The history of computation, it would seem, is confined to the latter half of the twentieth century. Indeed: figures influential in the development of the PC include Bill Gates, Stanley Kubrick and Al Gore, all of which have only been active in the past few decades. However, recent evidence points to early devices of logic and mathematics which may have been important in the events surrounding the Civil War.

Commander Arlo Bessemer was General Ulysses S. Grant’s second-in-command and in charge of executing the Union leader’s orders. History tells us that, due to alcohol consumption and a severe case of syphilis, General Grant (brilliant on the battlefield he may have been) was prone to outlandish desires. From a memo, written by Grant’s own hand and sent to Commander Bessemer:

March 8, 1863
Bessemer! Where are my towels? You promised me the freshest towels when we were in St. Louis! God damn it, you insufferable piece of shit! Give them here!
Love,
Ulysses

This is simply one example of the many disturbing ravings of General Grant’s perverted mind. However, one message of his remains of note for the world of computing.

August11, 1863
Why can’t I have a machine that will tell me what the Confederates are going to do? It isn’t fair! I want a machine that will tell me what the fucking Rebels are going to be doing!
Love,
Ulysses

Bessemer, ambitious and afraid to disappoint his leader, immediately began to research primitive computers. Or, as they were known in the nineteenth century, “infernal data engorgers.” His investigation revealed an interesting character onto the American computational-historical-martial landscape.

Professor Bert Olson was (in 1863) a ninety-eight year old professor of Poetry at Sandalwood University in Newport, Rhode Island. The son of a poor investment banker, he had been publishing a quarterly review of poetry from the Western Hemisphere for fifty years. He was also a prolific poet himself.

What Commander Bessemer discovered (and what makes Prof. Olson pertinent to this history [short of his eccentric demeanor and accent {which I haven’t even mentioned yet}]), besides Prof. Olson’s eccentric demeanor and accent, was that he was something of an engineer. In fact, his life’s work and the source of his poetry (which wasn’t particularly good) was an invention that he called the Beauty Matrix. Essentially, it was a primitive computer designed to receive a subject as input. It would then generate a poem, which according to Prof. Olson’s calculations would be “beautiful.”

Misunderstanding the exact use and specification of Prof. Olson’s Beauty Matrix, Commander Bessemer had it confiscated and declared property of the Union Army. Prof. Olson’s eccentricity (vaguely referred to earlier by myself) has been noted as one reason he lodged a formal protest in the form of teaching classes in lonely Sandalwood University nude.

Installing the Beauty Matrix at U.S. Army headquarters in Darshingwoodville City, Philadelphia, General Grant’s excitement (and inebriation) got the better of him. His first question to this archaic machine: where will the Rebels strike next? The Beauty Matrix’s response:

Thy friend in time of utmost need
Doth variation beg.
For if thy needs be circumscribed,
Yon soul want for a leg!

General Grant, far from being disturbed and angry, was greatly pleased with the results. Though a professional writer I may be and well versed in the vagaries of the Civil War period, I cannot make up my mind whether or not Bessemer’s use of a poetry computer is more ludicrous, or if the insanity of the day can best be attributed to General Grant’s belief in the output of Prof. Olson’s machine.

What is clear to this bemused and somewhat appalled historian is that General Grant, by following the advice of the Beauty Matrix, won every battle that followed. Not a single man died under his command (besides Leggings Two-Biscuit, who we are all familiar with). The Beauty Matrix was locked in a warehouse in Washington D.C. until the 1980’s, when cat burglar Steve Jobs broke in, stole the machine, and synthesized the modern iPod. However, I can only imagine what the Beauty Matrix itself would print out the following if I were to input “The Legacy of the Beauty Matrix” right now:

I love my little baby!
Her toes are cut and chubby.
Fat lines her tummy and her bum.
Gubby flubby wubby!