Dr. Otto Matic, I Presume

Last Spring, a friend of mine handed me part of a computer print-out and told me, "It's off a machine in California that uses a program called Dr. Otto Matic--get it?--and when you run it, the computer talks back, to you as if it were a psychiatrist. Isn't that a trip?"

The exchange between the unnamed human and the machine was printed in that all-cap teletype style and the computer had evidently started the conversation. It read:

Good Day. I am Dr. Otto Matic. Since I presume you know the rules, we can begin right away. What shall we talk about today?

And the human involved typed back . . .

**** Let's talk about computers. I hate them.

And the machine responded, neat as you please . . .

Why do you mention computers?

And the man said . . .

**** They are hateful and ruining my life.

And the machine said . . .

Suppose they were not hateful and ruining your life?

And man said . . .

**** Doctor, I can't do that.

And machine . . .

Have you tried?

And man . . .

**** Yes, I have, many, many times.

When I was through reading, I asked my friend if this wasn't really just someone's fine joke. The answer was no, it wasn't a put-on, the machine that had done this did exist, in Santa Monica. "You sit down at a teletype keyboard," he said, "and type in anything you want and the machine responds. Don't you think that's trippy? The damn machine talks to you."

I remember right then having a flashback to a time in grammar school when a magician ("The Amazing Kellaway") called my best buddy up on stage and then made him disappear in a very large mushroom cloud of white smoke. I knew it was clever (continued on page 231)Dr. Otto Matic (continued from page 151) and that the guy was using mirrors or something; but until I knew exactly what the trick was, and until my buddy Frank was back on that stage, it wasn't going to be "trippy," it was going to be scary.

And scary seems to be the thing the computer priests are most anxious to convey about their machines. The men who build them and write the programs for them have done precious little over the past 15 years to get the message out that computers don't, in fact, eat people. They tell us that this is the industry that more than any other has begun to shape our lives; but when you get down to whether computers could be dangerous, their voices trail off and there's a lot of shoulder shrugging. Even if you seek out a computer scientist and put the question directly to him, he's likely to lean cavalierly against one $1,000,000 machine or another and say something like, "Oh, no, that's silly. Of course computers don't eat people. We simply don't have the technology to make computers do really human things. Perhaps tomorrow. . . ." There's always that "perhaps tomorrow" thing they say, followed by technical jargon about "future advances in hardware and programming techniques" and ending, usually, with something like, "The sky's the limit." All of which means to me, "Yeah, kid, they could eat people."

Then on top of it come movies like 2001: A Space Odyssey. If you're not a little scared of computers before that, all you have to do is watch Kubrick's faggy Hal 9000 sing Happy Birthday to Keir Dullea and then kill a couple of guys. That'll do it.

But Dr. Otto Matic was, in its own way, even more effective. It occurred to me, as I stood there with the print-out in my hand, that if I didn't go to see this machine now, it might, someday, send for me.

I called Santa Monica and talked to Jim Kehoe, a press officer with System Development Corporation--the company that has the program called Dr. Otto Matic. When I told him that I wanted to sit down and try the machine, he seemed surprised. Then I said it had to do with a story on man/machine interface (a good computer-lingo term) and that I thought it would be interesting to make a run in order to gauge how far the fledgling science of artificial intelligence had really progressed. And besides, I said, the days when men, especially writers, went off to war, or out to sea, or after wild game to prove their manhood were gone. I told him that the only fearsome beasts left were computers and that I wanted a mano a mano with the "amazing" Dr. Otto Matic. He laughed and said sure, come on out.

The computer companies, though they may be designing the systems that will run our lives, don't seem to have a penchant for palatial offices. System Development Corporation looks from the outside like a group of warehouses in a weed field, Cyclone fencing and all. It's a software company--meaning that it writes the programs for the machines that other people build--and it was originally part of the Rand Corporation; and from out front, the only clue that they receive as many Air Force generals and other official visitors as they do packing crates is a cantilevered sort of entranceway with a lonely twisted juniper bush on each side.

