The whole industry's watching: computer software maker Ashton-Tate is mounting a comeback to recapture lost market share.

The whole industry's watching

America's computer-software industry is wondering if Bill Lyons has the magic bullet. The Ashton-Tate Corp. president has tried to cure its botched 1988 version of dBASE, the world-famous database software, with 3 million copies used on personal computers from here to China. Historically, dBASE and its various versions have been the corporation's lifeblood, bringing in about 65 cents of every revenue dollar.

The word last week was the software is cured. Lyons' crew removed its "bugs" so it can store and retrieve libraries of data in fancy new ways, without a hitch.

So how's Lyons' health?

The Pennsylvania native, 45, worked so many marathon days since becoming Ashton-Tate president four months ago that he still lives in a hotel room. The Holiday Inn, across a vacant lot from Ashton-Tate headquarters near Torrance, knows his face well. Lyons didn't ask his wife and sons, ages 14 and 16, to move to Los Angeles. They've changed homes following his career at IBM nine times in about 18 years.

With a career in computer development and marketing honed at Big Blue for 19 years, he was tapped to engineer a corporate turnaround at the South Bay software developer, which lost about $43 million during the last five quarters.

"This is a job I've wanted for some time - to run a company," said the one-time Army lieutenant. Climbing the Everest-like power pyramid was almost unthinkable in 1988 at IBM. It was shrinking, and Lyons was among a coterie of execs who jumped on smaller, perhaps faster, trains. Bill Lowe went to Xerox, Frank King to Lotus and Michael Maples to Microsoft.

His moves may be judged even more keenly than theirs. Countless securities analysts, software users and corporate data managers are vigilant because Ashton-Tate is the top banana.

Having created the industry standard for database software with the first edition of dBASE in 1981, Ashton-Tate improved it with successive updates, and controlled 80 percent of the market in 1985. The name dBASE became a household word among microcomputer users who needed to manipulate data for tabulating figures, generating mailings and dozens of other repetitive tasks. Then the market share began slipping, thanks to competition from Fox's "Foxbase" and Borland's "Paradox" database products.

Then-Chairman and Chief Executive Edward M. Esber couldn't reverse the trend. After the snake-bitten 1988 release to 100,000 customers, and 17 months without issuing a corrected version, he stepped down.

The board looked to Lyons, whose hands were clean. He had been hired after dBASE went awry. And he ran the division that developed other types of software, such as graphics and word-processing products. While the board told him to run the company, it didn't give him either of Esber's titles.

Did he get Esber's $485,000-a-year salary?

Did he add to his options on 130,000 shares of Ashton-Tate stock?

Lyons, who responded energetically but cautiously to questions during interviews last week, declined to discuss his compensation. "There's no sense giving interim signals" between periodic public filings. The most recent listed his pre-promotion salary at $308,695.

Nevertheless, he carefully outlined his mandate: "I was given three goals. They are to ship 1.1 (the corrected dBASE version), to return the company to profitability and to refocus our efforts on customers."

The latter is paramount, according to many key customers, among them Adam Green, who trains dBase users at seminars he stages in Boston. Green surmised: "Esber was arrogant, opinionated and very hostile" toward buyers of dBASE, whose suggested price is now up to $795.

The Lyons regime, however, is not arrogant, said Steve Bass, president of the 1,600-member software club, Pasadena IBM User's Group. "Lyons is authentically concerned about the end user, and that tone is filtering down, not only through his people, but through the products." Bass, like Green, was asked to conduct a formal test on the new dBASE correction before it went to market July 31.

"I found it to be a wholesome, solid product. I made it jump on its head and I still couldn't get it to crash," said Bass.

Similar reports of the correction, released July 31, are emboldening Ashton-Tate, which Lyons vows will market versions for Macintosh, DEC and the five other most common computer systems within the next six months.

Wall Street will watch those releases. Ashton-Tate's stock price last week lay just above its 52-week low of $8.125 until an announcement of a 2 million share buyback program drove it up to $9.

Lyons, paradoxically, has gained confidence by admitting mistakes. "When you have unbridled growth in a hot industry, you can get arrogant. I think Ashton-Tate got too big for its britches."

Accustomed to net income bumps of 50 percent annually, last year's $29 million loss on revenues (down 14 percent to $265 million) forced layoffs and changes, which Lyons doesn't hide from the 650 employees at headquarters.

"Every month he gets us out on the courtyard" for informal status speeches, explained dBASE division chief David Proctor. "He gets very close to people, and they appreciate his candor," said Proctor. Mutual respect between the two began when they co-directed an IBM division in Boca Raton, Fla. And Lyons figures Proctor, who quarterbacked onboard Space Shuttle software, can figure out how to keep dBASE flying.

But how to keep all Ashton-Tate products flying - that's where the magic bullet comes in. Central to Lyons cure for the company's ills is a demand that software updates - as marketable as new car models with better gas mileage and gadgets - be put out on a regular basis.

"We had gone years without releases," said Lyons, mentioning MultiMate. That word-processing package was unveiled in April 1987 and not updated for 32 months, even though the eventual update took less than 12 months to develop.

"You see, left to its own natural force, a product never comes out," he said with a very knowing smile. "You have to break the natural tendencies of a developer to keep adding features and make small enhancements," delaying completion. Rather than a 24-to-30 month lag time, Lyons is pushing for 12 to 18 months between releases. That way, at least some improvements will be in the customers hands sooner, and he "won't feel embarrassed because the product he bought is not staying current with the industry." The neglected improvements will come in the next round.

Product development is his domain. If asked, he'll talk about consolidating operations to save money. And he'll explain why he's pursuing a landmark lawsuit against competitor Fox International over pirating the language of dBASE.

But he really hums on explaining how to glean ideas from customers; or how to speed up testing to get a thumbs up for a sooner release; or why MultiMate trimmed its manual from 1,300 pages to 650; or about the future of software: "sound, video and animation."

William P. Lyons, however, is no glib bragger about his personal life.

While several colleagues say they like the personal Bill, he stumbles when asked to portray it.

Was his life philosophy shaped by one event or person?

"No." Silence.

Does he spend half his salary on sports cars? Is he a born-again Christian?

"Neither." Is he just hyper-private?

"No." No effort to dispell the stereotype of the my-work-is-my-life/let's-do-a-meeting-on-the-airplane IBM executive.

"I don't have hobbies . . . No, I'm not a regular exerciser."

But come fall, with three years at Ashton-Tate under his belt and perhaps black ink on his balance-sheet, Lyons said he might begin to find time to reveal a passion outside of work. Or at least time to look for an apartment.

PHOTO : Lyons: Won't discuss his private life.