The move raised eyebrows. Johnson concedes she wasn't particularly tech-savvy, and the decision meant she was leaving a $125,000-a-year post at the PSC for a volunteer job that didn't pay a dime. But Johnson, a 37-year-old lawyer who grew up in Clermont, already had a history of making bold career moves and coming out a winner. A few years out of law school, for example, she had left a high-paying job at an Orlando law firm for a much lower-paying position at the Florida Department of Community Affairs. Two years later, in 1992, Gov. Lawton Chiles appointed Johnson, then just 29, to the PSC.
So it went with the IT Florida appointment. Living off her savings, she spent a month traveling, talking to tech businesses and educating herself on both issues and technology itself: She hadn't owned a home computer until 1995 and had only begun using e-mail after her appointment to the PSC. "As a telecommunications regulator, I understood about the infrastructure and pricing of the technology," she says. "I understood the power of technology but was not a big user."
Johnson's leadership skills and self-schooling in technology paid off. The task force's first public meeting was complicated by the presence of Hurricane Irene just off the Atlantic Coast, but Johnson's unruffled, upbeat performance wowed Mike Buffa, CEO of Milcom, a privately held Orlando tech incubator. "When I saw how masterfully she handled that whole situation, I was impressed," says Buffa, who hired Johnson as vice president for marketing and communications at the company.
Eyebrows raised again after Milcom hired her, however. Might Johnson's role at the company -- promoting wireless technology, for example -- conflict with the state's goals for IT Florida, including ensuring that some type of high-speed Internet is accessible by everyone? No, says Johnson. "The task force is made up of 34 public and private sector members. We each have one vote. The Legislature set it up this way to ensure that the private sector would have a voice," she says. "I share the things I learn at Milcom with the task force members, and they share their corporate experiences, too -- things like workforce shortages, lack of venture funding, educational shortages, inadequate infrastructure, etc. When I speak now, I speak with experience and authority."
Bush concurs: "There is no conflict since being chairman of the Florida IT task force is a volunteer job."
By most accounts, Johnson has done a credible job at both Milcom and IT Florida, where she is the public face of the task force at its quarterly town meetings. She also oversees the work of the eight subcommittees, dealing with everything from business development, to building a fiber optic network, to universal access -- one of Johnson's particular interests.
The task force has produced a report that outlines what Florida must do to become a leader in growing, recruiting and retaining technology businesses.
What has struck her most about Florida's tech landscape? "I was surprised by the large but sprawling high-tech industry in our state. The problem is it is all spread out. You don't have the density of a Silicon Valley," she says, adding, "Unlike the Valley, where everyone knows what's going on in the high-tech industry, here no one knows. We also don't have a coordinated marketing effort."
'Quite a bit of equity'
Meanwhile at Milcom, Johnson's marketing and communications' role involves getting the company's story out to state and national media as well as to telecom, cable and other IT companies that might use the wireless, optical communication and other technologies that Milcom's portfolio companies have developed. Buffa says Johnson's performance so far is "better than I could have ever imagined."
And in the process, Johnson may have set herself for life financially. Milcom, short for Military Commercial Technologies, was started in Tampa by a handful of wealthy individuals and focuses on commercializing cutting-edge military technologies developed by the U.S. government labs and military contractors such as Lockheed Martin and ITT.
Now funded by individual investors in the Southeast U.S. as well as institutions such as BancBoston and Patricof and Co. Ventures, Milcom has launched eight technology companies in central Florida and Silicon Valley.
Johnson's work at raising Milcom's profile in and out of Florida appears to be in preparation for what Buffa calls "a liquidity event" -- either an initial public offering or merger with another tech company. (Triton Network Systems, the first company launched by Milcom, went public in mid-July with a first-day pop of 156%, but by early September had fallen back to about $20, only $5 above its offering price.)
Johnson will say only that her Milcom compensation is "very fair" and that she has "quite a bit of equity in Milcom and the companies we create," an asset that will pay off if, as expected, Milcom goes public or is acquired by a large tech company. "She's a pretty sharp cookie when it comes to advancing her own interests career-wise," says Mike Twomey, a pro-consumer lawyer in Tallahassee and founder of Florida Utility Watch.
In addition to her Milcom and IT Florida jobs, Johnson has some real estate investments and does consulting. She is chairwoman of the Net Compete Now Coalition, an industry group that promotes high-speed Internet access without government regulation. Johnson also sits on the board of JAWS Technologies, a Calgary, Alberta-based information security consulting and software company run by an entrepreneur to whom she was introduced by high-school friend Richard Langley, son of Republican former state Sen. Dick Langley.
The JAWS directorship is lucrative, paying $60,000 a year in stock or cash. Johnson's holdings in the company total more than 356,000 shares, including stock options, valued in early September at almost $900,000.
An early riser, Johnson, who is single, typically is up by 4 a.m. working at the three-bedroom apartment she rents in Maitland. By 7:30 a.m. or so, she's driving her 1989 BMW the three miles to Milcom's office in a nondescript business park. Johnson's office is a small, windowless work space furnished spartanly with modern, maple-toned furniture and little else. Now an avid e-mail user, she keeps a notebook computer at her side as she conducts telephone meetings. A typical workday ends around 7 p.m., when she returns to her apartment.
