THE LONGEST WEEKEND
A Tribute to David Rodale

by Lisa Kimball


"Come along with me to Cape Cod!!"


With those words, David Rodale began a conference on Parti on The Source which I think will be remembered as one of the turning points of this medium. It was February 29th, 1984 and David was setting off to visit his friends, Frank and Jean (known as FRANKENJEAN), for a long weekend on the Cape. There had been some previous efforts to cover computer shows and special events online with some degree of reader interaction, but David's "Weekend" conference took the medium to a new level as an art form. It was participatory theater... an interactive short story... a "happening" online.

David died December 23rd. Although he was only thirty years old, he had already made a mark as a producer, a writer, an artist, and a pioneer in the medium of computer conferencing. He was a founding member of ENA and had recently taken on the role of Director of Computer Networking for Rodale Press.

When I set out to write this tribute to him, I thought about so many examples to cite--his unique, graphic style which jazzed up Parti on STC's weekly newsletter, "Chimo", while he was an editor; his talent at contrapuntal dialogue, which we saw when he inspired a participant scientist to take us on a tour of space and time in "Universe" and when his wonderful JOE FIXIT character performed for us with MAMA; his contributions to making the online environment seem more like a cozy neighborhood, like when he became PORTER every year to deliver valentines from secret admirers. But as I looked over the hundreds of conferences and notes, none seemed to exemplify his contribution better than "Weekend", so I'm going to give you a small taste of the quality which made David's online presence so special.

First of all, he gets so excited about the weekend that he leaves a day early. We ride with him up the Connecticut turnpike into the night:


The last 5 miles of road were under construction.
From a distance, the barrels lining the road sporting
blinking caution lights looked like an airstrip. I
was landing. It was as though FRANKENJEAN anticipated
my arrival and arranged to have the roadway lined with
candles. I turned off my headlights and let the
blinkers guide me in.


A number of participants have wondered whether arriving a day early is going to be a *pleasant* surprise for FRANKENJEAN.


MY heart is pounding. Here's the plan:


Hide the car, climb over the stone wall, then
terrorize the house-- Ring the doorbell and run--and
other immature stuff like that...


A year ago I took off my shirt and shoes, put on my
sunglasses and trudged barefoot through the snow with
a frozen turkey and presented myself under the
floodlights in their back yard.


So I pull my car into the bushes and get out. Just
then another car approaches.--I'd better look like I
belong here with my car in the bushes--I thought.
It's a residential neighborhood and someone might
suspect foul play seeing a man--a car in the bushes--
and a furtive look about him. My fears are mounting,
the car slows down--the headlights are right on me--I
am pinned to the darkness like a bug on black velvet.
The car stops!


"What are you doing here?" says a voice.


My surprise--It's Frank!!


Participants in "Weekend" go on to meet FRANKENJEAN and share the delicious "dinner off the cuff" prepared for David that night. Later, many express their wonder at how much it *feels* like they really are right there with David. Some were on the edge of their seats waiting for the next day's report. Others, like me, didn't come along til after the weekend was over in "real" time--but we enjoyed it all over again just as much.


First thoughts: Eyes open--Oh yes I'm not at home
anymore--Good way to start a vacation--March first--
First day of the month!!! Aha!


I throw back the sheets, jump out of bed over the
footboard and shout "Rabbit Rabbit!!" It's an old
ritual supposed to give you good luck. It's really
only good on April 1st but my family has taken the
liberty of stretching it to the first of *every*
month. What the heck it couldn't hurt, right?


You have to either go out of bed over the footboard or
out the wrong side. You must do it before you talk to
anyone. The real trick is remembering to do it.


This morning--I remembered.


By now, "Weekend" is drawing a lot of attention and attracting more and more joiners. All during Thursday and Friday, David describes the action in detail--like an online version of cinema verite'--including conversations with FRANKENJEAN, mouth- watering descriptions of gourmet meals, and trips into town. One of these conversations includes an offhand joke about a nun. This sets off one of the most emotional battles ever on Parti when, sometime after the weekend, it's discovered that the "nun joke" has been censored by STC and deleted from the conference. The online community rises up to defend the freedom of the artist. In the end, the issue is resolved positively and the precedent of monitoring by the *community* rather than the system is set. David's passionate statements on the subject did much to influence the outcome, which is just one MORE way he influenced the future of the medium.

But all that is in the future--now, it's Friday afternoon of the "Weekend" and David and Frank are engaging in what he calls "Hot Tub Philosophy."

"It's the Big Dipper!" says Frank, pointing.


"Oh stop, how can you see in the dark?" I asked.


"No, no I mean in the sky," he said.


And there it was. The cup and the handle, the
connect-the-dots version of a Ladle. Does anyone
*really* call it a 'Dipper'?


Orion was barely visible but *I* knew it was there.
And Frank told glorious stories of satellites passing
over. That they are bright, they move slower than
planes and... "Have you seen a shooting star?"


