Next-Generation Breaking and Entering

When everything is hackable, the bad guys will always be one step ahead, says cybercrime expert Marc Goodman ’87 — unless we act now.

Davide Bonazzi

Marc Goodman ’87 never set out to be the Jeremiah of the information age, warning of impending disasters. As a Brandeis undergraduate, he had little understanding of high technology and was planning for a career in medicine.

Today, though, Goodman is one of the world’s most prominent experts on hacking, cybercrime, and the unintended and under­appreciated risks of an increasingly interconnected world. His unlikely journey underscores how a range of emerging cyberthreats are upending society as a whole, far beyond the narrow world of technology.

Here’s the scariest part: Goodman is convinced greater risks lie ahead unless governments, corporations and individuals take immediate steps to get ready.

We are “wholly unprepared” for our hackable future, Goodman says.

If the impact of his 2015 book, “Future Crimes: Everything Is Connected, Everyone Is Vulnerable and What We Can Do About It” (Doubleday), is any indication, Goodman has touched a nerve of underlying anxiety. The book was a New York Times best-seller. It was selected by The Washington Post as one of the 10 best books of 2015. Amazon named it the best business book of the year.

“Future Crimes” is a well-timed caution signal. In the realm of technology, “the slave may become the master,” Goodman writes. “Our tools can be used against us.”

A cop at heart

Goodman grew up in New York City, where the 1970s and 1980s were dark years. Rampant poverty, violent crime, drug dealing, street robberies, arson and automobile break-ins plagued New York, which became a stark symbol of urban decay.

“Graffiti was on the subways, crime was going through the roof, and things were going downhill fast,” Goodman says.

He saw the city’s deterioration up close. He once watched as an elderly man was knocked down and robbed on a subway platform. Goodman reeled from the experience.

“I couldn’t get to him, and it was unbelievably frustrating,” he says. “I felt someone should do something, but no one did.”

Public service-oriented from a young age, Goodman, like many boys, dreamed of becoming a police officer.

“It seemed like an exciting job and a great way to help the community,” he says.

Yet in his first year at Brandeis, Goodman became a pre-med, convinced he would, like so many of his classmates, go on to medical school after graduation.

He would have preferred to be “pre-cop,” he recalls with a chuckle. That career path didn’t seem a realistic option, however. “No one in my family was in law enforcement.”

Goodman enjoyed his time at Brandeis, worked hard at his classes, and spent much of his free time volunteering at BEMCO, the campus emergency medical service.

“I liked being a paramedic, the emergencies and lights and sirens, and helping people,” he says. “But something was missing.”

Though Goodman was curious about computers and other emerging technologies, at that point there was little indication they would have much impact on the world.

“It was very early days,” he says.

Indeed, in the early 1980s, Brandeis was just beginning to build a computer lab, equipped with a few dot-matrix printers and Apple II computers. Spell checking a document meant a laborious process of inserting floppy disks. For most of his four years, Goodman lugged a typewriter around campus.

The Internet, email, texting and Facebook were foreign concepts. Hacking was done with an ax, not at a keyboard.

A cop at last

Throughout college, Goodman couldn’t stop thinking about New York’s deterioration. His childhood passion for law enforcement still unquenched, he also couldn’t stop pondering how he might be able to help.

One weekend during his senior year, Goodman took the Medical College Admission Test, then — without telling his parents — drove home to the Bronx to take a police academy admission test.

“In my heart, I knew I really wanted to be a cop,” he says.

Soon after graduation, Goodman started medical school. But in one of his first classes, he met another student who would change his life — a 52-year-old woman who had decided to pursue medicine much later in life. The experience was freeing; Goodman realized he could always come back to med school down the road. Conversely, he says, “chasing bad guys with guns over fences seemed to be a young person’s game.”

So, after a single semester in medical school, Goodman followed his law-enforcement dream and took a position in the Los Angeles Police Department. Los Angeles was dealing with a late-1980s crack-cocaine epidemic and was eager for new recruits.

He served on the Los Angeles police force for more than a decade, working as a street cop, an investigator, an undercover operator and an instructor at the department’s police academy.

His professional duties changed abruptly one day in 1995 when he was a 28-year-old investigator. From across a bustling squad room, a lieutenant screamed, “Goooooodman, get your ass over here!”

Goodman approached cautiously, worried he had done something wrong.

The lieutenant turned around with a confused look on his face. “Do you know how to spell check in WordPerfect?” he asked.

“Sure, boss. Just hit Control plus F2,” Goodman responded.

It didn’t take long before he had become the department’s resident technology expert.

“Knowing how to spell check in WordPerfect made me among the techno-elite of cops” at that point, he writes in “Future Crimes.”