LAST WEEK, I received the following from John Ludwig, a follower in Blair, NE. I’m happy to follow up on his suggestion and run the Steve Jobs piece.
Oh…and by the way…I’m also a big fan of Jimmy Stewart and “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
Here’s John’s note:
It’s a Wonderful Machine
by David Pogue, Macworld, January ’98
I guess I shouldn’t have gone to a party where the eggnog was spiked, and maybe I shouldn’t have watched the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life” while leafing through MacWeek.
But anyway, I had the weirdest dream last night–like a bizarre black-and-white movie that went like this: Jimmy Stewart stars as Steve “Jobs” Bailey, who runs a beleaguered but beloved small-town computer company. For years, big monopolist Bill “Gates” Potter has been wielding his power and money to gain control of the town. And for years, Steve has fought for survival: “This town needs my measly, one-horse computer, if only to have something for people to use instead of Windows!”
But now an angry mob is banging on Apple’s front door, panicking. “The press says your company is doomed!” yells one man. “You killed the clones! We’re going to Windows!” calls another. “We want out of our investment!” they shout.
Steve, a master showman, calms them. “Don’t do it! If Potter gets complete control of the desktop, you’ll be forced to buy his bloatware and pay for his cruddy upgrades forever! We can get through this, but we’ve got to have faith and stick together!” The crowd decides to give him one more chance.
But the day before Christmas, something terrible happens: On his way to the bank, the company’s financial man, Uncle Gilly, somehow manages to lose $1.7 billion. With eyes flashing, Steve grabs the befuddled Gilly by the lapels. “Where’s that money, you stupid old fool? Don’t you realize what this means? It means bankruptcy and scandal! Get out of my company–and don’t come back!”
Desperate and afraid, Steve heads to Martini’s, a local Internet cafe, and drowns his sorrows in an iced cappuccino. Surfing the Web at one of the cafe’s Macs, all he finds online is second-guessing, sniping by critics, and terrible market-share numbers.
As a blizzard rages, Steve drives his car crazily toward the river. “Oh, what’s the use?!” he exclaims. “We’ve lost the war. Windows rules the world. After everything I’ve worked for, the Mac is going to be obliterated! Think of all the passion and effort these last 15 years–wasted! Think of the billions of dollars, hundreds of companies, millions of people . . . .” He stands on the bridge, staring at the freezing, roiling river below–and finally hurls himself over the railing.
After a moment of floundering in the chilly water, however, he’s pulled to safety by a bulbous-nosed oddball. “Who are you?!” Steve splutters angrily.
“Name’s Clarence–I mean Claris,” says the guy. “I’m your guardian angel. I’ve been sent down to help you–it’s my last chance to earn my wings.”
“Nobody can help me,” says Steve bitterly. “If I hadn’t created the Mac, everybody’d be a lot happier: Mr. Potter, the media, even our customers. Hell, we’d all be better off if the Mac had never been invented at all!”
Music swirls. The wind howls. The tattoo on Steve’s right buttock–Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story–vanishes.
Steve pats the empty pocket where he usually carries his Newton. “What gives?”
“You’ve got your wish,” says Claris. “You never invented the Mac. It never existed. You haven’t a care in the world.”
“Look, little fella, go off and haunt somebody else,” Steve mutters. He heads over to Martini’s Internet cafe for a good stiff drink. But he’s shocked at the difference inside. “My God, look at the people using these computers! Both of them–they look like math professors!”
“They are,” says Claris.
“What is this, a museum? It looks like those computers are running DOS!”
“Good eye!” says Claris. “DOS version 25.01, in fact–the very latest.”
“I don’t get it,” Steve says.
“DOS is a lot better and faster these days, but it hasn’t occurred to anybody to market a computer with icons and menus yet. There’s no such thing as Windows–after all, there never was a Mac interface for Microsoft to copy.”
“But this equipment is ancient!” Steve exclaims. “No sound, no CD-ROM drive, not even 3.5-inch floppies!”
“Those aren’t antiques!” Claris says. “They’re state-of-the-art Compaqs, complete with the latest 12X, 5-inch-floppy drives. Don’t forget, Steve: The Mac introduced and standardized all that good stuff you named.”
“But that’s nuts!” Steve explodes. “You mean to tell me that the 46 percent of American households with computers are all using DOS?”
“Correction: All 9 percent of American households,” says Claris cheerfully. “Without a graphic interface, computers are still too complicated to be popular.”
“Bartender!” shouts Steve. “You don’t have a copy of Wired here, do you? I’ve got to read up on this crazy reality!”
The bartender glares. “I don’t know what you’re wired on, pal, but either stop talking crazy or get outta my shop.”
“No such thing as Wired,” whispers Claris. “Never was. Before you wished the Mac away, most magazines were produced entirely on the Mac. Besides Wired would be awfully thin without the Web.”
“Without the–now, wait just a minute!” Horrified, Steve rushes over to one of the PCs and connects to the Internet. “You call this the Net? It looks like a text-only BBS–and there’s practically nobody online! Where’s Navigator? Where’s Internet Explorer? Where’s the Web, for Pete’s sake?”
“Oh, I see,” Claris smiles sympathetically. “You must be referring to all those technologies that spun off from the concept of a graphic interface. Look, Steve. Until the Mac made the mouse standard, there was no such thing as point and click. And without clicking, there could be no Web . . . and no Web companies. Believe it or not, Marc Andreesen works in a Burger King in Cincinnati.”
Steve scoffs. “Well, look, if you apply that logic, then PageMaker wouldn’t exist either. Photoshop, Illustrator, FreeHand, America Online, digital movies–all that stuff began life on the Mac.”
“You’re getting it,” Claris says. He holds up a copy of Time magazine. “Check out the cover price.”
Steve gasps. “Eight bucks? They’ve got a lot of nerve!”
“Labor costs. They’re still pasting type onto master pages with hot wax.”
“You’re crazy!” screams Steve. “I’m going back to my office at Apple!” He drives like a madman back to Cupertino–but the sign that greets him there doesn’t say, “Welcome to Apple.” It says, “Welcome to Microsoft South.”
“Sorry, Steve; Apple went out of business in 1985,” says Claris. “You see, you really did have a wonderful machine! See what a mistake it was to wish it away?”
Steve is sobbing, barely listening. “OK, then–I’ll go to my office at Pixar!”
“You don’t have an office at Pixar,” Claris reminds him. “There was no Mac to make you rich enough to buy Pixar!”
Steve has had enough. He rushes desperately back to the icy bridge over the river. “Please, God, bring it back! Bring it back! I don’t care about market share! Please! I want the Mac to live again!”
Music, wind, heavenly voices–and then snow begins softly falling.
“Hey, Steve! You all right?” calls out Steve’s friend Larry from a passing helicopter. Steve pats his pocket–the Newton is there again! It’s all back! Steve runs through the town, delirious with joy. “Merry Christmas, Wired! Merry Christmas, Internet! Merry Christmas, wonderful old Microsoft!”
And now his office is filled with smiling people whose lives the Mac has touched. There’s old Mr. Chiat/Day the adman. There’s Yanni the musician. And there’s Mr. Spielberg the moviemaker. As the Apple board starts singing “Auld Lang Syne,” somebody boots up a Power Mac.
Steve smiles at the startup sound. “You know what they say,” he tells the crowd. “Every time you hear a startup chime, an angel just got his wings.”