Part 2 (1/2)

In late 1972, there was a fundamental s.h.i.+ft happening in American campus life. The nation's involvement in the Vietnam War, and the draft that accompanied it, was winding down. Political activism at colleges receded and in many late-night dorm conversations was replaced by an interest in pathways to personal fulfillment. Jobs found himself deeply influenced by a variety of books on spirituality and enlightenment, most notably Be Here Now , a guide to meditation and the wonders of psychedelic drugs by Baba Ram Da.s.s, born Richard Alpert. ”I t was profound,” Jobs said. ”I t transformed me and many of my friends.”The closest of those friends was another wispy-bearded freshman named Daniel Kottke, who met Jobs a week after they arrived at Reed and shared his interest in Zen, Dylan, and acid. Kottke, from a wealthy New York suburb, was smart but low-octane, with a sweet flower-child demeanor made even mellower by his interest in Buddhism. That spiritual quest had caused him to eschew material possessions, but he was nonetheless impressed by Jobs's tape deck. ”Steve had a TEAC reel-to-reel and ma.s.sive quant.i.ties of Dylan bootlegs,” Kottke recalled. ”He was both really cool and high-tech.”

Jobs started spending much of his time with Kottke and his girlfriend, Elizabeth Holmes, even after he insulted her at their first meeting by grilling her about how much money it would take to get her to have s.e.x with another man. They hitchhiked to the coast together, engaged in the typical dorm raps about the meaning of life, attended the love festivals at the local Hare Krishna temple, and went to the Zen center for free vegetarian meals. ”I t was a lot of fun,” said Kottke, ”but also philosophical, and we took Zen very seriously.”

Jobs began sharing with Kottke other books, including Zen Mind, Beginner's Mind by Shunryu Suzuki, Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda, and Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism by Chogyam Trungpa. They created a meditation room in the attic crawl s.p.a.ce above Elizabeth Holmes's room and fixed it up with Indian prints, a dhurrie rug, candles, incense, and meditation cus.h.i.+ons. ”There was a hatch in the ceiling leading to an attic which had a huge amount of s.p.a.ce,” Jobs said. ”We took psychedelic drugs there sometimes, but mainly we just meditated.”

Jobs's engagement with Eastern spirituality, and especially Zen Buddhism, was not just some pa.s.sing fancy or youthful dabbling. He embraced it with his typical intensity, and it became deeply ingrained in his personality. ”Steve is very much Zen,” said Kottke. ”I t was a deep influence. You see it in his whole approach of stark, minimalist aesthetics, intense focus.” Jobs also became deeply influenced by the emphasis that Buddhism places on intuition. ”I began to realize that an intuitive understanding and consciousness was more significant than abstract thinking and intellectual logical a.n.a.lysis,” he later said. His intensity, however, made it difficult for him to achieve inner peace; his Zen awareness was not accompanied by an excess of calm, peace of mind, or interpersonal mellowness.

He and Kottke enjoyed playing a nineteenth-century German variant of chess called Kriegspiel, in which the players sit back-to-back; each has his own board and pieces and cannot see those of his opponent. A moderator informs them if a move they want to make is legal or illegal, and they have to try to figure out where their opponent's pieces are. ”The wildest game I played with them was during a las.h.i.+ng rainstorm sitting by the fireside,” recalled Holmes, who served as moderator. ”They were tripping on acid. They were moving so fast I could barely keep up with them.”

Another book that deeply influenced Jobs during his freshman year was Diet for a Small Planet by Frances Moore Lappe, which extolled the personal and planetary benefits of vegetarianism. ”That's when I swore off meat pretty much for good,” he recalled. But the book also reinforced his tendency to embrace extreme diets, which included purges, fasts, or eating only one or two foods, such as carrots or apples, for weeks on end.

Jobs and Kottke became serious vegetarians during their freshman year. ”Steve got into it even more than I did,” said Kottke. ”He was living off Roman Meal cereal.” They would go shopping at a farmers' co-op, where Jobs would buy a box of cereal, which would last a week, and other bulk health food. ”He would buy flats of dates and almonds and lots of carrots, and he got a Champion juicer and we'd make carrot juice and carrot salads. There is a story about Steve turning orange from eating so many carrots, and there is some truth to that.” Friends remember him having, at times, a sunset-like orange hue.

