
Innovation Works, a Chinese start-up incubator, announced today that it has raised $180 million from a list of American investors that includes Sequoia Capital, executives from Google and Facebook, and Silicon Valley Bank. READ MORE


Innovation Works, a Chinese start-up incubator, announced today that it has raised $180 million from a list of American investors that includes Sequoia Capital, executives from Google and Facebook, and Silicon Valley Bank. READ MORE
Bottom Line When a high-tech trend threatened the future of his business, Michael Edell radically reshaped his company. Two years later, he’s suffered record losses and lost legions of employees. But don’t stop him now How would you feel if one day people just stopped buying your most popular product? Software vendor Michael Edell got a taste of that feeling in October 1998. That’s when Edell began to notice a disturbing sales pattern. His company, jeTech Data Systems, based in Camarillo, Calif., created and sold labor-management software, which automates the administrative tasks — payroll, time tracking, and project planning — that come with managing a large workforce. At the time, Edell’s company was losing deals, but not to rival vendors. Instead, sales prospects were forgoing software products altogether, preferring punch clocks and paper — in Edell’s view, inefficiency — to the expense and hassle that came with buying and installing jeTech’s software. Never in 15 years had Edell, then 35, experienced such flat-out rejection. He knew something was up. “When you look at our markets, a solution like ours makes so much sense,” he says. “It had to come down to the fact that we were somehow doing the wrong thing.” Meanwhile, in another realm of the software universe, the application service provider (ASP) model for selling and distributing software was emerging. ASP software vendors act like high-tech landlords, providing their customers with software over the Internet for a fixed monthly fee. Customers usually access the software, which runs on the vendor’s servers or on those of a third-party provider, through their Web browsers. Besides giving customers more predictable costs, the ASP model spares them the headaches of buying servers, hiring IT staff, and enduring lengthy systems-integration ordeals. Edell pondered his lost deals and concluded that unless jeTech began offering Web-based software, the company might well be doomed. This past January, jeTech became eLabor.com, the first software vendor to offer an ASP model in the labor-management niche, according to industry sources. By then, of course, few software vendors didn’t have some sort of ASP plan. But back in 1998, ASPs were practically unheard of. These days, companies with an ASP approach are backed by venture capital and are officially hot. Research firms are also crowing about the ASP model. IDC, for one, believes the market for ASP software will balloon to $7.8 billion by 2004, compared with the $300 million it took in last year. But for all the noise surrounding the ASP trend, what’s rarely discussed is the dilemma small vendors like Edell face because of it. What happens when the product you’ve sold for years for millions of dollars suddenly has no prospective buyers, only renters? Obviously, your cash flow plummets — at least at first. Using an ASP system, some vendors reap the same revenues they would have received as traditional software vendors, but the money is paid out over time. Most actually make more in the long run by structuring their leases not for a given period but for as long as the customer uses the product. Either way, there’s a big cash crunch up front as the vendor adjusts from a diet of six-digit pie to monthly morsels. Software vendors also have to determine whether they should switch whole hog to an ASP model or continue to offer customers the choice of buying their product outright. Offering both options gets tricky. How, for instance, do you structure incentives for your salespeople so that they will push the “cheaper” ASP model? And how do you explain to customers who’ve recently installed your software that the very package they’ve just paid six digits for and that required months to get configured is now available at rental rates on the Web, with minimal customization required? Those were a few of the challenges Edell confronted as he transformed jeTech into eLabor.com. The issue was not whether jeTech would change, according to Edell. “It was how do you finance, deploy, and market that change?” he says. Michael Edell decided that unless jeTech began offering Web-based software, the company might be doomed. Edell lists financing first for a reason: adapting software to make it deployable on the Web is pricey because of the personnel (costly programmers and Web designers) and gear (the latest servers and network equipment) needed to do the job. Most industry observers agree that it’s nearly impossible for a small software vendor to switch to an ASP model without acquiring millions in outside funding, both to pay for the overhead and to provide operating capital until rental revenues ramp up enough to cover monthly costs. At best, switching to the rent-based model would mean two years of flattened sales. At worst, if leasing never