Losing the Signal

“The solution, Lazaridis and Balsillie decided, was an unorthodox plan to infiltrate Fortune 1000 companies. RIM made it easy for influential managers and executives to link the addictive BlackBerry system into their corporate e-mail without involving the IT department. Their secret weapon was the software designed by RIM engineer Gary Mousseau. The program was included free with every BlackBerry purchase and took only fifteen minutes to install on any computer. Once it was running, it connected the BlackBerry to a user’s e-mail and the device was operational. RIM even priced the devices so they fell within executives’ discretionary spending budgets. The idea was to get a critical mass of top executives in a company to use BlackBerrys before their CIO realized a new technology had infiltrated the business. This would be all the leverage RIM needed, Balsillie and Lazaridis believed, to convince CIOs to acquire sophisticated RIM servers to centrally manage large volumes of BlackBerry devices from within their IT departments. The CIO end run was a unique strategy, making BlackBerry the first IT product ever sold from the top down, pushed by senior management onto their IT organizations.”

“One thing Morrison didn’t get was Balsillie’s objections to talking about the company’s stock price, a ritual in most executive suites. Anyone caught talking about RIM’s share value was penalized. Balsillie didn’t want staff becoming complacent or distracted about company or personal fortunes. When Morrison sent Balsillie a congratulatory e-mail about RIM’s soaring stock price, he had to buy hundreds of donuts for RIM employees. Stock prices and quarterly results were precisely what Conlee believed needed more attention. He’d been hired to expand RIM “from millions to billions.” The company wasn’t going to get there unless it paid more respect to commercial details. That, the Texan knew, called for “a different culture.” Conlee invited RIM’s engineers to the Waterloo Inn to explain new marching orders. He introduced a detailed schedule of product milestones for Project Tachyon’s 5820 BlackBerrys, goals that would be enforced by a new product management office. Going forward, deadlines would be short and inflexible. All software features on the 5820 had to be completed within two weeks; for hardware design and beta-testing, the deadline was six weeks.”

“RIM had an advantage that Nokia and other phone makers lacked: its own data network. BlackBerry messages traveled through RIM’s in-house network, which was plugged directly into the carriers. The unique connection gave RIM a back door to sneak in services carriers wouldn’t allow. In the mid-2000s RIM began shipping BlackBerrys secretly loaded with sleeper applications. Carriers and customers had no idea the applications existed until RIM sent an alert to BlackBerry users about a software upgrade. Hidden within the digital transmission was a file that unlocked the applications on the device—a Web browser and links to popular instant messaging services. Icons immediately popped onto BlackBerry home screens around the world. By the time carriers realized what was happening, millions of customers were using the Internet and exchanging instant messages on their BlackBerrys. Initially carriers were furious. Verizon threatened to pull BlackBerry from all retail channels. “I had to speak with probably twenty different carriers about this,” says Aaron Brown, then a director of services in RIM’s product management group. “But at that point, they realized the truth”: carriers were powerless to turn off the browsing or messaging services. Brown reminded his angry callers about the fine print in service contracts that gave RIM the right to change features and services on its phones “without permission or notice.” After a while carriers stopped complaining. Lucrative data traffic was becoming a multibillion-dollar business for the carriers thanks to the growing popularity of e-mails and instant messaging. “The key was stealthily leveraging and launching, then asking for forgiveness,” Balsillie says.”

“Conlee’s responsibilities and title were split between handset chief Thorsten Heins and manufacturing head Jim Rowan, both of whom he had groomed, leaving Lazaridis with two chief operating officers; a third, Morrison, still reported to Balsillie. Lazaridis’s direct reports, including software head David Yach and chief information officer Robin Bienfait, met regularly with Morrison to ensure they were on the same page, “but nobody could stand up and say ‘Okay, all opinions heard, this is the decision’” as Conlee had done, says a former senior executive. “It slowed the company down. It was not that people didn’t perform in their roles; it was just purely the structure that was established did not lead to good, sound, and convergent decision making.” With Conlee gone, inertia and frustration set in at the senior levels. “There wasn’t the individual accountability that we needed,” says Morrison. “It was too splayed because it was across three different organizations. Now, all of a sudden, Mike is trying to manage something, but he doesn’t have the genetic code Larry has.””

