Read Online Masters of Doom by David Kushner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: David Kushner
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
communication, just as films or novels.
After graduating college, Tom found his dreams dashed. When his résumés to game companies
went unanswered, he did what most college graduates did with their dreams—gave up
and applied for “real jobs.” Every time he put on his suit and went for an interview,
the person on the other side of the desk would ask him the same exact question: “Is
this really what you want to do?” Finally Tom listened to the answer he gave in his
head and said no. Shortly thereafter, he got a job at Softdisk.
Tom took an instant liking to Romero, who came on more than a year after he had started.
Romero loved one of the games Tom had recently made called Legend of the Star Axe.
It was clearly descended from Tom’s favorite book,
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
—a kind of Monty Python meets
Star Wars
romp by the British cult author Douglas Adams. The game featured an intergalactic
’57 Chevy and a host of quirky characters like the Blehs—green creatures with two
big eye sockets who went around trying to scare people by saying, “Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!”
As much as Romero and Carmack connected as programmers, Romero and Tom connected as
comedians. They were always riffing off each other, transforming Tom’s alien chirps
into an elaborate language of blips and bleeps. They shared a love of dark comedy.
Tom might say something like “go press your man-beef in a sheep’s musky hollows” and
Romero would respond by telling Tom to “go slice open a goat and tie the warm, wet
intestines around you for a cock ring.” They were never at a loss for sick jokes.
While Carmack and Romero were working on Catacomb and Dangerous Dave, Tom would frequently
drop by to help. With Lane slipping, Romero decided to recruit Tom officially as the
new managing editor of Gamer’s Edge. Tom was as eager to work on games full-time as
the other guys. Plus, he too realized that the days of the Apple II were numbered.
Games for PCs were the future,
his
future. But Al Vekovius wasn’t having any of it. Tom was already managing editor
of the Apple II disk, and that was where he would stay.
Though disappointed, Romero and Carmack knew they could survive for the time being without Tom; what they
couldn’t survive without was an artist. Up until then the game programmer was responsible
for doing his own artwork. But as Romero and Carmack envisioned making more ambitious
games, they wanted to have someone who was as skilled in and focused on art as they
were on programming and design. Though Romero was a more than competent artist—he
had done the art for all his old Apple II games—he was ready to leave those responsibilities
to someone else, specifically a twenty-one-year-old intern named Adrian Carmack.
Coincidentally, Adrian shared John Carmack’s last name though they were not related.
With dark hair down to his waist, Adrian stood out in the straitlaced art department
from the moment he arrived. That department, Romero lamented, was as sluggish as the
rest of the company. They weren’t gamers, they didn’t even think about games. All
they did was churn out little blocks of graphics for check-balancing programs and
clocked out at the end of the day. Adrian had a spark—plus, an awesome collection
of heavy metal T-shirts.
But Adrian, unbeknownst to Romero, wasn’t much of a gamer—not anymore, at least, though
games had lured him to art. Growing up in Shreveport, Adrian went through the arcade
phase, spending his afternoons playing Asteroids and Pac-Man with his friends. He
so liked the artwork on the cabinets that he began copying the illustrations, along
with Molly Hatchet album covers, in his notebooks during class. As an adolescent,
Adrian found himself sinking more deeply into his art, leaving even video games in
the past. There were other things weighing on his mind.
When Adrian was thirteen, his father—who sold
After graduating college, Tom found his dreams dashed. When his résumés to game companies
went unanswered, he did what most college graduates did with their dreams—gave up
and applied for “real jobs.” Every time he put on his suit and went for an interview,
the person on the other side of the desk would ask him the same exact question: “Is
this really what you want to do?” Finally Tom listened to the answer he gave in his
head and said no. Shortly thereafter, he got a job at Softdisk.
Tom took an instant liking to Romero, who came on more than a year after he had started.
Romero loved one of the games Tom had recently made called Legend of the Star Axe.
It was clearly descended from Tom’s favorite book,
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
—a kind of Monty Python meets
Star Wars
romp by the British cult author Douglas Adams. The game featured an intergalactic
’57 Chevy and a host of quirky characters like the Blehs—green creatures with two
big eye sockets who went around trying to scare people by saying, “Bleh! Bleh! Bleh!”
As much as Romero and Carmack connected as programmers, Romero and Tom connected as
comedians. They were always riffing off each other, transforming Tom’s alien chirps
into an elaborate language of blips and bleeps. They shared a love of dark comedy.
Tom might say something like “go press your man-beef in a sheep’s musky hollows” and
Romero would respond by telling Tom to “go slice open a goat and tie the warm, wet
intestines around you for a cock ring.” They were never at a loss for sick jokes.
While Carmack and Romero were working on Catacomb and Dangerous Dave, Tom would frequently
drop by to help. With Lane slipping, Romero decided to recruit Tom officially as the
new managing editor of Gamer’s Edge. Tom was as eager to work on games full-time as
the other guys. Plus, he too realized that the days of the Apple II were numbered.
Games for PCs were the future,
his
future. But Al Vekovius wasn’t having any of it. Tom was already managing editor
of the Apple II disk, and that was where he would stay.
Though disappointed, Romero and Carmack knew they could survive for the time being without Tom; what they
couldn’t survive without was an artist. Up until then the game programmer was responsible
for doing his own artwork. But as Romero and Carmack envisioned making more ambitious
games, they wanted to have someone who was as skilled in and focused on art as they
were on programming and design. Though Romero was a more than competent artist—he
had done the art for all his old Apple II games—he was ready to leave those responsibilities
to someone else, specifically a twenty-one-year-old intern named Adrian Carmack.
Coincidentally, Adrian shared John Carmack’s last name though they were not related.
With dark hair down to his waist, Adrian stood out in the straitlaced art department
from the moment he arrived. That department, Romero lamented, was as sluggish as the
rest of the company. They weren’t gamers, they didn’t even think about games. All
they did was churn out little blocks of graphics for check-balancing programs and
clocked out at the end of the day. Adrian had a spark—plus, an awesome collection
of heavy metal T-shirts.
But Adrian, unbeknownst to Romero, wasn’t much of a gamer—not anymore, at least, though
games had lured him to art. Growing up in Shreveport, Adrian went through the arcade
phase, spending his afternoons playing Asteroids and Pac-Man with his friends. He
so liked the artwork on the cabinets that he began copying the illustrations, along
with Molly Hatchet album covers, in his notebooks during class. As an adolescent,
Adrian found himself sinking more deeply into his art, leaving even video games in
the past. There were other things weighing on his mind.
When Adrian was thirteen, his father—who sold
Similar Books
