The chief financial officer at Lucasfilm found Jobs arrogant and prickly, so when it
came time to hold a meeting of all the players, he told Catmull, “We have to establish
the right pecking order.” The plan was to gather everyone in a room with Jobs, and
then the CFO would come in a few minutes late to establish that he was the person
running the meeting. “But a funny thing happened,” Catmull recalled. “Steve started
the meeting on time without the CFO, and by the time the CFO walked in
Steve was already in control of the meeting.”
Jobs met only once with George Lucas, who warned him that the people in the division
cared more about making animated movies than they did about making computers.
“You know, these guys are hell-bent on animation,” Lucas told him. Lucas later recalled,
“I did warn him that was basically Ed and John’s agenda. I think in his heart he bought
the company because that was his agenda too.”
The final agreement was reached in January 1986. It provided that, for his $10 million
investment, Jobs would own 70% of the company, with the rest of the stock distributed
to Ed Catmull, Alvy Ray Smith, and the thirty-eight other founding employees, down to
the receptionist. The division’s most important piece of hardware was called the Pixar
Image Computer, and from it the new company took its name.
For a while Jobs let Catmull and Smith run Pixar without much interference. Every month
or so they would gather for a board meeting, usually at NeXT headquarters, where Jobs
would focus on the finances and strategy. Nevertheless, by dint of his personality and
controlling instincts, Jobs was soon playing a stronger role. He spewed out a stream of
ideas—some reasonable, others wacky—about what Pixar’s hardware and software could
become. And on his occasional visits to the Pixar offices, he was an inspiring presence.
“I grew up a Southern Baptist, and we had revival meetings with mesmerizing but corrupt
preachers,” recounted Alvy Ray Smith. “Steve’s got it: the power of the tongue and the
web of words that catches people up. We were aware of this when we had board meetings,
so we developed signals—nose scratching or ear tugs—for when someone
had been caught up in
Steve’s distortion field
and he needed to be
tugged back to reality.”
Pippin looked out from the shelter of Gandalf’s cloak.
He wondered if he was awake or still sleeping, still in the swift-moving dream in which he had been wrapped so long since the great ride began. The dark world was rushing by and the wind sang loudly in his ears. He could see nothing but the wheeling stars,
and away to his right vast shadows against the sky where the mountains of the South marched past. Sleepily he tried to reckon the times and stages of their journey, but his memory was drowsy and uncertain.
There had been the first ride at terrible speed without a halt, and then in the dawn he had seen a pale gleam of gold, and they had come to the silent town and the great empty house on the hill. And hardly had they reached its shelter when the winged shadow had passed over once again, and men wilted with fear. But Gandalf had spoken soft words to him, and he had slept in a corner, tired but uneasy, dimly aware of comings and goings and of men talking and Gandalf giving orders. And then again riding, riding in the night. This was the second, no, the third night since he had looked in the Stone. And with that hideous memory he woke fully, and shivered, and the noise of the wind became filled with menacing voices.
A light kindled in the sky, a blaze of yellow fire behind dark barriers Pippin cowered back, afraid for a moment, wondering into what dreadful country Gandalf was bearing him. He rubbed his eyes, and then he saw that it was the moon rising above the eastern shadows, now almost at the full. So the night was not yet old and for hours the dark journey would go on. He stirred and spoke.
‘Where are we, Gandalf?’ he asked.
‘In the realm of Gondor,’ the wizard answered. ‘The land of Anórien is still passing by.’
There was a silence again for a while. Then, ‘What is that?’ CRIed Pippin suddenly, clutching at Gandalf’s cloak. ‘Look!
Fire, red fire!
Are there dragons in this land?
Look, there is another!’
For answer Gandalf CRIed aloud to his horse. ‘On, Shadowfax!
We must hasten. Time is short. See!
The beacons of Gondor are alight, calling for aid. War is kindled. See, there is the fire on Amon D?n, and flame on Eilenach; and there they go speeding west: Nardol, Erelas, Min-Rimmon, Calenhad, and the Halifirien on the borders of Rohan.’