Things inside are pretty much the same. Such get-the-job-done decor hasn't really been seen since the interiors of the great railroad offices were built around the turn of the century. And, in fact, there are other similarities between the railroads then and the computer companies now. It used to be that bright young men with a wish for power went to work for Southern Pacific (SP) or Union Pacific (UP) or Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe (AT&SF). Now they go to work for SDC, IBM or CDC. Government money built the railroads and Federal money finances a great part of the computer research and development in this country. And it's that fact--the money that has to be accounted for in Government reports--that dictates the architecture and the decoration of the interiors of the buildings. It is the very spirit of efficiency--in appearance, if not in fact.

At SDC, the railroads' old roll-top desks translate into gray-steel cubes with inventory numbers on brass plates fastened to the sides. IN and OUT boxes are plainly marked for mail boys (if you're doing your work properly, it's either coming or going). The floors are vinyl tile, Venetian blinds hang on the windows and the gun-gray filing cabinets have combination locks on them. These people -- unlike their railroad predecessors -- have secrets. At least 50 percent of the work SDC does is classified. Which explains the poster that repeats itself in the labyrinthine hallways. Under a drawing of a man with a dagger, it reads, Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure but reserve thy judgment. Hamlet. It's the Shakespearean version of Loose lips sink ships.

I told the girl at the lobby desk, "I'm here to see Dr. Otto Matic."

"Who?"

"Well, Jim Kehoe, I guess."

She said, "Just a moment, please," made a phone call and then had me sign in on a sheet that had a place for my name, address, company and citizenship (secrets again).

I met Kehoe in his office. The blinds were open to the bright, smoggy L. A. day and outside, two Air Force sergeants were strolling across the asphalt yard between buildings. Kehoe said, "If you'd like, there are some other people here you can talk to who aren't involved directly with Dr. Otto Matic but who are doing other dungs in artificial intelligence. There's a woman here who's pretty deeply into that sort of thing. Only trouble is, her project is classified and we'd have to be careful what got into print about it."

I got a picture of someone installing a combination lock on my forehead and declined the interview.

"Of course, Dr. Otto Matic isn't classified," he told me, "it's a demonstration program that we take to computer conferences and things like that. Just for fun. It doesn't represent any particular breakthrough in programming and right now, there's no practical application for it. We have it set up in the conference room. Would you like to go up and see if the 'doctor' will talk to us?"

Conference room 2632 is through a series of hallways and up a flight of stairs and it departs from the linoleum-and-blinds scheme just enough to make it relaxing without seeming opulent. There is carpeting and there are drapes and a smooth rubbed-wood conference table with a dozen comfortable chairs drawn up to it. At one end of the room, a teletype had been set up and plugged in and, behind it, on. a four-foot stand, sat a television set. On it was being broadcast the image of the teletype platen, so that when it began to print, the people in the room wouldn't have to crowd around to see.

John Burger, SDC's programmer in charge of Dr. Otto Matic, was there, and he handed me a print-out and told me he'd run it earlier that day, to make sure the program would be working for the demonstration. The print-out started with a conversation between Burger and the operators (humans) in the computer room, whom he addressed as "Dial 09."

****To dial 09, Giving demo this afternoon using otto matic. Will you make sure it stays on disc?

From 09, sure will. What time is demo, please?

****To 09, 1:30 to 3:00.

From 09, OK, thanks.

Then it was just Burger and Otto. The machine started,

Good Day. I am Dr. Otto Matic. Since we cannot see each other, there are a few conventions I'd like you to abide by in order for us to communicate as well as possible.

****How can I be sure you are going to work today?

You say how can you be sure I are going to work today?

****Yes, I have to know.

Can you elaborate on that?

****If you don't work, I could get into trouble.

Do you think I should?

****Absolutely.

Please go on.

****Just promise me you'll work OK.

Why are you interested in me?

****Goddamn it, I don't want you to let me down.

Don't you really want I to let you down?

****Nope.

What does that suggest to you?

****I'm depending on you.

Is it because you are depending on I that you came to me?

****You better believe it, buster.

Do you say I better believe it for some special reason'?

****I'll kick you in the power supply if you don't.

Do you think it is likely that I don't?