My first shooting star was during the August Star
storm in '72. Newport, Rhode Island. I was going to
Summer school down the street from "The Breakers" in
the house they used on the opener for Dark Shadows.
Remember that?


The last night of school, some of the guys snuck out
and went down to the Cliff Walk. We climbed down on
the rocks where the ocean sprayed over us and sat. We
watched the stars streak across the sky, counting
them... a hundred three... a hundred four. The moon
was out, the sound of the surf was deafening and stars
were falling out of the sky.


And you ask me if I've ever seen a shooting star???


Overall, we talked about honesty, boundaries, Love-
life-and the pursuit of happiness, how things are
right-wrong and indifferent, how "I know you better
than you know yourself" and vice versa, how dinner
will taste tomorrow night, how we could drink
Rumpleminz by the gallon, and how we're sooo
incredibulously happy that you're all along with us
for the weekend.


Mike Greenly speaks for many participants by describing himself as "riveted by the sharing... How can i leave now?!!!!!!!! (won't)"


FRANKENJEAN are giving a party Saturday night with an Indian theme. We go along on the shopping, taste the food as it's cooking, decorate the house, and meet some of FRANKENJEAN's other friends. The morning after, David steps back a bit from the fray to comment on the experience of writing this conference.


I'm flying through my "WEEKEND" with my eyes more open
than usual. Not more open really, just open in a
different way.


Experience burns itself in. Each moment is a single
and self-contained gem. Even if, at times, I have
been incapable of getting them to you through my M100,


they enter my head with the best of intentions of
running out my fingertips and across the wire. It's a
rush.


I never thought things could seem *more* real than
they always have, but they do. All because of
"WEEKEND."


Luckily for us, David did get a lot to us through his fingers. On Sunday, he and Frank make a "pilgrimage" to Provincetown where David had spent some wonderful time a couple of years ago.


Today, there were no clouds in the sky, just the
grandest sweep of uninterrupted blue. The first sight
of the dunes, their sheer size, the stark horizon
where sand meets sky, all have amazing effects. It
felt physiological, like I was being changed somehow.
All the molecules in my body were shifting,
reordering, adjusting.


Jesse and I call this phenomenon "Retinal Candy."
Sights which release hormones, enzymes, protase
inhibitors and adrenalin.


David's descriptions take us out to the end of the dunes facing an uninterrupted view of the sea.


As I walked, I lost myself in the stones. When I
moved away I took some with me. Now I sort them by
size and color to call up images of the beach. I bent
down and picked up certain ones that caught my eye.
The pocket of my jacket got heavier and heavier.


The stones that you take home are special. But the
best ones are those that you leave behind.


There was lots more in "Weekend". Final comments from Frank and Jean and participants. There's a tongue-in-cheek interchange about whether David might have made the whole thing up, to which he replies, "We are all figments of each others' imaginations." After a week, David writes that he's downloaded the whole thing and given it to family and friends who aren't online to read.


"Who are these people?" They asked of your responses.
"What do they look like?" "Have you ever met any of
them?"


"What do *you* think they look like?" I asked back.
Who do *you* think they are?" The thought bowled them
over. Each one went wandering off, each with their
own images, each with their own conjured up reality.


It was a year after "Weekend" before I finally met David in person. But I felt like our *first* meeting was really on a weekend trip to Cape Cod--a trip I took several weeks after he did in that amazing time warp provided by this medium. Many who mourn David now never met him outside the online world. But his special quality was an ability to convey *himself*--a many dimensional, thoughtful, playful, creative self--to us via electronic networks. There are those who doubt the extent to which it's possible to really "know" someone through a relationship online. David's "Weekend" introduced many to the power of interactive communication to convey personality as well as ideas. David's use of the medium was artful as well as skillful. Fitting--since David was, above all, an artist.

"Weekend" is no longer online. When we noticed that it had disappeared as part of the natural purging process, there were twinges of regret. Yet, the changing landscape of this medium is part of its charm, and, luckily, there are still some limited-edition hard copies of "Weekend" around as souvenirs. People still refer to it as an example of electronic interactive art, and so it lives on as part of the history and myth which makes up our online culture.


Now David is gone too. Yet he is *everywhere* online--not only in the conferences in which he participated but in the styles and projects of the many people he influenced. I think the medium is different because he was here. I know I am. I wish *so* much that he could have stayed longer. But I can join David's friends and family in celebrating the life he lived-- particularly on one very special weekend.


-----


Author's Note: All quoted material from "Weekend" was originally published on Parti on The Source and later in a limited printed edition by David Rodale, and reprinted here with the permission of his family. Contributions in his memory may be made to the Wildlands Trust, Lehigh Valley Conservancy, Orchid Place, Emmaus, PA, 18049. Some of David's friends are collecting material for a book on his life online. Ideas and comments may be made in "Farewell Dear Friend" in PARTI on UNISON or on The Source, item #465 on The Meta Network, C555 on EIES, or sent through your porter.