2011年10月25日 星期二

Steve Jobs by Walter Isaacson Excerpt

Childhood Abandoned and Chosen

The Adoption

When Paul Jobs was mustered out of the Coast Guard after World War II, he made a wager with his crewmates. They had arrived in San Francisco, where their ship was decommissioned, and Paul bet that he would find himself a wife within two weeks. He was a taut, tattooed engine mechanic, six feet tall, with a passing resemblance to James Dean. But it wasn’t his looks that got him a date with Clara Hagopian, a sweet-humored daughter of Armenian immigrants. It was the fact that he and his friends had a car, unlike the group she had originally planned to go out with that evening. Ten days later, in March 1946, Paul got engaged to Clara and won his wager. It would turn out to be a happy marriage, one that lasted until death parted them more than forty years later.

Paul Reinhold Jobs had been raised on a dairy farm in Germantown, Wisconsin. Even though his father was an alcoholic and sometimes abusive, Paul ended up with a gentle and calm disposition under his leathery exterior. After dropping out of high school, he wandered through the Midwest picking up work as a mechanic until, at age nineteen, he joined the Coast Guard, even though he didn’t know howto swim. He was deployed on the USS General M. C. Meigs and spent much of the war ferrying troops to Italy for General Patton. His talent as a machinist and fireman earned him commendations, but he occasionally found himself in minor trouble and never rose above the rank of seaman.

Clara was born in New Jersey, where her parents had landed after fleeing the Turks in Armenia, and they moved to the Mission District of San Francisco when she was a child. She had a secret that she rarely mentioned to anyone: She had been married before, but her husband had been killed in the war. So when she met Paul Jobs on that first date, she was primed to start a new life.

Like many who lived through the war, they had experienced enough excitement that, when it was over, they desired simply to settle down, raise a family, and lead a less eventful life. They had little money, so they moved to Wisconsin and lived with Paul’s parents for a few years, then headed for Indiana, where he got a job as a machinist for International Harvester. His passion was tinkering with old cars, and he made money in his spare time buying, restoring, and selling them. Eventually he quit his day job to become a full-time used car salesman.

Clara, however, loved San Francisco, and in 1952 she convinced her husband to move back there. They got an apartment in the Sunset District facing the Pacific, just south of Golden Gate Park, and he took a job working for a finance company as a “repo man,” picking the locks of cars whose owners hadn’t paid their loans and repossessing them. He also bought, repaired, and sold some of the cars, making a decent enough living in the process.

There was, however, something missing in their lives. They wanted children, but Clara had suffered an ectopic pregnancy, in which the fertilized egg was implanted in a fallopian tube rather than the uterus, and she had been unable to have any. So by 1955, after nine years of marriage, they were looking to adopt a child.

Like Paul Jobs, Joanne Schieble was from a rural Wisconsin family of German heritage. Her father, Arthur Schieble, had immigrated to the outskirts of Green Bay, where he and his wife owned a mink farm and dabbled successfully in various other businesses, including realestate and photoengraving. He was very strict, especially regarding his daughter’s relationships, and he had strongly disapproved of her first love, an artist who was not a Catholic. Thus it was no surprise that he threatened to cut Joanne off completely when, as a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin, she fell in love with Abdulfattah “John” Jandali, a Muslim teaching assistant from Syria.

Jandali was the youngest of nine children in a prominent Syrian family. His father owned oil refineries and multiple other businesses, with large holdings in Damascus and Homs, and at one point pretty much controlled the price of wheat in the region. His mother, he later said, was a “traditional Muslim woman” who was a “conservative, obedient housewife.” Like the Schieble family, the Jandalis put a premium on education. Abdulfattah was sent to a Jesuit boarding school, even though he was Muslim, and he got an undergraduate degree at the American University in Beirut before entering the University of Wisconsin to pursue a doctoral degree in political science.

In the summer of 1954, Joanne went with Abdulfattah to Syria. They spent two months in Homs, where she learned from his family to cook Syrian dishes. When they returned to Wisconsin she discovered that she was pregnant. They were both twenty-three, but they decided not to get married. Her father was dying at the time, and he had threatened to disown her if she wed Abdulfattah. Nor was abortion an easy option in a small Catholic community. So in early 1955, Joanne traveled to San Francisco, where she was taken into the care of a kindly doctor who sheltered unwed mothers, delivered their babies, and quietly arranged closed adoptions.

Joanne had one requirement: Her child must be adopted by college graduates. So the doctor arranged for the baby to be placed with a lawyer and his wife. But when a boy was born—on February 24, 1955— the designated couple decided that they wanted a girl and backed out. Thus it was that the boy became the son not of a lawyer but of a high school dropout with a passion for mechanics and his salt-of-the-earth wife who was working as a bookkeeper. Paul and Clara named their new baby Steven Paul Jobs.

