The great question of the 21st century is who or what is TLW, self-proclaimed World's Greatest Genius (WGG), always controversial, a mystery man who looks like a cross of Moses and Zeus with the Abominable Snowman and once parallel-parked a train, he is the most interesting man in the world, imagine Matt Damon in Good Will Hunting only at fucking age 60, talk to your health care professional, what's the capital of West Virginia Woof, when it comes to my family at breakfast I need all the help I can get. Get a good drink ready and read my thumbnail bio.
Born in 1953. A lot went down in White-Is-Right 1953, which was the birth year of Am. pansophist, historyscoper, knowledge engineer, software engineer, novelist and fiction author (casting agent, bel-esprit, the 21st cent. Gibbon, Webster, Franklin, Bacon, Descartes, Shakespeare et al., last of the Renaissance men, et. al.) T.L. (Thomas Lionheart, er, Lee) "Tom" "Tommy" "Too Large" Winslow (Jr.) (AKA TLW) (Grandmaster Big Tom Slow), "The Historyscoper"™, "The Iron Chef of World History"™, "The World's Greatest Genius"™, "The Sponge"™, "Barba Blanca"™, "The Boy Who Never Got Out of School"™, "The Most Serious Dude on Earth"™, "The Computer Is My Exercise Cycle"™ "The Old Gringo"™, on Jan. 18 (Sun.) (6+6+6?) [Capricorn] [tail end of the lucky Chinese year of the Dragon] at 8:10 a.m. MST in Rocky Mountain Osteopathic Hospital in Denver, Colo. (9.5 lbs., blonde hair, blue eyes, which later turn hazel green); parents are Wilma Louise Morrow (Feb. 10, 1925 - Dec. 17, 2010) (a Methodist born in Kansas City, Mo.) and Thomas Lee Winslow Sr. (Oct. 7, 1925 - 1992) (a Latter Day Saint long-haul ICX Denver-Chicago truck driver WWII European war vet) (met on a tour bus he was driving, married on June 18, 1950 in Raton, N.M., divorced in 1956); his mother had a miscarriage a year before TLW, a male whom she wanted to name Gregory, because TLW Sr. resembles actor Gregory Peck; his parents conceive TLW during a rainstorm in Idaho Springs, Colo. in the mountains W of Denver, and this time daddy takes over in the hospital and names him after himself, but the nurse forgets to add the "Jr." to the birth certificate; Doubting Thomas (John 20:24-29) (Lat. "Didymus" = twin), born in two-faced Janus-uary?; delivering physician Dr. William Brown comments on how straight TLW's back is; reads Gibbon's "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" at age 8 like Winston Churchill, along with the Bible, and becomes a dyed-in-the-wool atheist by age 12; the biggest kid in school, gives up an early life of bully and juvenile delinquent by the 6th grade, then turns into a bookworm and begins a program of mastering all the world's knowledge, causing friction with the established school system, but stays in and fakes it until his early 20s, then bails out with an electrical engineering degree, toys with an engineering career with McDonnell Douglas, TRW, Boeing and other defense contractors until personal computers come out in the early 1980s, then programs computer games for PCs under the trademark "Tommy's Toys", then becomes a fiction author, writing novels and publishing them as ebooks on the Web, finally turning into a full-time historyscoper after 9/11 gives him a reality jolt; at age 49 he gives up training to be the world's strongest man after experiencing disc problems at 6'5" height and 440 lbs. body weight, and devotes his life to his mind, uttering the soundbyte "I'm smarter than Einstein, because Einstein is dead and I'm alive", launching the Great Track of Time slash Historyscope project did-I-say on Sept. 11, 2001 right after viewing the destruction of the WTC in New York City on TV.
If I could turn back time? Gerber missed my photo opp? My daddy Thomas Lee Winslow (b. 1925) insisted that I should be named after him, but the nurse forgot to include the "Jr." on the birth certificate, which turned out good when my mother threw the alcoholic bum out when I was three.
