With over 90 million customers in over 60 countries, MetLife is one of the world’s largest insurance companies. They are also one of the best examples of a Fortune 500 company combining mainframe and other back-end technologies with agile born-on-the-web technologies and a culture hitherto only seen in smaller start-up companies.
“In insurance… working in months, not years, is really a startup mentality.” – Gary Hoberman, MetLife CIO and SVP of Regional Application Development
Given that success in this sort of dynamic environment requires techies able to combine mainframe expertise with things like JSON and web services, it should be no surprise that MetLife is aggressively hiring college students to bring in a new generation of Millennial Mainframers. In order to attract such talent, MetLife recently created a program called MetLife Tech U to provide new hires a mix of education and hands-on training over the course of their first six months. Tech U participants spend half their time training in experiential learning activities and half their time working with a MetLife business unit. Tech U culminates with a capstone project that each participant presents to senior MetLife leadership.
In my opinion, MetLife is just about the best place for a millennial to start a career in mainframes. As an employee, you’d work on creative projects in an environment that blends the creativity and agility of a start-up with the scale and stability of a global organization.
The great news in all this is that MetLife is actively hiring college seniors and young Millennial Mainframers (up to three years out of college) for the next iteration of MetLife Tech U. The positions are based out of its Raleigh, NC and Clarks Summit, PA locations. If you’re interest in this fantastic opportunity, please click on one of the links below and fill out an application. Please also feel free to share this blog post with others that might be interested via the “Share This:” buttons at the bottom of the page.
On April 7, 1964, Tom Watson Jr. stood at the front of a conference room in IBM’s Poughkeepsie, NY research lab. Looking beyond the podium and out into the audience, Watson saw two hundred influential writers and editors belonging to the 1960s tech cognoscenti. Looking a little closer, he saw a series of television cameras, broadcasting and recording the announcement across time and space. Standing in front of this audience, Watson palpably sensed that many of the reporters were skeptical of IBM. Then again, Watson had learned to win over skeptics when flying Lend Lease missions to the Soviet Union during World War II. If he could win over skeptical Soviets, surely he must be able to reach these men.
Although Big Blue had successfully entered the digital computer market with the IBM 701 in 1953, by the early 1960s, IBM’s computer portfolio seemed a jumbled mess. The differing needs of research labs, corporations, and medium-sized businesses led IBM to develop and market products with mutually-incompatible architectures. This led to destructive competition between engineering teams for funding, and the experience of IBM salesmen having to “sell against themselves” when teams of IBMers disagreed as to which IBM product best fit a particular client. While IBM found itself occupied with internal strife, smaller and more nimble competitors chipped away at IBM’s market share by focusing on particular segments of the computer market. Given that Watson was instrumental in pushing IBM towards electronics, this hurt him personally. Indeed, less than one year earlier, Seymour Cray and the Control Data Corporation released the CDC 6600, which was world’s fastest computer, leading Watson to pen a letter criticizing IBM for letting “our industry leadership” fall to a CDC lab of “34 people, including the janitor.” Meanwhile, IBM’s successful high-end and mid-range data processing systems faced erosion of profits due to competitors releasing systems with superior price/performance. Most painfully, one of these competitors was General Electric, hitherto the largest customer of IBM mainframes, which had recently released the GE 400 and the GE 600 lines. Threatened by internal divisions and nimble competitors, IBM seemed to be in significant decline, and Watson felt it.
Tom Watson knew that, to be successful, IBM would have to convince these skeptical spectators that it could restlesly reinvent itself. It needed to end the narrative of IBM as a declining dinosaur from the era of punched cards and Hollerith tabulating machines by demonstrating that IBM could engineer new and innovative products.
Given the uncertainty over the strategic direction that IBM would pursue, it was symbolic that Watson stood overshadowed and framed by a large sixteen point mariner’s windrose. As a longtime sailor, Watson knew that windroses such as these were used by ancient mariners dating back to the dawn of civilization. In Greco-Roman antiquity, the primary points of the windrose denoted the four wind gods named Boreas, Eurus, Notos, and Zephyrus, who sent Odysseus on an unplanned ten year adventure on his return voyage to Ithaca following the Trojan War. Thinking back on IBM’s own decade-long odyssey with electronic computers, Watson contemplated how these winds were also the figurative forces that scattered IBM’s product offerings in incompatible directions.
Unlike the four or twelve winds of the classical work, Watson’s System/360 windrose more closely resembled this diagram from the thirteenth century classic Liber Additamentorum.