When Joanne found out that her baby had been placed with a couple who had not even graduated from high school, she refused to sign the adoption papers. The standoff lasted weeks, even after the baby had settled into the Jobs household. Eventually Joanne relented, with the stipulation that the couple promise—indeed sign a pledge—to fund a savings account to pay for the boy’s college education. There was another reason that Joanne was balky about signing the adoption papers. Her father was about to die, and she planned to marry Jandali soon after. She held out hope, she would later tell family members, sometimes tearing up at the memory, that once they were married, she could get their baby boy back.

Arthur Schieble died in August 1955, after the adoption was finalized. Just after Christmas that year, Joanne and Abdulfattah were married in St. Philip the Apostle Catholic Church in Green Bay. He got his PhD in international politics the next year, and then they had another child, a girl named Mona. After she and Jandali divorced in 1962, Joanne embarked on a dreamy and peripatetic life that her daughter, who grew up to become the acclaimed novelist Mona Simpson, would capture in her book Anywhere but Here. Because Steve’s adoption had been closed, it would be twenty years before they would all find each other.

Steve Jobs knew from an early age that he was adopted. “My parents were very open with me about that,” he recalled. He had a vivid memory of sitting on the lawn of his house, when he was six or seven years old, telling the girl who lived across the street. “So does that mean your real parents didn’t want you?” the girl asked. “Lightning bolts went off in my head,” according to Jobs. “I remember running into the house, crying. And my parents said, ‘No, you have to understand.’ They were very serious and looked me straight in the eye. They said, ‘We specifically picked you out.’ Both of my parents said that and repeated it slowly for me. And they put an emphasis on every word in that sentence.”

Abandoned. Chosen. Special. Those concepts became part of who Jobs was and how he regarded himself. His closest friends think that the knowledge that he was given up at birth left some scars. “I think his desire for complete control of whatever he makes derives directly from his personality and the fact that he was abandoned at birth,” said one longtime colleague, Del Yocam. “He wants to control his environment, and he sees the product as an extension of himself.” Greg Calhoun, who became close to Jobs right after college, saw another effect. “Steve talked to me a lot about being abandoned and the pain that caused,” he said. “It made him independent. He followed the beat of a different drummer, and that came from being in a different world than he was born into.”

Later in life, when he was the same age his biological father had been when he abandoned him, Jobs would father and abandon a child of his own. (He eventually took responsibility for her.) Chrisann Brennan, the mother of that child, said that being put up for adoption left Jobs “full of broken glass,” and it helps to explain some of his behavior. “He who is abandoned is an abandoner,” she said. Andy Hertzfeld, who worked with Jobs at Apple in the early 1980s, is among the few who remained close to both Brennan and Jobs. “The key question about Steve is why he can’t control himself at times from being so reflexively cruel and harmful to some people,” he said. “That goes back to being abandoned at birth. The real underlying problem was the theme of abandonment in Steve’s life.”

Jobs dismissed this. “There’s some notion that because I was abandoned, I worked very hard so I could do well and make my parents wish they had me back, or some such nonsense, but that’s ridiculous,” he insisted. “Knowing I was adopted may have made me feel more independent, but I have never felt abandoned. I’ve always felt special. My parents made me feel special.” He would later bristle whenever anyone referred to Paul and Clara Jobs as his “adoptive” parents or implied that they were not his “real” parents. “They were my parents 1,000%,” he said. When speaking about his biological parents, on the other hand, he was curt: “They were my sperm and egg bank. That’s not harsh, it’s just the way it was, a sperm bank thing, nothing more.”

Silicon Valley

The childhood that Paul and Clara Jobs created for their new son was, in many ways, a stereotype of the late 1950s. When Steve was two they adopted a girl they named Patty, and three years later they moved to a tract house in the suburbs. The finance company where Paul worked as a repo man, CIT, had transferred him down to its Palo Alto office, but he could not afford to live there, so they landed in a subdivision in Mountain View, a less expensive town just to the south.

There Paul tried to pass along his love of mechanics and cars. “Steve, this is your workbench now,” he said as he marked off a section of the table in their garage. Jobs remembered being impressed by his father’s focus on craftsmanship. “I thought my dad’s sense of design was pretty good,” he said, “because he knew how to build anything. If we needed a cabinet, he would build it. When he built our fence, he gave me a hammer so I could work with him.”

Fifty years later the fence still surrounds the back and side yards of the house in Mountain View. As Jobs showed it off to me, he caressed the stockade panels and recalled a lesson that his father implanted deeply in him. It was important, his father said, to craft the backs of cabinets and fences properly, even though they were hidden. “He loved doing things right. He even cared about the look of the parts you couldn’t see.”

