Judge Questions Proposed Silicon Valley Hiring Collusion Case Settlement

The late Steve Jobs and Google's Eric Schmidt
over coffee in Palo Alto, California
(Image: gizmodo.com)

For all of Silicon Valley's talk about "innovation," "free enterprise," and "disruption," its major corporate players worked hard to keep each other from poaching its respective work forces. A number of years ago, a handful of affected individuals filed a class action lawsuit alleging widespread employer collusion in the Valley. The goal of the unwritten, but well-known and thoroughly understood policies was to keep a lid on the employee compensation a genuinely free labor market would have generated. The culprits, according to the litigation, included, among others, the sainted Steve Jobs, the revered Google, and the former gold standard for tech worker bliss, Hewlett Packard.

Recently, representatives for the plaintiffs reached a settlement for over $300 million with a number of Valley heavyweights. According to a story in siliconvalley.com, the case's presiding federal judge has threatened to pull the reins on the settlement's momentum. Judge Lucy Koh harbored doubts that the settlement was in the plaintiffs' better interest.

Oops. Keep in mind that Silicon Valley's star firms have been promoted as the apogee of employment desirability. The President of the United States, a parade of major media "content providers," and the Valley's heavy hitters themselves have sung the praises for high tech's A-team. Now, a court case has brought clarity to the Valley's old school collusion that effectively stifled "innovation," frustrated legitimate free market operations, and worked overtime to avoid "disruption" to its hiring and retention models.

Guess some things just don't change, after all.

Former Pittsburgh Steeler Coach Chuck Noll -- RIP

Chuck Noll
(Image: espn.go.com)

The Pittsburgh Steelers are currently among the NFL's glamor teams, a franchise with a national following. It wasn't always that way. The Steelers historically had fielded bad teams and were overshadowed by their nearby nemesis, Paul Brown's Cleveland Browns. The Steelers' fortunes changed with the hiring of Chuck Noll as head coach in 1969, from Don Shula's Baltimore Colts.

Pittsburgh was the only pro team Noll head coached. His twenty-two year tenure included four championships and enough also-rans to bring the Steelers into high, national profile. He was known as something of a football teacher, in that he insisted that his collection of brutes learn and execute sound technique. Noll's way, similar to Vince Lombardi's approach, was to do simple things well and beat the opponent physically. That led the Steelers into street fights with the gang-uniformed Oakland Raiders, who followed a similar philosophy in terms of intimidating play. Those contests were not for the faint of heart, even by NFL standards.

Noll's best move was to draft Joe Greene from North Texas State. In 1974, the Steelers drafted four future Hall of Fame players (Greene was also an HOF standout.). Raider-Steeler and Cowboy-Steeler games featured fistfuls of Hall of Famers, all of whom were intense, merciless, and dedicated to winning.

The Pittsburgh's coach's most appealing attribute was his modesty. He never thought he was a genius, that he had reinvented the wheel, or that he commanded unique insights into human psychology. Noll kept pro football in the brutal, primitive world where it truly existed (quite possibly the only shared link with the Raiders).

In a way, Noll was fortunate to have coached in a small market such as Pittsburgh. Had he coached in New York, the media would have eaten him up. Instead, Noll could enjoy life's pleasures (he was something of a wine connoisseur) without swatting away reporters like so many gnats. He was a modest, self-assured man, whose run of championships will be difficult to surpass.

Noll passed away last week in western Pennsylvania. He was 82 years old. His obit in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette captures some of Noll's flavor and how he profoundly impacted everyone -- everyone -- in western Pennsylvania.

Thinking of Rome on D-Day Plus Two

Among the Second World War's remarkable stories is the liberation of Rome. I remembered this during D-Day, for two entirely separate reasons. The history books record June 6, 1944 as the day the Allies entered the Eternal City. That fact, which should have been an enormous propaganda coup for the good guys, was entirely overshadowed by the Normandy landings.

From Rome: Open City
Anna Magnani in a famous sequence from the movie
(Image: UCLA Film & Television Archive)

Well, it was overshadowed everywhere except Italy. Thanks to Roberto Rossellini (among others), a global audience has obtained a relatively faithful rendering of the events in Rome during early June, 1944. The Italian director's movie Rome: Open City not only provided a dramatic window into that historical episode. The film also heralded the entry and importance of the Italian film perspective known as neo-realism. That Italians felt an affinity to truthful depictions of painful historical events should be a source of inspiration to American film makers and others, myself included. It is striking that American audiences essentially do not want to come to grips with unpleasant historical events, such as the 2008 financial crash, the Iraq war, and the classist vise grip on the nation's wealth, political clout, and intellectual capital. (The contradiction between tough, truly shared "sacrifice" and convenient, self-satisfied "giving back" to achieve a greater social good begins to encapsulate this morally bleak state of affairs.)

