"Welcome to the front lines, my friend," I said, clinking pints with my agent. "Might as well enjoy it."
If this story really were a play, here"s where it would take a momentary, romantic interlude. Disheartened by the tense nature of our meeting, Tracy invited Henning and I to go out for drinks with her and some of her coworkers. We left the bar on Third Ave., headed down to the East Village, and caught up with Tracy and her friends.
Once there, I spoke with Tracy, careful to avoid shop talk. Our conversation was pleasant, relaxed. Before parting, we agreed to meet the next night. Once again, the conversation was pleasant, so pleasant that the Stallman e-book became almost a distant memory.
When I got back to Oakland, I called around to various journalist friends and acquaintances. I recounted my predicament. Most upbraided me for giving up too much ground to Stallman in the preinterview negotiation. A former j-school professor suggested I ignore Stallman"s "hypocrite" comment and just write the story. Reporters who knew of Stallman"s media-savviness expressed sympathy but uniformly offered the same response: it"s your call.
I decided to put the book on the back burner. Even with the interviews, I wasn"t making much progress. Besides, it gave me a chance to speak with Tracy without running things past Henning first. By Christmas we had traded visits: she flying out to the west coast once, me flying out to New York a second time. The day before New Year"s Eve, I proposed. Deciding which coast to live on, I picked New York. By February, I packed up my laptop computer and all my research notes related to the Stallman biography, and we winged our way to JFK Airport. Tracy and I were married on May 11. So much for failed book deals.
During the summer, I began to contemplate turning my interview notes into a magazine article. Ethically, I felt in the clear doing so, since the original interview terms said nothing about traditional print media. To be honest, I also felt a bit more comfortable writing about Stallman after eight months of radio silence. Since our telephone conversation in September, I"d only received two emails from Stallman. Both chastised me for using "Linux" instead of "GNU/Linux"
in a pair of articles for the web magazine Upside Today. Aside from that, I had enjoyed the silence. In June, about a week after the New York University speech, I took a crack at writing a 5,000-word magazine-length story about Stallman. This time, the words flowed. The distance had helped restore my lost sense of emotional perspective, I suppose.
In July, a full year after the original email from Tracy, I got a call from Henning. He told me that O"Reilly & a.s.sociates, a publishing house out of Sebastopol, California, was interested in the running the Stallman story as a biography. The news pleased me.
Of all the publishing houses in the world, O"Reilly, the same company that had published Eric Raymond"s The Cathedral and the Bazaar, seemed the most sensitive to the issues that had killed the earlier e-book. As a reporter, I had relied heavily on the O"Reilly book Open Sources as a historical reference. I also knew that various chapters of the book, including a chapter written by Stallman, had been published with copyright notices that permitted redistribution. Such knowledge would come in handy if the issue of electronic publication ever came up again.
Sure enough, the issue did come up. I learned through Henning that O"Reilly intended to publish the biography both as a book and as part of its new Safari Tech Books Online subscription service. The Safari user license would involve special restrictions,1 Henning warned, but O"Reilly was willing to allow for a copyright that permitted users to copy and share and the book"s text regardless of medium. Basically, as author, I had the choice between two licenses: the Open Publication License or the GNU Free Doc.u.mentation License.
I checked out the contents and background of each license. The Open Publication License (OPL)See "The Open Publication License: Draft v1.0" (June 8, 1999).
gives readers the right to reproduce and distribute a work, in whole or in part, in any medium "physical or electronic," provided the copied work retains the Open Publication License. It also permits modification of a work, provided certain conditions are met. Finally, the Open Publication License includes a number of options, which, if selected by the author, can limit the creation of "substantively modified" versions or book-form derivatives without prior author approval.
The GNU Free Doc.u.mentation License (GFDL),See "The GNU Free Doc.u.mentation License: Version 1.1"
(March, 2000).
meanwhile, permits the copying and distribution of a doc.u.ment in any medium, provided the resulting work carries the same license. It also permits the modification of a doc.u.ment provided certain conditions.
Unlike the OPL, however, it does not give authors the option to restrict certain modifications. It also does not give authors the right to reject modifications that might result in a compet.i.tive book product. It does require certain forms of front- and back-cover information if a party other than the copyright holder wishes to publish more than 100 copies of a protected work, however.
