第 1 章
The Phoenix of Silicon Valley: A Visionary's Fall and Resurrection
Steve Jobs faced a devastating career nadir in 1992. After being ousted from Apple, he had vowed to prove himself with Next, but after seven years and millions invested, it was clearly failing. His fortune dwindled as both Next and Pixar burned through cash. By December, he contemplated quitting entirely, dreading the public shame of conceding defeat. In February 1993, Next shut its factory and laid off most employees. When a reporter asked about failure during an interview, the emotionally devastated Jobs simply walked away.
Yet within three years, an astonishing reversal of fortune occurred. Pixar's release of Toy Story in late 1995 transformed his 70% stake into billions overnight. A year later, he returned triumphantly to Apple as interim CEO, propelling its valuation from $2 billion to $20 billion. By January 2000, he finally accepted the permanent CEO title to thunderous applause.
This remarkable comeback story captivated the business world and cemented Jobs' status as one of the most fascinating figures in American entrepreneurship. His journey represents the quintessential Silicon Valley narrative of spectacular failure followed by even more spectacular reinvention - a modern Icarus who not only survived his fall but soared higher than before.
第 2 章
The Exile Years: Building Next from Scratch
At thirty, Steve Jobs faced an identity crisis after being stripped of power at Apple. Despite owning $100 million in stock and having achieved fame as a technological pioneer, he felt adrift without a clear purpose. He cycled through escapist fantasies - asking NASA about flying on the Challenger, visiting Moscow to promote computers for Gorbachev, running for Senate, and planning a perfect house with architect I.M. Pei. His midlife crisis compressed into three months, but ultimately, he couldn't resist returning to public life.
When founding Next, Jobs assembled a team of loyal Apple refugees who believed in his vision despite having no concrete business plan. Susan Barnes and Dan'l Lewin had proven at Apple they could stand up to him when necessary. The contrast with Apple's origins was stark - while Apple began in obscurity in a tract house, Next launched in a mansion with immediate media attention, with the founders even making the cover of Newsweek's Asian edition.
Jobs' fame opened doors but complicated his work. When establishing banking relationships, a random Citicorp officer dismissed him as a prankster, forcing Steve to call Bank of America's president directly. He leveraged his celebrity status strategically, though he maintained a love-hate relationship with his own mythology. When interviewing potential law and accounting firms, he devised a cruel test - insulting their client lists to see who would stand up to him rather than sycophantically agree.
Steve's wealth transformation was jarring. "When I was twenty-three, I had a net worth of one million dollars," he later recalled. "At twenty-four it was over ten million dollars, and at twenty-five it was over a hundred million dollars." Yet he remained deeply ambivalent about spending it, living in a cheap shared house while his wealth accumulated exponentially.
Despite his vast resources, Next struggled to define itself. While their product remained undefined, Jobs channeled his obsessiveness into creating the perfect company. He paid $100,000 to Yale professor Paul Rand to design the NeXT logo - a black cube tilted at 28 degrees with colorful letters. He then gutted their already attractive office and spent lavishly on remodeling with circular staircases, hardwood floors, Ansel Adams photographs, and black leather furniture.
The name "Next" remained intentionally vague while Apple's lawsuit against Jobs was pending. When Apple dropped the suit in January 1986, realizing that suing their legendary founder was poor public relations, Jobs began building his company with fanatical hiring standards, interviewing a hundred candidates for each position and often hiring overqualified people for lower roles. The receptionist had a Harvard degree, and engineers had to be "geniuses."
第 3 章
The Perfectionist's Paradox: When Excellence Becomes Excess
Steve's aesthetic sense developed early but unevenly. At Apple, he had wanted the original computers to come in beautiful koa wood cases before settling for rounded plastic. After buying a plain house in Los Gatos, he hired Jamis MacNiven, an inexperienced contractor, to remodel it. Despite his wealth, Steve slept on a mattress because he couldn't commit to a bed. Their relationship devolved into arguments as Steve's perfectionism exceeded what Jamis could deliver. Steve demanded extraordinary craftsmanship even for hidden elements like telephone wiring panels, insisting "I want the very best I can get!"
This obsessiveness fueled both his success and potential self-destruction. Since his teenage years at Reed College, he exhibited extreme behaviors around food. Elizabeth Holmes recalled his "fruitarian" diets, long fasting periods, and subsistence on minimal calories. Even at the All-One Farm commune where they grew abundant organic food, Steve would gorge himself on magnificent vegetarian feasts but then induce vomiting, shocking those who considered food sacred.
