Battle of the Titans: How the Fight to the Death Between Apple and Google is Transforming our Lives
He said their search engine’s popularity was “a fad.” Then, in the same breath, he would issue the ultimate compliment, saying that of all his competitors over the years, Google was the most like Microsoft.
Google executives were convinced that if Windows on mobile devices caught on, Microsoft would interfere with users’ access to Google search on those devices in favor of its own search engine. The government’s successful antitrust trial against Microsoft in the 1990s made it difficult for the company to use its monopoly on desktops and laptops to bully competitors. It could not, for example, make Microsoft’s the default search engine in Windows without giving users a choice between its search engine and those from Google, Yahoo, and others. However, on smartphones, few rules governed how fiercely Microsoft could compete. It didn’t have a monopoly there. Google worried that if Microsoft made it hard enough to use Google search on its mobile devices and easy enough to use Microsoft search, many users would just switch search engines. This was the way Microsoft killed Netscape with Internet Explorer in the 1990s. If users stopped using Google’s search engine and began using a competitor’s such as Microsoft’s, Google’s business would quickly run aground. Google made all its money back then from the search ads that appeared next to its search results. “It’s hard to relate30 to that [fear of Microsoft] now, but at the time we were very concerned that Microsoft’s mobile strategy would be successful,” Schmidt said in 2012 during testimony in the Oracle v. Google copyright trial.
All these fears and frustrations31 were top of the mind for Page when he agreed to meet with Rubin in early 2005 in the first-floor conference room of Google’s Building 43. Back then, Page’s office was on the second floor overlooking Google’s main courtyard. He and Brin shared it and continued that setup until Page became CEO in 2011. The space looked more like the dorm room of two engineering students than anything you would expect to see in a major corporation. You had to work to see their two desks and computers because the room was so jammed with their latest electronic-gadget passions—cameras typically for Page, along with Brin’s radio-controlled planes and cars and his roller-hockey gear. When Brin and Page were not there, the office was often filled with other programmers, who felt free to take it over. Rubin had reached out to Page because Rubin had started Android the year before and had enough software written to show potential customers such as carriers. He thought some kind of sign from Google—such as an email from Page saying that Android was doing interesting work—would help Rubin raise more money to keep going and give his sales pitch more zing.
Few people can just email Larry Page directly and successfully ask for a meeting, but back then Rubin was one of them. Three years earlier, when Google was still scrabbling for users, attention, and revenue, Rubin had made Google the default search engine on the T-Mobile Sidekick, the device Rubin designed and built when he ran Danger. Page remembered the gesture not just because Google had desperately needed search traffic at the time, but also because he thought the Sidekick was one of best-engineered mobile devices he’d ever seen.
The Sidekick was odd looking—shaped like a bar of soap with a screen in the middle. To operate it, one flipped up the screen, rotating it 180 degrees, and typed on the keyboard underneath. Its nonstandard looks and a nonexistent marketing budget kept it from being a hit product. But it had a cult following among two groups: savvy high school and college students and Silicon Valley engineers. Students liked that it was the first mobile device to have instant-messaging software built in. Engineers such as Page loved that it was the first mobile device to allow users to surf the Internet the same way as on their office computers. BlackBerry had mobile email down to a science, and everyone at Google had a BlackBerry. But the Internet browsers on it and other mobile devices were terrible. To deal with smaller bandwidth back then, browsers were designed to show only the bare bones of a web page’s content—typically just text. But that also made the browsing experience all but useless for businesses. One of the things that wouldn’t work in these crippled browsers were Google search ads. You couldn’t click on them. Soon Page and Brin were walking around with Sidekicks themselves, enthralling their friends and colleagues with a mobile device that nearly replaced their laptops.
According to Wired, when Page arrived for the meeting, late as usual, Rubin jumped to the whiteboard to begin his pitch: phones with computer capabilities, not laptops or desktops, were the future of technology. It was a huge market, Rubin said. More than 700 million cell phones were sold worldwide every year, compared to 200 million computers, and that gap was widening. But the phone business was stuck in the dark ages. Android would fix that problem by convincing carriers and phone makers that they didn’t need to spend money on their own proprietary software. Frustrated consumers would flock to phones that worked better. Software developers would rush to write software for a platform in such demand. A self-reinforcing software ecosystem would be born.
Page listened gamely32. He looked at the prototype Rubin had brought with him. But Page had pretty much decided what he was going to do before the meeting even started: What if Google just bought Android? he asked. He later told Steven Levy, the author of In the Plex, “We had that vision [about what the future of mobile should look like], and Andy came along and we were like ‘Yeah we should do it. He’s the guy.’” Google bought Android for about $50 million plus incentives, and by July 2005 Rubin and his seven other Android cofounders were sharing their vision of the world with the rest of Google’s management team.
Rubin was surprised and thrilled about Google’s decision to buy his company. “At Danger we had a great niche product [the Sidekick] that everyone loved. But I wanted to get beyond niche and make a mass-market product,” he said. And no company was more mass-market than Google. When reflecting on those days, he likes to tell a before-and-after story about a presentation he gave to phone maker Samsung in Seoul:
I walk into the boardroom with my entire team—me and six people. Then twenty executives walk in and stand on the other side of the table in the boardroom. We’re sitting down because I wasn’t accustomed to Asian culture and whatnot at the time. Their CEO walks in. Everyone sits only after he sits, like a military tribunal. Then I go into pitch mode. I pitch the whole Android vision to them like they are a venture capitalist. And at the end and I am out of breath, with the whole thing laid out … there is silence. Literally silence, like there are crickets in the room. Then I hear whispering in a nonnative language, and one of the lieutenants, having whispered with the CEO, says, “Are you dreaming?” The whole vision that I presented, their response was “You and what army are going to go and create this? You have six people. Are you high?” is basically what they said. They laughed me out of the boardroom. This happened two weeks before Google acquired us. The next day [after the acquisition was announced] a very nervous lieutenant of the CEO calls me up and says, “I demand we meet immediately to discuss your very, very interesting proposal that you gave us [when you were in Seoul].”
Because of Google, Rubin no longer had to worry about running out of money and having potential vendors and customers not return his calls. But after the euphoria of the acquisition wore off, it became clear that even at Google getting Android off the ground was going to be one of the hardest things Rubin had undertaken in his life. Just navigating Google itself was initially a challenge for Rubin and his team. There was no hard-and-fast org chart, as in other companies. Every employee seemed right out of college. And the Google culture, with its famous “Don’t be evil” and “That’s not Googley” sanctimony, seemed weird for someone such as Rubin, who had already been in the workplace twenty years. He couldn’t even drive his car to work because it was too fancy for the Google parking lot. Google was by then filled with millionaires who had gotten rich on the 2004 IPO. But in an effort to preserve Google’s brand as a revolutionary company with a revolutionary product—the anti-Microsoft—all cars fancier than a 3 Series BMW were banned. During this period Brin and Page—now worth more than $5 billion apiece—famously drove Priuses to work. That meant Rubin’s Ferrari was not allowed.
Rubin also had to adjust to no longer being the boss. He ran Google’s Android division, but even by the end of 2005 that was