His father continued to refurbish and resell used cars, and he festooned the garage with pictures of his favorites. He would point out the detailing of the design to his son: the lines, the vents, the chrome, the trim of the seats. After work each day, he would change into his dungarees and retreat to the garage, often with Steve tagging along. “I figured I could get him nailed down with a little mechanical ability, but he really wasn’t interested in getting his hands dirty,” Paul later recalled. “He never really cared too much about mechanical things.”

“I wasn’t that into fixing cars,” Jobs admitted. “But I was eager to hang out with my dad.” Even as he was growing more aware that he had been adopted, he was becoming more attached to his father. One day when he was about eight, he discovered a photograph of his father from his time in the Coast Guard. “He’s in the engine room, and he’s got his shirt off and looks like James Dean. It was one of those Oh wow moments for a kid. Wow, oooh, my parents were actually once very young and really good-looking.”

Through cars, his father gave Steve his first exposure to electronics. “My dad did not have a deep understanding of electronics, but he’d encountered it a lot in automobiles and other things he would fix. He showed me the rudiments of electronics, and I got very interested in that.” Even more interesting were the trips to scavenge for parts. “Every weekend, there’d be a junkyard trip. We’d be looking for a generator, a carburetor, all sorts of components.” He remembered watching his father negotiate at the counter. “He was a good bargainer, because he knew better than the guys at the counter what the parts should cost.” This helped fulfill the pledge his parents made when he was adopted. “My college fund came from my dad paying $50 for a Ford Falcon or some other beat-up car that didn’t run, working on it for a few weeks, and selling it for $250—and not telling the IRS.”

The Jobses’ house and the others in their neighborhood were built by the real estate developer Joseph Eichler, whose company spawned more than eleven thousand homes in various California subdivisions between 1950 and 1974. Inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision of simple modern homes for the American “everyman,” Eichler built inexpensive houses that featured floor-to-ceiling glass walls, open floor plans, exposed post-and-beam construction, concrete slab floors, and lots of sliding glass doors. “Eichler did a great thing,” Jobs said on one of our walks around the neighborhood. “His houses were smart and cheap and good. They brought clean design and simple taste to lower income people. They had awesome little features, like radiant heating in the floors. You put carpet on them, and we had nice toasty floors when we were kids.”

Jobs said that his appreciation for Eichler homes instilled in him a passion for making nicely designed products for the mass market. “I love it when you can bring really great design and simple capability to something that doesn’t cost much,” he said as he pointed out the clean elegance of the houses. “It was the original vision for Apple. That’s what we tried to do with the first Mac. That’s what we did with the iPod.” Across the street from the Jobs family lived a man who had become successful as a real estate agent. “He wasn’t that bright,” Jobs recalled, “but he seemed to be making a fortune. So my dad thought, ‘I can do that.’ He worked so hard, I remember. He took these night classes, passed the license test, and got into real estate. Then the bottom fell out of the market.” As a result, the family found itself financially strapped for a year or so while Steve was in elementary school. His mother took a job as a bookkeeper for Varian Associates, a company that made scientific instruments, and they took out a second mortgage. One day his fourth-grade teacher asked him, “What is it you don’t understand about the universe?” Jobs replied, “I don’t understand why all of a sudden my dad is so broke.” He was proud that his father never adopted a servile attitude or slick style that may have made him a better salesman. “You had to suck up to people to sell real estate, and he wasn’t good at that and it wasn’t in his nature. I admired him for that.” Paul Jobs went back to being a mechanic.

His father was calm and gentle, traits that his son later praised more than emulated. He was also resolute. Jobs described one example:

Nearby was an engineer who was working at Westinghouse. He was a single guy, beatnik type. He had a girlfriend. She would babysit me sometimes. Both my parents worked, so I would come here right after school for a couple of hours. He would get drunk and hit her a couple of times. She came over one night, scared out of her wits, and he came over drunk, and my dad stood him down—saying “She’s here, but you’re not coming in.” He stood right there. We like to think everything was idyllic in the 1950s, but this guy was one of those engineers who had messed-up lives.

What made the neighborhood different from the thousands of other spindly-tree subdivisions across America was that even the ne’er-do-wells tended to be engineers. “When we moved here, there were apricot and plum orchards on all of these corners,” Jobs recalled. “But it was beginning to boom because of military investment.” He soaked up the history of the valley and developed a yearning to play his own role. Edwin Land of Polaroid later told him about being asked by Eisenhower to help build the U-2 spy plane cameras to see how real the Soviet threat was. The film was dropped in canisters and returned to the NASA Ames Research Center in Sunnyvale, not far from where Jobs lived. “The first computer terminal I ever saw was when my dad brought me to the Ames Center,” he said. “I fell totally in love with it.”