“Balsillie and Lazaridis never called each other out in the Tuesday meetings as relations between their organizations deteriorated. “They were mindful of how they were being perceived” and kept any disputes behind closed doors, says Patrick Spence, who by now was one of three sales vice presidents and Balsillie’s most trusted lieutenant. But tensions between the two CEOs were evident to others. Balsillie encouraged his salespeople to press on quality issues and would chime in, “Did you get that, Mike?” to which his co-CEO would tersely reply, “I got it.” The Tuesday noon grillings rattled Lazaridis. He felt blindsided and thought the salespeople were grandstanding. He would stop meetings when they raised quality issues and ask for more information. “What is it? Can you send me details? I need to understand,” he’d say. Lazaridis would leave the meetings steaming, then walk into a meeting with his direct reports and Morrison at 1:00 p.m. where he would let loose and demand answers. By early 2010, Lazaridis’s chiefs were telling their assistants to clear their Tuesday afternoon schedules in anticipation of long, difficult meetings with their boss. “I got the worst of it,” says Yach, an assessment shared by others. “After hearing about an issue for the first time at the Tuesday noon meeting, I’d immediately e-mail folks to get me background and updates in time for the one o’clock meeting. My most common thought [during the Tuesday meetings] was, ‘I miss Larry.’” Sometimes, Lazaridis says, his direct reports would tell him they were already well aware of an issue raised by Balsillie’s side of the house and dealing with it. “It bothered me that I was hearing about stuff [from salespeople] that I should have heard from the team that reports to me every week,” says Lazaridis. Morrison says, “It became evident [Lazaridis] was losing control of some of these problems and he wasn’t getting straight answers … [or] support from people he needed.””

“If Lazaridis chafed at an executive seen as “Jim’s guy,” Balsillie also didn’t think much of a senior executive that Lazaridis had recruited, his old friend David Neale. The long-time Rogers executive who had helped steer Lazaridis to wireless data in the 1980s joined RIM in April 2010 as a vice president, advising the founder on strategy and marketing. Neale and Balsillie disliked each other. Balsillie viewed Neale as an unquestioning yes man at a time Balsillie believed his partner needed to confront hard truths about the business. Neale in turn didn’t think highly of Balsillie’s behavior and brusque manner. “He and I did not enjoy an easy relationship,” says Neale. To other senior executives, Tobin and Neale seemed like two more wedges distancing the CEOs from each other. “The seeds [of division] I think were sown by the kind of people they were bringing on the team,” says Spence. “You see the distance because of the people they’re hiring; they’re not aligned on who is the right person for the organization.” Personality and style notwithstanding, Tobin was thrust into a difficult situation in his new job. Tobin didn’t meet Lazaridis until he started; at their first encounter, the founder grilled Tobin on his high-tech experience and declared that Tobin should really be working for him and not Balsillie if he expected to oversee a software business.5 “I realized every single meeting I had with Mike I had this awkward position of being a direct report to Jim in a meeting where Jim wasn’t there and I didn’t really know the status of their relationship at any given moment,” says Tobin. “I spent a lot of time with [Lazaridis] going, ‘So what exactly are you supposed to do?””

“Balsillie followed two Sun Tzu tactics religiously: appear strong no matter how weak your hand; and move to uneven terrain if an aggressor is overwhelming. For Balsillie, rugged ground meant keeping competitors, suppliers, and customers off balance. “Bung them up in wool and play obfuscation; promise them this and then do that,” he says. “I am very good at that. I can send very uneven signals. Give them nothing to be certain with. Let them think they are getting what they want, but don’t be overly provocative. I can do that forever.””

