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Frankie Goes To The Valley
A Dot Com Story
by Kent Lewis

Part I: A Monster Is Born

I remember the first time I saw Frank. It was the first day of fourth grade. If I had only known better, I would have transferred to Ms. Valentine’s class right away.

Frank Arthur Eckstein shuffled into Ms. Taylor’s class and took a seat in the back of the room. I remember staring at his cowboy boots and Western shirt as he passed my desk. It made my sweater and chords seem equally as silly.

It wasn’t long before the class hierarchy solidified and Frank became the instant outcast. As if to deliver on a promise, he lived up to his name by frequently wetting his pants in class. As if that weren’t enough, the class bully, Joey, took a shine to Frank, making sure he was always well "cared" for. Although Joey was not known for his wit or intellect, he always managed to figure out a new a creative way to make Frank’s life difficult. In only a matter of days, the classmates that had even remote thoughts about protecting Frank were quelled with a simple shake of Joey’s fist. Suffice to say, Frank was Joey’s bitch.

One day after recess, I heard Joey and Frank talking outside of the classroom. The talking turned to shouting, then to screaming. Joey entered the classroom and sat down with a smirk on his face. The entire class could hear Frank’s muffled screams outside, but I was the only one brave, or stupid enough, to do something about it. I walked outside to find a foot sticking out of a locker.

Frank’s ankle was being cut by the metal edge of the locker and it was obvious he was in pain. At that moment, all the "Frankenstein" jokes lost their humor. I pried open the bottom of the locker enough to let Frank pull his foot inside the locker. I told him I’d get the teacher to free him. I remember hearing a muffled "thanks" from behind the gray metal and knew, like it or not, that we had formed a bond.

That bond, while strong, was prone to stretching, and even breaking. Towards the end of fifth grade, Frank and I had a falling out over a girl. We were part of the school play, and I had successfully negotiated the audition process to take the key role across from our common love, Jane. Frank’s jealousy turned to resentment and all-out revenge. During a break, we got into a bit of a scuffle. He ended up with a torn shirt and bloody nose. He was more upset about the girl than the humiliation of getting beat up in front of classmates. It took us three years to make up.

During those three years, Frank developed a fondness for computers, specifically the Apple II. I, however, spent my time primarily outdoors, and any interest in computers was quenched with Nintendo. By the time we hit high school, Frank was a full-fledged computer programmer geek. Something had changed in him over the past three years, however. Oddly enough, he developed social skills and became a target for the ladies.

Once a nerd, always a nerd. After high school, Frank gained acceptance into MIT and spent the next four years honing his programming skills among his own. I, however, managed to lose any relevant knowledge I obtained while at a small state school.

We didn’t talk as much though college, but did bump into each other shortly after, as we both moved to Portland, Oregon, for jobs in 1995. He used his computer science degree to capture a lucrative job at Intel. I chose the marketing route and started at the bottom floor at a small agency. For the next two years, we stayed in touch, hanging out occasionally on weekends.

Computers were central to both of our lives at this time, yet we had differing value systems. The single common interest we did share, beyond women, was cars. At that time, we were both starting out, so our ability to enjoy cars was directly related to our expendable income. In this case, it meant we both drove Honda Civics. We’d meet out at the track on driving days to one-up each other.

When it came to driving, I usually came out ahead. When it came to careers, Frank had me beat. In only a few years, Frank rose quickly inside Intel to a manager position. With killer pay and lucrative options, he was at the top of his game. In early 1999, he decided to cash out and start up his own business. Frank missed programming and loathed managerial responsibilities. This was his opportunity, so he thought.

He pooled his personal wealth and started a multimedia storage dot com in downtown Portland. He asked me to join on as VP of marketing, but I turned him down. I wasn’t ready yet, and I didn’t believe he was either. I regretted the decision, but not for long. One and a half years and six million bucks later, Frank closed the doors on the tumultuous venture. He never did tell me why it didn’t fly; my guess is that he didn’t get along with the venture capitalists and their crony managers.

He only spent a month celebrating/moping around before he was recruited by a well-funded startup in the Silicon Valley. Much to his chagrin, he accepted a managerial role, with the hopes that he would be able to exercise his brain on occasional code. He didn’t waste much time before giving me a call.

"It’s me," Frank stated over the long distance line. "I’ve got a first class round-trip ticket to the valley for you. I think it will be worth your time. See you in two days."

I was forming an excuse, but before I could utter the words, the line disconnected and I found myself sipping a Gin & tonic on a 737. Three weeks later, I moved down to the valley as Frank’s roommate. I would soon find out whether or not the job offer was a repayment for saving his ankle in fourth grade or breaking his nose in fifth.