How Steve Jobs Beat Up a Journalist
He was a legend who scarcely allowed journalists to get near him. Financial Times Germany Editor Thomas Wendel tried — and got a taste of Steve Jobs' anger. A field report.
It was September 2005. I sat with other journalists in a windowless room of the Paris Exposition Grounds waiting for Steve Jobs to appear. He had announced he would attend the opening of the European Apple Expo trade fair and would give a press conference.
The hype surrounding Jobs had long since reached its peak. The Apple founder wanted to fire the opening shot to introduce the first iPod Nano in Europe. He took the stage dressed, as usual, in a black turtleneck. So far, business as usual. But what followed didn't really fit with the standard Apple presentation.
iPods Fly Through Space
First, there was the seating arrangement on stage: black bar stools, so tall that one feared even table dancers from the Place Pigalle might lose their balance on them. Jobs jumped nimbly onto one of the bar stools, and then iPods came flying through the air: Jobs threw the glass units across the stage to demonstrate that they wouldn't break even when thrown — contrary to what tech blogs had been reporting.
Where other CEOs would employ assistants in their demonstrations, Jobs handled everything alone. He had the podium. He was the one who fielded questions from the audience. If any of those posing questions wasn't handed a microphone immediately, Jobs' face was quick to register irritation. I asked “Steve” why Apple had changed the country of origin designation on their products so noticeably. Earlier, the products bore the “Made in USA” statement. Now, the company identified their iPods and Macs as “Designed in California. Assembled in China.” Was the disappearance of “USA” meant as a political statement on the Bush administration in Washington? Jobs handled it adroitly saying everyone knew that California was the best part of the USA and quickly said, “Next question!”
“Are you insane?”
Perhaps it was my question that stuck in his memory, but at any rate I was able to approach him 20 minutes later as he tried to escape the horde of journalists on his heels. After the press conference had ended and the doors opened, hundreds of reporters and photographers mobbed Jobs. The plan for him to lead a tour of the displays had obviously been called off. Instead, he and his entourage quickened their pace in a dash for the emergency exits. I managed to stick close to Jobs, however, and from a distance of about 10 feet away I called out to him asking if I could ask one more question. He stopped, and I asked, “You revolutionized first the computer industry, then the consumer electronics industry and now the music industry. What motivates you?” Jobs snapped back, “Shut up, and go away!” When I refused to give up, he grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me around 180 degrees and drummed his hands on my back. Then he made his escape through the underground parking garage.
Apple's PR staff appeared shocked — less by Steve than they were by this journalist. “What? You asked him a personal question? Are you insane? Just be happy he didn't have you thrown out.” The jacket I wore that day still hangs in my closet. And in the meantime, I think I've figured out the answer Steve Jobs never gave me: He wanted to prove to his perennial rival, Bill Gates, that Apple would be more important to the world than Microsoft. If you ask me, Steve Jobs achieved that goal.
It was September 2005. I sat with other journalists in a windowless room of the Paris Exposition Grounds waiting for Steve Jobs to appear. He had announced he would attend the opening of the European Apple Expo trade fair and would give a press conference.
The hype surrounding Jobs had long since reached its peak. The Apple founder wanted to fire the opening shot to introduce the first iPod Nano in Europe. He took the stage dressed, as usual, in a black turtleneck. So far, business as usual. But what followed didn't really fit with the standard Apple presentation.
iPods Fly Through Space
First, there was the seating arrangement on stage: black bar stools, so tall that one feared even table dancers from the Place Pigalle might lose their balance on them. Jobs jumped nimbly onto one of the bar stools, and then iPods came flying through the air: Jobs threw the glass units across the stage to demonstrate that they wouldn't break even when thrown — contrary to what tech blogs had been reporting.
Where other CEOs would employ assistants in their demonstrations, Jobs handled everything alone. He had the podium. He was the one who fielded questions from the audience. If any of those posing questions wasn't handed a microphone immediately, Jobs' face was quick to register irritation. I asked “Steve” why Apple had changed the country of origin designation on their products so noticeably. Earlier, the products bore the “Made in USA” statement. Now, the company identified their iPods and Macs as “Designed in California. Assembled in China.” Was the disappearance of “USA” meant as a political statement on the Bush administration in Washington? Jobs handled it adroitly saying everyone knew that California was the best part of the USA and quickly said, “Next question!”
“Are you insane?”
Perhaps it was my question that stuck in his memory, but at any rate I was able to approach him 20 minutes later as he tried to escape the horde of journalists on his heels. After the press conference had ended and the doors opened, hundreds of reporters and photographers mobbed Jobs. The plan for him to lead a tour of the displays had obviously been called off. Instead, he and his entourage quickened their pace in a dash for the emergency exits. I managed to stick close to Jobs, however, and from a distance of about 10 feet away I called out to him asking if I could ask one more question. He stopped, and I asked, “You revolutionized first the computer industry, then the consumer electronics industry and now the music industry. What motivates you?” Jobs snapped back, “Shut up, and go away!” When I refused to give up, he grabbed me by the shoulders, spun me around 180 degrees and drummed his hands on my back. Then he made his escape through the underground parking garage.
Apple's PR staff appeared shocked — less by Steve than they were by this journalist. “What? You asked him a personal question? Are you insane? Just be happy he didn't have you thrown out.” The jacket I wore that day still hangs in my closet. And in the meantime, I think I've figured out the answer Steve Jobs never gave me: He wanted to prove to his perennial rival, Bill Gates, that Apple would be more important to the world than Microsoft. If you ask me, Steve Jobs achieved that goal.