Steve operated with a management duality that perplexed observers but proved effective. He could be "Good Steve" - seductive, inspiring, and charming when wooing talent or partners. But he would transform into "Bad Steve" - intimidating, berating and humiliating the same people when pushing for perfection. This created what Susan Barnes called the "seduce and abandon" technique, where people became desperate to regain his withheld approval.
His "reality distortion field" and "hero-shithead roller coaster" were legendary in Silicon Valley. Though no one knew whether this approach stemmed from conscious philosophy or instinct, it worked remarkably well. Unlike companies where good cop/bad cop roles were split between executives, Jobs embodied both personas. His occasional fierce criticism created an expectation of quality that engineers internalized even when he wasn't present - making them feel his perfectionist gaze watching over their shoulders.
Steve's inner circle functioned like an archetypal Jewish family - bound by unspoken love but thriving on confrontation. Even quieter personalities like software genius Avie Tevanian could stand firm against Jobs with "Steve, you're just wrong!" Designer Susan Kare would confidently tell him "Steve, you're full of shit" in front of everyone, though she sometimes cried in the bathroom afterward. Working with Jobs required both spine and stamina.
Steve demanded total commitment from his team, often scheduling meetings on weekends, seemingly oblivious that employees like Dan'l Lewin had families. When Steve gathered his staff in autumn 1986 and urged them to work nights and weekends until Christmas, someone responded: "Steve, we already are working nights and weekends." Only the bravest, like Dan'l, would declare themselves "unavailable" for Saturday meetings.
第 4 章
The Hidden Gem: Pixar's Unlikely Journey to Success
While Steve focused maniacally on Next, he neglected his "hobby" company that would ultimately prove far more important - Pixar. Born from George Lucas's need to sell assets during his divorce settlement, Pixar began when Steve purchased Lucasfilm's computer graphics division for $10 million in February 1986, negotiated down from $30 million.
Steve experienced a revelation visiting Lucasfilm's computer graphics team - the same "holy shit" moment he'd had at Xerox PARC years earlier. Seeing their high-resolution graphics, he recognized another opportunity to commercialize brilliant research others couldn't fully capitalize on. The team comprised about four dozen academic refugees who had moved as a unit between wealthy patrons for years, led by brilliant visionaries like Alvy Ray Smith and Edwin Catmull.
Computer animation faced immense technical challenges in the late 1970s. Creating realistic images required simulating light rays bouncing off countless tiny polygons - the same technique Old Masters used for realism. Alvy and Ed calculated it would cost over $1 billion to make a feature film with computers - fifty times a typical movie budget. But Moore's Law promised that computing costs would halve every 18-24 months, putting their dream within reach by the mid-to-late 1980s.
Unlike at Next where Jobs micromanaged everything, Pixar was "completely run by Ed and Alvy Ray" because "these guys were adults already." This maturity translated into swift action - by May 1986, just three months after spinning off from Lucasfilm, they launched the $135,000 Pixar Image Computer. To showcase its capabilities, John Lasseter created animated films, beginning with "The Adventures of Wally and Andre B." Lasseter's next film, "Luxo Jr.," featuring animated desk lamps, became the sensation of the 1986 Siggraph convention. Unlike other technical demonstrations, Pixar's short film had actual characters and emotional impact, earning an Oscar nomination.
Despite expanding to 117 employees and opening seven sales offices, the Pixar Image Computer proved nearly impossible to sell. By early 1988, they'd sold just 120 computers, primarily to Disney and government research centers. With 120 employees burning through $10 million annually, Pixar was hemorrhaging money. Jobs had never invested actual capital, instead securing only a bank line of credit backed by his Treasury bonds.
When Pixar needed more funding, Jobs forced Ed and Alvy to surrender their 4% ownership stakes, cruelly reducing them to hired hands. Jobs repeatedly threatened to shut down Lasseter's animation group as an unnecessary expense. But Lasseter persisted, winning Jobs' grudging approval for "Tin Toy" through a compelling storyboard pitch. The film, featuring a remarkably realistic computer-animated infant, won the 1989 Oscar for Best Animated Short Film - Pixar's crowning achievement and Jobs' only good news that year.