Other defense contractors sprouted nearby during the 1950s. The Lockheed Missiles and Space Division, which built submarine launched ballistic missiles, was founded in 1956 next to the NASA Center; by the time Jobs moved to the area four years later, it employed twenty thousand people. A few hundred yards away, Westinghouse built facilities that produced tubes and electrical transformers for the missile systems. “You had all these military companies on the cutting edge,” he recalled. “It was mysterious and high-tech and made living here very exciting.” In the wake of the defense industries there arose a booming economy based on technology. Its roots stretched back to 1938, when David Packard and his new wife moved into a house in Palo Alto that had a shed where his friend Bill Hewlett was soon ensconced. The house had a garage—an appendage that would prove both useful and iconic in the valley—in which they tinkered around until they had their first product, an audio oscillator. By the 1950s, Hewlett- Packard was a fast-growing company making technical instruments.

Fortunately there was a place nearby for entrepreneurs who had outgrown their garages. In a move that would help transform the area into the cradle of the tech revolution, Stanford University’s dean of engineering, Frederick Terman, created a seven-hundred-acre industrial park on university land for private companies that could commercialize the ideas of his students. Its first tenant was Varian Associates, where Clara Jobs worked. “Terman came up with this great idea that did more than anything to cause the tech industry to grow up here,” Jobs said. By the time Jobs was ten, HP had nine thousand employees and was the blue-chip company where every engineer seeking financial stability wanted to work.

The most important technology for the region’s growth was, of course, the semiconductor. William Shockley, who had been one of the inventors of the transistor at Bell Labs in New Jersey, moved out to Mountain View and, in 1956, started a company to build transistors using silicon rather than the more expensive germanium that was then commonly used. But Shockley became increasingly erratic and abandoned his silicon transistor project, which led eight of his engineers—most notably Robert Noyce and Gordon Moore—to break away to form Fairchild Semiconductor. That company grew to twelve thousand employees, but it fragmented in 1968, when Noyce lost a power struggle to become CEO. He took Gordon Moore and founded a company that they called Integrated Electronics Corporation, which they soon smartly abbreviated to Intel. Their third employee was Andrew Grove, who later would grow the company by shifting its focus from memory chips to microprocessors. Within a few years there would be more than fifty companies in the area making semiconductors.

The exponential growth of this industry was correlated with the phenomenon famously discovered by Moore, who in 1965 drew a graph of the speed of integrated circuits, based on the number of transistors that could be placed on a chip, and showed that it doubled about every two years, a trajectory that could be expected to continue. This was reaffirmed in 1971, when Intel was able to etch a complete central processing unit onto one chip, the Intel 4004, which was dubbed a “microprocessor.” Moore’s Law has held generally true to this day, and its reliable projection of performance to price allowed two generations of young entrepreneurs, including Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, to create cost projections for their forward-leaning products.

The chip industry gave the region a new name when Don Hoefler, a columnist for the weekly trade paper Electronic News, began a series in January 1971 entitled “Silicon Valley USA.” The forty-mile Santa Clara Valley, which stretches from South San Francisco through Palo Alto to San Jose, has as its commercial backbone El Camino Real, the royal road that once connected California’s twenty-one mission churches and is now a bustling avenue that connects companies and startups accounting for a third of the venture capital investment in the United States each year. “Growing up, I got inspired by the history of the place,” Jobs said. “That made me want to be a part of it.”

Like most kids, he became infused with the passions of the grownups around him. “Most of the dads in the neighborhood did really neat stuff, like photovoltaics and batteries and radar,” Jobs recalled. “I grew up in awe of that stuff and asking people about it.” The most important of these neighbors, Larry Lang, lived seven doors away. “He was my model of what an HP engineer was supposed to be: a big ham radio operator, hard-core electronics guy,” Jobs recalled. “He would bring me stuff to play with.” As we walked up to Lang’s old house, Jobs pointed to the driveway. “He took a carbon microphone and a battery and a speaker, and he put it on this driveway. He had me talk into the carbon mike and it amplified out of the speaker.” Jobs had been taught by his father that microphones always required an electronic amplifier. “So I raced home, and I told my dad that he was wrong.”

“No, it needs an amplifier,” his father assured him. When Steve protested otherwise, his father said he was crazy. “It can’t work without an amplifier. There’s some trick.”

“I kept saying no to my dad, telling him he had to see it, and finally he actually walked down with me and saw it. And he said, ‘Well I’ll be a bat out of hell.’ ”

Jobs recalled the incident vividly because it was his first realization that his father did not know everything. Then a more disconcerting discovery began to dawn on him: He was smarter than his parents. He had always admired his father’s competence and savvy. “He was not an educated man, but I had always thought he was pretty damn smart. He didn’t read much, but he could do a lot. Almost everything mechanical, he could figure it out.” Yet the carbon microphone incident, Jobs said, began a jarring process of realizing that he was in fact more clever and quick than his parents. “It was a very big moment that’s burned into my mind. When I realized that I was smarter than my parents, I felt tremendous shame for having thought that. I will never forget that moment.” This discovery, he later told friends, along with the fact that he was adopted, made him feel apart—detached and separate—from both his family and the world.

