From owner-freebsd-security Wed Feb 25 11:46:11 1998 Return-Path: Received: (from majordom@localhost) by hub.freebsd.org (8.8.8/8.8.8) id LAA28124 for freebsd-security-outgoing; Wed, 25 Feb 1998 11:46:11 -0800 (PST) (envelope-from owner-freebsd-security@FreeBSD.ORG) Received: from time.cdrom.com (root@time.cdrom.com [204.216.27.226]) by hub.freebsd.org (8.8.8/8.8.8) with ESMTP id LAA28115 for ; Wed, 25 Feb 1998 11:46:06 -0800 (PST) (envelope-from jkh@time.cdrom.com) Received: from time.cdrom.com (jkh@localhost.cdrom.com [127.0.0.1]) by time.cdrom.com (8.8.8/8.6.9) with ESMTP id LAA19018; Wed, 25 Feb 1998 11:44:53 -0800 (PST) To: Pierre.Beyssac@hsc.fr (Pierre Beyssac) cc: pondemer@isty-info.uvsq.fr (Nicolas Pondemer), freebsd-security@FreeBSD.ORG Subject: Re: Invisible Carbon Copy in mail.. In-reply-to: Your message of "Wed, 25 Feb 1998 16:29:23 +0100." <19980225162923.KC45188@mars.hsc.fr> Date: Wed, 25 Feb 1998 11:44:52 -0800 Message-ID: <19015.888435892@time.cdrom.com> From: "Jordan K. Hubbard" Sender: owner-freebsd-security@FreeBSD.ORG Precedence: bulk > Are you talking about Bcc: (Blind Carbon Copy) ? It's not a rumor. > Most decent mail user agents implement this, and even less decent > ones. I think this little story, courtesy of the USENET Oracle, pretty much explains the origins of the term: ---- The Usenet Oracle has pondered your question deeply. Your question was: > So Orrie old chum, what this "Bcc" business in the headers of my > document. And in response, thus spake the Usenet Oracle: } "Bcc" stands for Blind Carbon Copy. But that doesn't tell you much. } Sit back and learn a bit of Net lore. } } Back in the ancient, cloudy, misty days of the ancestors of the } Internet, back around 1979, an old, worn-out blues musician used to } warm his tired bones in the sun on Sproul Plaza at the University of } California, Berkeley, from time to time putting his old harmonica to } his mouth and playing a riff or two, and now and then saying "God } bless you" to some kind soul who had thrown a coin in his battered old } derby. } } Come December it grew cold, even in California, and the venerable } blues man began looking for a building he could doze in without being } thrown out. Eventually he discovered the Computer Center, an ideal } place because in those glorious days the only people using it were } True Hackers who worked at night and slept during the day, mostly face } down alongside their keyboards. Once our protagonist had rescued an } old Cal sweatshirt from a trash can and begun wearing it while he } napped at a terminal station, no one questioned his right to be there. } } This old blues man, of course, was none other than Blind Carbon Copy. } } He had picked up the majority of his nickname back in the '20s, when } as a boy he would sneak into the honky-tonks and listen to the sweet } Delta blues he heard there, then sneak back home and practice what } he'd learned. One night when a young Al Jolson was performing, Bcc } was so caught up in the music that he forgot to wait until he was home } to practice, and when Al and the boys came out the stage door they } found a young boy in the alley singing his heart out in a perfect } imitation of the Master. "Al, that boy just a carbon copy of you," } the bass man said, and the name stuck. } } Now Blind Carbon Copy wasn't blind, but did you ever hear of a Delta } blues man who wasn't nicknamed Blind something? } } --Well, after a few days of napping in the Berkeley lab Bcc got } curious about what all those red-eyed young-'uns was doing there, and } he started moving from monitor to monitor and reading over people's } shoulders. He couldn't make much out of FORTRAN or C code, but every } now and then he'd come upon someone reading his e-mail, and he'd read } the message, and make a song out of it if he could, walking off into } the center of the room and softly accompanying himself on his blues } harp: } } I've got a na-aasty bug, an' I'm feelin' mighty blue } } I said mah code's got a big bug, makes me feel so goddam blue } } Mah core's gone an' dumped me, said mah programmin' days was } through! } } His lyrics eventually worked their way into the bleary consciousnesses } of the Berkeley hackers. Dumbfounded at first, they quickly warmed to } the idea of improvisational blues e-mail, and pretty soon got in the } habit of calling Blind Carbon Copy over--when he was awake, of } course--when they had received a particularly promising message that } they wanted him to render. Some of the more musical of the group got } Bcc to teach them how to sing the blues too, and began doing their own } riffs when Bcc was asleep or away. } } Well, the Berkeley group split up, as all things will; Bcc went back } to Louisiana to live with his daughter's family, the hackers } graduated, or got jobs, or became bums. But whenever one of them sent } e-mail to someone working with one of the old crowd, they'd attach a } header reading, let's say, "Blind Carbon Copy: William Joy", to } indicate that the recipient should call Bill Joy over to do the blues } on the message. } } Before long the header was shortened to the standard "Bcc" in Berkeley } sendmail. But the tradition lives on. Mostly nowadays the Bcc } heading is just a ritual gesture, and few are the companies and } schools where people know enough Net history to call for one of their } colleagues to come sing their e-mail when they have a Bcc line. But } now you know, and you know what to do, and remember, above all, that } even if you get funny looks when someone's reading over your shoulder } and laying down that e-mail wail, there's an old Delta blues man, } lying in a bed in an old-folks home in Baton Rouge now, who hears and } is blessed every time you sing them. } } Blind Carbon Copy--part of your Internet heritage! } } (This Oracularity sponsored by the Internet Cultural Task Force, the } Corporation for Public Broadcasting, and the Louisiana Office of } Tourism.) To Unsubscribe: send mail to majordomo@FreeBSD.org with "unsubscribe security" in the body of the message