第 5 章
The Great Illusion: Next's Spectacular Failure
Steve Jobs approached the business world with Hollywood-level showmanship, transforming mundane electronic hardware into compelling drama. For the October 1988 debut of the Next computer at San Francisco's Davies Symphony Hall, he orchestrated a media frenzy by simultaneously granting "exclusive" behind-the-scenes access to competing publications - Newsweek, Business Week, and Fortune.
Despite the extraordinary press coverage from Steve's bravura performance, Next's reality was grim - hardly anyone bought the machine. Initially targeting only colleges and universities, the $6,500 Next Cube (often exceeding $10,000 with accessories) proved absurdly expensive for students who needed $1,500 computers. Even academic research labs could get free machines from companies like Sun Microsystems. By late 1988, Next's state-of-the-art factory designed to produce 10,000 machines monthly was making just 400.
As a private company, Next maintained the illusion of success by not disclosing its dismal sales figures. In 1989, Inc. magazine named Steve "Entrepreneur of the Decade," Canon invested $100 million for one-sixth ownership, and talented professionals took demotions just to work near the legendary Jobs. Next expanded into an elegant bayfront campus with $10,000 leather sofas, bleached oak floors, and an I.M. Pei-designed staircase. "Steve wanted the company to feel larger than life, and sure enough it did," recalled executive David Wertheimer. "It felt like 'here's a company that's really made it,' while in reality it wasn't selling a single computer."
In early 1989, Steve missed a historic opportunity when IBM's chief executive wanted to license Next's software to break Microsoft's stranglehold. Despite Steve's persistent objections and distrust of IBM, negotiations proceeded with IBM offering $60 million - an extremely high price that Steve negotiated without exclusivity. Compaq and Dell also approached with similar offers but demanded Next abandon hardware manufacturing. Despite intense internal debates and software chief Bud Tribble advocating for transformation into a software company, Steve rejected these opportunities, choosing instead to build yet another computer.
Steve blamed Dan'l Lewin for the Next Cube's failure, stripping away his marketing responsibilities in July 1989 before Dan'l eventually quit - the first signal to Silicon Valley that Next had problems. Executives began burning out from Steve's intensity. "If you depended and thrived on Steve's praise, you would be crushed when he flamed you with public humiliation, which was inevitable," recalled Paul Vais. His favorite phrase became "Just fuck 'em" when dealing with contractual obligations to customers, leading to an FTC lawsuit that Apple lost.
By 1992, it was all going to hell. Steve's fortune was dwindling on failing startups. After being kicked out of Apple, he'd vowed to prove himself with Next, but after seven years, it was a conspicuous flop.
第 6 章
Personal Transformations: Love, Family, and Maturity
Steve's obsession with work severely strained his personal relationships. By age 22, despite sharing a house with his girlfriend Chris-Ann and friend Dan Kottke, Steve was emotionally invested only in Apple. He began dating Barbara Jasinski, a striking PR consultant, while Chris-Ann became pregnant with his child. Steve denied paternity and refused support, even as friends like Dan and Elizabeth Holmes were shocked that someone who had struggled with his own adoption could abandon his child.
Chris-Ann gave birth to Lisa in 1978 and lived on welfare. Despite blood tests showing 94.4% probability of paternity, Steve only agreed to pay $385 monthly child support after Apple's board pressured him before the company's IPO. When Time correspondent Michael Moritz learned about this from Dan Kottke, the magazine passed over Steve for "Man of the Year" in favor of "the computer." The revelation in Time enraged Steve, who permanently cut ties with his oldest friend Dan.
In the late 1980s, Steve was invited to speak at Stanford Business School, where first-year MBA student Laurene Powell had helped organize the event. Stunningly beautiful with long golden hair, Laurene sat directly in front of Steve during his presentation, looking at him flirtatiously. Steve became visibly flustered, repeatedly losing his train of thought - something his colleagues had never witnessed before. After canceling his meetings claiming illness, he went out with Laurene.
She was precisely what Steve wanted: vegetarian since her teens, exceptionally bright with impressive credentials (Goldman Sachs, Stanford), entrepreneurial ambitions, and a blend of counterculture and corporate sensibilities. Their relationship quickly became campus gossip, especially after rumors spread that Laurene had deliberately plotted to meet and marry "a Silicon Valley millionaire like Steve Jobs."
