by Dan Conway
***
Three weeks later, as I prepared to head to the blockchain-focused Chamber of Digital Commerce Conference in Washington, D.C., on March 15, 2017, on BitGo business, I was ecstatic. I was excited to be among my crypto people. Best of all, it was taking place at my alma mater, Georgetown University.
I’d only been back to Georgetown once since college, and it was during a miserable time at Acme when I was in town to kiss the hand of a new master. This time was different. That man skipping around with rainbows and unicorns shooting out his ass? That was me! I chatted up various student workers in the bistro. I visited all of my old dorms, asking kids to remove their headphones so I could tell them, “I used to live here!” I read every flier in the student union. It looked like there were a hell of a lot of great activities scheduled! Every time I checked the price of ETH, I was richer.
I walked the streets at night, strolling shamelessly through the lobbies of the hotels I used to stay at. An opioid-like coma enveloped me in a wave of good moods. Everything seemed so pleasant.
I woke up the next morning and walked the whole way to campus in a blizzard. The expression on my face was one of psychotic happiness. When I finally arrived at the conference, I handed my jacket to the attendant at the door, picked up my name tag and turned my attention to the assembled group. It was a mix of business types, government officials, and a smattering of Bitcoin and Ethereum veterans.
The Tapscotts kicked things off with an opening presentation. They were a father/son duo who’d recently published the book Blockchain Revolution. They were trying to establish themselves as leaders of the Blockchain Intelligentsia. They’d done a lot to evangelize blockchain, but I couldn’t help but be annoyed at their keynote-ready personas. From the stage, they announced a new institute where monied interests could learn about this new world. With assistance from the Tapscotts, anyone could master it.
Don Tapscott said something like, “This will be the first world-class blockchain salon.” His forehead was perspiring from the heat of the spotlight. “You will be hearing more about this initiative from Alex Tapscott, later in the day.”
The Tapscotts were tight with Perianne Boring, the head of the Chamber of Digital Commerce, a blockchain advocacy organization she founded. I was curious to see her in person. I’d followed her closely online. She was a member of the lobbyist class in D.C. By all accounts, she’d worked her ass off to get this group off the ground, and for that, she should be applauded. But I’d heard her on the underground Bitcoin Uncensored podcast. She’d been ambushed with a more substantive interview than she expected. She revealed herself to be shockingly blockchain illiterate. She seemed to think that ACH bank transfers were a type of blockchain, which is pretty much the most embarrassing and blasphemous thing one could say. That, along with her continual references to “innovation,” made me think that she thought blockchain was simply the next big thing, a perfect opportunity to build an organization with her as the head, rather than something that would shake the power structure. Her lawyer sent a cease and desist letter, unsuccessfully trying to prevent the podcast from airing.
During the morning break, I made my way near the stage and extended my hand to meet her. Hi, Perianne, I’m Dan Conway. I’m here with BitGo. Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, hi, Dan, I’m glad you could make it.”
She was turning to move on, but I couldn’t resist. I leaned in with a smile on my face, which caught her by surprise. At that moment, on that day, my eyes were those of a demented child. I felt the urge to say something unexpected. “Your interview on that podcast was pretty wild.”
She knew exactly what I was talking about. The incident hadn’t been widely reported, but I was all over everything blockchain. Nothing escaped my attention. This sounded more like a threat than an act of compassion. I was like a villain in a movie who turns to a mother in mortal danger, strokes the hair of her five-year-old daughter and says, “Such a lovely girl.”
Now I had her attention. She looked back into my pupils, dilated with mania and money and greed and joy.
“Oh, yeah, you heard that? Uh … thanks.”
“Yes, I did.” That was all I had to say about that.
I was obviously a creep. She pulled away and moved on to say hello to a pair of Price Waterhouse consultants.
