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Tuesday, Nov 24, 2009
John Romero's game design studio was the most maligned company in the business. But from the inside looking out, it rocked.
Jan 2, 2002 | On July 17, Dallas-based video game company Ion Storm, founded in 1996 by legendary designers John Romero and Tom Hall, closed the doors to its controversial 54th floor perch. Eidos Interactive, the company that funded and now owned Ion, announced it would keep the Austin office open under the charge of Warren Spector, whose stellar game, Deus Ex, was the feather in Ion's cap, one of the biggest hits of 2000. Eidos said there would probably be a name change for the Austin branch. With that, the Ion Storm experience came to a quiet end.
I felt bittersweet sadness at the thought of those unmanned computers casting a lonely phosphor aura over Dallas. I had spent two incredible years in the employ of Ion Storm, writing for the games Daikatana, and briefly, Deus Ex. Unfortunately, there's been more trash-talk about Ion Storm than any other company in computer game history.
No place was more aptly named. John Romero was the focus of this industry love-hate affair: his popular games and extravagant lifestyle made him an icon in the industry. But with great success came great antipathy, not just for John, but also for many of his employees.
What started out as a video gamer's heaven turned into a public hell of walkouts, firings, lawsuits and litigation. Chat rooms and Web sites devoted daily commentary to analyzing, bemoaning or laughing at every move John made. He went from being one of the industry's most respected figures to one of its most pilloried. Few bothered to defend him or the company.
So I guess that leaves me, some six months after Ion Storm's demise, to carry the flag.
For three years, a group of unusual, talented individuals tried to push the envelope, to stretch computer gaming technology to the next level. So things didn't turn out the way everybody wanted. There were still good lessons to be learned. The assault on Ion was somewhat understandable given its unfulfilled promise, yet unreasonable because it was still a noble experiment. Amid the cyber-cackles from little boys who only wish they had the chance to work there, it's important for me to acknowledge what was actually great about being in that dimly lit tower.
I'll never regret my journey into the Ion Storm. And I won't soon forget the day when, as a student at UC Berkeley, I received a call from from my lifetime friend John Romero. He told me he had read one of my science fiction screenplays.
"Maybe you can do some writing on my new game," he suggested.
I left for Dallas a month later.