Amid his business crises, Steve faced personal turmoil when Laurene, now pregnant, wanted marriage. His refusal led her to move out, devastating him emotionally. At nearly thirty-six, he confronted the same moral issue he had faced at twenty-two with Chris-Ann and Lisa. After reflection on his life journey - meeting his birth mother, losing his adoptive mother, and learning to be a father to Lisa - he relented and agreed to marry Laurene.
Steve arranged a wedding with characteristic perfectionism, scheduled just weeks away on March 18, before Laurene's pregnancy became noticeable. He chartered a bus to Yosemite National Park, where the small ceremony took place at the Ahwahnee Hotel with only close family and friends attending. Kobin Chino, Steve's Zen Buddhist guru since his teens, conducted the ceremony with incense and gongs.
In September 1991, Laurene gave birth to a healthy son named Reed Paul Jobs - Reed for Steve's alma mater and Paul for Steve's father and his own middle name. The Jobses moved from isolated Woodside to a charming 1920s brick house in Old Palo Alto, a walkable neighborhood filled with professors and professionals rather than CEOs. Though some friends thought the marriage was initially troubled, Steve eventually became known as a devoted husband and father, while Laurene maintained her independence while supporting his career struggles.
第 7 章
From Despair to Redemption: The Pixar Miracle
In February 1993, InfoWorld broke the devastating news that Next was abandoning its hardware business. Steve confirmed the rumors days later, announcing massive layoffs cutting staff from 530 to 200, with Canon taking over the factory. When young reporter Cate Corcoran bluntly asked if this meant Next was a failure, Steve initially collapsed with his head in his arms, nearly walking out of the interview.
Despite his reputation for manipulation, Steve's distress over Next's hardware shutdown was genuine. "It was devastating," recalls Karen Steele, Next's communications manager. "Laying off half the company, abandoning the beautiful hardware, acknowledging the world didn't need another computer." Humbled, Steve even rehired Andy Cunningham for PR help - the same consultant he'd previously criticized and fired - showing a rare willingness to eat crow and make amends with people he'd treated poorly.
On May 25, 1993, as Steve prepared to announce Larry Ellison joining Next's board, Karen Steele discovered a brutal Wall Street Journal front-page article declaring Next's workstation "destined to become a high-tech museum relic" and questioning Steve's continued relevance. When she tried comforting Steve by saying it "could have been worse," he shot back bitterly, "Yeah, if you were me."
Just as Next collapsed, Pixar faced its own crisis. Despite initially promising work on Toy Story with director John Lasseter, the project hit a creative wall. The main character Woody had evolved from a ventriloquist's dummy to a cowboy, but emerged as an unlikable, mean-spirited bully in his rivalry with Buzz Lightyear. After months of rejected revisions, Disney's Peter Schneider screamed that Pixar's producers were terrible, and on November 17, Jeffrey Katzenberg shut down production entirely. With both Next and Pixar in crisis, Steve Jobs had reached the absolute nadir of his career.
The Pixar crisis proved less dire than executives feared. Disney often halted productions midway to rewrite storylines - standard practice in animation. While Toy Story was paused, Pixar reassigned artists to commercial work. After months of brainstorming, John Lasseter's team fixed the plot by adding scenes showing Woody as the toys' caring leader, making his later jealousy of Buzz more understandable. Jeffrey Katzenberg approved these changes, and production resumed in April 1994.
In January 1995, Disney held an extravagant press conference in Central Park promoting both Pocahontas and Toy Story. Seeing Pixar's characters alongside Disney's iconic figures, with Michael Eisner and Mayor Giuliani present, Steve had his revelation: Pixar, not Next, would be his salvation. After nine struggling years, Pixar had finally arrived.
Steve immediately seized control at Pixar, taking the president and CEO titles from Ed Catmull. His audacious scheme involved taking Pixar public immediately after Toy Story's release in November 1995, capitalizing on the Hollywood hype. The problem was that Pixar had never been profitable, with accumulated losses of $47 million over nine years. However, Netscape's successful IPO despite being unprofitable created a new paradigm that Steve wanted to exploit.
Toy Story opened to critical acclaim and an impressive $29 million first weekend. On November 29, Ed Catmull and Pam Kerwin met at Robertson Stephens & Company for Pixar's IPO, with Steve making a characteristically dramatic last-minute entrance. Within thirty minutes of trading, the stock soared to $49, making Steve Jobs worth nearly $1.5 billion. Though the price later settled in the twenties, Pixar kept $123 million from the IPO, transforming from $47 million in debt to $76 million in cash.