Watson clearly believed that IBM could again master the winds and chart a new course in the competitive landscape of the 1960s. Just as he sailed his ship the Palawan further up the northern coast of Greenland than any other civilian vessel, winning the New York Yacht Club’s highest award and the Cruising Club of America’s Blue Water Medal, he would pilot Big Blue further than anyone had hitherto thought possible. Similarly, he would push IBM innovation to the level that it would impact the arc of history to the same degree as when Captain Cook explored the Pacific.
Standing in front of this skeptical audience and framed by the four wind gods of antiquity, Watson announced IBM’s long-awaited New Product Line (NPL). This line embraced several distinct models across a broad range of price and performance. Most importantly, these systems shared a single compatible architecture, making it suitable for the data processing and scientific workloads of organizations of all sizes. In recognition of this unifying architecture, IBM’s New Product Line was called IBM System/360, signifying that this system would handle the full compass rose, including all 360 degrees of computing.
Stepping down from the podium, Watson watched Bob Evans and Dr. Frederick Brooks, the masterminds of the System/360 project, answer technical questions and provide a live demonstration of the System/360 Model 60. Watching the audience during the demo, Watson sensed that the skepticism had melted away, and he felt that that Big Blue had corrected course and would steer the direction of computing for decades to come. He envisioned IBMers in dark blue suits, white shirts, and honest ties meeting customers over lunch and golf. He envisioned firm handshakes and closed sales and deepening collaboration between IBM and organizations of all sizes and types for decades to come.
The System/360 is ready to run your workloads, Mister Customer. Contact your IBM representative for more information.
From a technical standpoint, the IBM System/360 was an unparalleled breakthrough. Due to its unified architecture, the System/360 was the first family of computers to emphasize the primacy of software. By establishing a common architecture across products and guaranteeing backward compatibility in future generations, it became feasible to develop software products for the long-term. This allowed the development of significantly more complex operating systems, middleware, and applications. In modern terms, the System/360 created the first App Ecosystem. Similarly, the System/360 created a “modular design” that prvided standardized interfaces for peripheral devices, leading to a large market for third-party System/360 “plug-compatible” components, such as tape drives, hard disk drives, and printers. This eventually led competitors to market peripherals for the System/360.
From a business standpoint, the System/360 restored faith in IBM’s engineering prowess. While CDC, RCA, GE, and others would continue to market their computers, IBM’s System/360 became the de facto standard for computing. In the first month of availability, IBM sold over 1,100 System/360 computers, an unprecendented amount for that time. By the end of September, IBM had sold over double that quantity, equaling one fifth of all computers sold by IBM since 1953. By 1970, IBM’s total revenue more than doubled to $7.5 billion dollars and the number of installed IBM computers tripled to 35,000.
Due to these reasons, the IBM System/360 is considered by many to represent the dawn of modern computing. Countless customers have made the System/360 architecture the foundation of their business, establishing a long term partnership with IBM that has endured for over fifty years. The modern zEC12 and zBC12 systems continue the legacy of the System/360 and enable customers to continue to leverage their past mainframe investments alongside new Linux workloads and cutting-edge peripherals, such as the IBM DB2 Analytics Accelerator (IDAA).
The IBM mainframe has evolved continuously since my grandfather worked with the System/360 in the late 1960s, and numerous Millennial Mainframers such as myself and the many students involved in the Master the Mainframe World Championship continue to make the IBM mainframe the cornerstone their careers. If you are interested in celebrating the legacy of the System/360 and the bright future for contemporary IBM mainframes, join IBM’s Mainframe50 global broadcast event tomorrow April 8th from 2-4:30pm Eastern Standard Time. Please register at http://www.livestream.com/ibmsystemz. Additionally, check out IBM mainframe history, engines of progress, and Generation z initiatives at http://www.ibm.com/mainframe50/
Today is December 1, 2013. Today I turn twenty-eight years old. Today is also approximately the ten year anniversary of the most interesting “birthday party” I’ve ever been to. As a millennial mainframer, I’ve occasionally had instances where I’ve figuratively considered my nuts in a vice (like last week, when I ran the wrong CMS commands and copied my broken z/VM environment over my backup DASD volumes instead of visa versa), but ten years ago, my nuts literally were in a vice. Just thinking back on this story makes my testicles writhe in pain and retract into my abdomen.
