Hatching Twitter: A True Story of Money, Power, Friendship, and Betrayal Read online

  Ev had told the Wall Street Journal reporter that there was a possibility that Twitter would soon go public, but “probably without [Ev], as he has little interest in running a public company.” No, Ev was interested in working on another idea, he told the reporter. “He’s been pondering a way to revolutionize email.”

  Jack repeated the last line in his head over and over during the flight. “Revolutionize email!” Why had Ev had kicked him out of the company if he didn’t even want to run it?

  As the plane started to slow he noticed people around him take their helmets off and start sitting on them like tiny footstools. One by one, others did this. “What’s going on?” Jack yelled over the rumble of the engines to the State Department employee sitting next to him.

  “We’re landing!” the man screamed back. “We sometimes take small-arms fire as we land, and you don’t want to take a bullet up your ass.” Jack frantically removed his metal helmet and slid it below him to protect his balls. As he did, the plane started to turn rapidly.

  Landing a C-130 at war-torn Baghdad International Airport is not like a simple passenger-plane arrival at JFK. There are no FASTEN SEATBELT signs or stewards demanding that you turn off your iPad. In Iraq planes have much bigger concerns; specifically, not being shot down by rocket launchers. The trick pilots use is to land in a corkscrew, spiraling down toward the runway like water circling a drain. (Or, as a pilot who landed there explained it so eloquently, “You drop faster than Paris Hilton’s panties.”)

  As they taxied on the ground, the rear-ramp door of the plane cracked open and a slit of orange sky burst inside. Behind it the desert heat rushed in like a backdraft in a house fire, hitting them one by one with a blanket of scorched air. As Jack looked out, he could see dozens of helicopters speckling the horizon like tiny black ants crawling across the sky.

  It looks like the scene out of Forrest Gump, Jack thought to himself.

  They soon discovered that Cohen’s request that they wear suits on the plane had been a terrible idea. Their flak jackets, which were made of rugged ballistic nylon, had spent the past two hours rubbing up against their blazers, which had torn the suits to shreds like sandpaper on tofu.

  When the plane finally rolled to a stop, they were directed out of the rear and introduced to Tony, a bulky ex-marine with broad shoulders and alert eyes, who would be overseeing their security for the next week. He explained to the group what to do if they were kidnapped or held hostage.

  After a few minutes they were shuffled to a group of helicopter gunships that would transport them to the Green Zone, the American-controlled area of Baghdad. Although not immune to missile strikes, they were told, it was the safest place in Iraq—at least for Americans.

  The chopper leaned forward as its propellers carried them through the thick Iraqi air. Jack sat in the back and peered out the open side of the helicopter as marines seated next to him pointed their guns at the ground below. “This is the most dangerous road in the world,” one marine yelled to Jack. “There are IEDs everywhere.” (IEDs were “improvised explosive devices” planted by insurgents to kill Americans.)

  “Interesting,” Jack said nervously, pulling his head back inside and taking a deep breath. He looked at the others in his helicopter and smiled slightly. Scott was snapping pictures with a digital camera, Cohen was on his BlackBerry, and Steven Levy, a reporter, was writing in his notepad.

  Beyond Cohen’s ability to talk his way into almost any situation, he also had another very impressive skill: an knack for bringing the press along on his excursions. Levy, a columnist for Wired, had been invited to come along as this particular delegation’s embedded reporter.

  “The idea is to use the brains of this small collective to give ideas to Iraqi government officials, companies and users that will help it rebuild,” Levy wrote on Wired’s Web site when he arrived in Baghdad. “Who knows that stuff better than a contingent of internet goombahs heavy on the Google juice and includes the guy who thought up Twitter?”

  The following days became a blur of meetings, press interviews, and photo ops.

  They were shuttled around in black bulletproof Suburbans to meetings with Iraqi officials of all ranks and levels of importance. Helicopters flew above, tracking their every move with guns hanging from the sides, like guardian angels keeping watch as they drove through the Iraqi streets.