第 8 章
The Prodigal Son Returns: Apple's Resurrection
During Steve's exile, Apple had lost nearly everything that made it successful during his era. Its innovative software hadn't evolved in a decade while Microsoft had managed to imitate it. Its bold aesthetics had devolved into bland beige boxes. By 1996, Apple's stock had fallen from $60 to $17 per share, sales dropped from $11 billion to $7 billion, and market share plummeted from 12% to 4%. After losing $1 billion in a year, the company seemed destined for bankruptcy.
In November 1996, Apple nearly closed a deal with Be, a struggling startup founded by former Apple executive Jean-Louis Gassee. But everything changed when a mid-level Next manager impulsively contacted Apple's CTO Ellen Hancock, suggesting Next instead. Within days, Apple and Next were in serious negotiations, with Steve Jobs only learning about the talks after they were well underway. For Jobs, who had quietly yearned to return to Apple - the company that remained key to his identity - this unexpected opening was significant.
Gil Amelio, Apple's CEO, wanted to buy Next not just for its software but for Steve himself, naively believing Jobs could be controlled as a figurehead. "I'm not just buying the software," Gil told colleagues. "I'm buying Steve." As negotiations progressed in December 1996, the deal nearly fell apart multiple times over Steve's refusal to sign an employment contract. His negotiating brilliance worked - Gil wanted the deal more than Steve did and agreed to let him be an "informal adviser" without contractual commitments. The $430 million deal for the failing Next was done.
At the press conference announcing the deal, Steve entered dramatically from the back of the auditorium rather than the wings. While Gil tried to position himself as the elder master, Steve signaled he wasn't "a dog on a leash." When Financial Times correspondent Louise Kehoe confronted Steve about his intentions to take over Apple, he deflected: "Oh no, Louise. I have a family. I have other interests."
Steve quickly executed what appeared to be his plan all along: manipulating media to discredit Gil and position himself as Apple's savior. He turned to loyal supporter Brent Schlender at Fortune, who published "Something's Rotten in Cupertino" in February, criticizing Gil's "dithering" while suggesting Steve had a turnaround plan and was considering a takeover with Larry Ellison's financial backing. After Apple announced a $708 million quarterly loss ($1.6 billion during Gil Amelio's first 15 months), the board ousted Gil on July 9. Steve quickly seized control, purged ineffective board members, and installed his loyalists including Larry Ellison.
At the August 1997 Macworld convention in Boston, just a month after seizing control, Steve dramatically revealed that Microsoft was investing $150 million in Apple and promising to continue Mac software development for five years, with Bill Gates appearing on stage for the announcement. Despite Apple fans' feelings of betrayal, Wall Street was reassured, sending Apple's stock up 33 percent to $23 a share.
On September 16, 1997, Steve officially became "interim CEO," taking a conspicuously small office near the boardroom. He conducted comprehensive product reviews, gathering teams in the boardroom to demonstrate current products and future plans. In his first month as interim CEO, Steve began carrying around a curved white foam model that would eventually become the iMac.
第 9 章
The Visionary's Legacy: Triumph, Tyranny, and Transformation
The iMac became Steve's crowning achievement in Apple's turnaround. He abandoned his original network computer concept when similar devices from competitors failed, but kept the sleek all-in-one design despite market research showing consumers wouldn't buy such machines. Acting on pure instinct, Steve unveiled the iMac on May 6, 1998, in the same auditorium where he'd introduced the original Macintosh fourteen years earlier. The translucent blue curved plastic case generated media frenzy, with 150,000 pre-orders before its June 15 release and 278,000 units sold by July's end.
By October 1998, Apple's turnaround was complete with a third consecutive quarterly profit of $105 million and stock price tripled since Steve's return. Vanity Fair promoted him to #14 on its "New Establishment" ranking. In January 1999, Steve delivered a theatrical keynote at Macworld, stalking onstage in a leather jacket before dramatically removing it - a calculated effect he'd rehearsed backstage. After a 90-minute address, he casually announced as an apparent afterthought: "We're profitable." Apple had made a $45 million profit that quarter through cost-cutting and strong G3 computer sales.
