Chapter 338: The Fall Of The Lyndon Johnson Era
“At the East Germany Leipzig Trade Fair, China launched its own chess artificial intelligence Deep Red, a move seen as challenging America’s IBM. Chinese officials at the press conference also claimed to be far ahead of IBM. Some conservative newspapers believed the professor played a role similar to Julius Rosenberg, providing key technology to China.”
Approaching the election, perhaps knowing his chances of winning were hopeless, Lyndon Johnson was visiting Redstone Arsenal and Cape Canaveral Launch Center more frequently.
Normally, only at landmark moments like America’s first manned moon landing would Lyndon Johnson make a trip.
Now, almost every GPS satellite launch required Lyndon Johnson to personally attend and watch, and even without a satellite launch, simply because he was going down there for a campaign speech, if it was on the way, Lyndon Johnson would still make a trip, stay for a day, and return to Washington.
As a result, White House reporters privately complained that Lyndon Johnson liked going to NASA so much, why not swap positions with the professor—he could become NASA director, and let the professor come to the White House as president, which would generate even more buzz.
Meanwhile, local newspapers in Washington D.C. reported on the matter like this: “According to White House insiders, Lyndon Johnson no longer holds hope for winning the election. He increasingly cherishes his final days in the White House and the time he can communicate anytime with the world’s smartest brain, which is the fundamental reason for his recent frequent appearances at NASA.”
In the public canteen at Redstone Arsenal, the television was playing the news, which happened to mention the Leipzig Trade Fair across the ocean in Europe, where China’s Deep Red demonstrated its prowess.
It also mentioned Lin Ran, but that was normal—whenever the media could mention Lin Ran, they definitely would, as if no one would watch without mentioning the professor.
Lin Ran had the illusion that he was a hot topic of this era, just like in the future self-media era, where everyone had to include hot topics to gain traffic.
Car reviewers had to compare with Tesla, mobile phone reviewers had to drag Apple out at press conferences, and mobile phone self-media had to pull out Xiaomi and Huawei.
Lin Ran could understand the traffic tactics in the self-media era, but it was only the 1960s now—why were the media already treating him like a hot topic?
Lin Ran looked at Lyndon Johnson sitting across from him and smiled helplessly: “Mr. President, this is absolutely slander!”
Lyndon Johnson nodded: “Of course, this is definitely slander. Professor, you have been so dedicated and tireless for America’s aerospace undertaking. In Chinese terms, it’s ‘devoting oneself until death’.”
Because of Lin Ran, many figures in Washington’s political circles had picked up a few Chinese phrases.
Lyndon Johnson continued: “Suppose we step back ten thousand steps and say you really wanted to provide technology to China. You should be providing aerospace-related technology. Chinese people don’t even have a single satellite.”
Impossible, absolutely impossible! Conservative media’s imagination was too rich, Lyndon Johnson thought.
Lin Ran smiled, thinking that the president still trusted him, but he didn’t know if the next president Nixon would trust him as much as the previous two.
Although he had a favor owed to Nixon, it wasn’t just Nixon—it was also Kissinger.
But that wasn’t a big problem. As a German-descended Jewish person, Lin Ran had a natural upper hand over him.
He thought again: if he really publicly admitted to being Jewish, and then went to China, wouldn’t Kissinger be in big trouble?
Lyndon Johnson continued: “But if it’s really as the media reports, China’s progress in the computer field has indeed exceeded our expectations.”
“Deep Red uses a 32-bit word length architecture, comparable to IBM System/360 Model 85’s 32-bit design, facilitating complex data processing. I guess the Chinese side encodes each position as 8-bit piece type + 8-bit color + auxiliary bits, with a 32-bit data path width. The parallel bus design allows simultaneous handling of multiple register operations, improving computational throughput.
Compared to our BESM-6’s 24-bit word length, Deep Red is more advanced in bit width, and its custom bus optimizes low-power operation.”
“Deep Red’s central processing unit is based on discrete logic circuits, possibly drawing from our Minsk-32 design, but incorporating their own silicon gate circuit integration.
Clock frequency estimated at 3-5 MHz, inferred from host humming and response latency. It can execute complex instructions like multiplication or floating-point arithmetic per cycle. The processor includes 16 general registers, each 32 bits, for storing chess game intermediate states, supporting parallel evaluation of algorithms at the hardware level.
In the on-site demo, the processor showed no obvious failures under high load, indicating industrial-grade reliability, strong anti-interference capability. The Chinese claim that its performance matches Model 85 processor speed is not empty talk.”
“At the hardware level, China’s Deep Red shows astonishing progress. Its silicon transistor integration density far exceeds our 1965 BESM-6, likely due to breakthroughs in self-produced silicon components and technical cooperation in optics between East Germany and China over the past three years.
