It seemed inappropriate to post this last week. It was up to the folks at Eazel to tell the world they were done, and there was really no way to describe my visit there without mentioning that salient fact. Some journalist I turn out to be.
My timing is either the worst or the best, depending on how you look at it. I was heading to San Jose last week (the week of May 7) and sent email to Eli Goldberg at Eazel, telling him I'd like to come by and meet folks. He suggested Wednesday - they bring in lunch on Wednesdays, he said.
It has been clear for some time that the end was coming, but for those of us outside of Eazel, it was not clear exactly when. It seemed rude to ask, but there was a San Francisco Chronicle/Examiner piece April 19 saying Eazel had a month's worth of cash left. I can do arithmetic. I knew I was arriving right about the end. I sent Eli emails before I came, to make sure there would still be someone there to have lunch with. Eli assured me there would, there were a week's worth of fading embers left in the fire.
I've been working with the Eazel crew for the better part of a year now. Nautilus holds the GNOME help browser, and I've been doing a little development and a lot of QA on it. It's been terrifically fun, I've learned a lot, and I wanted to meet these people in person. Once I realized they were about to disappear, it became doubly important to somehow see the thing before it sank.
I suppose computer industry veterans have seen this sort of thing before, but the clean carnage left behind by a failing startup is a thing to behold. Fancy office furniture, colorful walls, the obligatory break room with fish tank and - I am not making this up - a scooter sitting there, just like on the TV commercials.
And the swag. Swag. When I walked in, Eskil started handing me T-shirts. One for me. "Do you have a small for my daughter?" "How about a medium."
Eli, who like everyone else I'd never met before in person, asked me if I wanted a mug. How could I refuse? He led me next door, to the former Jiffy Lube that had been converted to slick new office space based on what now seems like pathetic optimism that Eazel would be growing, growing. There was a large stack of boxed computer monitors on one side of the otherwise empty former Jiffy Lube (same colorful walls and carpet) and box after box of swag. Eli handed me an Eazel promotional brochure in Japanese, one in English, a file folder. There were boxes of really enormous coffee mugs.
Do software people drink enormous cups of coffee?
I hope you don't think less of me for the fact that I took two. I asked Eli if they had black, but alas, no. Does that seem greedy? They'll only end up at auction, Eli said, and who would bid on a giant white coffee mug plastered with an Eazel logo?
Back in the other building, there were few people remaining. Many had gone on to other jobs already. Others were doing what was euphamistically described as "working from home".
Don Melton, gramps, was busy primarily doing what he described as "reverse recruiting," trying to help folks land properly. Eli was there, as was mfleming, tying up loose ends.
Eli took me over to introduce me to Andy Hertzfeld, he whose Mac fame seemed to drive the Eazel truck. He's a little gnomish guy (pun completely intended), and he was sitting there hacking a cool new feature for Nautilus. Days away from Eazel's implosion, and the guy was hacking a cool new feature for Nautilus. "You work on the help system?" he asked "You'll love this." I sat down and he showed it to me - a tooltipish thing that displays a cartoon bubble window next to a file's note when you mouse over the little note icon, displaying the contents of the note. It really has exactly nothing to do with the help system, but I was happy for the excuse he offered, and I did love it.
Lunch was one of those catered spreads, rice dishes and grilled chicken bits and a curried meat thing. Free sodas in the coolers. And about 12 or so people eating who could not resist the temptation offered by last supper humor. "Who's Judas?" someone asked. Not knowing Eazel well enough, I had no guess, and no one seemed willing to point fingers.
Gramps realized I'm a newspaper guy, and regaled me with tales of his newspaper career. Before he became a hacker by profession, he was doing newspaper graphics at the Orange County Register and then Knight Ridder, where he helped introduce Macs to the newsroom. Which means he is indirectly responsible for my introduction to personal computing - a Mac at the Pasadena Star-News, which was a Knight Ridder newspaper.
There was no talk of Nautilus at lunch, a few feeble "what are you going to do" conversations among the doomed-to-be.
I am not good at ending things, and though there was really no point in staying any longer, there was no socially easy way to leave. How do you say this - "Sorry your ship is sinking, hope you make it to shore, see you later" and a cheerio wave?
So I wandered back to Mike and Eli's cubicle to talk software. I explained to Mike the new xml->html translator I'm building (jeez it's great to be able to talk to a human about this) and he pulled out his Mac OS X laptop to show me how *not* to build a help system. Rebecca Schulman showed up, and I had a chance to tell her how much I liked Medusa. That was important to say - it's gotten a bashing, but it's an incredibly valuable tool, and a great start on the problem.
Eli walked over to me with a black Eazel mug in his hand and gave it to me. It was his. I will treasure it always.
I shook a few hands, Mike gave me a ride to the Mountain View CalTrain station, and my visit to the heart of a free software startup meltdown was over.