The Chamber was building a structure around blockchain comprised of the same monied interests the Tapscotts were courting—the IBMs, Accentures, and Visas of the world. I wanted to tear shit down, not build a community that rewarded the same douchebag behavior from corporate America. For that reason, I preferred the nerds across town at the competing advocacy organization Coin Center for blockchain lobbying and communications. They had a different funding structure and were more grounded in cypherpunk ethos.
But the story of the minute, hour, and day at the conference was Ethereum. As a truly disruptive, unneutered, decentralized, and open-source platform, it was exponentially more interesting than the blockchain-light projects promoted by the wannabe gatekeepers at this event.
I sat in the back. I noticed a familiar face a few rows in front of me. God bless him, there was Andrew Keys. He was doing what we were all doing—checking the price of ETH. After taking a quick look at the charts, he’d put his phone away and try to focus on what was being said on stage. But a minute or two later, he’d take another look.
The same sequence repeated itself with other attendees all over the room, all day long. It was like that scene from The Big Short when the Bear Stearns CEO was on stage in the early days of the 2008 financial crisis, telling everyone there was nothing to worry about while Bear’s stock price plummeted, setting off alerts on everyone’s BlackBerries. Except we were experiencing the opposite. As the Tapscotts droned on, a new, uncurated asset was being created before our very eyes, like a skyscraper being constructed at one hundred times normal speed. We were witnessing the dawn of a new day, the ascension of the Ethereum blockchain and its launch into public consciousness. We were going to change the world and get rich, not necessarily in that order. Who could blame us for being distracted?
On the evening of March 16, I sat on my plane at Reagan Airport, preparing to takeoff on my way back to San Francisco. I took one last look at the price. ETH crossed $35. We were up $600,000. When I landed six hours later, I powered up my phone. Now ETH was at $47. We were up nearly $1million. Holy fuck.
Something called the flywheel effect was making the price of ETH rise. As the price went up, more and more people were buying, decreasing price resistance. Like a crowd of people going through a turnstile, new investors were pushing price resistance until all resistance was practically nonexistent.
As the price increased, the misfits, high stakes gamblers, and Ethereum true believers I’d been spending time with on r/EthTrader became a family. We’d suffered together through the dark days, licking our wounds and professing our continued belief in decentralization and Ethereum. We’d ignored the abuse from Bitcoin maximalists and other trolls who had invaded our homes to spread fear, uncertainty, and doubt with comments such as, Goodbye, Ethereum, you guys are idiots! We’d endured the herd of suits on CNBC telling us crypto was an illusion, a fever dream, a fad.
We’d also dealt with the skeptics in our real lives. For example, one Sunday night in December 2016, when ETH was tanking, I was supposed to go to a party. I ended up not being able to make it. One of the moms, an acquaintance and a real card, raised her voice and said, “Where’s Dan … working on the blockchain?”
Everyone had a big laugh.
Some r/EthTraders sold their coins during the downturn and left, but most of us flashed our HODL signs—a crypto meme signaling one’s intention to hold—and kept our chins up. Now, we were together during this historic rise. Our faith had been rewarded. This was life-changing money for most of us, and it was emotional. I love you guys! was a common post during late-night rallies, and we meant it.
We developed our own euphoric subculture. J.T. Nichol, an early
Ethereum believer and elementary school teacher from Kansas popularized the “Donut Day” meme by posting pictures of donuts being served at his school. Subsequently, every thirteen-dollar rise was deemed Donut Day. When newcomers to the thread asked how high we thought ETH would go, we’d all respond, Bout Tree Fiddy. We talked about buying Lambos, but most of us were kidding. We’d comment, This is gentlemen when the price suddenly shot up. I don’t know why. College kids were skipping class to watch the charts. We’d cheer them on and then remind them to get back to their schoolwork. A trader called Science Guy made screwball price predictions. After he returned from a brief trip, someone wrote, Welcome back, you filthy animal. Your technical analysis is shit, but it wouldn’t be r/EthTrader without you.
When you’re making money and spending time with those you love, it’s all good.
