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Erik_Van_Petersen.bio
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1993-10-28
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Born December 12, 1935 into moneyed, middle class Denmark.
Headed for medicine in public and private schools. Escaped to
Canada in 1951 and never went back to any formal school. Went
from photographer to photojournalist to technical/science
writer and editor in that first decade.
Science writing is interpretation. Everything is based on
logic and you only have to learn the language of a discipline
to make it digestible to the informed lay mind. Even technical
business writing can be great fun! Guards with shotguns would
sometimes (unsuccessfully) try to stop us from getting a story.
In that period I covered the 20 engineering disciplines in
construction. Later, mining, forestry, pulp and paper,
fishing. naval architecture, medicine, finance, earth sciences,
etc.
Protectionism chased our well-paying US publishers out of
Canada in the early sixties so I wrestled with Central Canadian
rag merchants until the mid-seventies when I started my own
company. I had covered oilpatch exploration for three years so
I became a head hunter for geologists, geophysicists, drilling
and reservoir engineers.
These were great years. Decades of evaluating my sources
for scientific and technical reporting, made me a natural for
reading potential of earth scientists for oil exploration and
exploitation. Some of my friends as well as most of the
scientists I fielded were getting into computers in a big way.
In the industry we used Univacs and Sigma-8s while the minis,
notably Wang and Dec, made the first inroads. The hobby
machines, which had started out with the Heathkit analog tube
monsters, settled in with the Ataris and the C-64. Aside from
covering the main frames and the minis, I totally missed the
personal computer revolution, being far too busy being a
success; building a 1,500-bottle wine cellar, and fathering two
beautiful daughters. Their mother, 18 years my junior, was
designed by a sex maniac.
I became a videographer for my girls but even though I was
the ex-professional, their artist mother was easily the better
camera person. Will other parents learn what a great tool a
video camera can be for teaching kids not to throw tantrums?
The oilpatch crash of 1986 wiped me out. "I was too good
at what I was doing to fail", so I hung in too long with too
much overhead, sure I'd ride it out. Thankfully, I'd sold half
of my West Van house to my dad in the late sixties to preserve
it from adventurous law suits. Now, it was the one thing
untouched by the wipe-out. The girls' mother had nil skills
for coping with failure so she opted out and went home to her
parents. I was never denied full and free access, so I didn't
really lose my daughters.
I spent one terrible year selling mobile homes to generate
cash. Even God hates mobile homes. He blows them away at
every given opportunity! But the first month I made $7k in
1987, I went and blew half on an Amiga A500 with an A1080,
A501, A1010 and a dot matrix printer. It came bundled with
WordPerfect, Superbase, MaxiPlan, PageSetter, Deluxe Video,
Diga! and CLImate. I wanted Amiga to help edit and title all
my family video tapes. It was my first computer and it
surprised me by becoming one of my best friends over the
following five years.
Diga! an early telecommunications program was rated the
least of my software but with its basic documentation (however
flawed) it was ideal for a stumbling beginner setting up his
first modem in solitude (Packard Bell 2400+). I since
graduated to the registered JRComm and Terminus.
I was far too busy playing with my new machine, trying to
make it do what I wanted it to, to hustle homes on wheels, so
it was no surprise coming back from a holiday to find another
eager beaver manning my desk. At this point oilpatch clients
called me back for day labor work. I wrote my first report for
pay on my Amiga before WordPerfect's arrival (which was nearly
three months after date of purchase) using Ed on WBv1.2 and I
thought it was great. The obscure Memacs name and drab
documentation failed to make the much more suitable line editor
obvious to this neophyte.
During the six years following the oil price crash,
Calgary exploration personnel shrank from 120,000 to less than
60,000. Every second man eventually bit the dust! Even during
periods of such massive layoffs, the odd scientific specialist
has to be hired. A company would run an ad, and get literally
hundreds of applications. They'd call me in to high grade
submissions, furnishing a written report with a short list,
based on interviews and evaluations via other industry
contacts. At even a modest $500/day, it didn't take much work
to effect survival and contributions to the girls.
Still, this existence had elements of the bachelor's love
life - either feast or famine. I had filled a garage with my
leather bound books; my 3,000 LPs and other music and
photography paraphernalia. I lived out of my old Chrysler and
cheap motels. I'd driven that dinosaur out of the showroom in
1976 and it had been too old to be desired as pickings from my
'86 crash. I became expert at hooking up the modem to wires
fished from motel walls. I had my girls visiting every weekend
and I had them full-time during the two-month school holidays.
When the oilpatch continued to find still lower gears to
function, I'd make the odd rent with Ami and DTP and at other
times starvation free-lance fees from various publishers. Even
then there were times when it seemed impossible to generate any
kind of cash flow. When I could no longer meet the hotel rent,
I'd continue trying to beat economic bushes until I was down to
the last $100 which it cost in gas and road fees to get to
Vancouver. I'd pack all my stuff into the dinosaur and cross
the gorgeous Rockies to my coastal sanctuary. The odd
journalistic job would come my way but most considered me a
fossil. Hell, even people I'd trained have retired :-).
Longest coastal hiatus was three months. Sooner or later,
the phone would ring from Calgary. Such calls were then
followed with a couple of grand worth of retainer, so I could
gas up and roll back over the Rockies to a cheap motel by the
Bow River, affording marvelous mind-clearing walks.
My daughters became adept with Ami. I still marvel at the
recollection of a four-year-old Amber booting up the old pdl
Deluxe Draw, asking for four bit planes and lo-res. She
couldn't read but if that was what it took to get to her
favorite program, that was what she'd do!
My ex had gotten into another relationship a couple of
years after our breakup. That one blew up in her face within
the year but the result was an adorable third girl, Tanya. My
two girls loved their new sister who soon called me "daddy"
because the other two did. Their mother had moved back to her
family but her father had passed away. That household was
permanently short of cash so a couple of years back, I rented
the smallest room in the basement for my friend, Amiga, so I
could spend more time with my little girls. They needed the
cash flow more than the motel.
While not ideal, this is a workable situation if I take
pains to stay out of the War Department's way. My humor now
seems to send her up the wall :-) but the girls are happy.
Sometimes they like Ami more than I. They have free access to
the machine provided sticky fingers are clean, and no liquids
are about.
1992 was the first year of survival without a question
mark. The remaining oilpatch vice-presidents tend to be people
I recruited and guided from their third year of professional
life. There HAVE to be some benefits from advancing years.
That was also the year that my dad passed away after a
relatively brief bout with cancer. We'll all get cancer if we
live long enough. Mother now pays the price for a happy
marriage. Her best friend of the last 60 years suddenly is no
more. Now I have to visit my West Van base for reasons other
than my own needs.
This year, 1993, ought to be still better than '92 so I'll
reward myself with an AGA machine sometime in its latter half.
I can't pass this A500 to the girls because they'd have endless
fights over it. Maybe I'll leave it in Vancouver since my
79-year-old mother has got herself addicted to the MegaBall
Arkanoid clone :-). The girls are now 10 and 12 and need me
less (but 3½-year-old Tanya will be very difficult to leave)
maybe I'd instead accelerate the old 500 and get out from the
matriarchy; get my life out of the garage. I haven't heard my
own music in seven years. (Actually, three generations of PMS
is beyond even my coping limits :-)
--Erik