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By Root 553 0

that was almost physical. But behind his bullying demeanor was a kind, thoughtful, romantic streak that was hidden by a bruising shyness. He was a cross between Santa Claus and Spectre. Some of the old-timers at Apple thought that nobody cared more for them than Scott. He had a sense of the extravagant and tended to throw a party at the slightest excuse. On a couple of occasions he had rented a movie theater and mailed elegant cards to his friends and Apple employees inviting them to see a special preview of George Lucas space movies. At the theater, as his guests turned up, Scott stood by the entrance door handing out white roses. At an Apple Christmas party Scott chose a nautical theme and, to match the spirit of the affair, donned a tight-fitting white captain’s uniform complete with peaked hat. On another occasion he dispatched a memo that summoned to the boardroom a couple of dozen people who had been working at a trade show and had missed a movie outing. Most, fearing the worst, arrived at the meeting in trepidation and found that Scott had something else in store. He ushered them to a bus which took them to a movie theater as waiters in red jackets doled out hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

But Scott’s darker side and a macabre humor were more apparent. When a Digital Equipment Corporation computer, which was supposed to form the cornerstone of Apple’s management-information system, failed to arrive on time, he dispatched a funeral wreath to the president of what was a far larger company with a card reading “Here’s what I think of your delivery commitments.” He had little patience with lengthy discussions in executive staff meetings about whether Apple should offer employees decaffeinated coffee as well as a regular blend. He was annoyed that salesmen drove full-size rather than compact cars and irritated that executives were allowed to fly first-class. To send a message to underlings and to show who was boss, Scott also delayed signing checks that urgently needed his signature. Landscaping wasn’t high on his list of priorities nor were discussions about how many square feet each office should have. He wanted to impose his own brand of management and even asked all the vice-presidents to abandon their titles. His memos had an abrupt style. When he wanted to prove that the day of the computer had arrived, he issued a terse memo banning all typewriters. It was headed in capital letters: YOU ALL BETTER READ THIS. He posted another memo containing the orders: “No talking in aisleways. No talking standing up.”

In the weeks that led up to Black Wednesday, Scott was working harder than ever. He was also troubled by a serious eye infection that his doctors feared might blind him, and his secretary, Sherry Livingston, was forced to read his mail aloud. After asking Apple’s executive vice-president of engineering to resign, Scott had taken over responsibility for engineering and was also trying to keep his arms around the rest of the company. He began to mutter ominous threats, talked about “having more fun around here,” and started saying, “I’m not going to put up with things I don’t like.” He strode around the company peering over the tops of cubicles and asking, “Are you working your ass off?” He ordered managers not to hire anybody else for the rest of the year and managed to terrify and intimidate most people he came in contact with. Jean Richardson recalled, “He was such a cold force. He’d sort of rampage through the halls and not speak to anyone.” And another employee said, “You felt that he’d come down the aisle any minute and pick a fight.”

Some of the executive staff, alarmed by Scott’s behavior, by his peremptory dismissal of the second-most-important operating manager in the company, and by his ill-timed remark that the Black Wednesday firings were “just the first round,” started a whispering campaign. Ann Bowers, head of the human resources department, muttered her contempt for Scott. To people he humiliated in meetings, she dispatched mock awards from the executive staff headed “For valor and courage in the face