caught on with the large businesses that typically use labor-management software, the move would drown jeTech in red ink. Both scenarios were tough for Edell to stomach. But Edell could at least feel confident that he had a key advantage when it came to seeking external financing: a track record as an experienced pre-Internet entrepreneur. Edell had built jeTech from barefoot beginnings in 1983 into a $14-million, 85-employee player. With customers like Corning and Hertz, tiny jeTech competed with national powers like $254-million Kronos and Simplex, which has revenues of more than $800 million. Edell consistently kept jeTech’s margins near 20%. During the company’s migration from DOS to Unix, in 1983, and throughout the early-1990s recession, jeTech stayed debt free, growing without outside funding. Edell doesn’t hesitate to invoke his status as an industry veteran, a profits-first type who needs a swig of Maalox when he hears about Web-based companies with free products and deep deficits. “I’m from the old school,” he says. Complementing Edell’s sturdy résumé is his decidedly sturdy appearance. With his full head of jet black hair, the energetic, six-foot-two Edell resembles not so much a grown-up techie as he does a seasoned corporate battler. “Customers don’t like to buy from rookies,” says Brad Jones, partner at Brentwood Venture Capital, which in November 1998 poured $7.5 million into jeTech. Edell met Jones through jeTech’s corporate attorney, Leib Orlanski, who’d already worked with the company for five years and had sat on jeTech’s board. He had seen the company grow nearly 600% since 1994. Orlanski’s firm had connections in the venture-capital community, and it was quick to make introductions for Edell (with an eye, no doubt, on doing the company’s IPO if everything worked out). Even with the Brentwood money — which jeTech burned through in 13 months — Edell found himself in need of a larger credit line. He inquired at his bank, but it was from the old school, too, and wouldn’t expand jeTech’s then $2-million line, which was based strictly on accounts receivable. Eventually, Edell landed a $6-million line at Silicon Valley Bank in December 1999, just as the $7.5 million from Brentwood ran dry. The line easily tided the company over until its next cash installment: $16 million from Lehman Brothers and Brentwood Venture Capital, which came in March. For such a heretofore penny-pinching soul as Edell, raising and spending money at that rate might have seemed foolhardy. But the dollars involved in turning jeTech into eLabor.com were comparable to what other companies have burned through in doing their entire ASP makeovers. Art Williams, a director and analyst with Giga Information Group in Cambridge, Mass., says that Edell’s figures are not only typical — they’re necessary. “You’re giving up your front-end revenues for an annuity stream,” he says. Williams estimates that it can take a company up to two years to recoup the front-end revenues it loses during the transition. But that hardly spells doom for small software vendors that don’t raise mountains of money, says Katherine Jones of the Aberdeen Group, in Palo Alto, Calif. Jones says some vendors take an outsourcing approach: rather than executing an ASP model by themselves, the vendors simply form a partnership with companies that already have an ASP infrastructure, such as Breakaway Solutions or NaviSite, to name two. Essentially, Breakaway and NaviSite license application software from vendors, host it on their own servers, and act as de facto value-added resellers (except in this case they’re actually renting, not selling). Edell, however, was intent on turning eLabor.com into a stand-alone ASP. He saw it as the company’s best chance to close the gap on competitor Kronos (which had yet to offer an ASP option). After all, the capital he raised could do more than just smooth over cash flow. It could also fund the staffing requirements for rapid growth, allowing the company to add salespeople, programmers, developers, and security gurus. So far, in fact, 85% of eLabor.com’s capital has gone toward hiring personnel. But the hiring hasn’t always gone as planned. The company has actually had two separate recruiting binges in the past two years. The first ramp-up — bringing the total number of employees to 180 by the end of 1999 — was followed by a “scale back” to 130 when Edell opted to outsource some support and implementation services he had previously planned to keep in-house. The retrenchment was also prompted by what might be termed “technocultural” issues, workplace tensions created by technology changes the company had to make as it switched course. Since 1997, jeTech’s programmers had written software mostly in Java code, with a Sun Microsystems-based architecture. Most members of one of the product-development teams saw no reason to change when the company converted its software from installed to Web-based. But a faction of that team believed — rightly, as it turned out — that jeTech’s software would run faster on Microsoft architecture. They also thought key parts of the system should be written not in Java but in the programming languages C++ and Visual Basic. When those workers persuaded Edell to scrap more than