by Ron Enderland

For all of you folks out there in the various urban areas in the world, this column may surprise you. I mean, you've probably been happily purchasing computer equipment for at least ten years now. Heck, a lot of you had Apples in the 70's.

Keep in mind, though, that not every area has embraced the PC boom at the same rate. Follow along as I describe the impact of computers in my part of the world . . .

For those of you who weren't aware, I live in Arkansas. Arkansas used to be known as Lum and Abner's state. Then, it became known as the home of a certain retailing chain that overtook all of the others. Eventually, a native by the name of Clinton created a ruckus (that's something we say here) by getting himself elected President. His buddies back home have also made headlines by virtue of their investment and bookkeeping woes.

The point is that Arkansas has received a lot of varied airplay, from the old hillbilly stereotypes to implied (and, often, obvious) illegalities.

Arkansas has never been known as the home of computer addicts.

I bought my first system in December 1993. Among my circle of friends, I was the third to take the computer plunge. Most of us just didn't see the need of buying a smart box when a pocket calculator would serve the purpose just as well.

Well, since then, times have changed. I would estimate that 70% of my buddies have computers now. This seems like a growing trend statewide. All of the local newspapers have websites, you can make reservations at some of the better local restaurants over the net, and everybody's business card features an email address.

Let's face it, though. There are places in Arkansas that fit the bucolic mold. Take Madison county, for example.

Madison county is a hilly piece of land that is like a step into the past. A drive down Madison county roads will net you waves from perfect strangers on their porches and smiles from the few other drivers that you meet.

The per capita income of Madison county is not very high. If you can find a job, it's probably going to involve agriculture, and it's probably going to offer substandard wages. Yet, the lack of money seems to draw people closer and cause a camaraderie that even more developed areas within the state have lost.

It was this poetic waxing that was running through my mind as a friend and I rode my Toyota pickup through the ruts and potholes of gravel State Highway 127, a refrigerator onboard that we were delivering to someone who had visited my yard sale.

We maneuvered through numerous tight curves and up and down steep hills en route to our goal: a well-worn thirty-year-old mobile home.

As we backed up to the porch, the homeowner shooed away the various snarling blue heelers and chows. I stepped out of the truck and went inside to make sure that we could get the fridge into the kitchen.

Opening the door, the first thing I saw was the queen-size bed in the living room. Closer examination of the living area revealed a steel trash can, a fifty-pound sack of dog food, and pictures of Elvis. Then, something off to the left caught my eye.

The man of the house, chaw of tobacco in cheek, was sitting at a desk made of plywood and concrete blocks. He was punching on an ergonomic keyboard attached to a state-of-the-art Pentium 200 MMX machine.

Such is Arkansas. We might be surfing the net, we might be achieving corporate coups, we might find our way into the wrong side of a grand jury investigation, we might even get to run nations, but we're still going to be Arkansans.