Professional evaluation shows the machine’s MTBF at about 500 hours, suitable for continuous demos, but heat dissipation design has shortcomings—under prolonged operation, host temperature rises to 50°C, potentially causing transistor drift.
Compared to IBM System/360 Model 85’s thin-film memory and high-speed cache, Deep Red One matches in speed and capacity.”
“Compared to Deep Red, the software named Spreadsheet that China showcased this time is more practical. After personally trying it, I believe this software can play a major role in finance, statistics, resource scheduling, and other data processing work. The scheduling resources it requires are limited, and our computer performance can support its operation. I suggest we develop similar software first for domestic use.”
“China’s progress not only exceeded our expectations but even those of East Germany computer field experts. This not only boosts the Socialism camp’s reputation in AI but also exposes our intelligence lag.
Suggestions: 1. Immediately negotiate technical exchange with the Chinese side to acquire specific technology;
2. Accelerate hardware upgrades for ES EVM series, targeting 32-bit word length and 512K memory;
3. Launch a similar system at the next Moscow trade fair to counter IBM and remind allies that we still hold a leading position in technology.”
Deep Red’s appearance was not just a storm—it had very real impacts. On the evening of the Leipzig Trade Fair, Moscow received a detailed report.
Then Kosygin arranged for senior engineers from the Soviet Academy of Sciences Computer Center to go there. This team of experts arrived in Leipzig on the third day.
The above is the telegraph sent back to Moscow by the lead expert Ivan Petrovich Kovalev.
When Kosygin received the telegraph, he was extremely anxious inside. Was this still the China we knew?
He called in the computer field expert staying domestically, Boris Babayan, director of the Lebedev Institute of Precision Mechanics and Computer Engineering, nicknamed the father of Soviet supercomputers.
At this time, Boris was only in his thirties and already director. After the Soviet Union dissolved, he became architecture director for Intel’s software and solutions division.
Kosygin handed the report on the desk over: “Comrade Babayan, this is the report sent back from Leipzig by Comrade Kovalev.”
Boris took it and became engrossed.
Experts of this era were all good at drawing diagrams.
So Kovalev’s report not only had text but also diagrams, including his estimates of Deep Red’s architecture, as well as graphical interface and spreadsheet for Deep Red One, all with illustrated explanations.
Boris read while thinking internally.
About ten minutes later, Boris looked up: “Comrade Kosygin, China’s progress far exceeds our expectations. Based on the report, they are at least 5 years ahead of us, at minimum five years.
If considering mass production, product stability itself, and technical reserves, the time gap may be even longer.”
Boris’s throat was dry; he really couldn’t imagine that Chinese peers had achieved such a surpass.
During the 1950s honeymoon period, China sent talents from various industries to the Soviet Union for study and exchange. According to relevant statistics, from 1950 to 1965, about 16,000 Chinese students and interns went to the Soviet Union, and the computer field was no exception.
At that time, preparatory students for studying in the Soviet Union had to study for a year at Yanjing Russian Language Institute. Their major was determined during language study, taught directly by Soviet teachers. On Youth Day 1956, the institute’s president announced selecting 100 preparatory students to study electronic computers in the Soviet Union; actually 80 went.
Before departure, Professor Hua Luogeng from the Chinese Academy of Sciences preparatory office gave them a speech.
Boris still remembered those young people from China vividly—they studied diligently, buried in books every day, rarely went out to play with classmates, envied the computers the Soviet Union had, and competed to use them whenever there was a chance for hands-on operation.
His impression was just that.
You say how excellent they were—Boris didn’t see it. Yet this group of Chinese people returned to China and, ten years later, produced a product comparable to America’s and at least one generation ahead of the Soviet Union?
Boris was still recalling: among the Chinese students who came to the Lebedev Institute of Precision Mechanics and Computer Engineering, who was outstanding, who might have been involved in Deep Red One’s research and development and manufacturing? If writing a letter later to contact them, how to probe for as many technical secrets as possible.
What Boris couldn’t guess was that those he could directly contact definitely weren’t involved in this project; those involved, the recipients of his letters could only be Chinese staff.
“Comrade Babayan, it’s like this: the Chinese side says they can cooperate with us on technology. The price is East Germany’s photolithography equipment-related technology. They hope to reach a technology exchange agreement.” Kosygin stared into Boris’s eyes, giving him immense psychological pressure.
“Please evaluate from a professional perspective whether this deal is necessary for us. If China obtains East Germany’s photolithography technology, do we have any ways to restrict them later?” Kosygin continued.
Though Kosygin spoke euphemistically, Boris quickly understood the meaning.
