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By JON HEDDLESTON
Rappahannock New. Staff Writer
I was introduced to a VDT (video display terminal) today.
It’s a real classy computer, one that complements a new desk in the office.
The VDT has a display screen that’s dark as the Shade Road at Midnight and bold type that stuns a newcomer like sea-green eyes.
Still, I’ll never forget my first love, a Royal.
I learned to type on a Royal during my freshman year of high school. Like many frosh compatriots, I signed up for “personal typing,” a half-year course.
The teacher was a tough guy of 40 or so, dedicated to teaching us right. The first thing we learned was how to place our feet flat on the floor beneath the typing desk.
Then, of course, the home row: asdfjkl;—not how to type it—just how to rest the fingers of each hand on it. The home row, we discovered, was our guide.
“Don’t look at the keyboard,” the instructor bellowed shortly after we got our feet straight. Thirty faces popped up white as sheets.
“It doesn’t matter anyhow,” he grinned, slyly. “The letters are lankedout.”
And so they were. We had to learn key by key from a wall chart at the front of the classroom. Except for the numbers. The numbers
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