Denver, Colorado, 1960. Just discovering how dumb everybody else was, maybe they just use a smaller fraction, maybe I got more cylinders? Too bad, I had no father, and my mother let me run wild, don't ask about my police record? Always the biggest kid in school, and the smartest, I was bored to death with the crap and spent my time as a master juvenile delinquent who got into every kind of mischief available and virtually always got away with it, a totally alpha male who kicked a lot of butt in afterschool fights, and only lost one fight in my entire life, when I took on a kid who had been set back two years and was known as Big John, only to have his entire gang jump me, luckily some adults came to my rescue. From first grade on I had bad experiences with being singled out for being so smart, and developed a plan to avoid being pushed and promoted in school in order to allow a long, carefree adolescence and avoid hardening of my frontal lobes, so I would alternately play at acing tests and throwing them to avoid attracting too much attention, not an underachiever but a master of disguises, reading the textbook the first week and then hoping somebody else would be the class star so I could draft off of them but never be the star, never the one to talk in class, and if I messed up and got found out I'd find a way to disappoint and return to non-star status, like a secret agent sent to study the primitive aborigines and wanting to blend in despite my giant head too big for a hat and my body too big to fit in the desk chairs. Until the 7th grade my intellectual life was a struggle to keep the childhood mindset where magic is real, reading every comic book that came out, plus a steady stream of porno in plain envelopes (I knew everything before reaching puberty, which before the Internet was precocious?), and books from the Johnson Smith catalog on magic tricks and the occult. Then the day came that I finally got serious, retired as petty crime boss of Denver, went straight and lived in the local branch library, starting a life plan to read the entire collection starting with the reference section (which I'm still working on?), while getting so sedentary that I systematically dropped all school athletic ambitions (in 6th grade I won a large collection of blue ribbons in track and field, and in the 7th grade I went out for basketball, but by the 8th grade I was so slow from my sedentary lifestyle that I couldn't make the team despite being the tallest guy in school, and tried swimming and tennis but quit when I saw the long hours required, and finally just got some dumbells and a chest expander so I could exercise while studying, which I been doing for 40 years). In 8th grade I became one of the original Trekkies, complete with Spock haircut, and built my own chem lab with meteorology station and radio shack designed to seem like the Starship Enterprise. In 9th grade I discovered the Dover book reprint mail order company, which fed me with a stream of the coolest college and postgrad level books from the past, all subjects I'm game, and failing to gain access to a college-level library that would let me check books out I took a correspondence course in electronics, built my own oscilloscope, and got a Ham Extra license on the first try (which made my high school science teacher jealous, so I spliced an antenna coax incorrectly and burned out the school ham transmitter to satisfy him he still had something on me, obviously I was all book theory and no practical experience?), followed by a First Class Radiotelephone prof. license at age 18, by which time I was sure I'd never use them, as a mere career was too far below my level. I wrote my first novel at age 16, "Clip Clop Clip Sip", don't ask I lost it during a move 10 years later, and ain't I glad.