a year’s worth of Java coding — about $1 million in labor, Edell guesses — some of the Java programmers revolted and left the company. Other programmers had grown accustomed to an environment in which they sometimes spent more than a year developing products for which time-to-market rates weren’t crucial. Now the treadmill was accelerating. The structure of the product-development segment was changed, and the company’s development teams were whittled from 20 members to 5, yet the teams — faced with the same workload — were expected to produce faster. “We took 18 months of work and crunched it into 3 for a development cycle,” says Dave Mikelonis, vice-president of product development. Mikelonis says the company hardly misses the departed workers. “In my opinion, 20% of us were doing 80% of the work anyway,” he adds. Edell saw turning his company into an ASP as its best chance to close the gap on the competition. Edell estimates that he lost 50 employees, between the disgruntled Java programmers and workers who resigned or were fired for their inability to adjust to the faster pace. And like Mikelonis, Edell thinks the business is better for the exodus. “No one left that we didn’t want to leave. We lost 50 people, and production doubled,” he says. Whether the jettisoned workers share Edell’s view of their inefficiency is another matter. Edell refused to provide contact information for his ex-employees, saying: “I don’t think trying to find out why they were left behind is appropriate. I don’t want to rub that in anyone’s face.” Although the ASP ramp-up began nearly two years ago, the company didn’t change its name to eLabor.com until January, five months after it began pushing the ASP model. The belated switch symbolized Edell’s biggest regret to date and another cause of employee defections: poor communication with the rank and file. When the company was still known as jeTech, confusion reigned among the staff. The ASP offering seemed like just another new product from jeTech — not a complete change in corporate direction. Edell faults himself for not spelling things out more clearly. In hindsight he wishes he’d taken employees on a three-day “vision” retreat. Instead, he gave a PowerPoint presentation to his staff to outline the ASP plan. He thought his vision was clear, as did his fellow executives. But the rest of the staff members were baffled by this new ASP product called eLabor.com that, according to Edell, was going to change the world. “There was a lot of confusion,” says longtime salesman Dan Auge. When salespeople demonstrated an early version of jeTech’s ASP product in the field, they didn’t see what all the hype was about — and neither did some of their customers. That wasn’t surprising since the early version looked just like the installed jeTech product. It hardly seemed worthy of the fanfare Edell had sounded in its honor. “They saw some product getting released that looked just like our old product, and they’d ask, ‘What’s the difference?” says Edell. “They didn’t get it.” Even after numerous informational meetings, sales staff would return from the field wondering what, besides the cost, were the benefits of a Web-based product. “It was hard for me to fathom why a company wouldn’t buy the product the traditional way,” adds Auge. When the sales force finally did understand — and start to sell — the company’s ASP solution, another problem emerged: how could the company motivate its salespeople to sell a three-year contract instead of a flat-fee installation? The sales staff was selling both versions at the same time but had little rationale to push the rental model, since doing so would mean smaller up-front commissions. Edell and the sales staff ultimately agreed on a compensation system in which the company would pay full commissions during the first six months of an ASP rental contract. (At press time Edell said he was considering paying them over 90 days.) That way, salespeople wouldn’t have to wait three years to collect the commissions they previously would have received instantly on a sale. Though Edell takes the blame for the communications gaffe, he attributes his company’s bumps partly to its early entry into the ASP arena. In late 1998 there essentially was no ASP market, which placed a big burden on the company to explain the concept to both employees and customers. But the employees, it seems, finally do “get it,” and eLabor.com has sold 20 Web-based deployments so far. In addition, the company has yet to face any wrath from its legacy customers, who paid for on-site software installations before the company began offering its Web-based alternative. Edell doesn’t anticipate problems, mainly because he’s been upfront with customers about the switch, and because most of his customers seem to understand how rapidly technology changes. But not everyone thinks it’ll be easy for companies making the ASP switch to keep existing customers from feeling cheated. John Witchel, founder and CEO of San Francisco-based Red Gorilla, which offers Web-based time-tracking software, thinks established companies are at a decided disadvantage in rolling out an ASP model. “You have tons of customers who’ve spent millions on software. If you offer the exact same thing on the