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*Have
you ever wondered why Gates sits alone as the World’s Richest Man, and
not Gates and Allen given the two founded the company together?
*Imagine
how different things would be had James Gosling, the Sun engineer who
created Java, taken the job he applied for at Microsoft two years BEFORE
Java was released.
*Have
you ever heard of Charles Fitzgerald, Microsoft’s designated Java hit
man?

THE 60-40
SPLIT
Bill Gates
would be accused of predatory pricing and a partnering style that one
competitor described as a "preying mantis business model": First
Microsoft had sex with you, then it ate you. His rapaciousness would raise
questions about fair play in the computer industry—but to me Bill Gates’s
single most shameless act occurred while he was still at Harvard, and
involved his longtime friend and partner, Paul Allen.
Allen is
third on the Fortune 400 list behind only Gates and Warren Buffett.
He bought most of an island on Lake Washington to build an estate that
includes a fully-equipped health club, a regulation-size indoor basketball
court, authentic Roman statues, and paintings by master French impressionists.
This rock and roll fanatic didn’t just dream of a museum honoring Seattle
native Jimi Hendrix, he built one. He owns the Seattle Seahawks football
team and the Portland Trailblazers basketball team, and also his own Boeing
757. But it’s like the ridiculously inflated salaries Allen must pay the
young stars of his basketball team: All sense of proportion and reality
go out the window. Sure, it’s hard to feel much sympathy for a man worth
as many billions as Allen. But the question remains, Why would Gates end
up owning nearly twice as many Microsoft shares as Allen?
Allen was
always the more personable one. He was a nerd, naturally; as a high schooler
he carried a briefcase to and from his classes. But he was always down
to earth and better liked than Gates. His parents were both librarians
and he lacked Gates’s arrogance. It was Allen who had the moxie (and also
the facial hair) to gain entry to the computer center across from the
U-W campus, and it was Allen who brought Gates along once he had scoped
out the scene. A few years later, it was Allen who spotted the Altair
on the cover of Popular Electronics and it was Allen who, eight
weeks later, demo’d BASIC in Albuquerque. Gates deserved more of the credit
for the initial design of BASIC but Allen deserved more credit for the
overall product. He added a host of new features to this skeletal product
created in eight weeks, and patched most of the bugs
Yet Gates
used those months Allen spent perfecting BASIC against his friend. Allen
had gambled his future when he dropped out of Washington State[?] to move
to the Boston area. But while he worked on BASIC he was earning a salary
working for Ed Roberts. Gates, in contrast, had hedged his bets. He remained
at Harvard for two more years. But he had also done some work on BASIC.
Where was his compensation? Always playing the angles, even when dealing
with a childhood friend, he demanded a sixty percent cut of the company,
and the mild-mannered Allen obliged.
Consider
two of the friends who co-founded Sun Microsystems. Sun was nothing without
Andy Bechtolsheim, the Stanford Ph.D. student who had invented the SUN
(Stanford University Network) workstation, so the goose who laid the golden
eggs was in for the biggest cut. But the dilemma confronting Vinod Khosla,
the Stanford MBA who had roped the highly-coveted Bechtolsheim, was the
deal he’d propose to Scott McNealy, his friend from business school. Khosla
had already co-founded a successful startup, and there was no question
that he would be running Sun. He sought to sign up McNealy because McNealy
had experience running an assembly-line plant. If looking to give McNealy
an official title, you would call him Chief Operating Officer. The protocol
would be to grant McNealy somewhere like a ten percent share, but McNealy
was a friend, and he was part of the founding team. Khosla split his piece
of the company 50-50 with McNealy.
Gates pushed
for a second change in the partnership formula when he left Harvard. He
proposed a 64-36 split because, after all, he was risking a great deal
by leaving Harvard—Harvard, mind you, not Washington State. And again
his mild-mannered friend demurred rather than fight. Allen made the key
contact when Microsoft was desperate to find a workable operating system
it could tailor to the IBM-PC. Until he got sick with Hodgkin’s Disease,
he ran the software development side of the company while Gates flew around
the country signing up partners. Yet by 1998, Allen’s months as vice president
of software for Ed Roberts would end up costing him roughly $8 billion,
and the fact that he had dropped out of Washington State, not Harvard,
cost him another $3 billion.
JAVA’S DADDY
ALMOST FLIES THE COOP
1993: Feeling
what he described as "cynical, depressed, and very, very angry,"
Gosling wanted out. He phoned someone he knew at Microsoft. "I look
at them as just a bunch of dumpster-divers," Gosling said. In other
words, they were imitators who created by copying the work of others.
"But Microsoft was also a company that had both the will and might
to push products they believed in. The thought that went through my mind
was, ‘Well, I might be working on inferior stuff, but at least it would
see the light of day.’"
Microsoft
offered Gosling a job, but moving to Redmond would have meant a taking
a 30 percent pay cut and walking away from stock options potentially worth
hundreds of thousands of dollars. The Microsoft human resources office
didn’t seem to care about his credentials or status as one of the Unix
world’s more creative talents. "It’s common when recruiting a top
person to offer a counter-balancing exchange on options," Gosling
said, but the Microsoft’s human resources official told him the company’s
policy was to value other company’s stock at zero. And he thought, what
a perfect expression of the Microsoft master plan-to assume that value
of the stock of every other high-tech company would eventually be worth
nothing. "It was," Gosling said, "easily the most deeply
offensive interview experience of my life."
BEHIND THE
SCENES
Tod Nielsen
is the friendly face of Microsoft. He’s intense, sure, but his job is
to win programmers over through kindness. Charles Fitzgerald’s job, on
the other hand, is to throw mud. If Microsoft’s assault on Java can be
likened to a political campaign, Nielsen is the press secretary who smiles
for the cameras while Fitzgerald is the shadowy behind-the-scenes figure
feeding dirt to reporters and responsible for all those name-smearing
negative commercials. Where even competitors describe Nielsen as the nicest
guy you would ever want to meet, what they say about Fitzgerald is unprintable.
Java had
just recently turned two when, in mid-1997, Fitzgerald visited the country’s
most influential business publications to launch his Java offensive. "Set
aside two hours," he would write in an e-mail in advance of his arrival.
"This is going to take a while." He was a lean and terminally
intense man, flitty and unable to sit still, armed with a slide show that
cast every Java shortcoming and every McNealy promise so far unfulfilled
in the worst possible light. Have you by chance read, he asked, the PC
Magazine article showing that only 48 percent of the Java programs
the magazine tested ran glitch-free? [10 out of 21] Or did you notice
where analyst so and so, in an interview with Computer Reseller,
backed away from his earlier endorsement of Java? He was sarcastic ("I’m
convinced Sun’s marketers and its engineers have never met"), he
was deceptive (like the performance figures he later admitted were "cooked"),
he even expressed mock sympathy. "I was part of an equally ambitious
project at Microsoft," he would say. "I know what it’s like
to start on a project that turns out to be infinitely more difficult than
you ever imagined." He even offered reporters lists of questions.
He would ask them, "Which do you prefer, the ‘nice’ version or the
‘nasty’ one?"
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