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There's a story here somewhere Report from the Front: He's Clueless in SeattleBy Rick Horowitz
In a never-ending quest to bring You the Reading Public the very latest in incisive commentary and pithy analysis (or is it incisive analysis and pithy commentary?), I hied myself off to Seattle last weekend, arriving scant hours after the bad news itself arrived: The government wants to break Microsoft in two. To be totally honest about it -- which You the Reading Public have a perfect right to expect from your commentator/analysts, pithy or otherwise -- my timely hieing was more coincidence than calculation; I had a meeting to attend in the Emerald City, a meeting scheduled months in advance. Still, finding myself at such a crucial moment deep within Microsoft's vast sphere of influence, only a laptop's throw from the renowned Redmond "campus," seemed an opportunity too perfect to ignore. How were the people of Seattle coping with these troubling developments? Were they still root-root-rooting for the home team? Would the new "investor class" remain a force to be reckoned with? What conclusions could I draw about the state of technology, about the future of American entrepreneurship? All these questions and more remained to be examined as I stepped off the plane late Friday evening. I rode directly to my strategically located downtown hotel and went to bed. It would take time for the full impact of the news to sink in, I knew; how else to explain the thoroughly normal sorts of pleasantries from the shuttle-bus driver and the hotel clerk? Far better to wait, I decided, and begin my research well rested. My first stop Saturday morning? Seattle's famed Pike Place Market, a perfect spot to take the city's pulse. I'd already determined that I would refrain from the direct, or "confrontational," approach so popular with other journalists. "So, how many billions are you down today?" was the kind of question I simply wouldn't ask a stranger, or even a friend. For this assignment, I would rely entirely on the subtler skills of observation. The first thing I observed, walking from my strategically located downtown hotel to the Pike Place Market some five blocks distant, was how overwhelmingly quiet the streets of Seattle seemed. Perhaps the silence reflected the suddenly somber mood of the populace. Or perhaps it reflected the fact that it was barely 7 a.m. The evidence was inconclusive. And what of the waitress who brought me my cup of Seattle coffee and my plate of home-made corned-beef hash as I gazed out across the waters of Elliott Bay? She was happy enough, considering the hour. She was almost too happy, considering the hour -- was this plucky resilience, or false bravado? It was impossible to tell. Likewise the workers at the market stalls, setting out their wares for the day's business. Did I sense a certain mournful edge in the way they arranged their flowers and iced their fish? Or was I reading too much into things? Hard to say. My breakfast finished, I put my research on hold and spent the rest of the day in the meeting that had brought me to town in the first place. I was back on the job that evening, though, strolling once again toward the waterfront for dinner. This time, within blocks of the high-tone downtown shops, I saw clusters of vagrants and street people; had it all turned sour that quickly? Then I noticed the three-day growth on most of the men's faces -- but the news about Microsoft, I remembered, was only one day old! I declined to make a hasty judgment. The waitress at dinner was even perkier than the waitress at breakfast had been. The room was noisy, lively, a Saturday-night kind of crowd. Was this the last hurrah of a doomed community staring into the abyss? Or the confident behavior of people who know they'll still be thriving no matter what the government tries to do? I leaned very definitely...both ways. Beyond the restaurant windows, I could see ships gliding by. I didn't see anyone jump. Of course, they could have gone over the other side; my observational powers don't include x-ray vision. I returned to my strategically located downtown hotel for a few hours of shut-eye; by sunrise Sunday, I would be off to the airport and then heading east, still wrestling with the meaning of it all. There were symbols everywhere. And sometimes a dead fish is just a dead fish. Posted 5/2/00. So
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Rick Horowitz