FIXATIONS : Go Figure : Guy Ball has 1,000 calculators, which he says document a fascinating time in the history of America’s business. But, believe it or not, Guy Ball has a life.

SANTA ANA — If I had a collection of 1,000 pocket calculators I could think of about 13 things to do with them: First, I could add some figures on one of them and use the other 999 to double-check the sum; then I could line them all up in the driveway and run them over with a Dodge Rampage; and then I’d repeat that 11 more times to make sure I got them all. 1+1+11 equals 13. Shall we double-check that on the machine?

Guy Ball of Santa Ana does have 1,000 calculators, and he also has found a purpose for them: He stuffs ‘em in boxes and uses them to fill up a closet that might otherwise be used for something practical.

The 38-year-old Hughes electronics test engineer also thinks he’s establishing a resource center of sorts, a place where anyone desiring info on the poorly documented history of pocket calculators can turn. One hopes he’s put in a heavy-duty doorbell.

We’ll continue having some fun at Mr. Ball’s expense here, the unavoidable fallout of his collecting what may be the nerdiest item on the planet. Slide rules are one thing, plastic pocket pen holders another, but when you start to lust over a horde of pocket calculators--being able even to tell one from another--you’ve gotta start worrying if there’s some bad chips in your brain.

In his defense, Ball does have a life: He’s married, works, probably earns lots more than I do, has cats, collects vintage cameras and transistor radios and publishes a nifty little community newsletter for the city of Santa Ana.

And, to hear Ball argue it, his calculators document a fascinating time in the history of America’s business. Let’s just humor him until the authorities arrive: “To me, calculators are important because until they came out integrated circuits weren’t being used,” Ball said. “They were expensive and hadn’t been proved in the marketplace, not like now when they even put them in toasters.

“And all of a sudden we came up with a commodity product--calculators--that took the country by storm. Basically they changed the way we calculate these days. Used to be you could add things up in your head, and nowadays if you do anything you whip your calculator out. Society changed because of these things.”

Did it? Let me whip out my calculator and check. (OK, so the calculator’s practical application of the integrated circuit did indeed lead to our present modern computer world, in which all our lives have been enriched by such new terms as workstation and repetitive stress injury. Thanks a bunch.)

Ball bought his first calculator, an early ‘70s Panasonic, five years ago in a thrift shop. “There was just something about it that I really liked. It kind of does something for me artistically,” Ball said, hefting the 1 1/2-pound, 4-function device, which looks like a bloated Princess phone.

Like Ball’s other early calculators, it would only fit in a clown’s pockets, and those who bought them may feel a bit like one. These clunkers had cost about $400 new, while now you get zillion-function credit-card sized ones in cereal boxes, just about.

As he combs the county’s swap meets every weekend, Ball now picks them up at prices from 35 cents to $5. A note of sad requiem crept into his voice as he said, “There’s a lot of models that are probably gone and won’t be found again, though, simply because everyone threw them out.”

Of his 1,000 calculators--most made before 1977, when companies began using liquid crystal displays--only 700 are different. As much as he might love the little guys, Ball can’t always remember exactly which ones he has. To remedy that, he’s compiled a 120-page master list of his trove (from Abbot to Zykkor), with a 60-page pocket model he carries with him.

He estimates he’s devoted several thousand hours to his hobby, some of that spent researching old magazines and catalogues. He’s consulted with the Smithsonian on its collection of a few hundred calculators, “which they really don’t care very much about,” and contacting the companies that used to make them.

His biggest thrill still comes in turning up calculators in swap meet junk piles. Whenever he and his wife, Linda, vacation, he invariably sidetracks them to local flea markets. When he finds something he’s looking for, his response is anything but calculated.

“When I find one I really want, it’s ecstasy. It’s just like Christmas. Just the other week I found an M.I.T.S. in beautiful shape at the Orange Coast College meet, and I got extremely excited.

“That’s a problem. When you’re wheeling and dealing at the swap meet you can’t jump up and down or the price goes up. So you have to be real mellow and act like you really don’t want it and then walk away and scream for joy then.”

Among his finds are a calculator built into a pen, with tiny rocker switches, and one designed for the blind, with an early voice synthesizer chip.

But what does he do with these things? When company’s over and he’s got a few drinks in him, does Ball pull out his boxes of calculators and start doing trig functions for them?

“I value my friends too much to bore them like that,” he said, acknowledging that his pursuit is a lonely one. Asked if his collection will ever be rare, he responded, “Yeah, probably after I die.”

Not one to take a challenge lying down, Ball is taking the offensive by issuing a vintage calculator newsletter, set to debut by the end of the month. With the photocopied newsletter, which will have an initial run of about 50, Ball hopes to raise awareness to the importance of pocket calculators.

“Every once in awhile,” he hopes, “someone will go to throw a calculator away, and then they’ll think of me.”