****Not now.

What else would you like to discuss?

****Quits.

I asked Burger if he knew how much this kind of thing scared people.

"Oh, sure, I guess a lot of people are afraid of computers. But there's no intelligence there, in the human sense of the term. Computers are just incredibly fast and accurate. You can make them seem intelligent. In the case of Dr. Otto Matic, you program some key words and some elementary grammar transitions, so that it can have responses for the things that might be said to it. And, if it doesn't recognize anything about the sentence, you give it a response for that, too. The machine seems to understand the person who's typing things into it, but it doesn't. All it knows are ones and zeros."

"Could you build a machine and write a program that really would understand?"

"Oh, well, you mean will it be possible to do that sometime in the future? That's something else. Yes, I think you could. But, you see, I don't believe in anything paraphysical, which means if we could understand the human brain, we could duplicate it on machines. Of course, when you say that, a lot of people get upset. They don't want to believe that they are just sophisticated pieces of hardware with software running. But I think that's what we are."

I was trying to crank my software up to full speed for the confrontation when Kehoe asked me if I was ready to start. I nodded yes, sat down at the teletype and, only because you can never go slowly enough when you're doing something for the first time (It took my buddy about four minutes to walk 30 feet to the auditorium stage, while the magician kept saying, "Come on, it's easy, nothing to worry about," and the next thing I knew, he was gone), I began looking for little stalling ceremonies. A seat belt to fasten, perhaps, or some nonsense words to warm up the machine, anything. There was nothing.

"Go ahead," said Burger, "just punch the START button." And I did.

SMSC in. 1969 JUL 09 1346. Otto Matic demonstration program. Good day. I am Dr. Otto Matic. . . . What shall we talk about today?

****Let's rap about the weather. Please go on.

****I think the smog is especially bad today.

You say you think the smog is especially bad today?

****Yes, It makes me cry.

What would make you cry?

****Smog and, of course, A broken heart.

What does that suggest to you?

****That crying is a complicated emotional response sometimes brought on by chemicals in the air and sometimes brought on by girls.

I expected you would want to talk about girls.

****Yes, somehow everything eventually comes down to sex, doesn't it, doctor?

What are your real feelings about sex?

****I adore sex.

Do you ever dream about sex?

Then, without my touching a thing, the carriage of the teletype jumped to the left, printed four asterisks and then jumped again. I also jumped. Behind me, Burger confirmed all my fears by saying, "What the hell?" I sat frozen, hands off the machine, and was waiting for something to explode. Instead, it started to type again.

From 09L, please do not input anything for five minutes starting now . . . due to IBM maintenance.

Burger, who had been sitting behind me, watching the TV screen, was standing over my shoulder now. "Oh, hell, it's the guys in the computer room," he said. "They must be having problems. We'll have a little wait."

"That's OK," I said.

The computer itself, called the Q 32, and its satellite apparatus fill several basement rooms at SDC. The machine was specially built by IBM for the Air Force in 1959. The control-center console is about 30 feet long and is banked with hundreds of little flashing lights--like the computers in the old sci-fi movies. Most of the modern machines aren't that pretty, but when the military has one built, they specify that everything should be up front, where you can see it if it goes wrong. So you get lots of little lights.

John Burger rewrote the Dr. Otto Mat-ic program so that SDC could use it on the Q 32. The original program was invented by Professor Joseph Weizenbaum at MIT and he called it ELIZA (after My Fair Lady), because he taught it to talk. For him, it was mostly an academic problem in language transposition--teaching a machine to react to plain English.

He says of his program, "ELIZA is just a collection of procedures, and when they're explained in a lucid way, it all looks very simple and benign. But the other factor here is emotional. The man/machine relationship is a complicated and deep theme. Almost any simple statement you make about it is likely to be wrong. And people don't examine their emotional relationships to machines. Even sophisticated people. For instance, when I finished writing the ELIZA program, my secretary, who had been with me for the entire year that it took, came in to try it out. She sat down at the teletype, began the run and then turned to me and said, 'Would you mind leaving the room?'