Jobs's dietary habits became even more obsessive when he read Mucusless Diet Healing System by Arnold Ehret, an early twentieth-century German-born nutrition fanatic. He believed in eating nothing but fruits and starchless vegetables, which he said prevented the body from forming harmful mucus, and he advocated cleansing the body regularly through prolonged fasts. That meant the end of even Roman Meal cereal-or any bread, grains, or milk. Jobs began warning friends of the mucus dangers lurking in their bagels. ”I got into it in my typical nutso way,” he said. At one point he and Kottke went for an entire week eating only apples, and then Jobs began to try even purer fasts. He started with two-day fasts, and eventually tried to stretch them to a week or more, breaking them carefully with large amounts of water and leafy vegetables. ”After a week you start to feel fantastic,” he said. ”You get a ton of vitality from not having to digest all this food. I was in great shape. I felt I could get up and walk to San Francisco anytime I wanted.”

Vegetarianism and Zen Buddhism, meditation and spirituality, acid and rock-Jobs rolled together, in an amped-up way, the multiple impulses that were hallmarks of the enlightenment-seeking campus subculture of the era. And even though he barely indulged it at Reed, there was still an undercurrent of electronic geekiness in his soul that would someday combine surprisingly well with the rest of the mix.

Robert Friedland.

In order to raise some cash one day, Jobs decided to sell his IBM Selectric typewriter. He walked into the room of the student who had offered to buy it only to discover that he was having s.e.x with his girlfriend. Jobs started to leave, but the student invited him to take a seat and wait while they finished. ”I thought, 'This is kind of far out,'” Jobs later recalled. And thus began his relations.h.i.+p with Robert Friedland, one of the few people in Jobs's life who were able to mesmerize him. He adopted some of Friedland's charismatic traits and for a few years treated him almost like a guru -until he began to see him as a charlatan.

Friedland was four years older than Jobs, but still an undergraduate. The son of an Auschwitz survivor who became a prosperous Chicago architect, he had originally gone to Bowdoin, a liberal arts college in Maine. But while a soph.o.m.ore, he was arrested for possession of 24,000 tablets of LSD worth $125,000. The local newspaper pictured him with shoulder-length wavy blond hair smiling at the photographers as he was led away. He was sentenced to two years at a federal prison in Virginia, from which he was paroled in 1972. That fall he headed off to Reed, where he immediately ran for student body president, saying that he needed to clear his name from the ”miscarriage of justice” he had suffered. He won.

Friedland had heard Baba Ram Da.s.s, the author of Be Here Now , give a speech in Boston, and like Jobs and Kottke had gotten deeply into Eastern spirituality. During the summer of 1973, he traveled to India to meet Ram Da.s.s's Hindu guru, Neem Karoli Baba, famously known to his many followers as Maharaj-ji. When he returned that fall, Friedland had taken a spiritual name and walked around in sandals and flowing Indian robes. He had a room off campus, above a garage, and Jobs would go there many afternoons to seek him out. He was entranced by the apparent intensity of Friedland's conviction that a state of enlightenment truly existed and could be attained. ”He turned me on to a different level of consciousness,” Jobs said.

Friedland found Jobs fascinating as well. ”He was always walking around barefoot,” he later told a reporter. ”The thing that struck me was his intensity. Whatever he was interested in he would generally carry to an irrational extreme.” Jobs had honed his trick of using stares and silences to master other people. ”One of his numbers was to stare at the person he was talking to. He would stare into their f.u.c.king eyeb.a.l.l.s, ask some question, and would want a response without the other person averting their eyes.”

According to Kottke, some of Jobs's personality traits-including a few that lasted throughout his career-were borrowed from Friedland.

”Friedland taught Steve the reality distortion field,” said Kottke. ”He was charismatic and a bit of a con man and could bend situations to his very strong will. He was mercurial, sure of himself, a little dictatorial. Steve admired that, and he became more like that after spending time with Robert.”Jobs also absorbed how Friedland made himself the center of attention. ”Robert was very much an outgoing, charismatic guy, a real salesman,”

Kottke recalled. ”When I first met Steve he was shy and self-effacing, a very private guy. I think Robert taught him a lot about selling, about coming out of his sh.e.l.l, of opening up and taking charge of a situation.” Friedland projected a high-wattage aura. ”He would walk into a room and you would instantly notice him. Steve was the absolute opposite when he came to Reed. After he spent time with Robert, some of it started to rub off.”

On Sunday evenings Jobs and Friedland would go to the Hare Krishna temple on the western edge of Portland, often with Kottke and Holmes in tow. They would dance and sing songs at the top of their lungs. ”We would work ourselves into an ecstatic frenzy,” Holmes recalled. ”Robert would go insane and dance like crazy. Steve was more subdued, as if he was embarra.s.sed to let loose.” Then they would be treated to paper plates piled high with vegetarian food.