In the course of researching the licenses, I also made sure to visit the GNU Project web page t.i.tled "Various Licenses and Comments About Them."See On that page, I found a Stallman critique of the Open Publication License. Stallman"s critique related to the creation of modified works and the ability of an author to select either one of the OPL"s options to restrict modification. If an author didn"t want to select either option, it was better to use the GFDL instead, Stallman noted, since it minimized the risk of the nonselected options popping up in modified versions of a doc.u.ment.
The importance of modification in both licenses was a reflection of their original purpose-namely, to give software-manual owners a chance to improve their manuals and publicize those improvements to the rest of the community. Since my book wasn"t a manual, I had little concern about the modification clause in either license. My only concern was giving users the freedom to exchange copies of the book or make copies of the content, the same freedom they would have enjoyed if they purchased a hardcover book. Deeming either license suitable for this purpose, I signed the O"Reilly contract when it came to me.
Still, the notion of unrestricted modification intrigued me. In my early negotiations with Tracy, I had pitched the merits of a GPL-style license for the e-book"s content. At worst, I said, the license would guarantee a lot of positive publicity for the e-book.
At best, it would encourage readers to partic.i.p.ate in the book-writing process. As an author, I was willing to let other people amend my work just so long as my name always got top billing. Besides, it might even be interesting to watch the book evolve. I pictured later editions looking much like online versions of the Talmud, my original text in a central column surrounded by illuminating, third-party commentary in the margins.
My idea drew inspiration from Project Xanadu ( the legendary software concept originally conceived by Ted Nelson in 1960.
During the O"Reilly Open Source Conference in 1999, I had seen the first demonstration of the project"s open source offshoot Udanax and had been wowed by the result. In one demonstration sequence, Udanax displayed a parent doc.u.ment and a derivative work in a similar two-column, plain-text format. With a click of the b.u.t.ton, the program introduced lines linking each sentence in the parent to its conceptual offshoot in the derivative. An e-book biography of Richard M.
Stallman didn"t have to be Udanax-enabled, but given such technological possibilities, why not give users a chance to play around?Anybody willing to "port" this book over to Udanax, the free software version of Xanadu, will receive enthusiastic support from me. To find out more about this intriguing technology, visit
Laurie Petrycki, my editor at O"Reilly, gave me a choice between the OPL or the GFDL, I indulged the fantasy once again. By September of 2001, the month I signed the contract, e-books had become almost a dead topic. Many publishing houses, Tracy"s included, were shutting down their e-book imprints for lack of interest. I had to wonder. If these companies had treated e-books not as a form of publication but as a form of community building, would those imprints have survived?
After I signed the contract, I notified Stallman that the book project was back on. I mentioned the choice O"Reilly was giving me between the Open Publication License and the GNU Free Doc.u.mentation License. I told him I was leaning toward the OPL, if only for the fact I saw no reason to give O"Reilly"s compet.i.tors a chance to print the same book under a different cover.
Stallman wrote back, arguing in favor of the GFDL, noting that O"Reilly had already used it several times in the past. Despite the events of the past year, I suggested a deal. I would choose the GFDL if it gave me the possibility to do more interviews and if Stallman agreed to help O"Reilly publicize the book. Stallman agreed to partic.i.p.ate in more interviews but said that his partic.i.p.ation in publicity-related events would depend on the content of the book. Viewing this as only fair, I set up an interview for December 17, 2001 in Cambridge.
I set up the interview to coincide with a business trip my wife Tracy was taking to Boston. Two days before leaving, Tracy suggested I invite Stallman out to dinner.
"After all," she said, "he is the one who brought us together."
I sent an email to Stallman, who promptly sent a return email accepting the offer. When I drove up to Boston the next day, I met Tracy at her hotel and hopped the T to head over to MIT. When we got to Tech Square, I found Stallman in the middle of a conversation just as we knocked on the door.
"I hope you don"t mind," he said, pulling the door open far enough so that Tracy and I could just barely hear Stallman"s conversational counterpart. It was a youngish woman, mid-20s I"d say, named Sarah.
"I took the liberty of inviting somebody else to have dinner with us," Stallman said, matter-of-factly, giving me the same cat-like smile he gave me back in that Palo Alto restaurant.
To be honest, I wasn"t too surprised. The news that Stallman had a new female friend had reached me a few weeks before, courtesy of Stallman"s mother. "In fact, they both went to j.a.pan last month when Richard went over to accept the Takeda Award," Lippman told me at the time.Alas, I didn"t find out about the Takeda Foundation"s decision to award Stallman, along with Linus Torvalds and Ken Sakamura, with its first-ever award for "Techno-Entrepreneurial Achievement for Social/Economic Well-Being" until after Stallman had made the trip to j.a.pan to accept the award. For more information about the award and its accompanying $1 million prize, visit the Takeda site, the way over to the restaurant, I learned the circ.u.mstances of Sarah and Richard"s first meeting.