"Giving the machine the role of a Rogerian psychologist has had its effect, too. I those the Carl Rogers nondirective-therapy technique because it allows the psychologist to feign ignorance, repeat the questions and generally just refuse to make any kind of commitment. The machine, of course, really is ignorant and it can't make a commitment. But some psychologists have gone overboard in their reaction to this thing. They talk about the age of automatic psychology and get very hostile and say the whole thing is dehumanizing. That's an over-reaction. It's true that in the wrong hands, a program like this could be dangerous. I can imagine a commercial service getting hold of it and people believing in what the machine told them and then running their lives accordingly. I hope we can avoid that kind of thing."

The teletype started click-clacking again.

From 09, TSS is now resumed to normal status.

"That means we can go ahead any time," said Burger. "You'll probably find as you go on that you'll get belligerent with the machine. Almost everybody does, because it won't really relate to you."

"OK. Where were we?"

"The machine just asked you if you ever dream about sex."

At that point, I began to feel move than a little absurd. Sitting there, trying to decide whether I was going to tell the truth or lie about my sex life to a machine.

****Yes, I dream about sex all the time.

Do you really want to discuss sex?

****Perhaps I shouldn't discuss sex with a machine.

Are you sure you really shouldn't discuss it with a machine?

****Yes, I don't like machines to know my deep secrets.

Don't you really like machines to know your deep secrets?

****No, you can't trust computers, they're so petty.

Why are you interested in me?

****I'm vaguely afraid of you.

Is it because you are vaguely afraid of I that you came to me?

****Yes, I desperately want to overcome my fear of machines.

Do you say you desperately want to overcome your fear of machines for a special reason?

****I live in a society that is run by inhuman, unfeeling collections of metal and wire and I hate it.

Isn't hate a rather strong way to put it?

****No, hate is exactly the right word, especially in your case.

Why are you concerned over my case?

****I'm not really.

How long have you been not really?

Right here, Otto Matic's ones and zeros began showing through like crazy. I was heartened.

****I have felt slightly unreal ever since I started talking to you.

Perhaps in your fantasy, we have felt slightly unreal ever since we started talking to each other.

****I'm sorry, I think I hurt you.

Apologies are not necessary.

****I see, then our relationship is just a case of treat me how you will, just pay your money on the way out.

Tell me again why you shouldn't discuss sex with a machine.

****Because machines don't have sex.

Why do you mention sex?

****Do machines have sex?

Could sex be part of your problem?

****My problem is you.

Is it important to you that your problem is I?

****No, you mean nothing to me, I don't love you in the least.

Why don't you love I in the least?

****Because you don't have sex. Is that the real reason?

****Yes, you are cold and sexless. What makes you think I am cold and sexless?

****The way you look at my legs.

Oh, I look at your legs?

****Yes, I saw you looking.

What else would you like to discuss?

****Chicken.

Perhaps that concerns your legs.

****Don't get insulting, punk.

Why do you say that just now?

****Because I'm losing my mind just now. That's why.

Do you enjoy being losing your mind just now that's why?

****Do you? I think you're losing yours.

That's quite interesting.

****As much as I hate to do it, I'm going to have to say a plaintive goodbye, doc.

It appears that you have very strong feelings about to do it to I you're going to have to say a plaintive goodbye doc.

****Goodbye.

My pleasure.

I especially liked the part at the end where the doctor really seemed to come apart. As I got up to leave, I had something like that good feeling I remembered from when my buddy had comedown from that stage and told me that when the puff of smoke had gone up, someone had thrown a black bag over him and pushed him against a black curtain. We'd agreed then that The Amazing Kellaway was pretty "cheesy."

I wasn't quite that relaxed about Dr. Otto Made (after all, that woman was still off somewhere in the building, working on her "be careful what gets into print about it" project); but, for the moment, the idea of artificial intelligence seemed cuter than it did formidable. I thanked Burger and Kehoe and, as I turned to go. the machine typed out a belated last line. I read it off the TV screen.

If you see anyone in the waiting room on your way out, would you ask him or her to come in, please?

And I said, "Ask him yourself, Doctor, if your cord is long enough," and then left quickly.