SPJ isn't a developer, or at least not mainly a developer. He's a computer science researcher, one of the top researchers of his generation in his field. Among

SPJ isn't a developer, or at least not mainly a developer. He's a computer science researcher, one of the top researchers of his generation in his field. Among his peers, what counts are the contributions you make, not what shoes you wear or what font you use. Some researchers will make their presentations look nice because they care about aesthetics, but as long as the meat is there and the slides are readable, nobody really minds odd-looking fonts. In a way, this is a bit like the encounter of a Canadian and a Scottish officer on South Beveland (Netherlands) in October 1944. > In the early hours of the 29th I was out with a unit of carriers, maintaining a standing patrol on the left flank of the battalion. In order to complete our patrol, we utilized some Dutch bicycles to patrol down a dyke to the bank of of the West Scheldt. All our men were desperately tired and in a filthy, wet, muddy condition. On our way we were terribly surprised to find a party of what were obviously Allied troops landing in a small boat. Then forth from one of the boat onto the shore stepped what seemed to me to be the finest soldier I had ever seen in my life, a fine figure of a Scottish gentleman, carrying the shepherd's crook affected by some senior Scottish officers in place of a cane or a swagger stick. He had a small pack neatly adjusted on his back. (I had absolutely no idea where mine was and couldn't care less.) His gas cape was neatly rolled. (I had last sen mine somewhere around Eterville.) He had his pistol in a neatly blancoed web holster. (I had mine in my hip pocket.) He had a neatly kept map case. (I had mine stuck in my breast pocket.) He was a Colonel and I was a Captain. His boots were neatly polished and I was wearing turned-down rubber boots. I did manage to salute, although I think it must have been haphazard. He politely enquired if we were Canadians. (Although who else could have looked as we did?) I assured his we were. He asked if I could direct him to battalion headquarters. I did better than that. I escorted him to battalion headquarters. I was taking no chances on losing such a beautiful specimen to the German Army. * *: D. G. Godspeed, Battle Royal (Toronto 1962), 509. (cited in Terry Copp, The Brigade (Mechanicsburg, PA 2007), 160.)