“RIM capitulated to pressure for more choice by opening its e-mail system to other handset makers. They would design keyboard phones, and RIM would supply software and links to connect the phones to its data network. In exchange RIM charged licensing fees. RIM called this new program BlackBerry Connect. Many employees couldn’t understand why RIM was rushing to aid competitors. It wasn’t. Like some Balsillie strategies, appearances were deceiving. Balsillie and a small team of executives had other ambitions for Connect. This was more than a licensing program; it was a Trojan horse. RIM’s long-term game was to buy time. Competitors who signed up with RIM would be preoccupied making BlackBerry Connect phones rather than creating their own rival e-mail service. RIM gained an inside peek at rivals’ long-term development plans and opened the door to new customers. Every enterprise customer signed up under the program represented another stream of service access fees for RIM. It wasn’t empowering competitors at all; it was locking in its lead. “Sometimes you have to disguise yourself as another animal in the forest,” says Tyler Nelson, a RIM vice president who ran the program. Lazaridis was initially concerned that Connect would distract RIM’s engineers and designers at a time when RIM was racing to keep up with demand and introduce new BlackBerrys. He never worried, however, that corporate customers would abandon RIM for the Connect phones offered by other handset makers. Their Connect phones could not hope to match the security and encryption protections that made BlackBerry such a valuable business communications tool. “We knew ultimately that the enterprise customer … was never going to go for it, because it was not a verifiably secure solution,” he says. “It was our advantage. It wasn’t hidden; it was in plain sight.” Unaware of RIM’s hidden agenda, phone makers in Europe and Asia flocked to the program to strengthen their presence in North America with BlackBerry-enabled phones. Samsung was so keen to make a Connect phone that one of its employees idled for weeks at a Waterloo hotel waiting for RIM to grant him a meeting with Balsillie. Finally the visitor appeared at the company’s offices in a distraught state. Samsung, he explained, would not let him return home to his family and job in South Korea unless he secured a Connect deal. RIM opened Connect discussions with Samsung, and the manager was free to fly home. RIM’s most dedicated Connect partner was Nokia. The Finnish phone maker had been trying to break into the U.S. wireless business market for years, and Connect looked like an easy shortcut. Nokia’s executives did not worry about dancing with a competitor because Balsillie played down RIM’s ambitions during initial discussions in 2002. “He emphasized he didn’t believe RIM would be able to compete in the hardware business [and] might even give up their hardware business,” says Panu Kuusisto, who managed Nokia’s Connect agreement with RIM.…”

“As the quality debate raged, Balsillie turned his attention to another dilemma: how to protect and build RIM’s nondevice revenues. RIM’s supremacy in wireless e-mail had left carriers beholden to paying for access to its complex data traffic system. RIM increasingly relied on those fees; they accounted for $2.2 billion of revenue, or 14 percent of the total, in the year ended February 27, 2010. But because the fees had significantly higher profit margins than handsets, they accounted for most of the company’s $2.5 billion net income. That left RIM in an awkward position against Apple and Google. Apple made money selling songs, movies, e-books, and apps to iPhone customers—content that consumers willingly bought. Google wanted Android on as many smartphones as possible to increase the reach of its powerful and popular advertising-supported search service. RIM’s dominant source of extra revenue, by contrast, was fees extracted from reluctant carriers, who despised paying them.”

“Lazaridis believed RIM’s new device was such a convenience that it would become the preferred mode for exchanging e-mails. For that to happen, the user interface on the Leapfrog—what the customer saw and experienced when using the device—had to be intuitive and easy to operate. “Remove think points,” was one of his favorite phrases. “I liked teaching people to put themselves in the minds of the users,” Lazaridis says. “I wanted to get to the point where users prefer to use [the device] to send messages than actually power their computers.””

“Lazaridis would add to the confusion by visiting engineering teams with shopping lists of ideas. He became so enthusiastic about some design concepts that when he intoned, “This is important,” his engineers often mistook his passion for marching orders. When Lazaridis’s chief lieutenant, Larry Conlee, noticed engineers working on unauthorized parts or software, he quickly realized his boss had paid a visit. Mindful of pressing delivery dates, he asked Lazaridis to choose his words more carefully. Don’t use the word “important,” he warned, because there were too many people “saluting and clicking their heels.” RIM’s engineers learned to be more cautious about embracing Lazaridis’s ideas. It soon became accepted wisdom that no one was to follow Lazaridis’s orders unless he issued the command three separate times.”

“To Balsillie, meetings were corporate theater. You had to memorize your part before the curtain rose. Usually, Balsillie was the leading man, but he was willing to take on any role his team required for customer meetings. He could play the flinty, ice-veined negotiator or maintain a quiet presence, depending on what was needed. Tyler Nelson, who led several key business development initiatives after being hired by Balsillie in mid-1998, says: “Jim would say, ‘If you bring me into a meeting, use me for effect. What do you want me to do?’—but you had to make sure he was 100 percent [onside]. If not, a meeting could go sideways fast.” Once Balsillie approved a meeting agenda, everyone on his team was instructed to stick to the script. “I hate being thrown off by others in a meeting,” Balsillie says. “I get edgy when people are not prepared.” Even though Intel was a RIM partner, Balsillie was wary. You could never be certain of any customer, supplier, or competitor. Meetings were a potential minefield. “You learn quickly that this is serious business,” Balsillie says, “and you don’t make an independent move unless you know all aspects of the plan and exactly what you’re doing, because the penalty for a misstep is severe.” Overprepared and inexperienced, Klimstra knew his role: to answer technical questions. Otherwise, Balsillie had told him, say nothing. While Klimstra viewed Intel as a friendly ally, RIM’s chief saw the semiconductor giant as a dangerous, tricky heavyweight whose every employee lived by former CEO Andy Grove’s mantra, “Only the paranoid survive.””