A strong foundation
Johnson had good role models for that work ethic. The youngest of four children of Gloria and Abraham Johnson, she grew up in the tiny central Florida community of Clermont. Abraham Johnson was a farm worker in Belle Glade until he was 16. He moved to Clermont to pick oranges, married and founded what became a successful block masonry company, Johnson and Montgomery Masonry.
Johnson says her father, who never attended school past the third grade, settled on three life goals: His four children would each have good dental care, a new car on their 16th birthday and a college education. He fulfilled those promises to Julia; her oldest sister, Pamela Jean Johnson-Martin, a nurse with a master's degree; brother Abe Jr., who works in the family business and has bachelor's degrees in history and political science; and sister Paula Jean Johnson-Hoisington, who works at the Orange County Sheriff's Department and who has a degree in criminology. Johnson says that her mother, a stay-at-home mom, gave her confidence, telling her, "You can do more than the next person."
At Clermont Highlander High School, Johnson was captain of the cheerleading squad, active in student government, on the yearbook staff and homecoming queen. After earning a bachelor's in business administration from the University of Florida and a J.D. from UF's law school, Johnson practiced at Maguire, Voorhis & Wells in Orlando, quitting in 1990 to take a mid-level state job as an assistant general counsel at the Florida Department of Community Affairs. "I left Maguire because I really didn't like litigating. It was not fulfilling or meaningful to me. It was just fighting. I don't think I was very good at it either," says Johnson. "Despite my desire to be financially independent, I'm not motivated by money. It's happiness and satisfaction that drive me."
Her promotion to head up the DCA's legislative affairs put her in the spotlight with legislators. It also set her on the path of making friends in high places on both sides of the political aisle -- everyone from Greg Farmer, former U.S. undersecretary of commerce and a longtime aide to Gov. Buddy MacKay, to former Florida Sen. Curt Kiser to Tampa Mayor Dick Greco.
When Florida Public Service Commissioner Betty Easley's term on the PSC came up for renewal, Chiles made it clear he was interested in naming a minority for the five-member regulatory board that oversees the state's utility industry. Easley, a veteran Florida legislator and PSC commissioner, put her name in the hat for reappointment, but Easley's party affiliation (Republican) and her race (white) made her a long shot, says Kiser, who was one of Easley's best friends and backers.
'Controversial to the end'
Johnson applied for the PSC post after talking to then-Lt. Gov. Buddy MacKay about her experience with water issues. She also sought advice from Kiser, a member of the nine-member PSC nominating council. Both Johnson and Easley made the cut by the nominating council along with four other candidates, including another African American, Arthur W. Anderson, a professor at Florida Atlantic University and member of the Palm Beach County School Board. The final step was an interview with Chiles in the Governor's Mansion. Johnson says that Chiles talked policy, asked her why she wanted such a tedious job and then questioned her youth.
Johnson told Chiles that, yes, the PSC's daily work was mundane, but the issues were exciting and would shape the state's future for generations to come. She addressed the issue of her age by recalling a young man who, at 29, served his first year in the Florida House after beating a longtime incumbent in an upset election. That man, of course, was Chiles. As the governor was fond of saying, "Gotcha."
Nonetheless, Johnson's appointment to the PSC post was "controversial to the end," she says, recalling that she didn't get final word of her appointment until the day of the announcement. "It was drama."
Once on the PSC, Johnson was immediately in the spotlight because of the panel's unsavory reputation, resulting primarily from scandals such as former commissioner Tom Beard's romantic relationship with a woman who worked at BellSouth.
The image of the PSC improved during Johnson's tenure, but there were still controversies, mostly dealing with regulatory responsibility.
Shortly after Johnson took over as PSC chairwoman in 1997, a post she held until early 1999, the panel voted for an $88 million rate hike for Florida Power Corp. After uproar by consumer advocates and newspaper editorial boards, who argued that there wasn't enough information presented by the utility to justify the increase, Johnson announced a series of new hearings. Before the hearings were held, though, negotiators for the utility and consumers settled the case by agreeing to refund the rate increase.
Two years later, in 1999, the PSC staff recommended allowing local telephone companies to raise rates by $5 a month over a two- to three-year period. Again, uproar followed. Quoted in the St. Petersburg Times at the time, Johnson renounced the staff report and said, "We don't want to give consumers the false impression that this will lead to competition." Johnson, along with the rest of the PSC, rejected the recommendation for the local telephone rate increase.
Johnson left her seven years at the PSC relatively unscathed politically, with a reputation for balancing the interests of the utility industry and consumers. She voted in favor of a $10-million refund to customers of Southern States Utilities, a water and sewer company, and waged a battle against telephone "slamming," in which long-distance companies acquire customers' phone service deceptively or without their knowledge. "She gave me the impression that when she could, she would vote to benefit consumers," says Twomey, the pro-consumer lawyer, adding, "I don't think she made any enemies."
Her ultimate goal
Fast forward to 2000 and Johnson's challenge is balancing her role as leader of IT Florida and her post at Milcom. IT Florida, which has been up and running for almost a year, now takes up only 10 to 15 hours a week of her time, says Johnson. Milcom, on the other hand, takes up 60 hours. Johnson is coy when asked about her ultimate career goal. "Maybe I'll go into politics when I retire," she says, but not right now. Her own company? "I'm sure one day I'll have a controlling interest in several companies, probably in the IT sector," she says matter-of-factly.
One thing that seems certain is that Johnson's profile in Florida is likely to remain high. Her mother says this of her daughter: "She loves her work. Her daddy is that way."