Another layer of awareness occurred soon after. Not only did he discover that he was brighter than his parents, but he discovered that they knew this. Paul and Clara Jobs were loving parents, and they were willing to adapt their lives to suit a son who was very smart—and also willful. They would go to great lengths to accommodate him. And soon Steve discovered this fact as well. “Both my parents got me. They felt a lot of responsibility once they sensed that I was special. They found ways to keep feeding me stuff and putting me in better schools. They were willing to defer to my needs.”

So he grew up not only with a sense of having once been abandoned, but also with a sense that he was special. In his own mind, that was more important in the formation of his personality.


Even before Jobs started elementary school, his mother had taught him how to read. This, however, led to some problems once he got to school. “I was kind of bored for the first few years, so I occupied myself by getting into trouble.” It also soon became clear that Jobs, by both nature and nurture, was not disposed to accept authority. “I encountered authority of a different kind than I had ever encountered before, and I did not like it. And they really almost got me. They came close to really beating any curiosity out of me.”

His school, Monta Loma Elementary, was a series of low-slung 1950s buildings four blocks from his house. He countered his boredom by playing pranks. “I had a good friend named Rick Ferrentino, and we’d get into all sorts of trouble,” he recalled. “Like we made little posters announcing ‘Bring Your Pet to School Day.’ It was crazy, with dogs chasing cats all over, and the teachers were beside themselves.” Another time they convinced some kids to tell them the combination numbers for their bike locks. “Then we went outside and switched all of the locks, and nobody could get their bikes. It took them until late that night to straighten things out.” When he was in third grade, the pranks became a bit more dangerous. “One time we set off an explosive under the chair of our teacher, Mrs. Thurman. We gave her a nervous twitch.”

Not surprisingly, he was sent home two or three times before he finished third grade. By then, however, his father had begun to treat him as special, and in his calm but firm manner he made it clear that he expected the school to do the same. “Look, it’s not his fault,” Paul Jobs told the teachers, his son recalled. “If you can’t keep him interested, it’s your fault.” His parents never punished him for his transgressions at school. “My father’s father was an alcoholic and whipped him with a belt, but I’m not sure if I ever got spanked.” Both of his parents, he added, “knew the school was at fault for trying to make me memorize stupid stuff rather than stimulating me.” He was already starting to show the admixture of sensitivity and insensitivity, bristliness and detachment, that would mark him for the rest of his life.

When it came time for him to go into fourth grade, the school decided it was best to put Jobs and Ferrentino into separate classes. The teacher for the advanced class was a spunky woman named Imogene Hill, known as “Teddy,” and she became, Jobs said, “one of the saints of my life.” After watching him for a couple of weeks, she figured that the best way to handle him was to bribe him. “After school one day, she gave me this workbook with math problems in it, and she said, ‘I want you to take it home and do this.’ And I thought, ‘Are you nuts?’ And then she pulled out one of these giant lollipops that seemed as big as the world. And she said, ‘When you’re done with it, if you get it mostly right, I will give you this and five dollars.’ And I handed it back within two days.” After a few months, he no longer required the bribes. “I just wanted to learn and to please her.”

She reciprocated by getting him a hobby kit for grinding a lens and making a camera. “I learned more from her than any other teacher, and if it hadn’t been for her I’m sure I would have gone to jail.” It reinforced, once again, the idea that he was special. “In my class, it was just me she cared about. She saw something in me.”

It was not merely intelligence that she saw. Years later she liked to show off a picture of that year’s class on Hawaii Day. Jobs had shown up without the suggested Hawaiian shirt, but in the picture he is front and center wearing one. He had, literally, been able to talk the shirt off another kid’s back.

Near the end of fourth grade, Mrs. Hill had Jobs tested. “I scored at the high school sophomore level,” he recalled. Now that it was clear, not only to himself and his parents but also to his teachers, that he was intellectually special, the school made the remarkable proposal that he skip two grades and go right into seventh; it would be the easiest way to keep him challenged and stimulated. His parents decided, more sensibly, to have him skip only one grade.

The transition was wrenching. He was a socially awkward loner who found himself with kids a year older. Worse yet, the sixth grade was in a different school, Crittenden Middle. It was only eight blocks from Monta Loma Elementary, but in many ways it was a world apart, located in a neighborhood filled with ethnic gangs. “Fights were a daily occurrence; as were shakedowns in bathrooms,” wrote the Silicon Valley journalist Michael S. Malone. “Knives were regularly brought to school as a show of macho.” Around the time that Jobs arrived, a group of students were jailed for a gang rape, and the bus of a neighboring school was destroyed after its team beat Crittenden’s in a wrestling match.