But Shadowfax paused in his stride, slowing to a walk, and then he lifted up his head and neighed. And out of the darkness the answering neigh of other horses came; and presently the thudding of hoofs was heard, and three riders swept up and passed like flying ghosts in the moon and vanished into the West. Then Shadowfax gathered himself together and sprang away, and the night flowed over him like a roaring wind.
Pippin became drowsy again and paid little attention to Gandalf telling him of the customs of Gondor, and how the Lord of the City had beacons built on the tops of outlying hills along both borders of the great range, and maintained posts at these points where fresh horses were always in readiness to bear his errand-riders to Rohan in the North,
or to Belfalas in the South.
‘It is long since the beacons of the North were lit,’ he said; ‘
and in the ancient days of Gondor they were not needed,
for they had the Seven Stones.’ Pippin stirred uneasily.
The board became increasingly alarmed at the turmoil, and in early 1985
Arthur Rock and some other disgruntled directors delivered a stern lecture to
both. They told Sculley that he was supposed to be running the company, and
he should start doing so with more authority and less eagerness to be pals with
Jobs. They told Jobs that he was supposed to be fixing the mess at the Macintosh
division and not telling other divisions how to do their job. Afterward Jobs retreated
to his office and typed on his Macintosh, “I will not criticize the rest
of the organization, I will not criticize the rest of the organization . . .”
As the Macintosh continued to disappoint—sales in March 1985 were only 10%
of the budget forecast—Jobs holed up in his office fuming or wandered the halls
berating everyone else for the problems. His mood swings became worse, and so
did his abuse of those around him. Middle-level managers began to rise up against
him. The marketing chief Mike Murray sought a private meeting with Sculley at an
industry conference. As they were going up to Sculley’s hotel room, Jobs spotted
them and asked to come along. Murray asked him not to. He told Sculley that Jobs
was wreaking havoc and had to be removed from managing the Macintosh division.
Sculley replied that he was not yet resigned to having a showdown with Jobs. Murray
later sent a memo directly to Jobs criticizing the way he treated colleagues and
denouncing “management by character assassination.”
For a few weeks it seemed as if there might be a solution to the turmoil. Jobs became
fascinated by a flat-screen technology developed by a firm near Palo Alto called
Woodside Design, run by an eccentric engineer named Steve Kitchen. He also was
impressed by another startup that made a touchscreen display that could be controlled
by your finger, so you didn’t need a mouse. Together these might help fulfill Jobs’s vision
of creating a “Mac in a book.” On a walk with Kitchen, Jobs spotted a building in nearby
Menlo Park and declared that they should open a skunkworks facility to work on these
ideas. It could be called AppleLabs and Jobs could run it,
going back to the
joy of having a small
team and developing
a great new product.
There were many reasons for the rift between Jobs and Sculley in the sprin
of 1985. Some were merely business disagreements, such as Sculley’s attempt
to maximize profits by keeping the Macintosh price high when Jobs wanted to
make it more affordable. Others were weirdly psychological and stemmed from
the torrid and unlikely infatuation they initially had with each other. Sculley had
painfully craved Jobs’s affection, Jobs had eagerly sought a father figure and mentor,
and when the ardor began to cool there was an emotional backwash. But at its core,
the growing breach had two fundamental causes, one on each side.
For Jobs, the problem was that Sculley never became a product person. He didn’t make
the effort, or show the capacity, to understand the fine points of what they were making.
On the contrary, he found Jobs’s passion for tiny technical tweaks and design details to
be obsessive and counterproductive. He had spent his career selling sodas and snacks
whose recipes were largely irrelevant to him. He wasn’t naturally passionate about products,
which was among the most damning sins that Jobs could imagine. “I tried to educate him
about the details of engineering,” Jobs recalled, “but he had no idea how products are created,
and after a while it just turned into arguments. But I learned that my perspective was right.
Products are everything.” He came to see Sculley as clueless, and his contempt was exacerbated
by Sculley’s hunger for his affection and delusions that they were very similar.
