer, a group of Westinghouse engineers outfitted Garman with an infrared sensor that moves a computer screen's cursor in response to his blinking. For the first time since his illness struck, Garman has been able to communicate with family and friends. His first words, painstakingly spelled out one letter at a time...
...leaned forward in my chair, a trembling hand outstretched, an insistent question broke through my reverie: "Is everything clear?" "Right you are," I answered smartly. "The new version will be on your desk this afternoon." Back in my office, though, it was hard to concentrate. The little cursor on the blank computer screen blinked incessantly, like an accusing Cyclops. I felt like Sisyphus, endlessly, futilely pushing a rock up a hill. Oh, that I were Nabu, the Mesopotamian god of writing and destiny, whose powers could alter the days allotted to men in this life...