The Merger That Never Happened

In early 2007, one of the most respected names in developer publishing quietly came to an end.

Fawcette Technical Publications — founded and led by Jim Fawcette, and best known for Visual Studio Magazine and industry conferences like VS Live! — was acquired by 1105 Media and folded into its Redmond Media Group.

What had once operated as an independent, founder-driven media company became part of a larger corporate publishing machine.

It marked the close of an era in technical media — and the beginning of a very different chapter for those of us who had lived through that world firsthand.

Jim Fawcette was my absolute publishing idol.

Whenever I stopped at Barnes & Noble, I would flip through the pages of Visual Studio Magazine, study his photo on the “From the Publisher” page, and feel completely intimidated.

For the very first issue of PowerBuilder Developer’s Journal, I even went to Sears Photo Studio and took a picture deliberately imitating his.

I wanted to be Jim Fawcette when I grew up.

It never once occurred to me that one day I would put him out of business — right after Rick Friedman.

Jim Fawcette launched JavaPro.

Rick Friedman launched Java Report.

Both came after Java Developer’s Journal.

And somehow, without intending to — and certainly without celebrating it — I outlasted them both.

Not because I was smarter.

Not because I had more money.

But because timing, speed, and relentless execution mattered more than reputation.

The people I once studied from newsstand racks — the publishers I admired most — became my competitors.

And then, quietly, they were gone.

I used to get phone calls from strangers in my office.

This was another one of those calls.

“Fuat?” the man said. “I’m calling from Washington, D.C. We’re a bank that specializes in financing publishing and media companies. Fawcette Technical Publications is one of our portfolio companies. I’d like to set up a meeting with you at our office.”

A few days later, I drove to Washington. It was about three hours.

I met the banker who had called me. He explained that the bank had extended multiple loans to Fawcette Technical Publications — and that, effectively, they now controlled the company.

Then he laid out his idea.

He wanted me to merge SYS-CON Media with Fawcette Technical Publications and run the combined entity.

It was, in essence, a merger proposal.

We didn’t discuss structure or valuation in detail. He said that if I was interested in principle, he would bring Jim into the conversation and we’d explore whether a win-win deal could be created.

I said sure. Let’s talk.

At the next meeting, I found myself sitting in the same conference room with the banker — and with Jim Fawcette.

The man I once tried to imitate.

The banker stood at the whiteboard, drawing boxes and arrows. One company flowed into another. Lines connected debt to assets. Arrows pointed forward.

As he spoke, something became very clear.

Jim was deeply in debt to the bank.

I sat there stunned.

How could that even be possible?

I was sitting on roughly $18 million in cash, listening to the banker explain how the company I once idolized had been slowly buried under leverage.

By the time he finished, the conclusion was obvious.

A merger would not help SYS-CON Media in any way.

We had even turned down acquiring Streaming Media from Tom Kemp — a company he had paid $100 million for and later offered to me for $200,000.

We weren’t chasing trophies.

We were happy growing at our own speed — profitably, carefully, and in control.

So I declined.

The meeting ended politely.

That was the last time I ever saw Jim Fawcette.

Years earlier, I had stood in Barnes & Noble holding his magazine, studying his photo, wondering if I’d ever belong in the same industry.

Now I was driving home from Washington, having just been asked to run his company — and choosing not to.

There was no victory lap.

No celebration.

Just a quiet realization.

In business, admiration doesn’t protect you.

Reputation doesn’t save you.

And being first doesn’t guarantee you’ll still be standing at the end.

Only execution does.

And sometimes, the strangest moment of success isn’t when you beat your heroes—

It’s when you realize they’re gone,

and you’re still here.