Internet for less, you’ll have an absolutely livid customer base thinking it got ripped off,” he says. Other vendors, however, agree with Edell that customers are numb to the pain of frequent high-tech spending and are therefore unlikely to become angry when they have to spend more on new technologies. “When customers make an investment to build a data center, hire IT staff, and buy servers, they know that after a few years they’ll need new stuff,” says Allie Rogers, CEO of $10-million Triple Point Technology, based in Westport, Conn. “Over time, customers expect more users or volume on their systems anyway, which always means new purchases. There’s no concept of making an investment and sitting on it.” Though Triple Point’s latest releases are deployable on the Web, Rogers says, customers are hardly champing at the bit for his company’s Web-based products. “I still consider Web-based software two years away from wide acceptance,” he says. Jim Kizielewicz, vice-president of marketing for Kronos, shares Rogers’s view that the ASP model will take some time to take off. Kronos launched its ASP offering in June. “We’ve had an ongoing dialogue with analysts, and the market appears to be extremely overhyped right now,” Kizielewicz says. “Plus we weren’t hearing about it from many of our customers.” The difference in opinion between Kizielewicz and Edell — two guys in the same market — illustrates the fallacy of generalizing about an industrywide trend like ASP deployment. Edell reacted to the model early for two reasons: he saw the technology’s potential impact on his customers; and he realized that in his position — as a small company competing with Kronos and Simplex — he might miss the chance to capitalize on a historical change in the way customers purchase and use software. Right now it’s difficult to judge whether eLabor.com is too early, right on time, or just plain wrong. What’s clear, though, is that Edell is no longer quite the same old-school guy. “Well, now I’m kind of an old-school, new-school guy,” he says. “New school when it comes to the model. Old school when it comes to making money.” Ilan Mochari is a reporter at Inc. Please e-mail your comments to editors@inc.com.
E-Diaries Good things come to those who wait. If you can’t wait, get a loan It’s been six months since I began writing this column about Gazooba Corp., my own personal juggling act in the three-ring circus that is the Internet economy. Just before the first installment appeared, I was in Boston with the usual crowd of analysts, doing some serious tête-à -tête-ing about our company’s outsourced viral-marketing model. Between appointments I swung by the cozy offices of Inc. magazine to meet with the editors for whom I was chronicling my adventures. As I sat in a conference room overlooking the silvery swells of Boston Harbor, the Inc. staff plied me with sandwiches, solicited the skinny on the more hyperbolic tales pouring forth from Silicon Valley, and told me how much they were looking forward to my next column. “I can’t wait to start writing it!” I replied through a mouthful of chicken Caesar wrap. Bravado, thy name is Andy. In truth, I wasn’t sure that in a month’s time there would be a company to write about. But before I proceed, I’d like to take a moment and apologize to those readers who seek out these pages each month in search of a humorous respite. I did try to make this column, like all my columns, amusing. But since it concerns (a) a dark night of the soul and (b) some pretty arid financial lingo, there aren’t a lot of monkeys in this particular barrel. Take it as a lesson: building a dot-com company is not always the glorious funfest it’s cracked up to be. The clouds on my horizon that particular day were, not surprisingly, of the financial variety. In June 1999 my cofounders, Shanti and Zen, and I had closed Gazooba’s first round of investment, selling Series A preferred shares to a group of venture-capital funds and angels. We planned to follow up with a larger Series B round at the end of the year, by which time we expected a slew of Web companies to have pounced on the Gazooba model. And, in fact, by December we had built a large customer base composed of small and midsize sites. What we didn’t have in our corner of the ring was the heavyweights: the big-name customers that would help our valuation in the B round. A number of large companies told us they liked our program, which lets Web businesses reward visitors who refer friends to their sites. The reward is Gazooba points, which are redeemable for cash, electronics, even charitable contributions. But the sticking point was those companies’ demand for a private-label version of the service. One major telecom company, for example, wanted to offer its customers free minutes instead of our beloved Gazooba points. Well, if the market demanded a business-to-business provider of customer-referral programs, then dagnabit, Gazooba would become a business-to-business provider of customer-referral programs. But there was a problem. While popular wisdom holds that Internet companies can change business models on a dime, that’s not strictly true. On a quarter, maybe. On a Susan B. Anthony, 80% of the time. The point is, this was going to take a while, and