Denver, Colorado, 1971. My last year at 90% white Abraham Lincoln H.S. in Denver, Colo. (now 90% Latino). Already knew too much history and communed with dead spirits so often that I was a cynical serious old man before I could vote? The draft ended the year I was up, and all kinds of other luck? Late in high school I discovered I was on track to be valedictorian so I had to screw up enough grades to come in a comfortable 3rd and let somebody else win the big scholarship, being content with a small one that didn't demand all As again so I could enjoy a university my way, in the era before clicking made universities obsolete and I still had to play along in their system. Having done everything adults did when I was a minor, I was burned out on adult sins by 18 and could ive with or without them, tada, the mature independent man nobody could own. At that point if I wasn't a pansophist I coulda gone into business and been a billionaire by 30, lucky I didn't throw my life away, and decided to buy time by enrolling in a university, as long as they paid. Too bad, modern universities are geared to crank out superspecialists, which clashes with my pansophist tendencies, causing me to dump my original academic career choice of English (preferably Shakespeare) professor, followed by choice #2, philosophy professor (choice infinity was history professor, since I wasn't going to rummage through old chests for letters, too low-level for moi). The grad picture shows my long hair hippie look, picked up after the Summer of Love and a girl next door, causing me to pick nearby Boulder, Colo. for college, since it was the gathering place for hippies and I wanted to infiltrate them for awhile. Too bad, when I saw how slimy real hippies were and couldn't stand the smell of weed I let it slide after the first year, helped by the herd of hippies all being older and passing through ahead of me, and the later sight of tons of hippies without jobs or ambition hanging around Boulder after graduation for years, aging at jet speed. After seeing the physics towers and labs, I wanted to be a Ph.D. physicist and be the next Einstein, but after checking out the engineering building with its cool caveman architecture and labs, at the last minute I realized physics was too easy and had been all mined out, and it's about doing things with physics in the age of the computer, so I decided to enroll in engineering school and be like Scotty, only to discover that the curriculum was too narrow, and I had to master all the math disciplines, sciences and technologies throughout the university, like I am born to, not just get a job. After I took advantage of their system and tried to enroll in every course in the university, the whole faculty tended to treat me like a challenge to flunk out, but after they couldn't they settled with treating me like a rumor, but still did nothing to ease my way so that I only passed a measly 300 semester hours (mostly upper division and grad classes), rather than the 1000 I wanted in 4-1/2 years. Nobody ever figured out how I studied the textbooks and did homework during class only and spent all the other hours working through the library system or working out at the gym. But time flies, and after hearing all those professors yak and disappoint me with how dull and narrow they were I finally reached the point where I knew I'd never need them again, I'm my own teacher, and my kind of curriculum takes half my life just to warm up, Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune at 24/7, so I decided to leave academia at age 23 as too far below my level. Instead of giving me at least a half dozen masters degrees they only gave me one lousy bachelor's in engineering (not that I had to pay anything to attend or applied for more, or would use them for anything). Meanwhile, as my classmates launched their great engineering careers, I had to try it, and ended up sticking with it for several years, while my continued life studies went on in local university libraries at my own speed. Big yawn, right?
Seattle, Washington, 1980. My attempt to check out the hi tech industry in the glory days began in 1976, and by now I had worked for three major defense contractors on a dozen major projects (including the early version of Star Wars, which I told them had too many potential countermeasures, not that they listened), and became self-employed, billing myself as the world's greatest software engineer and really was, not that I could make much of a dent in a field flooded with the mediocre, how could I know that Bill Gates had the game rigged by then? (How many times did your Windoze crash today? Tell Bill to peel me off a gigabuck and I'll fix all the problems, not.) Too bad, I'm not cut out for mere business, and coulda started Microsoft if I wanted to quit college, or Atari or Digital Research, and later I coulda started Netscape, Yahoo, Amazon, Google, YouTube, yes, I was there and did that before they did, but where would I be now, nowheresville as far as my true goals of being the Historyscoper, are you still a 40 year old virgin, yes I am? Yes, I always knew when to pull out of hi tech before it started to own me and ruined my life with having a real (gag) business to run, that I left to them less ambitious dudes. Once the Internet came out I quit being a provider of information technology and a consumer of the information on it. By now software engineers are a dime a dozen and work for fish heads and rice in Asia, it's way too far below my level except maybe to throw them a bone. So what am I, what what what? I don't want money, fame, or powah, or even a damn good management job with stock options, let's not even talk about a wife and kids, just knowledge, I want to trade my life for a Knowledgedike Bar, you can't take it with you but it's what you become and do before you leave the world behind, administer a Heimlich maneuver on the way to the car and hand me my laptop in the back seat? TLW, the most knowledgeable man on Earth, karma's mystery, so ripped I must get laid all the time, you must read my latest prognostication.