Interestingly, the circ.u.mstances were very familiar.
Working on her own fictional book, Sarah said she heard about Stallman and what an interesting character he was. She promptly decided to create a character in her book on Stallman and, in the interests of researching the character, set up an interview with Stallman.
Things quickly went from there. The two had been dating since the beginning of 2001, she said.
"I really admired the way Richard built up an entire political movement to address an issue of profound personal concern," Sarah said, explaining her attraction to Stallman.
My wife immediately threw back the question: "What was the issue?"
"Crushing loneliness."
During dinner, I let the women do the talking and spent most of the time trying to detect clues as to whether the last 12 months had softened Stallman in any significant way. I didn"t see anything to suggest they had. Although more flirtatious than I remembered-a flirtatiousness spoiled somewhat by the number of times Stallman"s eyes seemed to fixate on my wife"s chest-Stallman retained the same general level of p.r.i.c.kliness. At one point, my wife uttered an emphatic "G.o.d forbid" only to receive a typical Stallman rebuke.
"I hate to break it to you, but there is no G.o.d,"
Stallman said.
Afterwards, when the dinner was complete and Sarah had departed, Stallman seemed to let his guard down a little. As we walked to a nearby bookstore, he admitted that the last 12 months had dramatically changed his outlook on life. "I thought I was going to be alone forever," he said. "I"m glad I was wrong."
Before parting, Stallman handed me his "pleasure card,"
a business card listing Stallman"s address, phone number, and favorite pastimes ("sharing good books, good food and exotic music and dance") so that I might set up a final interview.
Stallman"s "pleasure" card, handed to me the night of our dinner.
The next day, over another meal of dim sum, Stallman seemed even more lovestruck than the night before.
Recalling his debates with Currier House dorm maters over the benefits and drawbacks of an immortality serum, Stallman expressed hope that scientists might some day come up with the key to immortality. "Now that I"m finally starting to have happiness in my life, I want to have more," he said.
When I mentioned Sarah"s "crushing loneliness" comment, Stallman failed to see a connection between loneliness on a physical or spiritual level and loneliness on a hacker level. "The impulse to share code is about friendship but friendship at a much lower level," he said. Later, however, when the subject came up again, Stallman did admit that loneliness, or the fear of perpetual loneliness, had played a major role in fueling his determination during the earliest days of the GNU Project.
"My fascination with computers was not a consequence of anything else," he said. "I wouldn"t have been less fascinated with computers if I had been popular and all the women flocked to me. However, it"s certainly true the experience of feeling I didn"t have a home, finding one and losing it, finding another and having it destroyed, affected me deeply. The one I lost was the dorm. The one that was destroyed was the AI Lab. The precariousness of not having any kind of home or community was very powerful. It made me want to fight to get it back."
After the interview, I couldn"t help but feel a certain sense of emotional symmetry. Hearing Sarah describe what attracted her to Stallman and hearing Stallman himself describe the emotions that prompted him to take up the free software cause, I was reminded of my own reasons for writing this book. Since July, 2000, I have learned to appreciate both the seductive and the repellent sides of the Richard Stallman persona. Like Eben Moglen before me, I feel that dismissing that persona as epiphenomenal or distracting in relation to the overall free software movement would be a grievous mistake. In many ways the two are so mutually defining as to be indistinguishable.
While I"m sure not every reader feels the same level of affinity for Stallman-indeed, after reading this book, some might feel zero affinity-I"m sure most will agree.
Few individuals offer as singular a human portrait as Richard M. Stallman. It is my sincere hope that, with this initial portrait complete and with the help of the GFDL, others will feel a similar urge to add their own perspective to that portrait.
Appendix A : Terminology
For the most part, I have chosen to use the term GNU/Linux in reference to the free software operating system and Linux when referring specifically to the kernel that drives the operating system. The most notable exception to this rule comes in Chapter 9 . In the final part of that chapter, I describe the early evolution of Linux as an offshoot of Minix. It is safe to say that during the first two years of the project"s development, the operating system Torvalds and his colleagues were working on bore little similarity to the GNU system envisioned by Stallman, even though it gradually began to share key components, such as the GNU C Compiler and the GNU Deb.u.g.g.e.r.