After the Gold Rush

For some one-time dot-com rich kids, it's easy come, easier go

Jessica Nelson didn't need a new car. Her Deep Ellum loft was a short walk from her job as studio manager at, so she didn't need a car at all, really. Walking from her parking space would have taken longer than the trip from her front door. But she had money, more than she ever would have dreamed of. She'd already paid off her student loans, so why not? And if you have the money, you might as well get your dream car. So she did--a beautiful blue Jaguar.

Nelson didn't really need a new house either, but since she'd already bought the car, she needed a reason to drive it. And if you have a sweet Jag like that, you can't just park it in the driveway of any old house. So she bought her dream home, too, a $300,000 stunner.

The dream car and dream home turned out to be just that. Six years later, they're gone. So is the rest of the money. But Nelson isn't as bitter as you'd expect. In fact, she's not bitter at all. She never expected to be rich in the first place.

Angela Swenson saw her dot-com fortune evaporate, but she's not bitter. Seriously.
Peter Calvin
Angela Swenson saw her dot-com fortune evaporate, but she's not bitter. Seriously.

"Getting the money was just so ludicrous," Nelson says, on the phone from Denver, where she works in real estate development. Once again, she lives in a downtown apartment, not far from the office where she's employed. Things have come full circle. "How upside-down the market was and how inflated things were--it just didn't make any historical, financial sense."

It's not like Nelson took the job at for the money. None of them did. It was enough for the company's young workforce, most of them just out of college, to have a job they actually liked and a boss they liked even more. Mark Cuban was the kind of guy who would tell his employees to knock off early and head over to The Bone, where he'd drop his credit card on the bar and buy everyone a few rounds. was comfortable and cool, where business casual included purple hair and pierced noses.

Beyond that, all they signed on for were salaries that topped out below 30 grand and a stack of stock options, which was like getting an IOU for an IOU. It could have been Monopoly money for all they knew. Nelson and her friend Angela Swenson, who got her the job at Broadcast, were clueless about the stock market. This was before investors were throwing cash at any company whose name ended in "dot-com," a year or so before Broadcast's initial public offering (IPO) in July 1998 set market records and turned a bunch of low-wage kids into paper-thin millionaires.

"Everybody's screaming and freaking out," Swenson says. She ran the company's audio books department. "I mean, honestly, when they gave me the stocks, I had no idea what they were. I knew I had stock options, but I didn't know what they meant. So when everybody is screaming and freaking out, we were kind of like, 'Why is everybody screaming?' And they were like, 'We just became instant millionaires.'"

They didn't know then that when they said "instant," they meant "for an instant." But back then, no end was in sight. First, the stock split, doubling their money. Then, in April 1999, Yahoo! bought the company, padding their bank accounts even further. Why wouldn't the employees think they were blessed? You hit a home run your first time at the plate, sure, you might chalk it up to a lucky pitch. Hit another one? That's when you start to think they'll all be home runs. That's what the dot-com boom--and bust--was all about.

Nelson and Swenson tried to be careful, socking away enough to pay their taxes. They didn't want the IRS crashing their party.

"If they can get rid of Al Capone, that's not who you wanna screw with," Swenson says.

"I was really conservative about things," Nelson says. "I was like, 'I don't want this to come back and bite me on the butt later, so I'm just going to take care of it now.'"

It bit anyway. After the first year, they'd already spent all the money they had set aside. Which started Nelson and Swenson on the same cycle most of the instant millionaires found themselves on a year later: selling stock to pay for the taxes on the stock they sold last year. Complicating matters was the fact that most of them had developed a taste for money and a latent talent to spend it. Swenson estimates at one point she was spending more than $20,000 a month. But what did it matter? They were all rich and getting richer.

"At the peak of the hysteria, it was easy to sit back and fantasize about cashing in all my options at such a high price," says Erik Courson, another employee. "Because it certainly would have been a lot of money."

"Would have" being the key phrase. Soon enough, as if they had been cast in a predictable movie, the market crashed, and they weren't wearing seat belts. Even the people who were careful with their money had a lot less of it. And they all lost their jobs.

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