We felt entitled to a little fun after white-knuckling it for so long. The popular press of the time chose to profile the most obnoxious and lizardy among us, those shirtless tools who flaunted their wealth and were soon ready to jump into the next coin, hoping for another trip to the moon. But r/EthTrader was grounded in true believers. There were many others like me—improbable zealots who didn’t get in because they were looking to be cool. We bought into the vision of a decentralized world. I’m sure there were a fair number of people like me who could get lost in enthusiasm and be self-destructive, but that didn’t matter. Because it looked like we were right.
That we could get rich by putting our money where our mouth was wasn’t a flaw but a feature. I wouldn’t have been able or willing to fund Ethereum’s development by buying ETH if it had been a nonprofit with no financial upside for me. But since there was a possibility of changing our financial fate by buying ETH, something we believed in on its merits, the incentive was there for us to fund this network. Us. Not the venture capitalists who dominated Silicon Valley. Not the accredited investors who are already Masters of the Universe. But common Joes like me, who found their way here through a lifetime of struggle and chose to bet on something that could benefit us and make the world a better place.
J.T. Nichol believed the Ethereum token could help at-risk kids track their academic obligations and progress even when they switched schools.
Steven was a mid-level corporate warrior in a so-called glamorous job who traveled all over the world, preventing any semblance of a family life. He tracked ETH from Bologna to Saudi Arabia. When finally he was spit out and fired from his job, all he had left was his ETH and a dream to control his own destiny.
Tracy was a thirty-six-year-old man working for a shady insurance company. He was fired from his job not long after placing the first-ever crypto risk into the Lloyd’s of London insurance market. That was apparently too shady. Soon, he put up his own shingle.
Ryan was a fifty-seven-year-old libertarian who grew up in a large family where the family motto was, “Don’t hurt people and don’t take people’s stuff.” Crypto in general and Ethereum in particular was a way to make this platitude actionable.
John was a thirty-four-year-old with a soul-deadening job as an assistant procurement manager. He and his new wife lived in a small and expensive apartment at the edge of Silicon Valley, struggling with student loans. They wanted to have a baby, but how could they afford it and still pay the bills? He invested in the Ethereum crowdsale anyway after immersing himself in the technology for months.
Pelayo was a twenty-two-year-old man living with his fifty-four-year-old mother in Brazil. Hyperinflation and corrupt government policies depleted their already-meager savings. Then his father left in the middle of the night, taking all of their remaining money. Pelayo read that Ethereum couldn’t be gamed by the power elites. He scraped together the money for a mining rig and earned thousands of ETH when it was priced at less than one dollar.
Call us douchebags if you like, but we were more than just degenerate gamblers playing roulette and dreaming of Lambos. We were caught up in something bigger than ourselves.
Chapter Twenty-One
Financial Emergency
I listened to loud music on my headphones while walking the dog. I imagined myself as the star of each song. The mashup of images that ran through my head involved me being worshipped. I’d put on a big bash for all of my friends to celebrate Ethereum. I’d be on stage. Right when everyone was at full throttle, drunk as hell (except for me), ranting and raving in ecstasy at something I said, I’d point to stage right, and out would come the Smiths, or Jane’s Addiction, or a similar awesome band, who’d start jamming right into their biggest hits and my favorite songs. Sometimes it was “Jane Says” or “Cemetery Gates.” One time it was “Centerfold” by J.Geils Band, which is an odd choice for a mosh pit celebration song, but hey, it was my daydream.
I’d been posting articles on Medium about cryptocurrency throughout 2015 and 2016. Now that crypto was in the news, friends and acquaintances began asking me about it. With big profits in my sales, I was more confident than ever explaining why I thought ETH was going to be huge and why it was still a good investment.
I’d tell them right off the bat that I was a true believer, that I didn’t know what would happen, that if they invested they needed to be ok with losing it all. “Of course,” they’d say.