Despite Steve's successful Macworld appearance, he stubbornly refused the CEO title despite board pressure. They offered him first 5% then 8% of Apple stock (worth about $270 million), but he insisted on remaining "interim CEO" with a symbolic $1 salary and no Apple shares. Nevertheless, his leadership proved effective - Apple announced a second consecutive quarterly profit of $55 million in April, and the stock nearly doubled in 1998, from $15 to almost $30 per share.
Steve's public persona masked his deeply problematic interpersonal behavior. In September 1999, he humiliated a journalist during what should have been a friendly Wired magazine interview, berating him with "I have no time for this philosophical bullshit" despite softball questions. The devastated reporter described Steve as having "heavy magic" that could completely steal someone's self-confidence with just a withering look. Steve routinely humiliated people without consequences, once reducing a junior PR executive to tears during a Pixar pitch meeting by saying "Nothing you say means anything to me. Why do you keep opening your mouth?" - then ironically awarded them the account afterward.
Silicon Valley observers developed numerous theories about Steve's complex personality. Louise Kehoe noted his childlike ability to switch between charm and cruelty. Heidi Roizen determined Steve wasn't a pathological liar but someone with "an amazing ability to recraft things" - genuinely believing contradictory statements with equal conviction. Christopher Escher viewed Steve as "the ultimate product of a media culture" following tropes of "freshness, young star, banishment, recovery, and renewal."
Steve embodies Silicon Valley's essence - its greed and ambivalence about wealth. He's a sophisticated elitist yearning for mass appeal, torn between changing the world and selling computers "as though they were sugared water." He alternates between advancing technology and promoting brand image. A control freak and egomaniac whose greatest success comes from supporting others' creativity. Humility emerges in failure, tyranny in success. He inspires both love and hate, often from the same people. The Bad Steve can be loathsome while the Good Steve inspires and captivates. Paradoxically, failure reveals his humanity while success fuels his megalomania.
第 10 章
The Cycle Continues: Triumph, Hubris, and Reinvention
Apple's remarkable resurgence in early 2000 was followed by a sudden crisis in the second half of the year. The year began triumphantly with Steve declaring himself "permanent" CEO at January's Macworld after three years of refusing the title. Apple's stock reached an all-time high of $150 in March - an elevenfold increase from $13 when Jobs took over in 1997.
Steve unveiled the Cube at July's MacWorld in New York - a minimalist, translucent computer without cooling fans, symbolically seeking vindication for his earlier Next Cube failure. Critics praised its design, with Newsweek's Steven Levy calling it "a Zen Kleenex box with a kick of Jackie Chan" despite concerns about its high price ($1,800 plus $1,000 for a display). But despite Apple's confident projection of 800,000 sales, the Cube flopped. Like the Next Cube, it reflected Steve's austere, minimalist taste rather than the playful mass appeal of the iMac.
On September 29, Apple warned that quarterly profits would fall far below expectations. Steve characterized this as a mere "speed bump," but investors panicked, sending Apple shares plummeting nearly 50% from $53.50 to $28. The market reaction reflected betrayal - Steve had been worshipped as infallible, and his mortality shocked investors. By October 18, Apple posted earnings of $108 million (30 cents per share), hitting the low end of revised targets, but the stock fell further to $17.
As Christmas approached, Steve's media portrayal shifted dramatically from hero to zero. His previous cavalier treatment of the press returned as bad karma. Graef Crystal, a prominent CEO compensation expert, criticized Steve's company-bought Gulfstream jet (which cost Apple $90 million) and his 20 million stock options, writing that "all that monetary motivation seems to have backfired." CBS Marketwatch even named him one of the year's biggest executive losers.
The new year brought renewed hope starting with MacWorld in January 2001. Steve presented his vision of the "third golden age" of computing: after the Age of Productivity (1980s) and the Age of Internet (1990s) came the Age of Digital Lifestyle, positioning the Mac as the hub for electronic devices like MP3 players, digital cameras, and camcorders. This strategy attempted to make Macs relevant in what many called the "post-PC world."
Despite predictions of industry consolidation, Apple seemed likely to survive independently with its "Arnold Schwarzenegger balance sheet" of $4 billion cash. Most importantly, Steve's personal history suggested resilience - he had overcome far greater setbacks, demonstrated tremendous determination to rebound, and remained one of the few survivors from a quarter-century in an unforgiving industry. Would there be a "third coming" of Steve Jobs? Given his track record of reinvention, few would bet against him.
