Read Online Masters of Doom by David Kushner - Free Book Online
Authors: David Kushner
Tags: Fiction
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was multitalented in art, sound, and design. And while Carmack had played video
games as a kid,
no one
had played as many as Romero. The ultimate coder and the ultimate gamer—together
they were a perfect fit.
But Lane wasn’t fitting in at all. He was still serving as editor of the Gamer’s Edge
project but becoming more distant. Unlike Romero, Lane was not enthused about the
PC. Romero could tell that his old friend was not up to the task. And, as quickly
as he had once decided to befriend Lane, Romero shut him out. In Romero’s eyes, Lane
wasn’t up to the rigors of the death schedule. And Romero didn’t want anything standing
in the way of the team’s profitability. With Carmack, he had everything he needed.
One time when Lane left the room, Romero spun around and told Carmack, “Let’s get
him out of here.”
At the same time, there was someone Carmack and especially Romero wanted in: Tom Hall. Tom was a twenty-five-year-old
programmer who had been working in the Apple II department since before Romero arrived.
He was also, in Romero’s mind,
fucking hysterical.
Tall and witty, Tom existed in an accelerated state of absurdity, as though nothing
could keep up with the creative output pouring from his mind. His office was covered
in yellow Post-it note reminders and doodles. Every day he had a ridiculous new message
on his computer screen, such as “The Adventures of Squishy and the Amazing Blopmeister.”
When Romero would pass him, Tom would frequently raise an eyebrow and emit an alienlike
chirping sound, then continue on his way. And: he was a gamer.
Born and raised in Wisconsin, Tom didn’t have to work nearly as hard as Romero or
Carmack to get into games. His father, an engineer, and his mother, a journalist whom
Tom described as “the Erma Bombeck of Milwaukee,” provided their youngest son with
all the ammunition he needed to pursue his early obsession: an Atari 2600 home gaming
system and, shortly thereafter, an Apple II.
Tom was charmingly odd. He would parade around the house in a Green Bay Packers helmet
and red Converse sneakers. At school, his security blanket came in the form of a brown
paper grocery sack filled with all his drawings and eight-millimeter films. He carried
it everywhere, keeping it beside his desk during class. Eventually he weaned himself
down to a satchel and then, in high school, a small bag. A
Star Wars
nut, he saw the film thirty-three times. He was just as passionate about quirky sports.
He was the state Frisbee golf champion. He also loved origami and domino construction,
building elaborate mazes around his parents’ house. While other kids worshiped pop
stars and athletes, Tom’s hero was Bob Speca: the world domino toppling pro.
When Tom got his Apple II, it became an infinite world into which he could explode.
Like Carmack and Romero, Tom taught himself to make games as quickly as he could.
By the time he entered the University of Wisconsin to study computer science, he had
made almost a hundred games, most of them imitations of arcade hits like Donkey Kong.
Unlike Carmack and Romero, Tom
enjoyed
being a student. He immersed himself in cross-disciplinary studies, ranging from
languages to physics and anthropology. The computer game, he believed, was a unique
medium into which he could incorporate those disciplines. He could invent a language
for aliens in a game. He could program realistic physics. He could write stories,
invent characters.
He began volunteering around campus, eventually making games for learning-disabled
kids. Tom relished their enjoyment of his work, the looks on their faces when they
escaped into the worlds he created. He wasn’t just making games for himself, he was
making them for this audience. Though games were barely acknowledged as a legitimate
form of expression, let alone a legitimate art form, Tom was convinced that they were
almost sublime forms of
games as a kid,
no one
had played as many as Romero. The ultimate coder and the ultimate gamer—together
they were a perfect fit.
But Lane wasn’t fitting in at all. He was still serving as editor of the Gamer’s Edge
project but becoming more distant. Unlike Romero, Lane was not enthused about the
PC. Romero could tell that his old friend was not up to the task. And, as quickly
as he had once decided to befriend Lane, Romero shut him out. In Romero’s eyes, Lane
wasn’t up to the rigors of the death schedule. And Romero didn’t want anything standing
in the way of the team’s profitability. With Carmack, he had everything he needed.
One time when Lane left the room, Romero spun around and told Carmack, “Let’s get
him out of here.”
At the same time, there was someone Carmack and especially Romero wanted in: Tom Hall. Tom was a twenty-five-year-old
programmer who had been working in the Apple II department since before Romero arrived.
He was also, in Romero’s mind,
fucking hysterical.
Tall and witty, Tom existed in an accelerated state of absurdity, as though nothing
could keep up with the creative output pouring from his mind. His office was covered
in yellow Post-it note reminders and doodles. Every day he had a ridiculous new message
on his computer screen, such as “The Adventures of Squishy and the Amazing Blopmeister.”
When Romero would pass him, Tom would frequently raise an eyebrow and emit an alienlike
chirping sound, then continue on his way. And: he was a gamer.
Born and raised in Wisconsin, Tom didn’t have to work nearly as hard as Romero or
Carmack to get into games. His father, an engineer, and his mother, a journalist whom
Tom described as “the Erma Bombeck of Milwaukee,” provided their youngest son with
all the ammunition he needed to pursue his early obsession: an Atari 2600 home gaming
system and, shortly thereafter, an Apple II.
Tom was charmingly odd. He would parade around the house in a Green Bay Packers helmet
and red Converse sneakers. At school, his security blanket came in the form of a brown
paper grocery sack filled with all his drawings and eight-millimeter films. He carried
it everywhere, keeping it beside his desk during class. Eventually he weaned himself
down to a satchel and then, in high school, a small bag. A
Star Wars
nut, he saw the film thirty-three times. He was just as passionate about quirky sports.
He was the state Frisbee golf champion. He also loved origami and domino construction,
building elaborate mazes around his parents’ house. While other kids worshiped pop
stars and athletes, Tom’s hero was Bob Speca: the world domino toppling pro.
When Tom got his Apple II, it became an infinite world into which he could explode.
Like Carmack and Romero, Tom taught himself to make games as quickly as he could.
By the time he entered the University of Wisconsin to study computer science, he had
made almost a hundred games, most of them imitations of arcade hits like Donkey Kong.
Unlike Carmack and Romero, Tom
enjoyed
being a student. He immersed himself in cross-disciplinary studies, ranging from
languages to physics and anthropology. The computer game, he believed, was a unique
medium into which he could incorporate those disciplines. He could invent a language
for aliens in a game. He could program realistic physics. He could write stories,
invent characters.
He began volunteering around campus, eventually making games for learning-disabled
kids. Tom relished their enjoyment of his work, the looks on their faces when they
escaped into the worlds he created. He wasn’t just making games for himself, he was
making them for this audience. Though games were barely acknowledged as a legitimate
form of expression, let alone a legitimate art form, Tom was convinced that they were
almost sublime forms of
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