Getting a Job

In the summer of 1979, my teaching job ran out and I was looking for something new. My wife had just gotten a job in Silicon Valley, and I was back at our house (some hundred miles away), tidying everything up for the move. Every week or so, I would drive down to Silicon Valley for a day to look for work.

Silicon Valley back then was not at all what it is now. It had fewer people, less traffic, and more orchards. The big difference was in the people culture. The denizens of Silicon Valley were engineers who loved to build wonderful toys. The very streets crackled with excitement over the myriad of possibilities opened up by fast-moving integrated circuit technology. There were many more opportunities opening up than could possibly be developed the industry suffered from a desperate shortage of technical talent of all kinds. Although I had no specific experience in electronics and software, my master's degree in physics, my strong programming background, and my familiarity with digital electronics were solid qualifications; I was confident of securing a good job.

I answered a few ads, but the most interesting jobs required specific experience that I didn't have. There was one job at Lawrence Livermore Labs that caught my attention: writing targeting software for nuclear missiles. It was actually a very "sweet" task, meaning one full of interesting challenges. I wrestled with my conscience and decided against it. Who knows? Perhaps, if I had taken that job, I would now be some half-alive, faceless techie-bureaucrat in the military-technology business, rather than the lively, fascinating chap I have become!

LESSON 87

In the long run, the ethical choice is usually the most advantageous choice.

To my surprise, I had little luck chasing after science-heavy technical jobs. But I remember interviewing with one chap at a big high-tech place. After half an hour, we both agreed that I wasn't right for the job opening. But then the fellow picked up the telephone and called a friend at another company. "Bill," he said, "I've got a young fellow over here who sounds just right for your group. Got any openings?" Well, Bill did indeed have some openings, and he could see me immediately, so five minutes later I was equipped with a name and directions. As I shook the interviewer's hand, I thanked him and asked why he had gone out of his way like that for me. "Silicon Valley is one big community," he said. "Our community is bigger than any single company." I was stunned. Later experience proved him right; most people in the Valley during the early 80s saw themselves as participants in a revolution first, and employees second. Money was low on everybody's priorities. It's a tragedy that the high-tech biz no longer cherishes these values.

Bill's job opening was at Lockheed; I had been warned that Lockheed was known around the Valley as "The Lazy L." Bill received me warmly and proved to be quite personable. He took me up to his department on the second floor. We walked through a huge open room with engineers sitting at desks placed in neat rows and columns. They were busily drawing flowcharts and writing up code with pencil on form sheets. There wasn't a single monitor to be seen; everybody was working on sheets of paper. In his office, Bill the manager outlined the department's responsibilities. This huge department consisting of at least 50 engineers and had the sole responsibility of maintaining a custom programming language used internally at Lockheed. Bill never once asked me about my qualifications; apparently my resume was good enough for him. Most of the interview was devoted to Bill telling me how wonderful life was at Lockheed. "We realize that you'll need time to come up to speed," he assured me, "so we won't be giving you any deadlines for six months. And we get three weeks off at Christmas!" I liked Bill and the job paid well, but somehow the corporate culture didn't seem right for me.

One evening, back at home, my wife called me from Silicon Valley. "I just found an interesting job in the classifieds," she told me. Then she read me the ad. "Programmers!" it read, "Program your own computer games!" I was flabbergasted. Somebody was actually paying people to write computer games? This was fantastic! It was right up my alley! And I, unlike almost anybody else, had impressive qualifications in the two games that I had already built and self-published. I was a shoo-in for a dream job. The very next day I called the headhunter who placed the ad and made an appointment for the following day.

I showed up at his office giggling with excitement. The interview started off well; the interviewer was impressed with my master's degree and my previous games. But one thing bothered him. "Your experience in programming seems thorough but you don't mention employment as a programmer. How many years of experience do you have working as a programmer?" I explained that I had never been employed specifically to do programming, but that I had done lots of scientific programming, worked in assembly language, and even taught several courses in programming. He wasn't impressed. "You mean that you have never actually worked in a real programming job?" I was beginning to feel cornered. "But I've actually done it I've designed, programmed, and sold computer games!" He stood up and offered me his hand. "This job requires a minimum of three years of programming experience. Thank you very much, Mr. Crawford. We'll get back to you." Crushed, I slunk out of the office and drove home in tears.

LESSON 88

The nasty choice is usually the least advantageous choice.

That night, I poured out my sorrows to my wife. "It was the dream job!" I wailed. "And now it's gone!" My ever-supportive wife tried to console me. "There have to be other games companies; here, let me look in the phone book." She grabbed the yellow pages and ripped through the pages, searching. Sure enough, under "Games," she found two listings. The first was something called "Atari"; neither of us had ever heard of it. She called their personnel office the next morning. The lady there told her to come in and fill out an application form. Kathy explained that I was in Davis, the small college town where our home was. "Davis?" the personnel lady asked. "Are you guys Aggies?" She was referring to graduates of the UC Davis campus. "Yes, we are! '72 Physics and '73 Biochem!" It turned out that the personnel lady was an Aggie. She immediately scheduled an interview for me with the programming department, and I got the job.

Five weeks later, another programmer joined our team: Carla Meninsky. While chatting one day, Carla confided that she had to go through a really obnoxious headhunter to get this job. Something about her description rang a bell. "Was this guy in an office on Middlefield Road near Shoreline?" I asked. Sure enough, it turned out to be the same guy who had turned me down. His obnoxiousness had cost him a finder's fee.