hand in recognition and headed that way, weaving between a jumble of mismatched tables and chairs where a handful of patrons sipped tall glasses of beer.
I studied my old friend as I approached. He was fortyish, but he looked as lean and athletic as ever. Yellow polo shirt tucked into faded blue jeans. Well-worn running shoes. He still brushed his wavy sandy-blond hair straight back, but now it revealed a deeply receding hairline and a sunburned forehead.
He stood up to greet me, and we shook hands and patted each other on the back. Two years had passed since the last time we met, so all week I’d looked forward to seeing him again.
Kahle and I shared a long intertwined history as microprocessor designers at IBM. We first met in the fall of 1989 when I transferred from Endicott, New York, to Austin, where Kahle became my manager. We clicked right away. We both possessed an aggressive style, a hard work ethic, and a “victory or death” attitude about work and life in general. We found common interests outside of the office including soccer, water skiing, and drinking beer. Ten years later, at the height of the technology boom, I left IBM to seek my own mythical dot-com fame and fortune at a local startup company. Kahle stayed on at IBM, diligently climbing the corporate ladder, becoming a Distinguished Engineer, a recognized force throughout the company. His team produced the microprocessor chips that put IBM in the lead in high-performance Unix servers and powered Apple’s resurgence in the personal computer market.
I slipped into the opposite side of the booth, sinking into well-worn burgundy leather. I teased him about the need for secrecy. “What’s up with that?” I asked. “Don’t tell me…the CIA wants us to solve the problems with global security, right?”
Kahle just smiled, looking every bit like the cat that swallowed the canary. “We’ll get to that,” he said. He had a secret worth sharing, but he was going to play it for all it was worth. He bought the beer, so I didn’t mind waiting.
We talked about our families, caught up on personal events of the past few years, sipped on frosty mugs of dark beer. Kahle’s three children were a couple of years older than my two sons, but still close enough in age that we had a lot in common. Parenting can be the universal leveler.
A half-hour passed, and I glanced at my watch. When would Kahle get to the heart of the matter? Silence settled heavily into a momentary gap in our conversation, and the polite pleasantries ended abruptly.
Kahle leaned across the table, whispering inspired words charged with intensity, filled with passion. He described a powerful partnership recently formed between Sony, Toshiba, and IBM to build the processor for the next version of the PlayStation game console. Sony was the biggest game player in town, with over 55 million PlayStation and PlayStation 2 units sold worldwide. Game developers flooded the shelves with over 430 million copies of game software for the PlayStation line. There were no official announcements of the partnership yet, and Sony insisted on keeping it quiet for as long as possible. Hence the need for secrecy.
“With this project,” Kahle said, “we have the potential to hit a home run and take over the entire home computing market. Or”—he paused and shrugged his shoulders—“we could just hit a single and go build a cool chip for a game machine the whole world loves. At the very worst, we’d have some fun.”
Both prospects intrigued me.
I took a long pull from my beer. These babies weren’t just toys—they were high-performance computing engines. Music to my ears. I’d worked on microprocessors for everything from mainframes all the way down to notebook computers. Designing a game machine would be a welcome change, and the software would be much sexier than the corporate stuff running on most of my previous designs.
“Okay. You’ve got my attention,” I said.
Kahle squirmed and continued with his story, setting the bait. He represented IBM when these three high-tech giants collaborated on an idea for the PlayStation 3, a revolutionary game machine intended to turn the electronic games industry upside down. I was shocked at the extraordinary amount of money involved in this endeavor. Sony, Toshiba, and IBM agreed to spend $400 million over five years to develop the processor for this machine. Kahle’s eyes gleamed as he told me that this path-breaking, joint development venture, dubbed the STI Design Center, would be located right here in Austin. On top of that, this powerful threesome planned to spend billions of dollars for two state-of-the-art chip fabrication facilities. Sony also agreed to pay IBM hundreds of millions to set up a production line at their new facility in Fishkill, New York. That’s a lot of money to spend before a single chip rolls off the line.
“Sony’s Ken Kutaragi was the instigator who brought the three companies together for this adventure,” Kahle said with just a hint of triumph in his voice. He looked disappointed when I failed to respond with appropriate awe. “Kutaragi is president and CEO of SCEI, Sony’s video games division.”
“Oh.” I wiped off some of the gathering condensation on my mug, stalling for a moment while I considered this. “I’ve been a little busy the last few years.”
“But he’s known everywhere as the father of the PlayStation.” Jim emphasized his words with extended arms, palms up. He studied my face, apparently looking for some aha moment, some sign that I recognized this famous man.
“Jim, I barely know what a PlayStation is.”
“Hmph,” he said, shaking his head, still unable to fathom the depths of my ignorance. “Okay. So I’ll give you a quick education. Kutaragi single-handedly led Sony into the game world, and the PlayStation game machines and software became the heart and soul of Sony’s business model. It’s their most successful product ever. With the PlayStation 1 and PlayStation 2’s phenomenal success in his pocket, Kutaragi felt he must and could realize a grander dream for the broadband market looming on the horizon. He wanted the PlayStation 3 to be a personal computer that also played games, with a chip that could take on roles in many broadband applications, from on-demand television to online gaming to real-time video chats.”
As J. R. R. Tolkien might have put it, I thought, “One chip to rule them all / One chip to find them / One chip to bring them all / And in the darkness bind them.”
“Remarkable,” I said, struck more by Kahle’s admiration for this man than by the story itself. Kahle is not one who is easily impressed.
Kahle was on a roll and went on to describe Kutaragi’s reputation as an excellent problem solver and a forward-thinking engineer. “That proved true enough during the project planning stages, though I also found him to be demanding and unyielding. To achieve his vision, Kutaragi needed help from experts in processor development and silicon manufacturing. Sony brought expertise in consumer markets, Toshiba in high-volume products and we, IBM, brought microprocessor and system design experience.”
“That’s a pretty high-powered partnership for just one chip-development effort,” I mused.
“Oh, it may be just one chip, but it’s much more than just one product,” Kahle replied. “The building-block potential of this processor inspired each company to nurture visions of using this design in their traditional product lines. Toshiba plans to incorporate it in high-end televisions, and IBM is contemplating using the new chips in high-performance servers.”
Maybe I didn’t know Kutaragi, but I still recognized the rare opportunity this partnership represented. When Kahle took a breath, I reached across the table and shook his hand, congratulating him on his accomplishment. “It’s a well-deserved honor for you to serve as IBM’s point man for negotiations with Sony. Outstanding!”
Kahle modestly claimed he was just lucky, but I knew differently.
