For all its intensity, Google could be a playful place to work. The first place in the Valley Al Gore visited after he left the vice presidency in January 2001 was Google. He had championed the Internet while serving in Congress and as vice president. His first meeting with Brin, Page, and Kordestani in February 2001 went smoothly, he said. “I liked them and they asked me to help them out and, initially, to join their board,” which he declined because he wasn’t sure whether he’d again seek the presidency. Instead, he said, “They asked me to be-the phrase they used was, ‘a virtual board member.’”
Al and Tipper Gore went on a long European vacation. They returned later in the spring, and newspapers carried pictures of the full beard he had grown. “When I went back to Google, Larry and Sergey and Omid-there weren’t that many of them-all ten of them had false beards on. It was hilarious!”
Google was growing into an informal, open place. At around 4:30 p.m. each Friday, employees now gather in the largest open space on campus, Charlie’s Cafe in Building 40, for TGIF. Refreshments-nachos, mini-hamburgers, pretzels, beer, soft drinks-are available. Employees sit on chairs arranged in a semicircle, with employees at other Google locations around the world on video conference. Brin and Page stand on a small raised platform to share corporate news and to answer questions from thousands of employees. New employees hired that week sit up front, wearing Noogler beanies with propellers on top. Loud music blasts from speakers. The affectionate bond between the two founders is displayed every time they make a presentation together or at these weekly Friday appearances. On stage, Brin is funnier, and tends to dominate, yet in the dozens of times I’ve watched them together, I’ve never noticed a hint of exasperation from Page, who is an intense person but nevertheless laughs easily at Brin’s jokes.
At the first TGIF I attended, in October 2007, Brin appeared wearing what looked like a green pilot’s jacket and Page wore a black one. They were in jeans and sneakers, and took turns talking-introducing the Nooglers; telling of some deals Google had made the past week; showing a video clip of former Alaska senator Mike Gravel, who was a stealth candidate for president, as he gave a speech on campus in which he described his visit as comparable to “an intellectual orgasm.” Brin cracked, “We’ll use that as a recruiting tool!” They fielded questions from employees. And they had a surprise guest calling in from an airplane. The guest was competing with static, and didn’t sound like himself, but managed to say hello.
“I heard that you won something today,” Brin said.
Up on the large screen behind them appeared a picture of Al Gore, who on this day had won the Nobel Peace Prize for his work on behalf of the environment, an award that was featured in the morning papers and dominated the news.
“We all feel grateful to you,” Brin said.
“Thank you, Sergey. And to you and Larry and Eric and the entire team. One of the fun things in my life is to be part of the extended Google family.”
A roar of applause cascaded from the balcony and throughout the cafe, and soon Gore was gone.
“He sounded a little like Stephen Hawking,” joked Page.
The hand of an engineer who spends too many hours in front of a computer screen shot up. “Larry and Sergey,” he asked. “Which prize?”
The personalities of the founders permeate the company. Doerr described Sergey as the “more exhuberant” of the two. “Sergey is more creative, more experimental than Larry is.” One longtime Google executive decribes him as a ham. “I love Sergey,” the executive adds. “He’s an exhibitionist. He needs more attention than Larry does.” Brin does most of the talking, and joking, at Friday TGIF gatherings. In the early days of Google, when they took the entire staff camping for a weekend, everyone had a canoe partner, except Brin. “He said, ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll swim.’” Wearing a lime-green Speedo swimsuit, he jumped into the lake, becoming the center of attention. One cannot imagine Larry Page agreeing to appear on the game show To Tell the Truth, as Brin did in March 2001. The question posed was “Who is the real Google guru?” Each of the three contestants wore a Google T-shirt, and after questioning them, the four celebrity panelists unanimously guessed that the real guru was panelist number 3, who turned out to be a professional bowler. Only 22 percent of the audience guessed that Brin was the guru. But when it came time to stand and identify the real guru, Brin histrionically pretended to stand, then sat, then rose to shocked audience applause, reciprocating with a slight but delighted smile.
Despite the playfulness, few would describe the founders as ideal mediators. They are often too brusque and intimidating for that role. “Larry can be a little raw, but never unkind,” said Megan Smith, vice president of new business development. A part of the rawness is due to the fact that they are geeks, more comfortable staring at a computer screen than schmoozing, and too zealously impatient to waste time.
Page is more reclusive, and odder. He was once asked at a dinner, according to a dinner guest, “What’s the most important thing the government should be doing?”
“Colonize Mars!” Page said.
Most of the dinner guests nodded as if he had said something profound.
Page can be almost monklike. He ruthlessly guards his time, and can treat those who ask him to make a speech or meet reporters as if they were thieves trying to steal his time. A longtime Google employee describes Page this way: “Larry is like a wall. He analyzes everything. He asks, ‘Is this the most efficient way to do this?’ You’re always on trial with Larry. He always pushes you.”
While Brin is more approachable than Page, he, too, can be awkward around strangers. His wife Anne Wojcicki’s company, 23andMe, was feted at a fashionable cocktail party in September 2008 that was cohosted by Diane von Furstenberg and her husband, Barry Diller, Wendi and Rupert Murdoch, and Georgina Chapman and her husband, Harvey Weinstein. The event was held at Diller’s Frank Gehry-designed IAC headquarters in Manhattan. Brin appeared wearing a dark crewneck sweater and gray Crocs. He and Google are investors in her company and he is openly proud of her work. But she had to quietly beseech him to stay. He did, but hid behind his oversized Canon camera, moving about the vast room or retreating to a corner, always snapping pictures.
THE YEAR 2000 BEGAN with two bangs. The first was that Google entered the new year averaging seven million searches a day, a massive jump from half a million at the beginning of 1999. The second was the sudden crash of technology stocks. Between March and October, the NASDAQ Composite Index, which lists most tech and Internet companies, fell 78 percent. Yahoo’s stock at one point plunged from $119 a share to $4. As a private company, Google was both spared and offered opportunities. “As in any successful venture, there’s a lot of luck,” said Hal Varian. “One of the great things from Google’s point of view was the dot-com collapse in 2000. A lot of talent became available.” Google cherry-picked some good engineers.
But the company was burning through its cash. While Google’s revenues would total $19.1 million in 2000, its losses would be $14.7 million, more than double those of the previous year. And they’d had “zero discussion” about any kind of Google advertising until late 1999, recalled Salar Kamangar, who crafted Google’s first business plan and became vice president of product management. The founders feared ads would slow searches. They still believed Google could outsource monetization to ad firms like DoubleClick, or sell their search services to corporations. Page and Brin were relying on their faith that a way would be found to make money. This faith produced more friction with their two major investors, but Page and Brin were undeterred.