For Sculley, the problem was that Jobs, when he was no longer in courtship or manipulative
mode, was frequently obnoxious, rude, selfish, and nasty to other people. He found Jobs’s
boorish behavior as despicable as Jobs found Sculley’s lack of passion for product details. Sculley
was kind, caring, and polite to a fault. At one point they were planning to meet with Xerox’s vice
chair Bill Glavin, and Sculley begged Jobs to behave. But as soon as they sat down, Jobs told Glavin,
“You guys don’t have any clue what you’re doing,” and the meeting broke up. “I’m sorry, but I
couldn’t help myself,” Jobs told Sculley. It was one of many such cases. As Atari’s Al Alcorn later
observed, “Sculley believed in keeping people happy and worrying about relationships. Steve didn’t
give a shit about that. But he did care about the product in a way that Sculley never could, and he
was able to avoid
having too many bozos
working at Apple by
insulting anyone who
wasn’t an A player.”
When the Wall Street Journal heard what happened, it got in touch with
Wozniak, who, as usual, was open and honest. He said that Jobs was punishing
him. “Steve Jobs has a hate for me, probably because of the things I said about
Apple,” he told the reporter. Jobs’s action was remarkably petty, but it was also
partly caused by the fact that he understood, in ways that others did not, that
the look and style of a product served to brand it. A device that had Wozniak’s
name on it and used the same design language as Apple’s products might be
mistaken for something that Apple had produced. “It’s not personal,” Jobs told
the newspaper, explaining that he wanted to make sure that Wozniak’s remote
wouldn’t look like something made by Apple. “We don’t want to see our design
language used on other products. Woz has to find his own resources. He can’
t leverage off Apple’s resources; we can’t treat him specially.”
Jobs volunteered to pay for the work that frogdesign had already done for Wozniak,
but even so the executives at the firm were taken aback. When Jobs demanded that
they send him the drawings done for Wozniak or destroy them, they refused. Jobs
had to send them a letter invoking Apple’s contractual right. Herbert Pfeifer, the design
director of the firm, risked Jobs’s wrath by publicly dismissing his claim that the dispute
with Wozniak was not personal. “It’s a power play,” Pfeifer told the Journal.
“They have personal problems between them.”
Hertzfeld was outraged when he heard what Jobs had done. He lived about twelve
blocks from Jobs, who sometimes would drop by on his walks. “I got so furious about
the Wozniak remote episode that when Steve next came over, I wouldn’t let him in
the house,” Hertzfeld recalled. “He knew he was wrong, but he tried to rationalize, and
maybe in his distorted reality he was able to.” Wozniak, always a teddy bear even
when annoyed, hired another
design firm and even
agreed to stay on Apple’s
retainer as a spokesman.
Showdown, Spring 1985
“I’m going to bring this up with the board,” Sculley declared. “I’m going to
recommend that you step down from your operating position of running the
Macintosh division. I want you to know that.” He urged Jobs not to resist and
to agree instead to work on developing new technologies and products.
Jobs jumped from his seat and turned his intense stare on Sculley. “I don’t
believe you’re going to do that,” he said.
“If you do that, you’re going to destroy the company.”
public humiliation in a way that in most cases proved to be pretty effective,” Tribble
recalled. But sometimes it wasn’t. One engineer, David Paulsen, put in ninety-hour
weeks for the first ten months at NeXT. He quit when “Steve walked in one Friday
afternoon and told us how unimpressed he was with what we were doing.” When Business
Week asked him why he treated employees so harshly, Jobs said it made the company better.
“Part of my responsibility is to be a yardstick of quality. Some people aren’t used to an
environment where excellence is expected.” But he still had his spirit and charisma. There were
plenty of field trips, visits by akido masters, and off-site retreats. And he still exuded the pirate
flag spunkiness. When Apple fired Chiat/Day, the ad firm that had done the “1984” ad and taken
out the newspaper ad saying “Welcome IBM—seriously,” Jobs took out a full-page ad in the
Wall Street Journal proclaiming, “Congratulations Chiat/Day—Seriously . . .