  “Taking off my helmet and flak jacket,” Jack tweeted at one point. The group had decided to use the hashtag “#iraqtech” for the trip. Though Ev, Biz, and Jack had at first been uninspired by hashtags, calling them “too nerdy,” they had now become an integral part of the service and were being used to organize everything from discussions of TV shows to riots.

  “So much concrete. It’s everywhere.” Jack tweeted as they drove out of the Green Zone. Jack spent a lot of the time thinking about Ev’s and Biz’s media appearances over the past months, which made Jack seethe that he wasn’t giving these interviews.

  But that was all about to change.

  One of the group’s first meetings was with the National Investment Commission, an economic arm of the Iraqi government. Then it was off to meet with senior government officials.

  Each meeting began with awkward explanations of what the delegation’s respective jobs were. “I started a company called Twitter.” “Tweeter?” “No, Twi-t-ter.” “Ahhh, yes, Tweeter.” They all genuinely wanted to help the Iraqis, offering suggestions about how technology could be used to help rebuild the country and its shattered economy.

  During one meeting, as the group sat drinking from ornate cups in the home of Barham Salim, deputy prime minister of Iraq, Jack tried to convince officials that they should join Twitter. “The people of Iraq and the media will follow you,” Jack told Salim. “A technology like Twitter can bring access and transparency to government.” As they sat sipping wine, surrounded by guards, the deputy prime minister assured Jack, “I will sign up tomorrow.”

  “President Obama uses it all the time,” Jack said, eloquently explaining how Twitter had played a role in Obama’s election. Like a traveling salesman, he managed to sign up a few American Blackwater security guards who were assigned to protect the delegation.

  When the entourage finally met with the Iraqi president, Jalal Talabani, word had made it to the Western world about the delegation of tech wonders traipsing through Baghdad explaining how Twitter and YouTube worked. Media outlets, including CNN, the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, and Al Jazeera, along with dozens of others, began covering the entourage like paparazzi following Britney Spears at a shopping mall.

  The slew of reporters now following the delegation continually asked Jared if they could talk to “the Twitter founder” who was on the trip. Jack, happy to maneuver the spotlight away from Biz and Ev, gladly obliged.

  On the last evening of the trip they all sat outside at a long mess table at the American army base. Their laptops open, sipping from warm cans of Budweiser, they reflected on the week, where they had gone from nerds to consultants trying to help a scorched government enter the twenty-first century. But one of them, Jack, had also turned into an international superstar. A photo of Jack talking to reporters was splashed across newspapers, blogs, and magazines around the world.

  Ev, Biz, and Goldman’s plan to allow Jack to come along and keep him out of the way had completely backfired. FOUNDER OF TWITTER SENT TO SAVE IRAQ, read the headline of in a British newspaper, with a picture of Jack Dorsey below.

  On the last morning they were whisked back to the airport and stood on the dented rubble-strewn Tarmac, waiting for the C-130 that would hurtle them out of Iraq and back to America. While they waited, Jack reached for his phone to check Twitter. As helicopters thumped in the air above and fighter jets tore holes through the calm sky, Jack saw that the deputy prime minister had actually kept his word.

  “Sorry, my first tweet not pleasant,” Barham Salim said in his first 140-character proclamation. “Dust storm in Baghdad today & yet another suicide bomb
. Awful reminder that it is not yet all fine here.”

  The Time 101

  Flashes of white light exploded in the air like miniature fireworks in front of Jack, Biz, and Ev. Pop. Pop. Pop.

  “Over here!” “Look this way!” photographers yelled as their cameras rattled like muted gunfire. Friendly fire: Click. Click. Click. “This way!” they yelled. “Look over here!”

  The Twitter founders paused every few feet—pop, click, pop—then walked forward as they continued on the red carpet as if they were on a conveyor belt. Coiled white earpieces crawled up the necks of Secret Service agents who stood watch over the scene.

  “Hi, Jack Dorsey,” a young woman said as she approached with a clipboard in her hand. “Hello, Evan Williams,” another woman gleefully cried without ever having met him before. “You must be Sara,” she added to Ev’s wife. “Mr. and Mrs. Stone,” another said, matter-of-factly. “I’ll be escorting you inside,” they all heard separately. The shouts of the paparazzi could be heard trailing into the background as they walked forward. “Liv! Liv Tyler!” “Kate!” “Whoopi, over here!”

