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By Patrick Donoghue

In the next two installments of Legends of ITV I have taken on the role of archeologist, in order to unearth some of most unusual and rare specimens of remote controls the world has never seen. I have enlisted a few experts to help with my excavations, including my friend, colleague, former partner, former boss and co-conspirator, Tab Noble. As I dug deep into the rich soil of the ITV graveyard, I discovered horrible and terrifying things that should remain buried for all eternity!

Hit That–Push This
—Field report filed by Tab Noble

During the early 90’s, the Jurassic period of ITV, when all sorts of UI life roamed the terrain and Darwinian selection hadn’t quite kicked in, many odd ideas crawled out of the ooze to briefly blink in the bright evolutionary sunlight.

The separation of UI species created two distinct genetic camps: firstpersonus shootimupinae and diginocturnius frustrationus. Or by their more colloquial names, "Hit That" and "Push This."

The "Hit That" species was spawned on the premise that if a mouse and cursor was good enough for navigating a computer screen, then navigating an interactive TV screen with the same system should work just as well. The upside was that you could get the physical UI down to just one button, as illustrated by the fossilized remains of the early AT&T remote pictured here.

The down side was that you had to place the business end of the interface on-screen. At the time, the average household TV set was about 19", had about 250 lines of resolution, and in most cases over-scanned to the point that Bryant Gumble’s forehead was usually so far off the screen that it might as well have been on another channel. That, coupled with an average viewing distance of about 10 feet, required old Aunt Mini to have the sniper skills of a Halo 2 master to change channels. It also required plastering Bryant’s limited forehead space with NASCAR levels of icons, logos, banners and other visual controls.

One unanticipated but interesting cause-and-effect of this evolutionary way-point was that the electronics of the era dictated a set-top box that was "set-top" in name only. The joke was that you could order it in French Provincial or Danish Modern. Its sheer size dictated that it was usually placed with the rest of one’s stereo gear in a rack off to the side of the set or the side of the room or the next room down the hall…. With the IR remote sensor embedded in its face plate, it created the odd effect of the cursor disappearing off the screen whilst one was pointing the remote at the screen. Natural selection mercifully dictated the demise of firstpersonus shootimupinae.

At the same moment in time, "Push This," or–as roughly translated from diginocturnius frustrationus–"Fat Fingers in the Dark," crawled up, shook its nubby skin free of the primordial dew, and promptly burrowed itself into the crack between the couch cushions.

Note the plethora of buttons "Push This" had for selecting everything from volume up to a "Tuna down with fries." This is a real remote from a really big deployment where the really big manufacturer couldn’t tell the really big client what all the really tiny buttons actually did! A true story that resonates across the eons, still getting a laugh until this day. And who said evolution has no sense of humor?

This remote did spawn the identification of a real law of nature, not unlike Einstein’s Unified Field Theory or Kaafpull’s Law of Quantum Mechanics: that keys are always found in the place you look last. It’s called The Underwear Rule. If you can’t operate it with one hand, in the dark, without your glasses, in your underwear, it ain’t gonna fly. Not that underwear is a requirement, but you get the picture…perhaps unfortunately.

The species diginocturnius frustrationus eventually won the battle for genetic supremacy and spawned any number of sub-species that exist to this day. Some of today’s remotes reach back into the shallow end of the gene pool and continue to violate The Underwear Rule. Some with a blithe disregard that crosses completely into blind vengeance toward nature. Hopefully, time and the unwavering laws of evolution will deal them the blow they so richly deserve.

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When the earth was a molten mass (1993-1995), Tab Noble was senior project director, Interactive Television Labs, Viacom NY.

He is currently vice president of IP content development at TDS Telecom. He can be reached at tab.noble@tdstelecom.com.

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Only the readers of [itvt] know where all the bodies are buried. It’s not too late to dig up your pictures and stories for the next installment of Legends of ITV! With the help of Ty Lam, I have collected some of the most arcane remote controls to ever walk the earth. Stay tuned!

**Patrick J. Donoghue is an ITV veteran with the scars to prove it. Since 1992 he has received four Emmys and an [itvt] Award for Leadership in Interactive Television. To contribute to this column, write to: donoghue@itvt.com

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