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Eric Migicovsky took his idea for a smartphone-connected watch through Y Combinator, earned real revenue during the program, and raised $375,000 from angel investors including Tim Draper. Venture capitalists still turned him down, wary of the tooling, inventory, and recall risks of hardware. So in April 2012 he renamed his company Pebble Technology and put the watch on Kickstarter with a $100,000 goal. It hit that mark in two hours and went on to raise more than $10.2 million from nearly 69,000 backers.
This episode follows the whole arc: the scramble to manufacture, the e-paper screen that gave Pebble a week of battery life, one million units shipped by the end of 2014, and a second campaign that raised $20.3 million. It also covers the reported $740 million offer from Citizen that Migicovsky declined, the 2016 insolvency, and the modest sale of software assets to Fitbit. Then comes the unlikely sequel, after Google released the Pebble OS code in January 2025 and its founder started again.
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The Curta was a mechanical calculator small enough to hold in one hand, nicknamed the pepper grinder and the math grenade. Its inventor, Curt Herzstark, grew up in his family's calculating machine business in 1930s Vienna and set out to shrink a desktop machine to pocket size. His answer was to replace the usual row of ten stepped drums with a single central drum ringed by input sliders, and to handle subtraction by adding a nine's complement. He secured a key patent in 1938, the year Nazi Germany annexed Austria.
This episode follows what happened next. The family factory was forced to make gauges for the German military, and in 1943 Herzstark, the son of a Catholic mother and a Jewish father, was arrested and sent to Buchenwald. There a camp official offered him a desk and drafting tools: finish the calculator as a victory gift for Hitler and he might live. He redrew the whole machine from memory. After liberation in April 1945 he built prototypes, fled the Soviet zone, and fought his own investors to bring the Curta to market.
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William Shockley, co-inventor of the transistor, persuaded financier Arnold Beckman to give him $1 million for a lab in Palo Alto, then mostly fruit orchards. He recruited eight young scientists, among them Gordon Moore, Robert Noyce, Eugene Kleiner, and Jean Hoerni, after putting each through psychological and intelligence tests. Then the dream job soured. Shockley recorded phone calls, forbade staff from sharing results, mailed their reports to Bell Labs to be checked, and demanded that everyone take a lie detector test.
This episode recounts the revolt that followed. Kleiner slipped off to New York to hunt for investors, the group asked Beckman to replace Shockley and was refused, and bankers Arthur Rock and Alfred Coyle met them at the Clift Hotel in San Francisco. Backed by a $1.38 million loan from Sherman Fairchild, all eight resigned on September 18, 1957, and founded Fairchild Semiconductor. Their company produced the planar process, then splintered into Intel, Kleiner Perkins, and dozens of spin-offs.
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John von Neumann's colleagues included Nobel laureates and the founders of quantum physics, and some of them half seriously suspected he was not human. Born in Budapest in 1903 to a wealthy banking family, he knew calculus by age eight and read a 46 volume world history for pleasure. His tutor, Gabor Szego, is said to have wept on seeing the boy's reasoning. At 19 he was publishing work on set theory, and he later earned a chemical engineering degree in Zurich and a mathematics PhD in Budapest at the same time.
This episode follows that mind to the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, where he worked in a three-piece suit with German march music blaring. It covers the stored-program design that still underlies every phone and laptop, his self-replicating cellular automata, and his calculations for the implosion bomb at Los Alamos. It also faces the contradiction of a cheerful party host who became a fiercely anti-communist advocate of the hydrogen bomb, and who met his own death with fear.
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Ray Tomlinson created networked email, gave the @ symbol its modern meaning, and then declined to own a cell phone. Born on April 23, 1941, in Amsterdam, New York, and raised in the village of Vail Mills, he was the son of a carpet mill worker and a dry cleaner's employee. He studied electrical engineering at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, did a co-op with IBM, and went on to MIT, where the early video game Spacewar showed him that computers could respond to people in real time.
This episode follows him to Bolt, Beranek and Newman in 1967, the firm building the ARPANET. In 1971 he was asked to make a routine update to SNDMSG, a program that could only leave messages for users on the same machine. Instead he grafted it onto his CPYNET file transfer code so a message could cross the network. Nobody had asked for it, and he told a colleague not to tell anyone. The episode also covers his work on the TCP three-way handshake and his dry, unhurried view of the world he helped wire.