Ten years ago, I was a first-year cadet at the United States Military Academy at West Point. First-year cadets at West Point are called “plebes,” which is a Latin term that denotes the underclass. Much like the barbarism of antiquity, plebes at a military academy are treated like crap. They clean the barracks, deliver the newspapers, pick up the trash or recyclables, march not walk, and salute all of their superiors with a chipper attitude. They also are expected to memorize the meals of the day, the football schedule, the main articles of the New York Times, West Point lore, and errata about the heroes of the American Empire. Failure of any of these tasks is never pretty.
The corps of cadets is organized into companies of around 120 cadets each, and each company has a slightly different culture. To my misfortune, I was a plebe in company A-2, known as the Spartans. Due to the historical legacy of Spartan military discipline and oppression of the enslaved Helot underclass, company A-2 was well known for their thorough and systematic hazing their Plebes.
At West point, there is one socially sanctioned avenue for plebes to exact revenge on especially brutal upperclassmen: the “Birthday Party.” In such a birthday party, the plebes break into the upperclassman’s room, tie them up, and demean them in some way. Often this might be tying them up, placing them in the communal open shower, and spraying they with ketchup, mustard, etc. stolen from the mess hall. Of course, the specific recipe of revenge would always slightly vary from upperclassman to upperclassman.
So there was one Spartan upperclassman that was considered especially mean and vindictive towards the plebes. He loved to ask obscure and seemingly impossible-to-memorize trivia in the hope of being able to scream at and bully a plebe. Considering that his grades weren’t great, his physical fitness was poor, and other aspects of his life likely sucked, bullying seventeen and eighteen year old plebes was likely the high point of his life. Given his general asshole-ish-ness, it was guaranteed that this guy was going to get one hell of a “birthday party.”
So the Spartan plebes geared up as if for the battle of Thermopylae. We put on football equipment used by the intramural football team. We drew battle plans and planned to stay in formation to be able to overwhelm the upperclassman and subdue him quickly and painlessly. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out to plan.
Once the plebes burst through the door, the upperclassman’s roommate attacked up from our right flank. This disoriented the biggest plebes leading the charge, and forced me to assume point and continue the attack. I charged at Cadet Sergeant Douchebag and tackled him facedown onto his desk. With his torso down pinned down, I considered him momentarily subdued.
However, the upperclassman still had one last gambit. I felt his hand reach up along my thigh shortly before I felt a strong hand close vice-like around my testicles. I let out a shriek several octaves higher than I had ever uttered before, and the upperclassmen let out an evil chuckle and made an ominous announcement to the other plebes:
“I have McBride’s nuts, and if you ever want him to be able to procreate, you’ll back the f*** off and get out of my room.”
Once everyone realized the gravity of the situation, the plebes stopped their attack and my comrades retreated away. Suddenly, I was alone with the two upperclassmen. My testicles throbbed with pain, my face was beat red, and a layer of persperations seeped through the football equipment. “Damn it,” I thought to myself, “why the hell didn’t I wear a cup?”
With the situation diffused, the upperclassman opened his strong hand and released my family jewels. Looking at his face, the upperclassman had a sly and self-satisfied look on his face. He caught my glance and winked.
So with this being a mainframe blog and everything, you might be wondering why you’re reading about military academy hazing and Sean McBride’s “nuts in peril” anecdote. Well, it turns out that mainframe computers were a big deal at West point in the 1960s and 1970s that they became part of the hazing culture.
By the 1960, it was clear to the big brass that the Army needed savvy centurions ready to answer the President’s call to directly engage the forces of Global Communism in limited nuclear wars or “brush fire” conflicts in far off places like Vietnam. As a result, West Point changed it’s curriculum so that “every cadet should have practical exposure to computers, including the writing, running, and testing of computer programs to solve real problems.” In short, the West Point leadership voiced opinions quite similar to those now heard by Code.org: EVERYONE (or at least every cadet) should learn to code. Fifty years ago, these curriculum changes were downright revolutionary. At MIT and other computing powerhouses of the era, computers were used by highly specialized engineers, mathematicians, and asocial hacker types. At West Point, even the dumb jocks coded… Even the Football player coded… Even the future Infantry officers coded…
It didn’t take long before computing combined with the timeless West Point tradition of hazing Plebes (first-year cadets) to produce bizarre scenarios, such as this:
Upperclassman: “Plebe! Are you stupid or something?”
Plebe: “No, sir!”
Upperclassman: “Wrong answer, beanhead, are you stupid?”
Plebe: “Yes, sir!”
Upperclassman: “How stupid are you, crot?”
Plebe: “Sir, I make the incline plane look like a GE 225 digital computer!”