Friedland had stewards.h.i.+p of a 220-acre apple farm, about forty miles southwest of Portland, that was owned by an eccentric millionaire uncle from Switzerland named Marcel Muller. After Friedland became involved with Eastern spirituality, he turned it into a commune called the All One Farm, and Jobs would spend weekends there with Kottke, Holmes, and like-minded seekers of enlightenment. The farm had a main house, a large barn, and a garden shed, where Kottke and Holmes slept. Jobs took on the task of pruning the Gravenstein apple trees. ”Steve ran the apple orchard,” said Friedland. ”We were in the organic cider business. Steve's job was to lead a crew of freaks to prune the orchard and whip it back into shape.”

Monks and disciples from the Hare Krishna temple would come and prepare vegetarian feasts redolent of c.u.min, coriander, and turmeric. ”Steve would be starving when he arrived, and he would stuff himself,” Holmes recalled. ”Then he would go and purge. For years I thought he was bulimic. I t was very upsetting, because we had gone to all that trouble of creating these feasts, and he couldn't hold it down.”

Jobs was also beginning to have a little trouble stomaching Friedland's cult leader style. ”Perhaps he saw a little bit too much of Robert in himself,” said Kottke. Although the commune was supposed to be a refuge from materialism, Friedland began operating it more as a business; his followers were told to chop and sell firewood, make apple presses and wood stoves, and engage in other commercial endeavors for which they were not paid. One night Jobs slept under the table in the kitchen and was amused to notice that people kept coming in and stealing each other's food from the refrigerator. Communal economics were not for him. ”I t started to get very materialistic,” Jobs recalled. ”Everybody got the idea they were working very hard for Robert's farm, and one by one they started to leave. I got pretty sick of it.”

Many years later, after Friedland had become a billionaire copper and gold mining executive-working out of Vancouver, Singapore, and Mongolia-I met him for drinks in New York. That evening I emailed Jobs and mentioned my encounter. He telephoned me from California within an hour and warned me against listening to Friedland. He said that when Friedland was in trouble because of environmental abuses committed by some of his mines, he had tried to contact Jobs to intervene with Bill Clinton, but Jobs had not responded. ”Robert always portrayed himself as a spiritual person, but he crossed the line from being charismatic to being a con man,” Jobs said. ”I t was a strange thing to have one of the spiritual people in your young life turn out to be, symbolically and in reality, a gold miner.”

... Drop Out.

Jobs quickly became bored with college. He liked being at Reed, just not taking the required cla.s.ses. In fact he was surprised when he found out that, for all of its hippie aura, there were strict course requirements. When Wozniak came to visit, Jobs waved his schedule at him and complained, ”They are making me take all these courses.” Woz replied, ”Yes, that's what they do in college.” Jobs refused to go to the cla.s.ses he was a.s.signed and instead went to the ones he wanted, such as a dance cla.s.s where he could enjoy both the creativity and the chance to meet girls. ”I would never have refused to take the courses you were supposed to, that's a difference in our personality,” Wozniak marveled.

Jobs also began to feel guilty, he later said, about spending so much of his parents' money on an education that did not seem worthwhile. ”All of my working-cla.s.s parents' savings were being spent on my college tuition,” he recounted in a famous commencement address at Stanford. ”I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and no idea how college was going to help me figure it out. And here I was spending all of the money my parents had saved their entire life. So I decided to drop out and trust that it would all work out okay.”

He didn't actually want to leave Reed; he just wanted to quit paying tuition and taking cla.s.ses that didn't interest him. Remarkably, Reed tolerated that. ”He had a very inquiring mind that was enormously attractive,” said the dean of students, Jack Dudman. ”He refused to accept automatically received truths, and he wanted to examine everything himself.” Dudman allowed Jobs to audit cla.s.ses and stay with friends in the dorms even after he stopped paying tuition.

”The minute I dropped out I could stop taking the required cla.s.ses that didn't interest me, and begin dropping in on the ones that looked interesting,” he said. Among them was a calligraphy cla.s.s that appealed to him after he saw posters on campus that were beautifully drawn. ”I learned about serif and sans serif typefaces, about varying the amount of s.p.a.ce between different letter combinations, about what makes great typography great. I t was beautiful, historical, artistically subtle in a way that science can't capture, and I found it fascinating.”

I t was yet another example of Jobs consciously positioning himself at the intersection of the arts and technology. In all of his products, technology would be married to great design, elegance, human touches, and even romance. He would be in the fore of pus.h.i.+ng friendly graphical user interfaces. The calligraphy course would become iconic in that regard. ”I f I had never dropped in on that single course in college, the Mac would have never had multiple typefaces or proportionally s.p.a.ced fonts. And since Windows just copied the Mac, it's likely that no personal computer would have them.”

