The Second Coming of Steve Jobs - Alan Deutschman [15]
In early 1986 Dan’l Lewin called the Business Week technology correspondent, Katie Hafner, and invited her to come to Deer Creek Road and meet with Steve. It was a shrewd choice. Katie was the perfect reporter to cultivate a relationship with: she was very new on the beat and still in awe of the Silicon Valley scene. She had just taken over the assignment from Deborah Wise, who had written a sycophantic article about Apple while the company was foundering. Business Week had run the story on its cover under the bold headline “Apple’s Dynamic Duo,” with a photograph of Steve Jobs and John Sculley together, smiling, framed by a sunset. Her story implied they were still a harmonious team, even though by that time they were fierce rivals. The piece was an embarrassment, especially when John ousted Steve a few months later.
It’s easy to understand why reporters fell for Steve Jobs. He was seductive, that was the most accurate word for it. When he was trying to woo a person—a reporter new on the beat, an executive he wanted to hire for a job, a potential customer, a strategic partner looking to make a deal—he could be extraordinarily charming. He had the kind of rare hypnotic eyes that are perhaps the most essential quality of a Hollywood star. If you were meeting him for the first time, he would look at you eye-to-eye with a searching, unyielding, laserlike stare. He would say your first name, say it often, insert it casually at the beginning or end of a sentence. You would be flattered by the personal attention and recognition that you were receiving from such a vaunted pop-culture icon. One-on-one he was better than anyone in the valley. No one was nearly as good at explaining the technology, making it seem understandable to people who weren’t engineers or executives, and conveying a sense of excitement about it.
Even more important than the substance of what Steve said was the compelling way that he said it. His enthusiasm was carried by the rhythms and tones of his speech. It was the kind of verbal gift that belonged to the most persuasive politicians and evangelists. JFK had it. So did Billy Graham. It was so powerful and infectious. You met him and listened to him and then you just wanted to be around him as much as you possibly could. It affected men as well as women. And there was something undeniably sexual about him. “He flirted outrageously, in a pleasant way,” recalls one prominent reporter who often interviewed him when she was single and in her twenties. “He always invaded my space a little.”
Katie Hafner was new on the technology beat for Business Week, and she too was attractive, single, and in her twenties. When she met Steve at Deer Creek Road, he was extremely gracious to her. He suggested that they go out to lunch. As they walked through the Next parking lot, they saw a Porsche. It was one of the lower-priced models.
“That’s the kind of Porsche that dentists drive,” Steve said dismissively.
Moments later they were standing in front of Steve’s car, which was . . . a Porsche.
“I assume this is the kind of Porsche that dentists don’t drive,” Katie shot back.
They drove to the center of the Stanford campus and enjoyed a pleasant lunch at the student cafeteria. Katie was impressed by Steve, who seemed exceptionally smart and charming. As they were leaving, she mentioned that she had recently met with John Sculley and she had talked with John about his ideas for creating innovative new products at Apple.
As he listened, Steve’s gracious charm quickly gave way to blatant anger. “Are you kidding?” he said. “John Sculley wouldn’t know a new product if it