  They were shuffled along red carpets with red backdrops, through metal detectors, past the second security gate. Along another carpet for some television interviews. “Hey, it’s the Twitter guys!” they heard as microphones and TV cameras hovered inches from their faces. Questions were asked. Jokes made. Then they were shuffled along a few more feet to the next microphone. The next camera. The next set of questions and jokes. At the end of the media gauntlet they found themselves at a final booth where they were given a card noting their designated table for dinner. “Before you go inside, there’s one more thing I need to give you,” their handler said. “You’ll need to wear this lapel pin so guests know you’re one of the Time 100 Most Influential People in the World.” Shiny gold and red badges of honor were tacked to their suits.

  Inside, white gloves floated in the air transporting trays of champagne that swept smoothly around the room like magic carpets, immune to the turbulence of the power that swirled around them. World leaders, musicians, actors, billionaire CEOs, media moguls, Nobel laureates, First Ladies, Second Ladies, all mingling, quietly and properly clinking glasses and looking around at the who’s who of the who’s who.

  Amid them stood Jack, Biz, and Ev. How far they had come: A couple years earlier they had been somebodies among nobodies, visible only to the tech nerds in San Francisco. A couple of years before that they’d been just nobodies: Jack with blue dreadlocks, wheeling a stroller around Berkeley, a hacker nanny sleeping on couches. Biz, who was afraid to fly on airplanes, juggling credit cards to pay the rent with fifty thousand dollars in debt. Ev living in a six-hundred-dollar-a-month garage atop someone’s home, riding a borrowed bicycle to work across dirt roads to a tiny cubicle, where he sat silently each day. All lonely and alone, searching for something. And here it was—or so they thought.

  Some people are destined for greatness; others fall up a hill to get there.

  Jack surveyed the room, realizing that he should let the world know where he was. “Having champagne at the Time 100 Gala,” he tweeted.

  “Oh, you’re Whoopi Goldberg,” Biz said upon meeting the award-winning actress. “I loved you in Star Trek,” he said excitedly. She wasn’t amused. Behind him Stella McCartney, the world-famous fashion designer, stood huddled with her entourage, including Liv Tyler and Kate Hudson, each with their own fancy cocktail in hand. Laughter ricocheted around the space under the soft hum of conversation.

  Although the room was filled with celebrities, many of them were talking about three people: the Twitter guys.

  John Legend told the a camera crew, “I do Twitter. I just joined the bandwagon a few weeks ago. I’m up to 230,000 followers, which is not bad so far.”

  “Oh, wow, there’s M.I.A.,” Jack said to Biz with the excitement of a child seeing a favorite cartoon character in real life. He briskly walked in her direction, the champagne in his glass sloshing like a giant storm in a tiny ocean.

  M.I.A., a famous rapper from West London, had signed up for Twitter only a few months earlier but had instantly fallen into the deep end of the 140-character swimming pool. Standing there in a black dress and jean jacket, she told Jack that she loved Twitter because it allowed her to engage with fans and say whatever she wanted. As they stood there talking, Ev walked up and introduced himself. “And you’re with Twitter too?” M.I.A. asked Ev.

  “Yes.”

  “Great, what do you do?”

  “I’m the CEO,” he said.

  M.I.A.’s attention instantly shifted to Ev. Jack was annoyed that Ev had stolen the conversation and that he was able to introduce himself as Twitter’s CEO. “Can you get together so I can take your photo, please?” someone asked. As Jack stood scowling, a photograph was taken of the group. M.I.A.’s husband leaned in. She scrunched closer, tilting her head. Ev turned and smiled, his black bow tie pointing up at an angle. But not Jack. He pursed his lips slightly, his brow tightening. Pop. Click. A moment caught forever.

  They were soon shuffled inside the main ballroom at Lincoln Center for dinner. Biz and Livy found their assigned seats at table 10. They chatted with Lauren Bush, the former first cousin, and Jon Favreau, the personal speechwriter for the president of the United States.