Jobs was often bullied, and in the middle of seventh grade he gave his parents an ultimatum. “I insisted they put me in a different school,” he recalled. Financially this was a tough demand. His parents were barely making ends meet, but by this point there was little doubt that they would eventually bend to his will. “When they resisted, I told them I would just quit going to school if I had to go back to Crittenden. So they researched where the best schools were and scraped together every dime and bought a house for $21,000 in a nicer district.” The move was only three miles to the south, to a former apricot orchard in Los Altos that had been turned into a subdivision of cookiecutter tract homes. Their house, at 2066 Crist Drive, was one story with three bedrooms and an all-important attached garage with a rolldown door facing the street. There Paul Jobs could tinker with cars and his son with electronics.

Its other significant attribute was that it was just over the line inside what was then the Cupertino-Sunnyvale School District, one of the safest and best in the valley. “When I moved here, these corners were still orchards,” Jobs pointed out as we walked in front of his old house. “The guy who lived right there taught me how to be a good organic gardener and to compost. He grew everything to perfection. I never had better food in my life. That’s when I began to appreciate organic fruits and vegetables.”

Even though they were not fervent about their faith, Jobs’s parents wanted him to have a religious upbringing, so they took him to the Lutheran church most Sundays. That came to an end when he was thirteen. In July 1968 Life magazine published a shocking cover showing a pair of starving children in Biafra. Jobs took it to Sunday school and confronted the church’s pastor. “If I raise my finger, will God know which one I’m going to raise even before I do it?”

The pastor answered, “Yes, God knows everything.”

Jobs then pulled out the Life cover and asked, “Well, does God know about this and what’s going to happen to those children?”

“Steve, I know you don’t understand, but yes, God knows about that.”

Jobs announced that he didn’t want to have anything to do with worshipping such a God, and he never went back to church. He did, however, spend years studying and trying to practice the tenets of Zen Buddhism. Reflecting years later on his spiritual feelings, he said that religion was at its best when it emphasized spiritual experiences rather than received dogma. “The juice goes out of Christianity when it becomes too based on faith rather than on living like Jesus or seeing the world as Jesus saw it,” he told me. “I think different religions are different doors to the same house. Sometimes I think the house exists, and sometimes I don’t. It’s the great mystery.”

Paul Jobs was then working at Spectra-Physics, a company in nearby Santa Clara that made lasers for electronics and medical products. As a machinist, he crafted the prototypes of products that the engineers were devising. His son was fascinated by the need for perfection. “Lasers require precision alignment,” Jobs said. “The really sophisticated ones, for airborne applications or medical, had very precise features. They would tell my dad something like, ‘This is what we want, and we want it out of one piece of metal so that the coefficients of expansion are all the same.’ And he had to figure out how to do it.” Most pieces had to be made from scratch, which meant that Paul had to create custom tools and dies. His son was impressed, but he rarely went to the machine shop. “It would have been fun if he had gotten to teach me how to use a mill and lathe. But unfortunately I never went, because I was more interested in electronics.”

One summer Paul took Steve to Wisconsin to visit the family’s dairy farm. Rural life did not appeal to Steve, but one image stuck with him. He saw a calf being born, and he was amazed when the tiny animal struggled up within minutes and began to walk. “It was not something she had learned, but it was instead hardwired into her,” he recalled. “A human baby couldn’t do that. I found it remarkable, even though no one else did.” He put it in hardware-software terms: “It was as if something in the animal’s body and in its brain had been engineered to work together instantly rather than being learned.”

In ninth grade Jobs went to Homestead High, which had a sprawling campus of two-story cinderblock buildings painted pink that served two thousand students. “It was designed by a famous prison architect,” Jobs recalled. “They wanted to make it indestructible.” He had developed a love of walking, and he walked the fifteen blocks to school by himself each day.

He had few friends his own age, but he got to know some seniors who were immersed in the counterculture of the late 1960s. It was a time when the geek and hippie worlds were beginning to show some overlap. “My friends were the really smart kids,” he said. “I was interested in math and science and electronics. They were too, and also into LSD and the whole counterculture trip.”

His pranks by then typically involved electronics. At one point he wired his house with speakers. But since speakers can also be used as microphones, he built a control room in his closet, where he could listen in on what was happening in other rooms. One night, when he had his headphones on and was listening in on his parents’ bedroom, his father caught him and angrily demanded that he dismantle the system. He spent many evenings visiting the garage of Larry Lang, the engineer who lived down the street from his old house. Lang eventually gave Jobs the carbon microphone that had fascinated him, and he turned him on to Heathkits, those assemble-it-yourself kits for making ham radios and other electronic gear that were beloved by the soldering set back then. “Heathkits came with all the boards and parts color-coded, but the manual also explained the theory of how it operated,” Jobs recalled. “It made you realize you could build and understand anything. Once you built a couple of radios, you’d see a TV in the catalogue and say, ‘I can build that as well,’ even if you didn’t. I was very lucky, because when I was a kid both my dad and the Heathkits made me believe I could build anything.”