In the meantime Jobs eked out a bohemian existence on the fringes of Reed. He went barefoot most of the time, wearing sandals when it snowed. Elizabeth Holmes made meals for him, trying to keep up with his obsessive diets. He returned soda bottles for spare change, continued his treks to the free Sunday dinners at the Hare Krishna temple, and wore a down jacket in the heatless garage apartment he rented for $20 a month. When he needed money, he found work at the psychology department lab maintaining the electronic equipment that was used for animal behavior experiments. Occasionally Chrisann Brennan would come to visit. Their relations.h.i.+p sputtered along erratically. But mostly he tended to the stirrings of his own soul and personal quest for enlightenment.

”I came of age at a magical time,” he reflected later. ”Our consciousness was raised by Zen, and also by LSD.” Even later in life he would credit psychedelic drugs for making him more enlightened. ”T aking LSD was a profound experience, one of the most important things in my life. LSD shows you that there's another side to the coin, and you can't remember it when it wears off, but you know it. I t reinforced my sense of what was important-creating great things instead of making money, putting things back into the stream of history and of human consciousness as much as I could.”

CHAPTER FOUR.

ATARI AND INDIA.

Zen and the Art of Game Design.

Atari.

In February 1974, after eighteen months of hanging around Reed, Jobs decided to move back to his parents' home in Los Altos and look for a job.

I t was not a difficult search. At peak times during the 1970s, the cla.s.sified section of the San Jose Mercury carried up to sixty pages of technology help-wanted ads. One of those caught Jobs's eye. ”Have fun, make money,” it said. That day Jobs walked into the lobby of the video game manufacturer Atari and told the personnel director, who was startled by his unkempt hair and attire, that he wouldn't leave until they gave him a job.

Atari's founder was a burly entrepreneur named Nolan Bushnell, who was a charismatic visionary with a nice touch of showmans.h.i.+p in him-in other words, another role model waiting to be emulated. After he became famous, he liked driving around in a Rolls, smoking dope, and holding staff meetings in a hot tub. As Friedland had done and as Jobs would learn to do, he was able to turn charm into a cunning force, to cajole and intimidate and distort reality with the power of his personality. His chief engineer was Al Alcorn, beefy and jovial and a bit more grounded, the house grown-up trying to implement the vision and curb the enthusiasms of Bushnell. Their big hit thus far was a video game called Pong, in which two players tried to volley a blip on a screen with two movable lines that acted as paddles. (I f you're under thirty, ask your parents.) When Jobs arrived in the Atari lobby wearing sandals and demanding a job, Alcorn was the one who was summoned. ”I was told, 'We've got a hippie kid in the lobby. He says he's not going to leave until we hire him. Should we call the cops or let him in?' I said bring him on in!”

Jobs thus became one of the first fifty employees at Atari, working as a technician for $5 an hour. ”In retrospect, it was weird to hire a dropout from Reed,” Alcorn recalled. ”But I saw something in him. He was very intelligent, enthusiastic, excited about tech.” Alcorn a.s.signed him to work with a straitlaced engineer named Don Lang. The next day Lang complained, ”This guy's a G.o.dd.a.m.n hippie with b.o. Why did you do this to me?

And he's impossible to deal with.” Jobs clung to the belief that his fruit-heavy vegetarian diet would prevent not just mucus but also body odor, even if he didn't use deodorant or shower regularly. I t was a flawed theory.

Lang and others wanted to let Jobs go, but Bushnell worked out a solution. ”The smell and behavior wasn't an issue with me,” he said. ”Steve was p.r.i.c.kly, but I kind of liked him. So I asked him to go on the night s.h.i.+ft. I t was a way to save him.” Jobs would come in after Lang and others had left and work through most of the night. Even thus isolated, he became known for his brashness. On those occasions when he happened to interact with others, he was p.r.o.ne to informing them that they were ”dumb s.h.i.+ts.” In retrospect, he stands by that judgment. ”The only reason I shone was that everyone else was so bad,” Jobs recalled.

Despite his arrogance (or perhaps because of it) he was able to charm Atari's boss. ”He was more philosophical than the other people I worked with,” Bushnell recalled. ”We used to discuss free will versus determinism. I tended to believe that things were much more determined, that we were programmed. I f we had perfect information, we could predict people's actions. Steve felt the opposite.” That outlook accorded with his faith in the power of the will to bend reality.

Jobs helped improve some of the games by pus.h.i.+ng the chips to produce fun designs, and Bushnell's inspiring willingness to play by his own rules rubbed off on him. In addition, he intuitively appreciated the simplicity of Atari's games. They came with no manual and needed to be uncomplicated enough that a stoned freshman could figure them out. The only instructions for Atari's Star Trek game were ”1. Insert quarter. 2.