A COBOL Tale

by Alan Alexander-Manifold

10/28/1994

(with thanks and apologies to Robert W. Service)

If you carefully scan through the Programmer's Clan,
	You will find they all fit in a range
From the warmhearted but psychopathic old nut
	To the only slightly strange.
When they tell their tales of spaghetti code trails,
	Each story is harder to top;
But the most absurd that I ever have heard
	Was my work in a COBOL shop.

Back in '92, just for something to do,
	I worked for the DoD.
I wrote code to guide a missile's ride
	To a target far over the sea.
The pay was good and I understood
	That advancement lay ahead,
But my hatred of war made my conscience too sore,
	So I quit and went travelling instead.

I travelled for weeks, seeing beautiful peaks
	And crossing through bountiful plains;
I'd vary my travel from roadways of gravel
	To freeways with numerous lanes;
And when it got dark, I'd pull in and park
	At the closest motel with a bar,
Or just pull off the road where I wouldn't get towed,
	And eat, drink and sleep in my car.

One night as I read a newspaper in bed,
	I happened to notice an ad,
And I knew beyond doubt as I tore the thing out
	That the whole situation was bad.
It seemed the poor schmucks would pay really big bucks
	For a programmer touched by the muse,
And the thought of my talents (and low checkbook balance)
	Made the offer too good to refuse.

The very next day, with a fresh resume,
	I applied for that programming slot;
The owner herself put her work on a shelf
	And she interviewed me on the spot.
I thought she would try to downplay or deny
	The dilemma I knew she was in,
But that lady was great, and she told it all straight,
	Then asked me when I could begin.

My assignment was clear:  in the course of one year
	I must write a whole system from scratch,
With whistles and bells, and no downtime spells,
	And components both online and batch.
The system must run each thing under the sun:
	Accounting, new product design,
MIS, personnel, sales tracking, and, well,
	Everything they could think to define.

They had a machine, quite the fastest I'd seen,
	All loaded with software, they said.
But for no cause I knew, within me there grew
	Inescapable feelings of dread.
My project began with a top-level scan
	Of compilers--there only were two,
And it certainly looked like my poor goose was cooked:
	They were COBOL and RPG II.

Even way back in school I thought COBOL uncool;
	Its supporters, I thought, were deranged.
Now, despite all the years, it confirmed all my fears
	When I found out that nothing had changed.
But with twelve months to go I was eager to show
	I could overcome every snare,
And I said with a smirk, as I got down to work,
	"I'll be finished with two months to spare!"

First I planned and designed, then reviewed and refined
	'Til the system was ready to code,
But to do what I'd planned with just COBOL at hand
	Was like kicking a whale down the road.
Ten months came and went, but I scarce made a dent
	For that language from hell was so weak;
It was just as absurd as the thought of a bird
	Carving Rushmore with only its beak.

It at last became clear:  with my deadline so near
	There was no way I'd get the thing done,
So I packed for the beach and peeled out with a screech
	Just to burn up my cares in the sun;
Then on my return, with a horrible burn,
	An idea found its way to my brain;
Though my burns seemed to be pretty near third-degree,
	It made me forget all the pain.

Bright and early next morn, in the same clothes I'd worn
	To the beach, I got back in my car.
In three hours or four, I arrived at a store
	Called the Programmer's Software Bazaar.
A cute clerk, well attired, politely inquired
	How she could be of service to me;
I repressed my first thought and explained what I sought,
	"I want a compiler for C!"

The transaction was made and I drove, I'm afraid,
	A bit over the advertised max.
I went right into work, stopping only to perk
	Some fresh coffee and pick up some snacks.
While the disk was still loading I started my coding
	And kept at it with barely a lapse
For four weeks with no break, at a pace that would make
	That obnoxious toy bunny collapse.

Then one morning, my boss, looking ever so cross,
	Said, "You've only got one month to go!
You promised the moon; I don't think it's too soon
	To expect you'd have something to show."
I looked up and I smiled like a guilty young child
	With a cookie jar clutched in his hand;
But I kept a calm voice as I said to her, "Joyce,
	Your wish is my very command!"

Well, to shorten the tale, which has grown a bit stale,
	The system was totally done;
It performed every task they could possibly ask,
	Plus some stuff I had added for fun.
She doubled my pay, but I chose not to stay,
	So I piled all my stuff in my car,
And went back to the beach with that lovely young peach,
	The cute clerk from the software bazaar.

If you carefully scan through the Programmer's Clan,
	You will find they all fit in a range
From the warmhearted but psychopathic old nut
	To the only slightly strange.
When they tell their tales of spaghetti code trails,
	Each story is harder to top;
But the most absurd that I ever have heard
	Was my work in a COBOL shop.