Lang also got him into the Hewlett-Packard Explorers Club, a group of fifteen or so students who met in the company cafeteria on Tuesday nights. “They would get an engineer from one of the labs to come and talk about what he was working on,” Jobs recalled. “My dad would drive me there. I was in heaven. HP was a pioneer of light emitting diodes. So we talked about what to do with them.” Because his father now worked for a laser company, that topic particularly interested him. One night he cornered one of HP’s laser engineers after a talk and got a tour of the holography lab. But the most lasting impression came from seeing the small computers the company was developing.

“I saw my first desktop computer there. It was called the 9100A, and it was a glorified calculator but also really the first desktop computer. It was huge, maybe forty pounds, but it was a beauty of a thing. I fell in love with it.”

The kids in the Explorers Club were encouraged to do projects, and Jobs decided to build a frequency counter, which measures the number of pulses per second in an electronic signal. He needed some parts that HP made, so he picked up the phone and called the CEO. “Back then, people didn’t have unlisted numbers. So I looked up Bill Hewlett in Palo Alto and called him at home. And he answered and chatted with me for twenty minutes. He got me the parts, but he also got me a job in the plant where they made frequency counters.” Jobs worked there the summer after his freshman year at Homestead High. “My dad would drive me in the morning and pick me up in the evening.”

His work mainly consisted of “just putting nuts and bolts on things” on an assembly line. There was some resentment among his fellow line workers toward the pushy kid who had talked his way in by calling the CEO. “I remember telling one of the supervisors, ‘I love this stuff, I love this stuff,’ and then I asked him what he liked to do best. And he said, ‘To fuck, to fuck.’ ” Jobs had an easier time ingratiating himself with the engineers who worked one floor above. “They served doughnuts and coffee every morning at ten. So I’d go upstairs and hang out with them.”

Jobs liked to work. He also had a newspaper route—his father would drive him when it was raining—and during his sophomore year spent weekends and the summer as a stock clerk at a cavernous electronics store, Haltek. It was to electronics what his father’s junkyards were to auto parts: a scavenger’s paradise sprawling over an entire city block with new, used, salvaged, and surplus components crammed onto warrens of shelves, dumped unsorted into bins, and piled in an outdoor yard. “Out in the back, near the bay, they had a fenced-in area with things like Polaris submarine interiors that had been ripped and sold for salvage,” he recalled. “All the controls and buttons were right there. The colors were military greens and grays, but they had these switches and bulb covers of amber and red. There were these big old lever switches that, when you flipped them, it was awesome, like you were blowing up Chicago.”

At the wooden counters up front, laden with thick catalogues in tattered binders, people would haggle for switches, resistors, capacitors, and sometimes the latest memory chips. His father used to do that for auto parts, and he succeeded because he knew the value of each better than the clerks. Jobs followed suit. He developed a knowledge of electronic parts that was honed by his love of negotiating and turning a profit. He would go to electronic flea markets, such as the San Jose swap meet, haggle for a used circuit board that contained some valuable chips or components, and then sell those to his manager at Haltek. Jobs was able to get his first car, with his father’s help, when he was fifteen. It was a two-tone Nash Metropolitan that his father had fitted out with an MG engine. Jobs didn’t really like it, but he did not want to tell his father that, or miss out on the chance to have his own car. “In retrospect, a Nash Metropolitan might seem like the most wickedly cool car,” he later said. “But at the time it was the most uncool car in the world. Still, it was a car, so that was great.” Within a year he had saved up enough from his various jobs that he could trade up to a red Fiat 850 coupe with an Abarth engine. “My dad helped me buy and inspect it. The satisfaction of getting paid and saving up for something, that was very exciting.”

That same summer, between his sophomore and junior years at Homestead, Jobs began smoking marijuana. “I got stoned for the first time that summer. I was fifteen, and then began using pot regularly.” At one point his father found some dope in his son’s Fiat. “What’s this?” he asked. Jobs coolly replied, “That’s marijuana.” It was one of the few times in his life that he faced his father’s anger. “That was the only real fight I ever got in with my dad,” he said. But his father again bent to his will. “He wanted me to promise that I’d never use pot again, but I wouldn’t promise.” In fact by his senior year he was also dabbling in LSD and hash as well as exploring the mind-bending effects of sleep deprivation. “I was starting to get stoned a bit more. We would also drop acid occasionally, usually in fields or in cars.”