“RIM had arrived at the bridge every high-tech start-up must cross in the pursuit of long-term success. It’s the point at which a product triumph forces a fledgling company to shift from unfettered free-form innovation to the steely commercial discipline required to foster sustainable growth. In Silicon Valley, founders often fall by the wayside after innovations take off. Creative entrepreneurs are often poorly suited to managing business success. Venture capitalists have the upper hand because they typically demand major or controlling stakes when betting on risky start-ups. This wasn’t the case in Waterloo. Balsillie had rebuffed venture capitalists, carefully raising cash through public stock offerings that did not overly dilute its founders’ clout. Lazaridis was the company’s largest shareholder, with an 11.2 percent holding in 2001, followed by Balsillie, with 9.3 percent, and Lazaridis’s childhood friend Doug Fregin, with 3.5 percent. Combined, their stakes would make hostile advances difficult.”

“The device was his baby and he rigorously opposed the addition of emerging smartphone features such as color screens, Web browsers, and video. These enhancements drained batteries and clogged networks, he explained to staffers who suggested the additions. Part of his reluctance reflected his belief that engineers built useful things, not toys.”

“There was a bigger game under way. Though they flattered Yankowski with attention, RIM’s partners had no interest in selling their company. They took Yankowski’s calls, showed up for meetings, and swapped boasts to keep him off guard. “Most people’s instincts tell them to seek clarity in business dealings, but ambiguity is more powerful in my view,” Balsillie explains. “You’d be surprised how long you can string competitors along without ever showing your cards.” An unsuspecting Yankowski pursued a takeover of RIM for months. Throughout Yankowski’s courtship of RIM, Balsillie downplayed his own company’s abilities and ambitions—flashing what he calls the “Aw, shucks card.” BlackBerry, he told Yankowski, was a small niche device lacking the global appeal of Palm. He talked of licensing Palm’s operating system and continually asked what RIM should do next. “That seemed to be his primary preoccupation,” Yankowski says. That’s exactly what RIM wanted him to think. “My objective,” comments Balsillie, “was to get him to underestimate RIM.” When Balsillie joined Yankowski in San Francisco for dinner later in 2000, the RIM chief pulled out a prototype of an upgraded BlackBerry, called the 957, which shared many of the features of the latest Palm device, including a large, square screen. He handed the model to Yankowski, who was suddenly full of questions: “What network will RIM use for this BlackBerry?” “We haven’t told anybody yet,” Balsillie replied. Eyeing the screen, Yankowski flashed Balsillie a big grin. “That’s okay. I already know.” “What do you mean?” “It says right here.” Yankowski pointed to the letters CDPD in the top right corner of the screen. CDPD, short for cellular digital packet data, was a wireless data network technology heavily promoted by its creator, AT&T. So that’s what RIM’s up to: dumping Mobitex for CDPD, Yankowski figured. Palm was already testing its next device on the CDPD data network. Balsillie was still giddy when he caught up with David Yach, a Canadian engineer who had been recently hired away from California software maker Sybase as RIM’s chief technology officer. Joining Yach in RIM’s jet, Balsillie blurted out: “He fell for it!” In fact, what he showed Yankowski earlier in the evening was a decoy with the screen changed to read CDPD by one of Yach’s engineers, with the specific intent of fooling the Palm boss. RIM had no interest in CDPD. Lazaridis viewed it as technically inferior technology, correctly predicting it would soon be dead. If Palm wanted to jump to CDPD, that was fine with Balsillie. For now, RIM was sticking with Mobitex, a slower but more reliable messaging highway. Yankowski has no recollection of the San Francisco dinner, but he remembers what happened soon afterward. Takeover talks broke off abruptly when Balsillie said he would have no part of a deal that did not hand him full executive control of the merged company. The petulant demand by a firm with one-twelfth the revenues of Palm seemed…”