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Life magazine called it the first electronic person in 1970. Shakey was a top-heavy stack of boxes on wheels, built at the Stanford Research Institute's Artificial Intelligence Center with DARPA money after a 1964 proposal for intelligent automata aimed at reconnaissance. It carried a television camera, sonar range finders, a radio antenna, and bump detectors. Project manager Charles Rosen watched it tremble across the floor, said it shakes like hell, and the name stuck.
This episode tells Shakey's story as a biography of a machine. The clumsy body mattered less than the mind inside it: software written in Lisp and a planner called STRIPS that reasoned backward from a goal to the steps required. Told to push a block off a platform, Shakey found a ramp, moved it into place, rolled up, and finished the job. The project ended in 1972, but the mathematics invented to make it work now guides map apps, video game characters, and self-driving cars.
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In 2008 a guest conductor four feet three inches tall, dressed like a small astronaut, led the Detroit Symphony Orchestra through The Impossible Dream. It was ASIMO, Honda's humanoid robot, and it was never meant to be sold. The project began in 1986 at a research center in Wako, Japan, with a single goal: make a machine walk on two legs. The early E series models were little more than heavy mechanical legs trailing thick cables, and the hulking P series followed before ASIMO was unveiled in October 2000.
This episode treats the robot's career as a biography. It explains why Honda chose a height of 130 centimeters, why the processor sits in the waist, and how cameras, lasers, infrared, and ultrasonic sensors fed one system at once. It follows the world tour, from the New York Stock Exchange bell to a soccer kick with Barack Obama, and the viral stair falls that made people love him more. Honda ended development in 2018, but the engineering lives on in walking assist devices and disaster response machines.
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In November 1999, stickers on grocery store bananas asked how many calories were in the fruit and pointed shoppers to a web address. That was Ask Jeeves, founded in Berkeley, California, in 1996 on a simple bet: people should be able to type a question in plain English instead of learning keyword and Boolean syntax. A cartoon valet borrowed from P.G. Wodehouse made the idea obvious to novices, and by July 1999 the company was trading on the NASDAQ.
This episode follows three decades of reinvention, from the Teoma acquisition and a $1.85 billion sale to IAC in 2005, through the 2006 decision to retire the butler and become Ask.com. It covers the privacy tool AskEraser, the purchase of Dictionary.com, a NASCAR sponsorship, and the 2010 surrender in the search wars. What kept the site alive for another 16 years was a quieter business built on old query logs, ad-heavy answer pages, and Google's own rankings, until the servers went dark on May 1, 2026.
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Adobe Flash began in 1993 as SmartSketch, a drawing program FutureWave built for pen computers running the doomed PenPoint operating system. When that platform failed, the company added frame by frame animation and relaunched it in 1995 as FutureSplash Animator. Because it drew with vector math instead of heavy pixel files, it could stream full color animation over a dial-up modem. Adobe passed on buying it, Macromedia grabbed it in December 1996, and a free player plug-in put Flash on nearly every computer on earth.
This episode traces the rise and the coordinated execution. ActionScript arrived with Flash 5 in 2000 and let teenagers build games in a weekend, feeding Newgrounds, Kongregate, and early YouTube. Adobe then paid $3.4 billion for Macromedia in 2005. But more than 1,000 documented vulnerabilities, battery drain, and Steve Jobs's 2010 letter banning Flash from the iPhone and iPad turned the industry against it. By January 2021 a built-in kill switch stopped the player for good.
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Albert Gonzalez looked like an ordinary IT guy from Miami. He bought his first computer at 12, reportedly hacked NASA at 14, and by his early twenties ran Shadow Crew, an online marketplace where about 4,000 members traded 1.5 million stolen credit and ATM cards along with fake passports and Social Security cards. When the Secret Service's Operation Firewall caught him in Newark carrying 15 fake cards, he avoided prison by becoming a paid informant.
This episode follows the double life that came next. While working with the Secret Service by day, Gonzalez and his crew cracked weak store Wi-Fi from parked cars, planted sniffer programs, and took 45.6 million card numbers from TJX and other retailers. Then he went bigger, using SQL injection to pull 130 million cards from Heartland Payment Systems. A sloppy return trip to a Dave and Buster's finally exposed him, and the story ends with buried cash, a 20 year sentence, and a retail industry forced to rethink security.
From the publisher's feed
pplpod is a podcast about people, places and lots of other stuff. Each episode takes a deep dive into the lives, choices, and legacies of fascinating figures from history, culture,…
Thoughtful, engaging, and story-driven, pplpod explores what makes these lives extraordinary—and what we can learn from them today.