In fact, in many ways, the very act of learning to code became an additional element of West Point hazing during the sixties and seventies. At that time, plebes were required to take a programming course, where they would code in a simplified version of FORTRAN called CADETRAN using mark-sense cards (think number-two pencils and Scantron-style cards). This process was euphemistically called “squint and print,” “jot and plot,” and “punch and pray.” Whatever it was called, it surely must have been better than “nuts and crunch.” 🙂
Between 1968 and 1971, cadets transitioned to being able using teletype terminals that resembled typewriters, and between 1974 and 1983, cadets even used terminals with full-screen displays.
I’ve recently asked a handful of West Point graduates about their memories taking computer coursework on this mainframe, and here are few of the best anecdotes:
“Our mainframe was enclosed in a huge heated and air conditioned room in the bowels of Thayer Hall. We never interacted directly with “THE MACHINE.” We created flow charts and wrote code in an abbreviated version of fortran called cadetran. Then we created punch cards which represented each operation of our code. If there were no “hanging chads,” and if the damn cards were in the right order, and after waiting hours (or days) for everyone else whose stacks of cards were in line in front of us, our program would get run by “THE MACHINE.” Frustratingly, I rarely got my programs to work properly on the first run. I usually wrote good code. Failure to catch that “hanging chads” had caused the card reader to misread a card, or failure to have them all in the proper order was typically the culprit. But it took an inordinate amount of time to track down the culprit, create new cards and/or reorder cards (opportunities for more error – like inspection walking the area is an opportunity for more demerits!), place card stacks into the queue again, and wait. Oh yes, I remember it well….”
“My classmate had a program in his hands one day that was about four inches high. As he was crossing the road they slipped and the wind took punch cards to hell and back. It took us fifteen minutes to police them all up.”
“Some of us played Star Trek [one of the earliest computer games] while most were lost in space. Time was of the utmost importance. As if by magic, by the time our terminal got to the last line in a drawing, the last multiple guess, the final print-out, the 635 would disconnect.”
“Prior to Cadetran we also did programs in a version of Basic which I think they called Cadet Basic. I was fortunate to take a couple of electives in Management Science that actually used computers to solve problems, rather than just running programs to learn computers… In spite of the operational hurdles it took to actually use USMA computers, we did learn the concepts of computer science. At least I like to think that foundation is what allowed me to go into CS for my graduate work.”
“I was enrolled in a Fortran course (known as FORTY). I am sure most remember working on teletype variants in which your input was typed as a new line on a very long sheet of paper and your output came back the same way. That and punch cards were the standard. As someone taking an elective, I was admitted to the outer rings of cognoscienti. At one class period, this semi-select group was taken down the hall by our Professor. He pulled out his keys and opened a locked door, ushering us into what was surely one of the sanctums of computer engineering. In that stronghold, I was shown a strange new device in which our interactions with the computer were displayed, a CRT! Of course it was monochrome with everything displayed in various shades of green. We emerged discussing our discovery in hushed and reverent tones.”
“I remember when we witnessed a demonstration of programs drawing vectors on the screen of a monitor. That was top notch stuff. FORTRAN was fun; it made me think I wanted to go into computer science. COBOL was so boring that I changed my mind. Our mainframe was a 635, Honeywell or GE. I can’t remember which company bought the sector from the other.”
“I just remember hand writing out the code, and then transferring it to the punch cards, and waiting – a common refrain from you all. As I recall, in the late 60’s, it was always a challenge to decide whether to use the faster automated punch card writing machines (that took whatever you gave them even if it had a typo) or to use the slower but potentially more accurate mark sense punch cards. I am still not sure how we ever identified the errors, much less corrected them.”
“Yes I remember the card punch room outside the glassed-in computer. That’s where I learned a phrase I still use today. The Do loop. 010 Do 20 020 Do 10 I’ve been in a do loop ever since.”
“The more important memory for me was the Star Trek game. I look at video game interfaces now and think about the mental math that was required to play that game and just shake my head in wonder that it was actually as much fun as it was. I also learned not to go up to the terminal room until somewhere around 10 at night. If I went up earlier, I would get so absorbed in the game that I wouldn’t notice the time. Taps would come and I would realize that I hadn’t gotten all the rest of my assignments done. I guess that qualifies as addictive behavior, but at least I worked out strategies to control it! Those memories also make it hard for me to get too far up on my high horse with my boys when they spend entire evenings playing video games!”
On that note, I’m going to sign off and play some video games myself.
Have a great week and remember to protect your nuts!