Because I can guarantee you: there is life after Apple.”
Perhaps the greatest similarity to his days at Apple was that Jobs brought with him his reality
distortion field. It was on display at the company’s first retreat at Pebble Beach in late 1985.
There Jobs pronounced that the first NeXT computer would be shipped in just eighteen months.
It was already clear that this date was impossible, but he blew off a suggestion from one engineer
that they be realistic and plan on shipping in 1988. “If we do that, the world isn’t standing still,
the technology window
passes us by, and all the
work we’ve done we
have to throw down
the toilet,” he argued.
At the end of that month, Sculley finally worked up the nerve to tell Jobs that
he should give up running the Macintosh division. He walked over to Jobs’s
office one evening and brought the human resources manager, Jay Elliot, to
make the confrontation more formal. “There is no one who admires your brilliance
and vision more than I do,” Sculley began. He had uttered such flatteries before,
but this time it was clear that there would be a brutal “but” punctuating the thought.
And there was. “But this is really not going to work,” he declared. The flatteries
punctured by “buts” continued. “We have developed a great friendship with each
other,” he said, “but I have lost confidence in your ability to run the Macintosh
division.” He also berated Jobs for badmouthing him as a bozo behind his back.
In his earnest way, Wozniak had openly answered the reporter’s questions when he called.
Yes, he said, he felt that Apple had been giving short shrift to the Apple II division.
“Apple’s direction has been horrendously wrong for five years,” he said.
Less than two weeks later Wozniak and Jobs traveled together to the White House,
where Ronald Reagan presented them with the first National Medal of Technology.
The president quoted what President Rutherford Hayes had said when first shown a
telephone—“An amazing invention, but who would ever want to use one?”—and then
quipped, “I thought at the time that he might be mistaken.” Because of the awkward
situation surrounding Wozniak’s departure, Apple did not throw a celebratory dinner.
So Jobs and Wozniak went for a walk afterward and ate at a sandwich shop.
They chatted amiably, Wozniak recalled, and avoided any discussion of their disagreements.
Wozniak wanted to make the parting amicable. It was his style. So he agreed to stay on
as a part-time Apple employee at a $20,000 salary and represent the company at events
and trade shows. That could have been a graceful way to drift apart. But Jobs could not
leave well enough alone. One Saturday, a few weeks after they had visited Washington
together, Jobs went to the new Palo Alto studios of Hartmut Esslinger, whose company
frogdesign had moved there to handle its design work for Apple. There he happened to
see sketches that the firm had made for Wozniak’s new remote control device, and he
flew into a rage. Apple had a clause in its contract that gave it the right to bar frogdesign
from working on other computer-related projects, and Jobs invoked
it. “I informed them,
” he recalled, “that working
with Woz wouldn
’t be acceptable to us.”
Sculley was thrilled by the possibility. It would solve most of his management
issues, moving Jobs back to what he did best and getting rid of his disruptive
presence in Cupertino. Sculley also had a candidate to replace Jobs as manager
of the Macintosh division: Jean-Louis Gassée, Apple’s chief in France, who had
suffered through Jobs’s visit there. Gassée flew to Cupertino and said he would
take the job if he got a guarantee that he would run the division rather than
work under Jobs. One of the board members, Phil Schlein of Macy’s, tried to
convince Jobs that he would be better off thinking up new
products and inspiring a passionate little team.
But after some reflection, Jobs decided that was not the path he wanted. He declined
to cede control to Gassée, who wisely went back to Paris to avoid the power clash
that was becoming inevitable. For the rest of the spring, Jobs vacillated. There were
times when he wanted to assert himself as a corporate manager, even writing a memo
urging cost savings by eliminating free beverages and first-class air travel, and other
times when he agreed with those who were encouraging
him to go off and run a new AppleLabs R&D group.
In March Murray let loose with another memo that he marked “Do not circulate” but
gave to multiple colleagues. “In my three years at Apple, I’ve never observed so much
confusion, fear, and dysfunction as in the past 90 days,” he began. “We are perceived
by the rank and file as a boat without a rudder, drifting away into foggy oblivion.”
