‘‘He has one blind spot and that he just doesn’t understand the consumer-facing aspects of the business,’’ Keating said in the interview. ‘‘It’s illogical the way consumers act, and I think it’s frustrating for him because he is trying to do the best thing for customers. But he just doesn’t understand that you can’t dictate to them. They have to be ready to go at their own pace.’’
From Keating’s vantage point, Hastings used a $2 million investment he made in Netflix’s early day to muscle his way into the company’s management and persuade then-CEO Randolph that they should share the top job. Eventually, Randolph was relegated to other management positions with fewer responsibilities and lost his spot on the board of directors.
Randolph, who now dispenses advice to entrepreneurs launching startups, left Netflix as a rich man after the company’s initial public offering of stock in 2002. He owned nearly 840,000 shares worth about $12.5 million at the time of Netflix’s IPO.
The book makes the case that Randolph never got the credit he deserved for coming up with the idea for sending DVDs through the mail — the concept that turned Netflix’s red envelopes into a ubiquitous sight.
‘‘Marc co-founded Netflix with me, was our first CEO, came up the name Netflix, and was instrumental in our success,’’ Hastings said in a statement to the AP. Friedland said Hastings wasn’t available to be interviewed for this story.
Randolph told the AP he remains on good terms with Hastings, even though they have different recollections of Netflix’s early days.
‘‘When we talk, it’s like two friends reaching out and saying, ‘We still cool, we still OK?'’’ Randolph said. ‘‘I still have tremendous pride and tremendous joy about what Reed and I accomplished.’’
Randolph’s version of how Netflix began is much different than the story that Hastings used to tell media outlets, including the AP, about how the service started.
Hastings’ spin went something like this: The idea for a video subscription service came to him after a Blockbuster store hit him with roughly $40 in late fees when he returned a VHS tape of the Tom Hanks movie, ‘‘Apollo 13". A few years later, the story would be amended so the late fees were charged by an unnamed independent video store.
‘‘That’s a load of crap,’’ Randolph says in the book. ‘‘It never happened.’’
The truth, according to the book, is that Netflix was born out of conversations that Randolph and Hastings had while they were carpooling to their Silicon Valley jobs at Pure Atria from their homes in the beach town of Santa Cruz, Calif.
Randolph, who was a marketing manager at Pure Atria while Hastings was the boss, had always been fascinated by the moneymaking potential of direct mail and started wondering how it might be combined with DVDs, a still nascent technology in 1997.
One day, while they were at a cafe in downtown Santa Cruz, Randolph and Hastings decided to test whether a DVD could make it through the U.S. postal system’s processing equipment without being damaged. They couldn’t find a DVD, so they bought a compact disc from Logo’s Book and Records in Santa Cruz and an envelope from a nearby gift shop. They then inserted the CD into the envelope and mailed it to Hastings’ home.
When they met for their commute a day or two later, Hastings showed Randolph that the CD arrived in the mail undamaged.
Randolph then spent months getting Netflix launched while Hastings attended Stanford University’s graduate school and worked for a technology lobbying group. It sometimes bothered Randolph that his early work seemed to be forgotten, but he says he’s over it.
‘‘The people who I really care about know about my role in starting Netflix,’’ Randolph told the AP. ‘‘Do I wish it would have been more accurately portrayed (in the company’s history)? Of course, but not to the point where I was prepared to make a stink about it.’’