With that stale preamble out of the way, I’d move in for the kill. It was simply in my nature to explain Ethereum in a way that convinced people to invest. I fully believed it was the right thing to do. And now, with a million dollars of “I was right” profits backing me up, I was like an athlete who had suddenly hit his stride. Flip Side, the guy who wanted glory and fame, was satisfied as hell and didn’t mess with me.
I’d charm them with anecdotes from my own story, I’d explain my thinking about the future, I’d tell them the amount of time I’d spent researching crypto, I’d explain the smoking gun of developers moving to Ethereum. I’d do it nearly without blinking, entrancing them with all the confidence a human can muster.
It wasn’t my intention to go around getting people to buy ETH. I would still have given those lectures even if someone told me they’d never invest. I just needed to express it. I was compelled to tell them about this life-changing thing that was not only a once-in-a-generation investment opportunity but a technology that would transform the world in the coming decades.
I got a sense of what it was like to be a prophet.
I was once again like Chris McCandless from Into the Wild, who gave up society and traveled the country as a hobo. His spiritual experience came when he was flat broke, living off the land, and the kindness of strangers. Mine came when I’d become rich and no longer needed the kindness of strangers.
My baby boomer tax accountant who started off our annual meeting by trying to convince me to sell did an about-face after our discussion. I helped him sign up to an exchange. He said he was in for $10,000. He called the next day to say he settled on $20,000. Seven members of my family invested, including my eighty-six-year-old mother, who white-knuckled her wire transfer hoping it would go through a day early so she could capture more of those sweet gains. Everyone around the country, my brothers and sisters on r/EthTrader, were having these same conversations, spreading the word, compounding interest in Ethereum and accelerating the rise in value of ETH through the law of supply and demand.
The mainstream press was paying attention to Ethereum for the first time in a big way. Outlets like CNBC introduced ETH to a whole new set of investors with articles like the one on May 24, 2017, that blared, “Bitcoin may have more than doubled this year, but rival Ethereum is up 2,000 percent. Here’s why.”
I started acting differently, and Eileen was concerned. I’d take walks with a hoodie over my head and a blank look on my face. She noticed that I was having a hard time focusing on things like doing the dishes and cleaning up the dog shit in the backyard. I tried to tell her that our lives were changing, but she didn’t want to hear it. She didn’t like change. And she had compartmentalized this whole thing. She didn’t want to thi
nk about it.
Now, after the kids were asleep, I’d offer to help her fold the laundry. Normally this meant I was interested in having a romantic experience. My next suggestion would be, “Hey, do you want a massage?” But these days I’d say something like, “Hey, Bitcoin is struggling with capacity, and that means a lot of people are going long on ETH.”
She considered all of this crypto talk a form of nonsense babble that she had to endure from her eccentric, but thankfully sober, husband. If I’d told her that crypto turned out to be make-believe like the World Wrestling Foundation, she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised. But now she was getting sick of all the nonstop talk. To her, it was like I was saying, “Hey, Mighty Mouse invited me over, and he’s going to cook half of Rumpelstiltskin’s mustache for dinner. Isn’t that nice, baby?”
She had a hard time coming up with meaningful responses to the gibberish. She couldn’t humor me anymore, so she told me to please shut up, at least for a little while, about ETH.
Things were getting tense, until I had an idea. I told her that for Mother’s Day, I’d like to take the five of us to see Hamilton in San Francisco. The show had sold out in twenty minutes months before. It was the hottest ticket in town, with seats selling for three hundred dollars a pop on the secondary market. In any previous version of our lives, there was no way we’d consider going. Cryptocurrency would pay for this phenomenal family experience. Eileen was thrilled.
But I realized we needed some help figuring out how to deal with our new state of play. The decisions we needed to make would shape the direction of our lives for the rest of our lives, and I wanted Eileen engaged and on board. I also needed some conventional thinking to temper my enthusiasm before I spun off the earth’s axis.
On April 28, 2017, ETH crossed sixty-four dollars. We were up $1.4 million.