“A more helpful insight came from a participant who spent much of his professional life on the road. He approached with dread his evening hotel ritual of downloading the day’s flood of e-mails on his laptop. It was a chore that inevitably involved hours of reading and replying. “If I just had a tool to help me with my volume of e-mail on the road, I’d pay anything,” he said. Convenience, not urgency, was a more potent marketing pitch. This was a device that could free customers to catch up on office communications on their terms. Idle time between meetings or lost time in taxis and airport lounges could be productively spent processing e-mails. Employers would be able to reach staff any time of the day and employees would not have to be tethered to computers. Bosses would never know e-mails were coming from baseball games, the golf course, or family homes. The next step was positioning the service in the crowded technology market. Lazaridis was so captivated by the concept he argued RIM should sell the Leapfrog as a new product category: e-mail pagers. Castell and RIM’s marketing vice president, Dave Werezak, disagreed. Too many other innovative communicators, such as IBM’s Simon or the EO Personal Communicator, had failed in part because they tried to define new categories and consumers didn’t appreciate or understand what the products offered. RIM managers were influenced by management guru Geoffrey Moore, who argued in his influential book Inside the Tornado that innovative technologies had a better chance of success if sold within a proven product category.1 The most popular handheld device going in 1998 was the Palm Pilot, sold as a personal digital assistant, or PDA. Palm Pilot was a huge hit because it allowed busy professionals to easily store and update calendar and contact information on a pocket-sized device. If the e-mail-enabled Leapfrog came with calendar and contact applications, Castell urged Lazaridis, then RIM could position its product as the most comprehensive PDA on the market. Lazaridis, who used a Palm, worried RIM would be seen as a weakling against the Silicon Valley darling. Castell’s pitch, however, was compelling: “If you want addresses and calendar, go for Palm. If e-mail is important, we’re the PDA to choose.” Lazaridis was swayed. His busy engineers were handed another impossibly short deadline to add calendar and contact applications to the device.”

“IF AT FIRST, THE IDEA IS NOT ABSURD, THEN THERE IS NO HOPE FOR IT. —ALBERT EINSTEIN”

“Harvesting the BlackBerry: An Insider’s Perspective,”

“Paul Desmarais,”

“Apple changed the competitive landscape by shifting the raison d’être of smartphones from something that was functional to a product that was beautiful. “I learned that beauty matters.… RIM was caught incredulous that people wanted to buy this thing.””

“Perhaps the neatest trick was making wireless e-mail appear faster and more instantaneous than it actually was. On other devices users had to log in, pull down messages, and wait for their device to process them. With RIM’s e-mail device messages arrived automatically, but the device still had to process them. That took time. Users didn’t need to know that. Lazaridis instructed his developers to hide the back-end process: users should be buzzed not when the e-mail arrived, but after it had been decrypted, decompressed, and dumped into their in-box, ready to read.”

“Smith’s book, Internal Perfection,”

“Norman Abramson left his job teaching engineering and physics at Harvard University in the late 1960s to accept a job at the University of Hawaii that put him within walking distance of the ocean. Abramson loved surfing, but he made his reputation riding airwaves. As head of a campus research project, Abramson created a wireless network based on radio signals that solved a local communications problem with University of Hawaii computers scattered among its campuses on four islands. Underwater telephone cables connecting the islands were expensive and not always reliable. Abramson’s solution was ALOHAnet, a network of software and equipment that radiated coded messages over radio signals. The advent of computers and digital communications made it possible to modulate radio waves, once shaped to convey the dashes and dots of Morse code, to relay digital bits known as 1s and 0s. This binary code was so efficiently processed that it was possible to relay data at faster speeds. Ham radio enthusiasts had tinkered with radio-based digital data transmissions for years, but radio channels were scarce and the capacity for conveying large blocks of data over long distances was limited. The biggest problem with traditional analog radio channels was that they were so busy and noisy that data messages were at risk of being lost or so corrupted they were unreadable. ALOHAnet solved these problems by dividing data into coded packets. Each packet held a portion of the user’s message and instructions about the destination and sequence in which the packet was to be arranged with other parts of the message when they arrived. If a channel was busy, packets were programmed to wait, like cars obeying a red light. As soon as a channel opened—green light—some packets continued their journey, a process that was repeated until all packets arrived. In the early 1970s, long before most people had heard of the Internet, Abramson and his colleagues were sending and receiving e-mails from various university campuses on their wireless network.4 It would be years before the concept was commercialized.”

