Now, these blue rings, which were basically hybrids of the VLCT ring for Texas Instruments, would play a huge role in the next phase of my business. Texas Instruments told me, in that classic “corporate” way, that I should start manufacturing these rings on a verbal agreement, and I agreed to make 35 of these things. But here’s the kicker: the order was going to come from Tokyo Seimitsu, my former employer.
At that time, Tokyo Seimitsu’s lawyers were demanding a million dollars in cash and for me to shut down my business. Oh, they were pissed, and they had every right to be. These rings, these 35 blue rings, were meant for the new equipment that Texas Instruments was buying from Tokyo Seimitsu. Now, each probe station costs around $160,000 a piece, plus long-term maintenance services.
There was a lot of money on the line, and it was a big order—big enough to get Tokyo Seimitsu celebrating. But there was no way in hell they were going to buy the blue rings from me. So what did they do instead? I heard they tried to copy it, but no one could get their hands on it. Why? Because all ten rings that I made for the prototype for Texas Instruments were already in production. They couldn’t take any of those rings, make measurements, and copy the damn thing. It was a standoff in the making, and we were all locked in place, waiting for something to break.
And of course, we received the letter. They wanted their damn million dollars and the drawings for the blue rings. Simple, right? Just give them a million, shut everything down, and hand over everything I had. No big deal.
Around that time, I got a call from Ray Rincon at Texas Instruments. He asked me how the blue rings were coming along, and I told him the truth: “I’m not going forward with them because we’re being sued by Tokyo Seimitsu, who are demanding the drawings for those blue rings. I’m kind of stuck here, man.” He said, “Don’t worry, I’m on it. We’ll get this figured out.” He hung up on me.
What he did next was huge. He supposedly put a hold on the 35 units from Tokyo Seimitsu and said, “We won’t accept these without the blue ring on them. Whatever issues you have with the company now, Systematic Inc. (that’s me, by the way), those need to be resolved if you want long-term relations, because we plan on using Systematic Inc.”
I was impressed. I didn’t know whether to kiss him or punch him in the arm, but that was the kind of guts I appreciated. He went to bat for me, and I took a huge risk working with him. And damn, it paid off.
The very next day, my attorney received a call asking for a face-to-face meeting in downtown Portland. We all raced over there—everyone in suits—both attorneys, Greg Sebastian, the vice president from Tokyo Seimitsu, who was a sharp, handsome corporate guy, and me. We all sat down in the conference room, and the attorneys started talking in circles. Threats, accusations, demands for a million dollars, and the drawings for the blue rings. Basically, I was the thief, and they weren’t going to let me off easy.
“Let’s settle,” my attorney said, trying to make it sound like we were negotiating, “Maybe $200k. Or maybe you just take the rings and walk away with no money. How about that?”
None of it sat right with me, but it was all being spoken through my attorney’s mouth, and it pissed me off. So, I did what anyone in my position would do. I said, “Can I talk to Greg for a minute alone?”
Both attorneys looked like they’d just swallowed a live rat. “No,” they said. “No, we need to be here for this.” But I wasn’t having it. I insisted. “I want to talk with Greg, just the two of us.”
Reluctantly, they agreed, and I shut the door behind them. Now, it was just me and Greg, two men with too much to lose and a whole lot of nonsense to wade through.
I took a deep breath. “Greg, I want to apologize for the mess I’ve caused. But there’s no bigger supporter of Tokyo Seimitsu’s product line than me. I believe in it. I love the concept. My actions were a reaction to what happened at the office. I’m not here to discuss employment issues, but we’re here now, and I want to create a win-win solution.”
Greg didn’t say a word. He just listened.
“I will manufacture those 35 rings for you,” I continued, “and I’ll give you the same price tag I sell them to Texas Instruments for, with a 10% discount on all interfaces going to any of Tokyo Seimitsu’s customers—whether it’s AMI, ASE, Dallas Semi, Lucent, whoever. I’ll support you, I’ll partner with you, but I won’t be a competitor. And in exchange, I keep my business. I keep everything I’ve got, including the stuff I took from you.”
There it was. The deal.
Behind the scenes, Tokyo Seimitsu had a multi-million dollar project on hold because of those damn rings. There was no way they were going to resolve this any faster unless they took my offer. Shockingly—and I mean shockingly—my attorney and I managed to pull it off. They agreed.
I had done it. I had managed to play the game. I kept my business, and Tokyo Seimitsu, my ex-employer, was now a customer. In the end, they had me by the balls, but I turned that into leverage. I couldn’t have been more proud of myself. The excitement, the adrenaline, the fear, the shock—it was all a cocktail of emotions that flooded over me. But there was nobody to share it with. Nobody to go home and celebrate with. Nothing but doom and gloom.
The house remodel was finished. My kids were fed, happy, and doing well—as long as I didn’t come home. But I wasn’t. I’d stopped going to church. They were demanding too much of my time, and I had a new love—one that consumed all my attention, leaving me stressed and disconnected from the things I used to care about. The energy I once poured into caring for people in a church sense now shifted entirely to my new business.
I was becoming someone else—the new James. The one who cut deals, hustled for money, and was relentless in the pursuit of the next big thing. The old me, the one who’d sit around and think about the atonement of Jesus Christ for a Sunday sermon, was fading fast. That version of me? It didn’t fit anymore.
Even not going to church became an issue. My kid’s mom was proud of me when I was that church man—someone who people looked up to in the halls, who they’d ask for prayers in hospitals. She didn’t want the guy who was in his office all day, falling asleep at his desk, designing products. That wasn’t the man she wanted. But then, hell, even me going to church wasn’t making her happy. So why keep doing it?
Men, I think, are a lot like dogs. If you keep spanking me for shitting on the carpet, then you spank me again for shitting outside, and then again for actually shitting in the toilet and wiping my ass, what the hell am I supposed to do? What kind of programming does that give me? Why should I keep doing good things for you if I’m never going to be rewarded? Why should I bring in more money if you’re not going to appreciate it?
The passive-aggressiveness was suffocating. I was done. And ironically, that was the moment I began to feel something close to happiness. Independent happiness. I didn’t need my kids mother to make me happy anymore. I didn’t need anyone’s approval. I was doing this for me, and for the first time, that felt right.
