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I consider myself an above-average programmer. Over the past 20 years, I have written more than 100,000 lines of code in many different languages, operating systems, and platforms. I progressed from Basic to Pascal, with a short intermediate stint in assembly language, and by the time I turned 16 had begun learning C from a third-generation photocopy of The C Programming Language (B. W. Kernighan and D. M. Ritchie, Addison-Wesley, 1978). Venting some misspent creativity on four winning entries at the International Obfuscated C Code Contest, now, at 34, I find myself humbly trying to improve my coding and design skills by learning new languages and programming approaches. About a month ago, I embarked on a project that first stalled, then spun so badly out of control I doubted that I would walk away from the crash I knew would have to follow.
However, the project's 35,000 lines of code quickly overwhelmed my cognitive abilities. From gleaming the code and its documentation I also learned that parsing and analyzing C++ was a lot more complicated than I expected, due to namespaces, templates, classes, and their interactions. So I also gave up on C++ and decided to concentrate on the much simpler C. I quickly located a yacc grammar and a lexical analyzer that Jutta Degener, another above-average programmer, wrote in 1995.
Within a couple of hours, I could parse some simple programs. Having a simple grammar, I now needed a C preprocessor. Here I must clarify that I could not build on the code base of the GNU C compiler because of the licensing restrictions it places on work derived from its source code. The Decus-DEC, now Compaq, user group-C preprocessor appeared to fit my requirements and, with some minor arm-twisting, I persuaded it to compile in my environment. Written before publication of the ANSI C standard in 1984, it thus differed in some minor ways-such as the implementation of the stringizing operator and token concatenation-from the final ANSI standard.
More importantly, it reflected another era's programming style. Although the code had abundant comments, meaningful identifier names, clever algorithms, and a structure that used many functions, the preprocessor's designers clearly did not consider abstraction a priority. Most of its functions communicated opaquely using global variables, while the 3,800 lines of code defined only two different C structures. In addition, many aspects of its operation were limited by fixed-size buffers based on the minimum limits dictated by the draft C standard-I can now appreciate why standards specify such limits.
At the time, I persisted with the Decus code due to the difficulty of reimplementing the C preprocessor-a task revealed to be increasingly daunting when I examined the code that performed the macro expansion. A few days later, I had introduced enough of the ANSI C functionality to preprocess the entire 31,000 nonempty lines of the Microsoft Windows SDK windows.h header file, and the files it includes, into a result almost identical to what the Microsoft compiler produced. Only then did I realize that the lack of abstraction I had considered quaint while adapting the source code to handle ANSI C would make any further progress toward integrating the preprocessor with the rest of my system practically impossible.
Spending a few more hours with the PCCTS source code convinced me that it was not a viable solution, either. PCCTS has classes for abstracting everything except the specific functionality I needed to modify. Returning to the drawing board, I decided to implement the C preprocessor from scratch. Naturally, I would do it right: Although I do not consider myself experienced in object-oriented design nor an expert C++ programmer, I saw that I could abstract the various preprocessing phases-trigraph substitution, newline elimination, tokenization, command processing, and macro expansion-as separate classes linked together into a serial stream. Moreover, to backtrack all these classes would need to fetch and push back lexical items into their upstream link. I could therefore embed that common functionality into a superclass. Being a cautious type, I decided to completely implement a single class and thereby test my design's principles.
That's when things started to get ugly. The return type of the subclasses would not match that of the superclass. Nor could the class I intended to use as a stack for frozen included files handle open files gracefully. At the same time, I began to feel uneasy because I was reimplementing functionality already available, albeit with additional baggage, as part of the C++ standard template library.
Could it be that the problems confronting me derived from the new problem domain and, by adopting a trial-and-error approach, I could quickly overcome them? I didn't think so. When programming in Pascal, C, Prolog, or even assembly, I could gradually improve my programming style by reading and learning from code others had written. I could also improve my older programs piecewise by introducing new techniques I had mastered, such as the use of structures, dynamic memory, abstraction, recursion, and coding with type-safety and portability in mind.