“BlackBerry: The Inside Story of Research in Motion, Toronto, Key Porter, 2010, pp. 115–”

““Strategic ambiguity [is] death to a company.… It paralyzes organizations.””

“Handheld wireless e-mail was a breakthrough product nobody knew they wanted.”

“To Lazaridis, it was important that users only ever had one menu to choose from, rather than a multitude of options like most software programs. If you were typing a message and clicked the trackwheel, the menu would only bring up items that were relevant to crafting and sending an e-mail. It would also automatically highlight the Send function. The team developed other shortcuts, giving full functionality to thumb-typers without adding extra buttons. If a user typed two spaces, a period would appear at the end of the previous word and the next word would be automatically capitalized. If a user held down a letter key the machine would capitalize it, eliminating the need for the shift key. Ideas began to spill forth from across the company and got coded into the platform: if a user typed B while reading an e-mail, the e-mail would scroll to the bottom; T brought the user to the top, and U to the next unread message. To send a new e-mail, a user had to type only the first few letters of the recipient’s name in the To: box and all potential matches would show up until enough letters had been typed to eliminate all others. Clicking on a person’s name in a calendar item would bring up a new e-mail, with that person’s name already in the To: slot. Perhaps the neatest trick was making wireless e-mail appear faster and more instantaneous than it actually was. On other devices users had to log in, pull down messages, and wait for their device to process them. With RIM’s e-mail device messages arrived automatically, but the device still had to process them. That took time. Users didn’t need to know that. Lazaridis instructed his developers to hide the back-end process: users should be buzzed not when the e-mail arrived, but after it had been decrypted, decompressed, and dumped into their in-box, ready to read.”

“e-mail should be so instinctive that users would never have to interrupt their train of thought to hunt for a command. “We found 90 percent of the time you did the same thing,” says Lazaridis. “So at any one point, there…”

“To Balsillie, RIM was in an existential crisis, mired in what he describes as “strategic confusion.” The company’s business had been disrupted on several levels, with no obvious path forward. Was RIM supposed to defend the QWERTY keyboard, or jump all-in and become a touch-screen smartphone maker? Was it supposed to challenge Apple at the high end of the smartphone market or focus on the lower end with devices like its Curve and Gemini models, which were driving heady sales gains in foreign markets where Apple wasn’t yet a factor? Should the company stick to its closed, proprietary software technology or open its platform? One of the biggest puzzles was what to do about apps. For years Balsillie had fought carriers for the right to sell apps to customers, reassuring them RIM was “constructively aligned” with the wireless carriers. Then Apple waltzed in with an app store despite AT&T exclusion from any app revenues. Now RIM was forced to play catchup. Unlike RIM, Apple had an army of outside developers who had already built consumer apps for its computers and iPods and were primed to do the same for the iPhone. By the time BlackBerry launched its app store in spring 2009, iPhone customers had already downloaded 1 billion apps.2 But, Balsillie wondered, was RIM taking the right approach or should it stick to its “constructive alignment” narrative and leave the sale of apps to carriers? Balsillie struggled with each question. “I was strategically confused for a period of time when the game changed,” he says. “There was tremendous limbo-esqueness. Where do we dance? Apple had the same strategy clearly in 2007–08 that we had in 1999, and now we had to re-examine” every element of RIM’s approach. “The Storm failure made it clear we were not the dominant smartphone company anymore. We’re grappling with who we are because we can’t be who we used to be anymore, which sucked.… It’s not clear what the hell to do.””

“Balsillie’s cutthroat tactics were designed for competitors and pushy customers that he believed threatened RIM. Company employees knew better than to cross him. He had a short fuse and could be unforgiving when staff didn’t follow orders or weren’t prepared. Some RIM employees believed the best strategy was to steer clear of the prickly boss.”

“Balsillie recalls the ARDIS deal as the moment RIM put formidable U.S. carriers on notice that the Waterloo bantamweight could play just as rough as the big guys. Steering RIM, he says, meant being “massively scared shitless and fucking terrified” that carriers or competitors would one day toss the company over a cliff. After “trying to bob and weave” around bigger hitters for years, he saw a unique chance to grab the advantage when ARDIS came calling. He correctly gambled that BellSouth was in a corner because it had already signed its contract to buy the Leapfrog, a pager its network badly needed. Recalling the controversial transaction, Balsillie throws his hands in the air and breaks into a broad grin: “I played the leverage,” he laughs. “Welcome to business.””

