VVery few Yugoslavs had access to computers in the early 1980s: they were mostly the exclusive domain of large institutions or companies. Importing home computers like the Commodore 64 was not only expensive, but also legally impossible, thanks to a law that restricted ordinary citizens from importing individual goods worth more than 50 DM (the Commodore 64 cost more than 1,000 DM at its launch ). Even if someone in Yugoslavia could afford the latest home computers, they would have to resort to smuggling.
In 1983, engineer Vojislav “Voja” Antonić was increasingly frustrated by the absurd Yugoslav import laws. “We had a public debate with politicians,” he says. “We tried to convince them that they should allow (more expensive items), because it’s progress.” However, the efforts of Antonić and others were unsuccessful and the limit of 50 German marks remained. But maybe there was a way around it.
Antonić was reflecting on this while on holiday with his wife in Risan, Montenegro, in 1983. “I was thinking about how it would be possible to make the simplest and cheapest computer possible,” says Antonić. “As a way to have fun in my free time. That’s all. Everyone thinks it’s an interesting story, but actually, I was bored!” He wondered if it would be possible to make a computer without a graphics chip or a “video controller,” as they were commonly known at the time.
Typically, computers and consoles have a CPU, which forms the “brain” of the machine and performs all the calculations, as well as a video controller/graphics chip that generates the images seen on the screen. In the Atari 2600 console, for example, the CPU is the MOS Technology 6507 chip, while the video controller is the TIA (Television Interface Adapter) chip.
Instead of having a separate graphics chip, Antonić thought he could use part of the CPU to generate a video signal and then replicate some of the other video functions using software. It would mean sacrificing processing power, but in principle it was possible and would make the computer much cheaper.
“I couldn’t wait to try it,” says Antonić. As soon as he returned from his vacation, he put together a prototype and, lo and behold, it actually worked. Thinking outside the box had been worth it.
His next thought was that perhaps other people would want to create their own version of the computer, although he didn’t foresee how far that particular thought would take him. “Everything that happened next was not my fault,” he says, “but because of intelligent journalists, who knew how to write good stories.”
Journalist Dejan Ristanović regularly wrote articles on computing for the Yugoslav popular science magazine Galaksija (Galaxy in English), and met Antonić in the summer of 1983 to talk about the inexpensive, intelligent computer he had come up with. Yugoslavia did not have any local magazines dedicated to computing at the time, but computers were certainly under Galaksija’s scientific mandate. Ristanović was impressed with Antonić’s design and his editors decided that it should be included in a special 100-page spin-off magazine called Racunari u vasoj kuci (Computers in Your Home).
The 100-page magazine would contain detailed instructions on how readers could build their own version of Antonić’s computer. At the time he did not have a name for the machine, but it was quickly decided that it should be named after the publication, and it was duly named Galaksija.
Antonić and Ristanović, along with editor Jova Regasek, began working together to perfect the machine and provide detailed instructions on how to build it. Readers could order a self-assembly kit from a Croatian company that contained all the components they needed: the chips came from Austria and the other components (such as printed circuit boards) came from Yugoslavia. Readers could also submit their EPROMs to load the Galaksija software, which included Galaksija BASIC and a limited character set (only uppercase characters were included, as there was no space to include lowercase letters).
The first issue of Racunari u vasoj kuci is dated January 1984, although the edition actually went on sale in December 1983. Antonić and Ristanović expected that perhaps a few hundred people would send for a kit to build their own Galaksija. But the magazine’s initial circulation of 30,000 copies quickly sold out and a reprint was made, and then another. In total, around 100,000 copies of that first issue were sent. “And we received more than 8,000 letters from those who built Galaksija,” says Antonić. “I have seen that pile of letters, it was enormous, it was unimaginable. Only then, when I saw that, I thought, wow, something is really happening.”
An interesting quirk of Galaksija is that the kit did not come with a case. Some readers improvised their own cases made of metal or wood, while many other Galaksijas remained “naked.” The result is that no two Galaksijas are alike.
One person who really helped boost Galaksija’s profile in the early days was Zoran Modli. He hosted a show called Ventilator 202 on Radio Belgrade and was approached by the Racunari. Jova Regasek, with the idea of streaming programs for the Galaksija and other home computers, such as the ZX Spectrum and the Commodore 64. The programs could be loaded onto the Galaksija via audio cassette, so the idea was that Modli could play the beeps and squawks of a program on their show, then listeners could record the broadcast and load the broadcast program onto their machine. It was essentially a type of wireless download long before the advent of Wi-Fi, or even the Internet as we know it.