Murray had been on both sides of the fence; at times he conspired with Jobs to
undermine Sculley, but in this memo he laid the blame on Jobs. “Whether the cause
of or because
of the dysfunction,
Steve Jobs now
controls a seemingly
impenetrable power base.”
Guan Yu was still angry of the Prime Minister’s breach of decorum.
One day Guan Yu said to Liu Bei, “Brother, why did you prevent me from killing that rebel and so ridding the world of a scoundrel？ He insults the Emperor and ignores everybody else.”
“When you throw stones at a rat, beware of the vase,” quoted Liu Bei. “Cao Cao was only a horse’s head away from Our Lord, and in the midst of a crowd of his partisans. In that momentary burst of anger, if you had struck and failed, and harm had come to the Emperor, what an awful crime would have been laid to us！”
“If we do not rid the world of him today, a worse evil will come of it,” said Guan Yu.
“But be discreet, my brother. Such matters cannot be lightly discussed.”
the Emperor sadly returned to his palace. With tears in his eyes, he related what had occurred in the hunt to his consort, Empress Fu.
“Alas for me！” said he. “From the first days of my accession, one vicious minister has succeeded another. I was the victim of Dong Zhuo’s evil machinations. Then followed the rebellion of Li Jue and Guo Si. You and I had to bear sorrows such as no others have borne. Then came this Cao Cao as one who would maintain the imperial dignity, but he has seized upon all real authority and does as he wishes. He works continually for his own glorification, and I never see him but my back pricks. These last few days in the hunting field, he went in front of me and acknowledged the cheers of the crowd. He is so extremely rude that I feel sure he has sinister designs against me. Alas, my wife, we know not when our end may come！”
“In a whole court full of nobles, who have eaten the bread of Han, is there not one who will save his country？” said she.
Thus spoke the Empress, and at the same moment there stepped in a man who said, “Grieve not, O Imperial Pair！ I can find a savior for the country.”
It was none other than the father of the Empress, Fu Wan.
“Have you heard of Cao Cao’s
wanton and perverse behavior？”
said the Emperor, drying his eyes.
By his wife, née Chia, he had a daughter, to whom the infant name of Tai Yü was given. She was, at this time, in her fifth year. Upon her the parents doated as
much as if she were a brilliant pearl in the palm of their hand. Seeing that she was endowed with natural gifts of intelligence and good looks, they also felt solicitous
to bestow upon her a certain knowledge of books, with no other purpose than that of satisfying, by this illusory way, their wishes of having a son to nurture and of
dispelling the anguish felt by them, on account of the desolation and void in their family circle (round their knees).
But to proceed. Yü-ts’un, while sojourning at an inn, was unexpectedly laid up with a violent chill. Finding on his recovery, that his funds were not sufficient to
pay his expenses, he was thinking of looking out for some house where he could find a resting place when he suddenly came across two friends acquainted with
the new Salt Commissioner. Knowing that this official was desirous to find a tutor to instruct his daughter, they lost no time in recommending Yü-ts’un, who moved into the Yamên.
His female pupil was youthful in years and delicate in physique, so that her lessons were irregular. Besides herself, there were only two waiting girls, who
remained in attendance during the hours of study, so that Yü-ts’un was spared considerable trouble and had a suitable opportunity to attend to the improvement of his health.
In a twinkle, another year and more slipped by, and when least expected, the mother of his ward, née Chia, was carried away after a short illness. His pupil
(during her mother’s sickness) was dutiful in her attendance, and prepared the medicines for her use. (And after her death,) she went into the deepest mourning
prescribed by the rites, and gave way to such excess of grief that, naturally delicate as she was, her old complaint, on this account, broke out anew.
Being unable for a considerable time to prosecute her studies,
Yü-ts’un lived at leisure and had no duties to attend to.
Whenever therefore the wind was genial and the sun mild,
he was wont to stroll at random,
after he had done with his meals.