Another issue was culture. Until its merger with Cambridge Technology Partners, Novell, as noted, was headquartered in Provo, Utah. Utah is a land of decency, polygamy, and theocracy, all courtesy of the country’s most successful homegrown religion, Mormonism. The state is an anomaly in the United States; it’s a place of remarkable cultural, religious, and political uniformity. Mormons make up 63 percent of Utah’s population and hold most statewide elective offices. Politically, white Republican males dominate the state legislature. Utah’s entire U.S. congressional delegation is Mormon, as are both senators.
The result of this cultural and religious homogeneity proved a subtle problem for Novell as the company grew. Although Utah has fine universities that turn out decent numbers of programmers and sales and marketing types, Novell never held much appeal for people outside the Utah and Mormon milieu, nor did the company make strong efforts to attract them. For instance, though Mormonism doesn’t technically ban the use of caffeine, it doesn’t look on its use with particular favor either. As a result, obtaining a cup of coffee at Novell headquarters wasn’t an easy thing to do. This proved a minor problem in an industry that uses various java brews and caffeine-laced concoctions such as Mountain Dew and Jolt Cola to increase programmer productivity and happiness. After Novell’s merger with Cambridge Technology Partners in 2001, new CEO Jack Messman made a point of handing out cigars (Mormons also don’t believe in smoking) at a meeting of Novell resellers. Brigham Young may have been spinning in his grave, but Messman’s point that the company was going to have to break out of its old mindset wasn’t lost on many.
The lack of acceptable sodas mirrored a more subtle intellectual issue that also dogged the company as it grew. Internally, Novell lacked the fizz and ferment of new ideas and concepts that the cross-pollination of employees coming and going generates in high-tech companies. As a result, Novell often seemed to regard itself as above the grimy realities of business. One clue to this attitude could be seen in Novell’s intelligence-gathering operations. Industry observers have long noted that if you go to one of the various company-sponsored shows, such as a Microsoft’s Exchange conference, you’ll find IBM personnel (or their surrogates) in attendance and vice versa for an IBM Domino/Notes show. However, you would rarely find a Novell GroupWise contingent sneaking about at a competitor’s conference garnering information. It was just not the sort of thing Novell did.
Novell delivered a more subliminal message about its attitude toward the outside world with its infamous hotel, known informally in the industry as “Noorda’s Nightmare.” For years, weary travelers who visited Novell at its corporate headquarters in decidedly unglamorous Provo were forced to sojourn at this “inn,” as it was the only place for miles around where you could park your head in the evening. Novell’s “resort” featured mediocre food, carpeting of a dubious color, thread-bare towels, and much scratchy off-white linen drooped over tired mattresses. One corporate type who visited Novell to attend a high-level dog-and-pony show discussing the future of NetWare left Provo vowing to buy NT simply to repay Novell for the lethal case of heartburn he’d developed eating the Nightmare’s food.
And, of course, years of success also played a factor in Novell’s insular attitude. When a company has done so well for so long it’s hard not to think it’s got it all under control. But, as Bill Gates has always known, in a modern capitalistic society, they really are all out to get you. Properly channeled, paranoia is a useful management tool, but Novell for a long time seemed to lack any.