  As Jack found his way to his seat on the upper level, he scanned the room, looking for Ev. He caught a glimpse of Michelle Obama, then spotted Lorne Michaels, producer of Saturday Night Live, who looked like a forlorn teenager as he played with his phone and ignored everyone around him. Close by, Glenn Beck, the conservative Fox host, was snapping pictures with his smart phone while he chatted with Arianna Huffington, the liberal blogger. Behind them Jimmy Fallon gave a small laugh at a joke.

  Then Jack saw him. Ev, seated at table 2, literally the best seat in the house, in front of the stage where Michelle Obama stood. Ev was seated with Joy Behar, cohost of The View, and Moot, who had won the title of World’s Most Influential Person after his Web site, 4Chan, had rigged the Time vote.

  Jack took a large gulp from his glass of champagne. Even at the Time 100 Most Influential People in the World gala, there is a pecking order. And in 2009, at the top end of that chart there was Evan Williams, the CEO of Twitter.

  The upper level seemed to house less important guests, like Christine Teigen, John Legend, and Lou Reed. (Oprah was back there too, though only because she had to leave early.) As Jack ruminated, his thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder. “And who are you?” an older women asked, as her hand, which was covered in ornate rings, stretched out to greet him.

  “I’m Jack Dorsey, the founder of Twitter.”

  “Oh, are you coming on the show tomorrow?” the woman said, then introducing herself “I’m Barbara Walters.” She was wearing a black dress with a mesh top that exposed her shoulders. Large sparkly earrings hung from her ears like chandeliers in a French palace.

  “No,” Jack said. “What show?”

  Walters explained that the following morning, after the Time 100 gala, the Twitter cofounders were scheduled to go on the The View, the show she cohosted with Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg.

  Jack immediately started to deliver his version of the events that had taken place over the past year, as if he were being interviewed by Walters in a special on her own show.

  He told her that a few weeks earlier, he had heard that the latest issue of Time magazine, which was consumed by twenty-five million readers, would announce the one hundred most influential people in the world. Ninety-eighty of those influentials would be political leaders, physicists, Nobel laureates, economists, musicians, and the kings and queens of the A-list celebrity jungle. The other two spots on the list had been reserved for Evan Williams and Biz Stone of Twitter. Jack Dorsey was not included.

  When Jack had found out, he’d sent Biz an infuriated note demanding to be included on the list. Biz explained that it was out of his hands. The editors of Time magazine hadn’t seen Jack as an employe
e of the company and therefore hadn’t thought it made sense to include him on the list. Biz had known how delicate the situation was and had tried to get Jack added, but to no avail. E-mails among Jack, Biz, Ev, and Time’s editors had shot in every direction. But Time had reiterated its position, reasoning that Jack was not involved in the daily operations of Twitter. Eventually, after some tense negotiations, Biz had managed to get Jack invited to the dinner, but technically he was not considered one of the Time 100. So the dinner had become the Time 101. Although no one knew this except the editors, the Twitter guys, and now Barbara Walters.

  Walters listened to all of this like a mother whose child has just come home after fighting with his best friend. “We’re going to take care of this,” Barbara told Jack, explaining that Ev was scheduled to be interviewed by her the following day and that she would talk to him about the turmoil. But Jack wasn’t finished yet. The world’s most famous interviewer, who usually listens to presidents, kings, and princesses, heard Jack continue to complain about Ev and Biz.

  When Jack had first grabbed a copy of the magazine, he had quickly flipped to the page that said “The Twitter Guys” and started reading. Time had asked celebrities to write each of the three-hundred-word blurbs announcing the influentials, and Ashton Kutcher had been chosen to showcase Twitter.

  “Years from now,” Kutcher wrote, “when historians reflect on the time we are currently living in, the names Biz Stone and Evan Williams will be referenced side by side with the likes of Samuel Morse, Alexander Graham Bell, Guglielmo Marconi, Philo Farnsworth, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs.” Jack was mentioned in the article later, in passing, as one of the cocreators of Twitter, and was “(not pictured)” in the accompanying photo. Instead, it was an image of Ev and Biz staring at each other with a few fake birds suspended on a tree branch above them.