“The two CEOs were so aligned that they often sketched out each other’s roles before meetings. They had secret signals, including an under-the-table nudge when a private chat was needed and crinkling of paper to indicate it was time to stop talking. Nudges were seldom necessary, however, because each anticipated where the other was headed. “They were in such amazing synch,” says Patrick Spence, RIM’s U.S. salesman. “It was absolutely incredible to watch them work in that kind of an environment, sitting right beside each other, where you think they’re almost connected in their brains.””

“The paradox of success, Lazaridis wrote, was that handheld devices did not need more functions; they needed fewer. “We must maximize adoption by minimizing complexity” of a powerful, reliable, and simple device that filled the mobile text message gap.”

“When Balsillie raised quality issues in private with Lazaridis, “I don’t recall a heated conversation, but I do recall Mike saying, ‘This stuff is really, really hard,’” says Balsillie. “Mike refused to acknowledge that we had any material technical issues, to the point that he would miss meetings so that he didn’t hear the negative feedback and hoping that we would not discuss it in his absence. That was wishful thinking, and I personally didn’t think we had any way around it. If anything, everyone was counting on Mike to see the flaws first and fix them as soon as possible.””

“Brenner was unwilling to give up part of his responsibilities and didn’t get along with Tobin. It took them months to negotiate the transfer of responsibilities and executives; Tobin wanted to control project management and set the road map for what services and apps would be developed, but the two never reached an agreement and that role largely stayed with Brenner. “I think Alan assumed that my job was to market and sell whatever [apps and services] he wanted to build, and my instructions were that he needed to build to what I required,” says Tobin. “Because the roles and responsibilities weren’t clear, it created some conflict. Alan felt he was capable of handling the business side as well as the technology side.” Balsillie didn’t agree—he felt Brenner should stick to technology—and Lazaridis didn’t care; when Tobin tried to escalate the issue to both Balsillie and Martin, he was redirected to Yach, Brenner’s boss, who sent him back to work things out with Brenner. To many it made no sense to split the responsibilities between two people; it just caused confusion and gridlock. “Those two jobs aren’t really separate,” said McDowell. “Tobin wasn’t looking for Brenner to tell him what to do, and Brenner wasn’t looking for Tobin to tell him what to do.… The net result is a stalemate.””

“RIM was a one-product company struggling with a damaged brand image and an outdated product. Years of strategic confusion and poor product execution had caught up to the BlackBerry maker.”

“Yach charged his software teams to work on alternative plans. Two possible solutions emerged, neither of them ideal: Yach favored running the existing Java BlackBerry platform on top of QNX’s core technology in order to support existing apps. But many developers, including Alan Brenner, championed a different approach: tacking the BlackBerry interface on top of an Android operating system with QNX at its core. Android offered ready-made technology that would enable RIM to push out a new device to market quickly, with a running start in consumer apps, where Android was a significant player. But it would also mean apps developed for BlackBerry wouldn’t work anymore. By late 2010, Yach embraced a third option: combining RIM’s Java operating system with Android’s. Lazaridis wanted no Java on future BlackBerrys and was troubled by Android: he felt an Android BlackBerry would be less distinguishable from countless other smartphones and would be far less secure than the QNX or existing BlackBerry operating systems because Android was written using publicly available open-source code. Businesses were sure to reject it. Nevertheless, Lazaridis allowed the debate to play out for months. “There was no right answer,” says one engineer involved in the discussions. “You just needed to pick an option and run with it. There was more and more discussion about looking at options than making a decision. And making the decision wasn’t easy because ownership wasn’t there. I think the decision was clear in Mike’s mind: there was going to be a rewrite, done by brand-new people. It was probably the right decision. But the execution of that decision,” in the engineer’s view, “was done poorly.””

“The solution was clever but flawed. By adopting Bridge, Lazaridis was solving a RIM problem, not a customer problem.”

“When a business declines it begins gradually, almost imperceptibly, until so many failures pile up that the unraveling arrives with unnerving speed.”

“Balsillie concluded that RIM’s hardware business would never recover. “When the game changes, if you’re not able to become what the game is now, you must pivot to another game,” he says. “I saw a tsunami of Androids coming and didn’t want to bet everything” on BlackBerry 10 smartphones. RIM, he says, had to offset the vulnerability of the hardware business with “a big, big shift.””