Denver, Colorado, 1991. I finally get it all together and live the cool life of resident WGG, the kid who never left school, with a body so huge nobody would even ask if I graduated from high school? Between my herculean study sessions and carefree lifestyle, the one-man software game company Tommy's Toys, and about 18 novels, I snuck off to the gym and bulked up to 400 lbs., 6'5", 62 in. chest, 34 in. thighs, 23 in. biceps, and was training for world's strongest man that could lift anything without a weightlifting belt and never injure myself, when I neared 50 and my disks gave out, like the undercarriage of a car going bad, not the engine the shocks and suspension, code blue, time to get serious and live totally for my mind, the Historyscoping adventure begins. Maybe I was born with it, maybe it's Maybelline, but just when I couldn't stand living in libraries anymore because of my bad disks, cheap home broadband came out and I'm 20, I'm the disco king again.
After years of virtually limitless Googling and book study sessions in my eyrie, I'm turning white, barba blanca and all, and don't want a bottle of hair color, I earned it, and am developing my coolest look yet, the ancient Greek philosopher slash Greek god look, Herodotus maybe, how about Plato, maybe Neptune or Zeus? I use Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel Jehovah for my logo, since that's me 500 years ago during the Renaissance, knock on wood. My magnum opus nearing a state of publishability, I must do the distasteful and enter the world of business, viz. the publishing industry, paper and Internet, and try to find a company and/or investor that wants to marry me and put a ring on my finger in return for me becoming their goose that lays the golden eggs so that I can eventually create an organization of Historyscopers to take over when I'm gone, let's not make predictions but I know er, history.
TLW 500 years ago?
But what is Winsloe, Winslow, Win Slow? Yes, I owe a lot to my family history, being partly English, with an English name, my ancestors tracing through the family of Worcestershire, England-born Edward Winslow (1595-1655), who swim-swam-swum the pond to Plymouth, Massacusetts on the Mayflower in 1620, where they became big in Massachusetts ever since, although I have to admit I'm embarrassed by the white-is-right Puritan holier-than-thou mentality of 17th century Winslows like Edward's son Josiah Winslow (1628-80), who led the genocide against the red aborigines in Massachussets in 1675, trusting to the Lord as his Savior, and thinking that a dish of burning Indian women and children with geno on the side was more godly than enslaving them on encomienda 24-hour all-u-can-eat salad bars like in the Catholic Hemisphere, and that miscegenation sounded like a definitely untasty Biblical no-no, so what's left for the godly pure-a-ton English to do but to fire the unlicensed carpet cleaner subcontractors and do the dirty work themselves?
Although TLW comes from such embarrassing roots (don't accuse me of being English, them's fighting words?), one good thing is that America is the great melting pot, and by the time he came along, the Winslow Family Tree (Winslow is better than Losefast?) (Inslow, and hard to get out?) had fornicated their way west to Denver, Colorado, systematically diluting their pure English blood, so that TLW 1953 came out one well-kneaded piece of Play-Do, basically one-quarter English, one-quarter German, one-quarter Scot, and one-quarter Slav (Czech, i.e. Bohunk), with a pinch of French, Irish, and Cherokee Indian, and religiously, Mormons on his father's side and Methodists on his mother's side, after which he became a dyed-in-the-wool atheist by 16 (then by 46 decided he wasn't so sure anymore and had to rethink the other side, so call him an agnostic), so when it comes to Western history, TLW doesn't know which side he's supposed to be on, or what he's supposed to believe, but he tends to like the underdog, although he'll keep his official English Winslow Coat of Arms with a tree stump suspended over the shield and helmet handy in case the queen stops by and wants to knight him with a spare stump, and the motto "Decoptus Floreo" (Truth Crushed to Earth Shall Rise Again), perfect for the Historyscoper (tm).