In plain terms, it was still fear that China would break away from Soviet control—hard control was better than soft control, soft control better than no control.
The Soviet Union discovered that among its allies, only China was an indigestible, unboilable, unflattenable, non-explosive copper pea.
Boris was an expert, considering issues more with pure rational thinking.
Kosygin was different. He said darkly: “Nothing is forever. What if one day China is no longer our ally?”
Boris said: “Of course, Comrade Kosygin, that’s possible, but the problem is, we need to catch up now. This technology is of too great significance to the Soviet Union.
Its application scope is too broad; it can fundamentally improve our operational efficiency.
At the same time, this gives us an opportunity, an opportunity to catch up to America.
I’ve thought before why our computer industry has always lagged behind America’s. It’s because we have limited talent in this area and haven’t properly integrated resources from all of Eastern Europe and Moscow.
Our forces are scattered in Kiev, East Berlin, Prague, and Yanjing; our resources are too dispersed.
We should recombine them to have any chance of catching up.
I suggest we establish a large computer company to operate Deep Red One equipment imported from China, to integrate the entire socialism camp’s strength, and build it into a company not inferior to IBM—Deep Red Giant, that’s a good name.
To put it more bluntly, this is using East Germany’s resources to exchange for Moscow’s interests.”
Kosygin’s eyes sharpened: “Good, I understand.”
China’s Deep Red received a total of 50 orders at the Leipzig Trade Fair, mainly from European countries, including Eastern Europe and Western Europe.
Western European countries initially thought China wasn’t selling; later, upon learning it was available and knowing the price, they reluctantly placed orders despite unwillingness.
On one hand, IBM’s supply couldn’t meet Western Europe’s demand; on the other, computer companies in France and England wanted to disassemble China’s Deep Red One.
Ultimately, the average price per unit was 4.8 million US dollars. Just Deep Red One brought sales exceeding 2 hundred million US dollars, not including subsequent maintenance services.
On closing day, the local Leipzig newspaper’s front-page headline was: “1968 Leipzig Autumn Trade Fair Concludes Successfully, Deep Red Shines”
For several consecutive days, Chinese official reports were about how awesome Deep Red was—this one product alone sold over 2 hundred million US dollars, more than the total of all other products combined.
Ordinary people counted the zeros with their fingers, then sighed that one still needs to study math, physics, and chemistry to better contribute to the country.
On the other side, American media also reported on Deep Red, but few believed Deep Red could really match Deep Blue, and few Americans believed Deep Red One far surpassed IBM’s Model 85.
Rather, China’s spreadsheet was published in Silicon Valley science magazines, inspiring many entrepreneurs who started tinkering in garages, with knockoffs urgently needed.
This is free knockoffing, democratic knockoffing, American entrepreneurs defended themselves after launching.
American media didn’t report much, and another important reason was that the election results were about to come out.
Donkey Party candidate Lyndon Johnson and Elephant Party candidate Richard Nixon were about to decide the winner, who would enter the White House.
That was what everyone cared about.
After Hoover’s assassination, Lyndon Johnson’s support rate slid all the way down. In the middle, the Vietnam War ceasefire briefly boosted it, but then it plummeted. By October, his poll numbers trailed Nixon’s by double digits, over 10 percentage points.
This was enough to crush Lyndon Johnson’s defenses. If not for the Donkey Party, he might have even wanted to surrender directly.
November 5 was election day for the presidential election. On voting day, candidates usually stopped public campaign activities and turned to internal coordination and media interactions.
Nixon and Johnson’s teams set up election night parties at different headquarters. These sites gathered supporters, staff, media, and family, focusing on real-time monitoring of TV network vote reporting.
Nixon’s election headquarters was at the Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles, California.
Johnson’s election headquarters was at the Area Resort in Texas, and compared to Nixon’s site, the atmosphere here was obviously much more subdued.
Texas was not only Lyndon Johnson’s hometown but for a long time was a blue state, a Donkey Party stronghold, only gradually turning red after 1980.
In the Donkey Party stronghold, his hometown, Lyndon Johnson could slightly alleviate his inner anxiety.
The scene was lively but tense, filled with discussion voices and TV broadcasts, smoke-filled air, ample food and drinks supplied.
Time reached late night, the atmosphere turned heavy. Many of Lyndon Johnson’s supporters on site saw state after state reporting vote results on TV and realized defeat was certain.
Lyndon Johnson first hugged his wife, then shook hands with every staff member in the room, saying things like “you’ve worked hard,” and finally prepared to go out and give his final speech to supporters.
As he left, he glanced at the door number of his resting room—257—and Lyndon Johnson smiled bitterly, shaking his head, thinking: “Professor, this time your metaphysics can’t save me either.”
