How a Young David Lassner Unknowingly Inspired Me to Live in Hawaii

The true story of how the wings of a butterfly in Honolulu created a hurricane in the mind of a teenager in Chicago that completely changed his life.

Peter Kay here, your feral entrepreneur, and I’m here to tell you a story that’ll make you rethink the tiny moments that shape your life. It’s 1980, I’m a 17-year-old Greek kid from Chicago, and I stumble into something that changes my world forever. This isn’t just about me finding a game or a place—it’s about how a random encounter with a computer terminal in a junior college library planted a seed that grew into my Hawaii origin story. It’s about how a then-young college grad, David Lassner, unknowingly set me on a path to an island 4,000 miles away, without either of us realizing it until decades later.

Wandering Into A Library of Wonder

Picture me as a junior at St. Patrick High School in Chicago, 1980. Computers are barely a thing—Apple’s just starting out, and my high school’s still using punch cards and a (now ancient) PDP-8 computer. I’m restless, curious, and one day, I wander down the street to Wright Junior College, a city college I have no business being in. Somehow, I end up in their library. I don’t even remember how—maybe I was dodging homework or just chasing a hunch. But there, in that quiet space, I see something I’d never seen before: computer terminals with glowing orange plasma displays with cool graphics. Not the clunky 10 character-per-second teletype machines I’m used to, but something sleek, futuristic. I’m hooked before I even touch one.

Discovering PLATO’s Empire

These terminals are part of the PLATO system—an educational computer network so advanced for its time it felt like magic. I ask a student administrator for a login, and they hand me a guest account like it’s no big deal. I start poking around, and soon I’m sneaking over after school, logging in to explore this digital wonderland. One late afternoon, I notice a group of guys huddled behind their terminals, eyes locked on the screen and furiously typing short commands. They’re playing a game called Empire, a Star Trek-inspired multiplayer marvel with Federation, Klingons, Romulans, and Orions battling for control of the galaxy. The graphics are primitive by today’s standards—far cruder than an old Nokia phone—but it’s graphical, and it’s multiplayer. In 1980, this is mind-blowing. I’m playing against real people, not a computer, and I’m instantly obsessed.

Hawaii Enters My Orbit

Empire isn’t just a game; it's a multiplayer space battle involving players all around the country. I’m zipping around in virtual starships, doing my best to outwit opponents on this pre-internet network connecting universities. When you get killed, the game tells you who took you out and where they’re from—places like University of Illinois, Florida State and Stanford. But every so often, I see something that stops me cold: “Killed by XYZ at University of Hawaii.” Hawaii. I’m a Chicago kid, raised in a Greek immigrant family, living the “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” life—working in the family restaurant, surrounded by cousins, the whole deal. Hawaii’s not on my radar. I never watched Hawaii Five-O or other tropical shows. But seeing “University of Hawaii” on that screen sparks something. I’m sitting in a library, a 17-year-old with no clue what a tropical island is like, and my imagination’s on fire. Who are these players in Hawaii? What’s it like there? That word—Hawaii—sticks with me, a seed I can’t shake. A seed that eventually carries me just 4 years later to live there for the rest of my life.

A Geek’s Unlikely Legacy

Fast forward to 2016. I’m in Honolulu, sitting across from David Lassner, the president of the University of Hawaii at the time. David’s a tech legend here, a dark-haired guy (well that’s the way I remember him) with a Mediterranean look—he could pass for an Italian or maybe even a Greek—who started as a tech geek in the 70s and climbed to the top at UH. We go way back, bonded over the early internet days when I was building CyberCom, Hawaii’s first commercial website, and he was the university’s Chief Information Officer. We’re industry friends, geeks who’ve shared stages at tech events and occasionally on David’s community TV show before YouTube was a thing. This meeting’s about faculty tech issues, but it’s relaxed—two old friends talking shop. Then we start swapping origin stories, and everything changes.

The PLATO Connection

I tell David about my high school days, sneaking into Wright Junior College to play Empire on the PLATO system. His eyes light up. He leans forward and says, “You know, in the late ’70s, I was at the University of Illinois, Urbana-Champaign, where PLATO was created. I got assigned a special project—to install the PLATO system at the University of Hawaii.” My jaw drops. David Lassner, the guy I’ve known for decades, was the one who brought PLATO to Hawaii. Those terminals where Hawaii players were killing me in Empire? He set them up. Those guys whose kills sparked my imagination? They were playing on David’s machines. It hits me like a photon torpedo: David Lassner is a key link in the chain that brought me to Hawaii.

A Butterfly’s Wing

I’m floored. All these years, I’ve known David, and we never connected these dots. I moved to Hawaii in 1984, four years after those Empire games, after a Maui vacation in ’83 sealed the deal. But it all started with those moments in 1980, getting blasted by Hawaii players and dreaming of a place I’d never seen. If David hadn’t brought PLATO to the University of Hawaii, those players wouldn’t have been there. My imagination might never have caught fire. I might still be in Chicago, slinging souvlaki in a family restaurant. It’s like a sci-fi time travel flick—the *Butterfly Effect*, where a butterfly’s wings flapping on one side of the planet cause a hurricane on the other. David’s work in the ’70s was that butterfly, and I’m the hurricane that landed in Honolulu.

The Missing Link

This revelation gives me a strange sense of closure. I’ve always wondered how a Greek kid from Chicago ended up in Hawaii, so far from the life I was born into. I left the *Big Fat Greek Wedding* world behind, trading family dinners for an island adventure, and it all traces back to those PLATO terminals. David’s role in my story feels like finding a missing link—a piece of my origin I didn’t know I was searching for. I tell him, “Man, you’re the reason I’m here!” We laugh, but it’s profound. He had no idea his geeky project would pull a teenager across an ocean. It’s a reminder of how small actions ripple in ways we can’t predict.

The Power of Chance

This story’s bigger than me and David. It’s about the infinite, tiny steps that shape our lives. Every choice, every chance encounter, every moment you cross paths with someone—it’s a thread in the tapestry of your existence. If one thread snaps, the whole picture changes. If I hadn’t wandered into that library, if David hadn’t installed those terminals, if I hadn’t gotten killed by Hawaii players, I might be living a completely different life. It’s humbling, awe-inspiring, to think how fragile and interconnected it all is. One tweak, one missed step, and I’m not here, telling you this story.

Live with Intention

Here’s what I’ve learned: never underestimate the impact you have on others. David Lassner couldn’t have known that setting up PLATO terminals would change my life, but it did. You never know who you’re touching or how. That person you help, that conversation you have, that small act of kindness—it could be the spark that sends someone on a new path. So give it your all. Make every interaction count. Use your gifts to lift others up, because you’re probably making a difference in ways you’ll never see. I’m living proof of that, sitting here in Hawaii, a feral entrepreneur who found his home because of a game, a terminal, and a geek named David. Aloha!