I also thought about Italy on June 6th through a reminder that someone I knew from those days was celebrating her birthday in Rome. She had introduced me to a piano instructor who sacrificed his most fruitful days as a musician in protest against Fascism in the years prior to and during World War II. He lived his life according to his conscience; more importantly, he trusted his conscience over material convenience or a hollow dismissal of politics. He saw how people were twisted by rancid political ideology, how citizens were stripped of rights, how the innocent were singled out for murder. He thought they were worth protesting, fighting against, sacrificing.

The Roman piano maestro's actions have left a far greater impact on my thinking about World War II's great lessons than the big picture D-Day memorials have, or ever really could.

Reading Leonardo Sciascia on the D-Day anniversary

Today's ceremonies marking the 70th anniversary of D-Day focused on the soldiers' heroism and the necessity of the Allied cause to triumph. The American media did not bother to look very hard under the celebratory hood, much as Steven Spielberg's Normandy invasion movie, Saving Private Ryan, did not.

The BBC's wave of stories on D-Day included a very poignant one about the destruction of the French port city of LeHavre, and 5,000 of its French civilian residents, during the 1944 Allied air blitz that framed the Normandy campaign. Those type of grim details tarnish the sheen on official speeches, such as the one President Barack Obama gave today.

Leonardo Sciascia

I recently started a novella by the late Sicilian writer Leonardo Sciascia set in a town liberated by American forces during World War II. The skillfully drawn picture includes people abandoning Fascism and shouting approval of the Allied advance. It also depicts what happened to the town after its changing of the guard from German to American occupiers. The black market resumes acvitity. Prostitution occurs somewhat openly or quite discreetly. Scores get settled. Lies about family connections to America expand like fish stories. The natural, centuries-old Sicilian suspicion about foreigners, especially military ones, maintains its grip on the local population.

One notion Sciascia implicitly raises is how little things change over time. This perspective notably contrasts with an unquestioning American belief in the constancy and positive value of change. That conundrum was not articulated during today's Normandy ceremonies, but it's worth considering after the good feeling from American triumphalism fades away.

Book Expo (BEA) Notes

Last week's events included the American publishing world's most significant trade show, known as Book Expo America (BEA). The exhibition, held in New York's unlovely Javits Center, featured a hustling amalgam of salespeople, agents, authors, and anyone else who wanted to make a buck buying or selling "content." My interest in this publishing pow-wow was to discover buyers for my firm's overstock products. Remainder day was a trade-only event, which made my visit focused and surprisingly pleasant.

There's little romance in the remainder and overstock business. One of publishing's secrets is the role of a book's print run. For some publishers, it's financially wiser to print more books than they are likely to sell either in the retail market or via wholesalers. In effect, the excess quantity is planned to occur, as the books will reach the remainder market and generate some revenue for the publisher.

The remainder vendors know who they are and what they're buying. The ones I met were surprisingly open and chatty, though sharp-eyed and skilled at quickly sizing up their counterparts. They also happen to know what customers want to buy. Their insights may very well correspond with their Big Five publishing brethren and sisters, whose book choices vary between astute and dim. The remainder buyers are notably immune to hype; for them, it's all about moving units. I found that approach a refreshing one.

In contrast, BEA's entranceway was filled with extravagantly-sized banners exuberantly praising the latest works of popular authors such as Jodi Picoult. A number of these lionized authors were television or movie celebrities, an ironic comment on the book biz that no one noted, or at least articulated. The most painfully fawning of these banners was one dedicated to Lena Dunham, the New York/Hollywood axis' new bright young thing. My only comfort from this rather bleak display was the knowledge that one of last year's BEA shining authors was Mitt Romney's wife.

I also attended a couple of sessions on social media and "publishing." One presentation, by Goodreads founder Otis Chandler, ran out of chairs after 450 people were seated. (Chandler, who sold Goodreads to Amazon, was not singled out as an ambassador of evil, as an Amazon rep might have been.) A later panel discussion on social media and e-books caught the eye of around 250 curiosity seekers. Clearly, the data-driven world has increasingly encroached upon publishing. No one, however, thought to consider how independent authorial voices would survive the religious belief in data's allegedly revealed truth. How would a Henry Miller, Anais Nin, William S. Burroughs, or Chester Himes (just to name a few writers) ever have emerged from a wilderness of "likes" and "trending now"?