a while was something we didn’t have. Our cash was almost gone. Finding takers for our Series B would be nearly impossible until we’d proved the new business model. And Gazooba’s board meeting was rapidly approaching. Needing a quick infusion of wisdom, I got on the phone to Brian Goncher, our part-time chief financial officer. In the vernacular of Regis Philbin, Brian is Gazooba’s lifeline. When we started the company, he got us an account at Silicon Valley Bank (SVB and Imperial Bank are where all the really cool start-ups do their banking) and helped secure an equipment-lease line for about a third of our capitalization, even though we were track-record-less. I asked Brian about my options for getting more cash into our coffers. “Well, you could go out for a second round now,” said the CFO doubtfully, like a gardener trying to dissuade some fool who wants to plant grass seed in January. “But it’ll probably take you a few months to develop the new platform. So why don’t you ask the investors for a bridge?” I briefly considered the old “Interesting … but tell me why you’d go with that particular strategy” bluff. Instead I decided to come clean. “What’s a bridge?” I asked. A bridge, Brian explained, is a loan designed for companies that are so close to some value-hiking milestone they can taste it and consequently don’t want to sell shares on the cheap. In financial terms it’s a convertible note in which the principal and interest convert to stock upon the completion of the next round of financing. In metaphorical terms (and who doesn’t prefer a metaphor when one is available?), a bridge loan is to a cash-poor start-up on the verge of a breakthrough as a PowerBar is to a marathon runner about to bonk at the 20-mile mark. It’s the last ounce of fuel that propels you toward the finish line. I needn’t have been embarrassed by my lack of knowledge, it turns out. Since bridge loans sometimes signal that a company isn’t performing well enough to raise a full round, they tend to be closely held family secrets, like the uncle who lives in the basement and thinks he’s Teddy Roosevelt. In the dot-com world there are 672 separate occasions when companies put out press releases. Asking for a bridge loan is one of maybe three occasions when they don’t. It seems as if every time someone persuades me to do anything — hire an employee, rent space from a landlord, retain a professional-services contractor — the next sentence out of that person’s mouth begins with “You realize they’ll want …” This was no exception. “You realize they’ll want warrant coverage,” said Brian, explaining that the lenders — our investors — would expect to be rewarded for their additional risk. They get interest, of course, but the more tantalizing carrots are warrants: rights to buy additional stock at an attractive price. That meant that the founders’ ownership — my ownership — would be diluted, a prospect that didn’t exactly turn my frown upside down. Zen, as usual, put things in perspective. “We have to unclimb the mountain,” he said, sounding wise beyond his years but in fact shamelessly stealing from a piece in Wired about how the Internet economy requires companies to constantly abandon old peaks in order to reach new heights. For the good of Gazooba, I straightened my shoulders and donned my rappelling gear. With Brian’s help, I built a spreadsheet showing how much money we’d need over the next four months to make over the business model and land some heavy fish. This is not a process for the squeamish: the resulting figure was almost as much as we’d raised in the first round. Before presenting the number to the board, I tried it out on our lead investor. “Well, what do the other investors think?” he asked. “Are they planning to participate?” “I’ll get back to you,” I replied, and called someone else. “Is the lead investor going to do this?” she asked. I went though several more of these chicken-and-egg conversations before getting the reassurance I craved. I presented the plan for the bridge loan at our December meeting. Our board members showed amazing support for our new direction and signed off on the plan. And yes, they asked for a lot of warrants as compensation. But Brian, our trusty reality check, assured me that their demands were in line with those he’d seen at other companies. We did the deal. As I write this in March, Gazooba has signed up several large corporate customers and is about to go live with the first. Investors are calling our board members asking how they can get a piece of us. As a result of that success, I am now confident enough to bring our own batty uncle out into the sunlight. No, a bridge loan isn’t something to be ashamed of. But don’t go looking for our press release. Andrew Raskin is the cofounder and CEO of Gazooba Corp., based in San Francisco. E-Diaries: Episode 1: A New Beginning The Game of the Name Take My Job Offer, Please. Pretty Please There’s No Such Thing as a Free Launch Gimme Shelter Bridge Financing over the River Scared Let the Good Times Roll There’s a New Man in Town I Really Must Be Going Editor’s note: E-Diaries will appear every other month beginning in August in order to give Raskin more time to run his company. Please e-mail your comments to editors@inc.com.