All these activities required a relatively small learning investment and provided immediate feedback on the suitability of a particular approach. In this project, however, I faced hard design choices, brittle classes, and a feedback cycle that would span weeks of hard work. The prospect left me terrified.
During these flights, I would often reflect that the pilot might be making his initial flight with passengers aboard or was perhaps making the difficult approach to the Samos airport for the first time. However, I was never worried because, always, beside the young pilot sat a much older copilot, one with hundreds of hours of flight experience. This veteran constantly monitored the approach, guiding his younger apprentice and ever ready to intervene by taking the controls should a serious problem arise.
The airline industry has, over many years, developed and refined procedures and processes to establish a formidable safety record. When reading the NTSB accident reports or browsing airworthiness directives, I am always impressed by the safety culture that permeates the drafting and handling of these documents. Had the software engineering profession drawn upon this culture to make its own products and processes more sound, I may never have found myself stranded in the wreckage of a product I couldn't code my way out of.
I doubt that we will ever see software bug reports-even of safety-critical software-handled with the same attention that NTSB devotes to its accident reports, or that we will see vendor patches installed with the religious care bestowed on airworthiness directives. However, the pilot co-pilot concept applied to software development is an idea whose time has come.
Imagine instead how our profession would evolve if every programmer always coprogrammed with a more experienced, senior counterpart. A seniority ladder could be established to provide incentives for senior programmers to continue programming, thereby ensuring that their juniors would benefit from their experience. Just as a pilot fresh out of school is not allowed to fly a commercial airliner alone, a junior software engineer should not develop software critical to our society without having an experienced peer by his or her side. Over the years, the programmer will gain enough "programming time" to stand by the side of newer colleagues, who will in turn benefit from the senior programmer's experience.
In our profession, the rapidly changing technology will ensure that knowledge flows both ways: The junior programmer will undoubtedly brief the older partner on the newest technologies, tools, and fads. Lucy Berlin and Robin Jeffries have suggested a similar model based on the time honored practice of apprenticeship (Consultants and apprentices: observations about learning and collaborative problem solving, Conference proceedings on Computer-supported cooperative work, November 1-4, 1992, Toronto Canada. pp. 120-137).
To avoid having this system degenerate into a travesty in which a seasoned Cobol programmer attempts to oversee a young Turk coding in Java, we must borrow an additional item from the airline industry: type certification. Organizations that choose to adopt this approach should ensure that both members of the programming pair are familiar at a basic level with the technology they're using, be it SQL, C, Java, or Cobol. Further, the senior member should have considerable experience with that technology.
Second, over the past 10 years I would have received valuable practical mentoring in programming, instead of trying to filter the wheat from the chaff only by reading professional magazines, journals, books, and source code. Finally, I would also be able to discuss my problems with my peers who, looking forward to a financially and professionally rewarding career as senior programmers, would hopefully still be programming.
Would such an approach make economic sense? It could. Given that there is a documented 10-to-1 difference between the productivity of individual programmers (H. Sackman, W.J. Erikson, and E.E. Grant, "Exploratory Experimental Studies Comparing Online and Offline Programming Performance," Comm. ACM, Jan. 1968, pp. 3-11), any approach that can cultivate or retain the right sort of talent will make a positive difference in a company's bottom line. I also believe that 15 years of intense mentoring will yield professionals who occupy the top side of the productivity curve. Further, these professionals will be much more likely to continue working as senior programmers if such a career path is open to them.
Setting up a system that pairs junior programmers with senior mentors presents a nontrivial challenge. To meet it, we will need globally recognized standards for certification and programming experience and an official and portable way to measure, recognize, and remunerate "programming time"-our industry's equivalent of airline flight time. We will also need to overcome the software industry's natural suspicion of a practice that appears to increase the workforce and salary pressures. Establishing such a system, however, will be a sure sign our profession has matured.
Diomidis Spinellis is an assistant professor in the Department of Management Science and Technology at the Athens University of Economics and Business. Contact him at email@example.com.
Editor: Neville Holmes, School of Computing, University of Tasmania, Locked Bag 1-359, Launceston 7250; firstname.lastname@example.org