Tech Culture, Cancer, and My Friend Sean Smith

Authors note: I’m writing this straight through without editing. It will be rambling.

Last night, at 12:47 am, Sean Smith passed away after battling cancer for 6 years. He was 43 years old.

The first time I encountered cancer in my life that I can remember, I was 17 years old I think. My grandmother on my dad’s side was diagnosed with cancer. I remember something about how there was a better treatment than the one she got, one that might have saved her life, but her health insurance refused. She passed away not long after that.

The second time was in 2013. My sister, Beth, was diagnosed with a very rare, very aggressive form of cancer, squamous cell carcinoma in her tongue. She was only 29 years old when she was diagnosed. We are incredibly lucky that they were able to treat her, and she is now in full remission. As it turns out, the Dallas/Forth Worth metroplex has one of the top oncology departments around, and they basically mobilized the entire department for Beth. They even got a publication out of it on new ways to treat this form of cancer. I remember meeting the head of oncology there, a younger-ish, quirky guy that vaguely reminded me of Dr. House from the TV show, just less of an ass. Beth is now 32 years old, and my niece still has a her mother.

Beth, if you’re reading this, and I know I don’t say it enough, but I can’t even begin to express how glad I am you’re still with us.

Then there was Sean. Sean joined Rdio shortly after I did as the head of the client app teams, which included my team. He replaced the previous person, who left Rdio after four years to start his own startup with another Rdio alumn, who also left after four years. There were a lot of people who stayed at Rdio for four years. I would have stayed that long, if the company still existed. Rdio was that special.

Not long after Sean joined, I learned he had been battling cancer for what at the time had been four years. I don’t remember the exact type of cancer, but it was in between his shoulder and neck, just under his shoulder bone. He always wore a compression sleeve on his arm for it, decorated to look like a full sleeve tattoo.

That was Sean, always full of humor.

We were like a family at Rdio. I know it hadn’t been like this in the early days, but by the time I joined Rdio was a welcoming and empathic place. We cared about one another, about each others lives and happiness. Crunch time was rare, 40 hour work weeks common. While no where near ideal, we were still more diverse than most startups. My team was 30% women, 30% queer. I remember after finishing a round of phone interviews, the last I would do at Rdio, and the gender ratio was 60/40. The thank you emails from the men were pretty standard fare, but the ones from the women were heartbreaking. They all said that this was the culture they were looking for, with a not so subtle hint of desperation in their words. We weren’t most companies.

That diversity came about because of a solid culture, not because of a recruiting push for diversity. The only way to sustainably increase diversity is to build a solid culture. To build a solid culture requires people in management that care about culture.

Sean was one of those people. In the management hierarchy, there was my manager, then Sean, then our VP of Engineering Ron Buell, who also cares a lot about culture. (we didn’t have a CTO). Sean was one of the most amazing people I think I ever met. His prognosis had always been severe, but he handled it with such humor and grace. I don’t think I could do that.

He was always full of life. It’s clichéd to say, an oft overused cliché at that. It fits Sean though. He really did love life, loved the people in his life. He loved happiness, lived happiness. He attended more concerts than I did, he never missed Outside Lands. I didn’t even make it to Outside Lands this year, but he did in what turned out to be his final month on this planet.

He was strong. He was brave. More than anyone else, I think he showed me what those two words really mean. It’s not about being macho, or stoic. It’s about being able to face one’s own mortality and still being able to love yourself, your family, your friends, your life.

I sit here, thinking how the tech industry lost someone who cared so much about people, while most startups are run by assholes who on their best day couldn’t show half the empathy Sean showed on his worst, unable to shake these feelings of anger and sadness. Unable to accept how shitty things are in our industry.

Knowing the world isn’t fair, and yet unable to accept that. It’s not fair.

I know Sean suffered. I remember at time when it looked like they were going to amputate his arm. He was glad for it, if it meant an end to his suffering. He wasn’t angry though, as always he accepted this with grace. It didn’t happen because of complications, all part of his journey. I know he’s not suffering anymore, and I should be glad for this, but I’m selfish.

I’ll miss Sean, I’ll remember him. He made a positive difference in this world, impacted so many people for the better. Something few people can claim. If we could all be as good as him.