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Recently in Salon Technology

Where the wild feeds are
When Bill Gates uses the F-word, it doesn't show up on TV. But Web sites featuring raw satellite transmissions let it all hang out.
By Frank Houston
[07/29/99]

Girl talk
Are frank online discussions of blow jobs and masturbation empowering teen girls -- or turning them into Lolitas?
By Janelle Brown
[07/28/99]

Cable à la modem
How did AT&T engineer its open-access victory in San Francisco?
By Mark Gimein
[07/27/99]

Silicon Follies
Silicon Follies
Chapter 39: Hackers of the world, unite -- geeks plot palace coup
By Thomas Scoville
[07/27/99]

Column
Should journalists and IPOs mix?
A San Jose Mercury News columnist's suspension reveals less about ethics than about the newsroom's changing balance of power.
By Scott Rosenberg
[07/27/99]

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The word "community" is what's important here. Open-source software is produced by a community of mostly altruistic developers, who seem to enjoy the visceral speed of chasing code. I entered the fray as a college student, working on a thesis project. I installed Linux, and was awed by how easily I could make the few tweaks I needed for my research. The addiction grew. I found bugs in the software I needed, downloaded the source and fixed them -- then released the fixes to the Internet for the use of others. I became so good at finding and fixing bugs, in fact, that I was asked to take over maintenance of CUP, an open-source compiler tool. In time its brother Jlex followed. My thesis-time dabbling led to fixing some obscure bugs in the Linux kernel -- the central engine of code at the heart of the Linux-based operating system -- and soon I was adding missing features to that as well. It wasn't long before I made it a condition of employment that any code I wrote be released under the free-forever-to-everyone GNU General Public License, because of the thrill I got from knowing others were using my code.

All of this took a good deal of time, of course -- time that could have been spent doing any number of other things. Yes, the stereotypes are often true: Sometimes it is more fun to pound away on the laptop in the dark than to go out dancing. Especially when you're writing a piece of code that Net luminaries might praise you for the next day. I got e-mail from Linus Torvalds! From Richard Stallman. Ken Arnold -- the author of the definitive book on the Java programming language -- uses my software! Who wants to go out drinking, when one is brushing shoulders with giants?

Of course, this is an alternate universe I'm talking about. None of these names means a thing to my mother, bless her computer-phobe soul. Nor to most of my friends. But, sometimes, when the sun is down and the electrons are wild, I'd sequester myself in the basement of the computer science building for a night of hacking code, in the company of 20 or so of what I considered the finest minds on campus ... all of whom would be impressed by my name-dropping. I had achieved fame, importance, honor. My patches were in the Linux kernel: I could code with the best of them.

All that was validated when my e-mail from Red Hat arrived, promising me tangible financial rewards for my efforts on behalf of the community. Sure, I deserved it. How many millions of people use the Linux operating system? Hadn't I written part of the code each one of them uses every single day? And how many hundreds or thousands of students used my compiler tools each semester? The time I spent was worth something, and Red Hat recognized it! Of course, I had no idea how my name ended up on their list. We hackers keep so many lists of who contributed what to which project that it's impossible to know for sure how Red Hat came up with their own selection. But in any case, all of us who had received the invitation now had a shot at real cash money. It's patently obvious to the Linux faithful that Red Hat is poised to make moolah hand-over-fist. The company's public offering was bound to soar to record levels: And I was being offered stock at the initial price!

I wasn't alone in my excitement. From the discussion that ensued on Slashdot, the "News for Nerds" site, every Linux hacker in America was breaking his or her piggy bank to get in on Red Hat's IPO. A flood of $1,000 and $2,000 checks were winging their overnight-courier way toward E-Trade.

My mental calculation went like this: one day to collect my money, one day for FedEx to deliver the application. Three to five days for E-Trade to process the application. Seven days before the July 28 cutoff date -- if our accounts weren't funded by July 28, the mysterious letter threatened we'd be left out of the IPO. Tight reckoning all 'round -- had I smashed poor piggy for nothing?

Then a miracle: The deadline was extended to Aug. 4. Hallelujah! I never saw an official explanation for the sudden generosity, but the word on the Web was that Red Hat had pulled strings. All hail Red Hat! Hackers of the world, unite!

But tragedy followed. In the fine print on the golden spam-cum-invitation was the disclaimer:

"All applicants for public offering stock will be required to submit and pass an online eligibility profile at the E-Trade Web site. Public offerings are considered speculative investments and therefore you will be required to answer a series of questions about your investment experience, goals and your financial background."

I can answer questions with the best of them. No problem. But the reports started filtering into Slashdot: People were being denied access to the IPO based on the "eligibility criteria."

What shit was this? The open-source community places great value on ideas and knowledge. We figured we knew as much about the prospects of Red Hat's IPO and the risks involved as any -- probably more, in fact. Hadn't we watched and participated in open-source battles involving IBM, Sun and Apple? Wasn't the specter of Microsoft always over our shoulder? If you invested and the stock tanked, you would have learned a lesson -- but it was probably worth it because you did the right thing: expressed confidence in a company brave enough to bring our work -- our code! -- to the unwashed masses.

On Tuesday, I filled out the eligibility questionnaire myself. I knew they were trying to weed out inexperienced investors, so on every question that related to experience, I asserted the maximum possible. I knew what I was doing. And it was my money, anyway -- I had a God-given right to risk it on as foolhardy a venture as I liked.

But I had to sheepishly admit (to the unblinking electronic form) that my net worth wasn't all that much. Experience is something you can get from a book, but money isn't found in libraries. And a grad student doesn't make a heck of a lot of salary. But then again, I wasn't investing much, really -- some $3,000 at most. All I had to give, and losing it would hurt, sure, but it would just mean a couple more years paying off Uncle Sam for my education.

My profile was denied.

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