Computers gained popularity in Yugoslavia over the next few years. Ironically, the success of Galaksija’s media campaign ended up being to the detriment of the computer itself. It was so successful that it highlighted the pressing need for Yugoslavs to have access to computers, and about a year after the first Racunari meeting Following the magazine’s publication, authorities modified regulations that prevented the legal importation of foreign microcomputers. Galaksija had done his job of introducing computers to an entire generation so well that they became obsolete almost immediately.
The government raised the import limit to 50 German marks in 1985, and the new import limit “was enough to buy a Spectrum computer,” Antonić says. So, did his invention of the Galaksija directly lead to this change in the law? “I think so,” he says, “but I can’t prove it. “It’s just my opinion.”
Now that the Yugoslav public had access to more powerful machines like the Sinclair ZX Spectrum, the humble Galaksija seemed less attractive. “The Galaksija project was doomed to failure,” laments Antonić. “The only reaction among people was to laugh at it. They simply said: ‘Now I have a computer that is 1,000 times more powerful than Galaksija.’” It didn’t help that Galaksija had only a limited software library, which was mostly produced by enthusiastic hobbyists. (If you want to play some Galaksija games yourself, you can find some browser-based games at https://galaksija.net.)
“Shortly after the appearance of the Galaksija computer, wartime began in Yugoslavia,” says Antonić. “And no one was interested in anything more than pure survival.” The violent breakup of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s plunged the Balkans into a horrific war that raged, on and off, for much of the decade. Around the same time, the economy began to collapse as the country entered a period of hyperinflation, leading to the need to print a 2 million dinar note in 1989 and eventually a 500 billion dinar note in 1993, which was worth only one dollar. a few cents
Antonić wrote anti-war articles and continued tinkering with Galaksija and other computer projects. “I just did it as my hobby,” he says. “I was working just for myself. I was very poor at that time and couldn’t earn much from it. But I just did it as my hobby and I was satisfied with it, I was happy with it.” In the turmoil of war, Galaksija had been virtually forgotten. It was during this time that Antonić threw away all of Galaksija’s original prototypes and documentation, thinking that no one would be interested in them.
But in the late 2000s and 2010s, things began to change. Antonić discovered that people were rediscovering Galaksija. “The new century began something I call the ‘hardware renaissance,’” he says. “People became interested in old computers. I’m not a sociologist, I can’t explain it, but somehow they started to get interested. And what is happening now (with Galaksija) is surprising to me. I can’t explain that either!
Computers like the Galaksija not only evoke nostalgia in people who remember them when they were new, but they also teach new generations about the history of computing and the many experiments and innovations that brought us to where we are today. The Galaksija is particularly special, as it provides a connection to a country and a particular set of social circumstances that no longer exist.
The resurgence of interest in Galaksija has been especially moving for Antonić. “It’s healing,” he says. “If I was hurt in the 90s, I healed later. Now I get a lot of emails from people in the US, from Germany, from Australia, from Serbian people who just want to thank me for defining their life, for making them interested in digital computers at the right time in their lives, for that they could change to some area that aroused some interest in them. And they became mostly software programmers, but some of them even do hardware, and they all want to thank me for that.”
Antonić moved to Pasadena in California about five years ago and was greeted like a hero by Silicon Valley tech enthusiasts. He donated a Galaksija computer to the Computer History Museum in Mountain View and is a regular contributor to the hardware hacking website Hackaday. Even when I spoke to him at the age of 69, he had no plans to retire. “I’m still active, I’m working, I’m employed here in Pasadena,” he said. “I’m not thinking about retiring: I hope I won’t have to think about it for some time. Because I just feel like someone is paying me to do my hobby, the same thing I (did) for free a few decades ago. Now I get paid well for it! Not only well paid, but also well recognized.”
That recognition is well deserved. By creating such a brilliantly intelligent machine with so little, Voja Antonić was able to introduce computers to an entire generation, changing countless lives in the process.
This is an edited excerpt from the book Curious Video Game Machines by Lewis Packwood, which explores the stories behind rare and unusual consoles, computers, and coin-op machines. Posted by White Owl, a print of Feather and Sword, you can request a copy direct from Pen and Sword in the UKeither from Casemate in the USas well as Amazon and all the good bookstores.
