I spent a few years during the 80s at Symbolics, a computer company that was based half in Cambridge, Massachusetts and half in the San Fernando Valley. I won't say that's the dumbest possible way to set up an organization, although if anyone else were to say it I wouldn't argue. And it did have a certain entertainment value when the email would heat up during the regular championship battles between the Lakers and the Celtics. But if I were running a company, the last thing I'd do is spread its vital functions across multiple timezones.
Now fast forward a dozen years, to the Silicon Graphics acquisition of
Cray Research, the Minnesota-based
maker of incredibly powerful (and
incredibly expensive) computers. Somehow the acquired ended up in
charge of the acquirer; I was one of a group of California-based
engineers reporting to managers in Minnesota who reported back to a Vice
President in California. Makes getting expense reports signed
something of a challenge, I can tell you. But it also led to my
first visit to their our campus in
Eagan, a southeastern suburb of the Twin Cities.
It's clear we aren't in California any more, at least not the
Bay Area. For one thing it's far
too flat. We don't get this kind of view around San Francisco; there
are always mountains in the way. To say nothing of the riot of color
that comes with autumn. (Living in California, I've learned to look
for subtler signs of the seasons, like the increased hit counts on my
Java pages when the colleges are back in full swing.) And nobody in
Silicon Valley can afford to waste land the way they do around here.
The only people in the Valley with an unobstructed view of nature are
at risk of falling into the bay!
Maybe it's having grown up in New York City and lived in Los Angeles
and the Bay Area, but I'm fascinated by any place with the comforts of
a real city and room for a bit of nature. And there's
something particularly magical about the Mississippi River, the way it
twists back on itself again and again almost in defiance of the rules
of plane geometry, the way it evokes the memory of Mark Twain. After
the concrete-lined rivers of L.A. it's nice to see something less
manicured, with civilization kept at a safe distance. It helped that
I arrived at a perfect time: too late in the season for the mosquitos
and too soon for the numbing cold and blistering winds that I just
know are on the way. And the colors, of course, the common
complaint of the California immigrant. (A former officemate in
L.A. once remarked that the one thing she missed about New
England was her friends. And the fall. Which led a coworker to ask
if her friends started dropping off in October. She didn't get it.)
Eagan is also just a few miles from the Mall of America, one of the
wonders of the mercantile world. Although not quite as large as the
one in Edmonton, Alberta, it's
still a remarkable achievement for capitalism. The core of the mall
is Knott's Camp Snoopy, a full sized amusement park with a roller
coaster, ferris wheel, log flume and a dozen other ways to lose the
lunch you just got at the food court. And it's all laid out so you
can almost forget you're inside a shopping center, with plenty of
light and a feeling of space that Edmonton can't quite match.
The rest of the mall has a remarkable collection of shops and
restaurants. It must be quite a challenge to keep so much retail
space filled. There's something for everyone here, from the geometric
and brightly colored world of Lego
blocks that appeal to our inner child to the soporific offerings of
the Lake Wobegon store, Garrison
Keillor's homage to the old fogey in each of us. So does my
affection for both locations mean that I'm immature and
crotchety? Does this make me well rounded or just borderline senile?
(The jury's still out on that one...)
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