He also flowered intellectually during his last two years in high school and found himself at the intersection, as he had begun to see it, of those who were geekily immersed in electronics and those who were into literature and creative endeavors. “I started to listen to music a whole lot, and I started to read more outside of just science and technology—Shakespeare, Plato. I loved King Lear.” His other favorites included Moby-Dick and the poems of Dylan Thomas. I asked him why he related to King Lear and Captain Ahab, two of the most willful and driven characters in literature, but he didn’t respond to the connection I was making, so I let it drop. “When I was a senior I had this phenomenal AP English class. The teacher was this guy who looked like Ernest Hemingway. He took a bunch of us snowshoeing in Yosemite.” One course that Jobs took would become part of Silicon Valley lore: the electronics class taught by John McCollum, a former Navy pilot who had a showman’s flair for exciting his students with such tricks as firing up a Tesla coil. His little stockroom, to which he would lend the key to pet students, was crammed with transistors and other components he had scored.

McCollum’s classroom was in a shed-like building on the edge of the campus, next to the parking lot. “This is where it was,” Jobs recalled as he peered in the window, “and here, next door, is where the auto shop class used to be.” The juxtaposition highlighted the shift from the interests of his father’s generation. “Mr. McCollum felt that electronics class was the new auto shop.”

McCollum believed in military discipline and respect for authority. Jobs didn’t. His aversion to authority was something he no longer tried to hide, and he affected an attitude that combined wiry and weird intensity with aloof rebelliousness. McCollum later said, “He was usually off in a corner doing something on his own and really didn’t want to have much of anything to do with either me or the rest of the class.” He never trusted Jobs with a key to the stockroom. One day Jobs needed a part that was not available, so he made a collect call to the manufacturer, Burroughs in Detroit, and said he was designing a new product and wanted to test out the part. It arrived by air freight a few days later. When McCollum asked how he had gotten it, Jobs described—with defiant pride—the collect call and the tale he had told. “I was furious,” McCollum said. “That was not the way I wanted my students to behave.” Jobs’s response was, “I don’t have the money for the phone call. They’ve got plenty of money.”

Jobs took McCollum’s class for only one year, rather than the three that it was offered. For one of his projects, he made a device with a photocell that would switch on a circuit when exposed to light, something any high school science student could have done. He was far more interested in playing with lasers, something he learned from his father. With a few friends, he created light shows for parties by bouncing lasers off mirrors that were attached to the speakers of his stereo system.

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2011年3月18日 星期五



 不少人將名播天下的美國企業——黑石看成是一家投資公司,其實不然。在華爾街,同樣以黑石命名的金融公司有兩家:史蒂夫· 施瓦茨曼(Stephen A. Schwarzman)領軍的黑石集團(Black Stone)和勞倫斯·芬克執舵的貝萊德公司(BlackRock)。前者是高居世界王者位置的私募基金公司,後者則是全球最大的上市資産管理企業。



 如果不出意外,施瓦茨曼在公司中完全還有進一步提升的可能,因為,當時擔任雷曼兄弟董事長兼首席執行官的皮特·彼得森(Peter G. Peterson)不僅對施瓦茨曼非常賞識, 而且二人在工作和生活中還建立了十分不錯的私人友誼。然而,雷曼兄弟不久之後爆發的蕭牆之亂打斷了施瓦茨曼的商業人生軌跡。離開雷曼兄弟時,施瓦茨曼慶幸自己的銀行賬戶上已經積累起了20萬美元,他和彼得森合資成立一家小型併購公司。由於彼得森和施瓦茨曼的姓氏分別嵌著德文中“黑色”和希臘文中“石頭”的 詞義,爲了表示對兩人祖籍的一種紀念,他們就將自己的新公司取名爲“黑石”。

 在施瓦茨曼看來,自己主張成立併購公司不是沒有道理的,在華爾街,當時以雷諾·納比斯科公司槓桿收購案爲代表的收購狂潮一浪高過一浪,並且那些戰略買家幾乎都賺得盆滿缽盈,施瓦茨曼無疑也想創造以小博大的奇蹟。然而,就憑黑石這一無人能知的名字,又有誰會輕易把動輒數千萬美元的大單交給一個無名 之輩呢?在開張幾個月僅僅接收了一小單生意後,施瓦茨曼決定借雞生蛋,創立私募基金。

 在當時私募基金被首席執行官和董事會視爲旁門左道的華爾街,像黑石這樣的新基金公司想要打開局面並不是件容易的事。倔強的施瓦茨曼只能硬著頭皮 一家接著一家地敲開他自己認為可能投錢的客戶的大門,但其間卻吃了無數次的閉門羹。“被我們視爲最可能點頭的19家客戶,一個個拒絕我們,總共有488個 潛在投資人拒絕我們。”史蒂夫·施瓦茨曼回憶說。蒼天不負有心人,被史蒂夫·施瓦茨曼的坦誠和抱負所打動,美國保險及證券巨頭保德信公司決定嘗試性投下1 億美元,正是這筆錢讓後來者看到了黑石的潛力。不久之後,通用電氣總裁傑克·韋爾奇也入夥了。黑石集團的第一隻基金吸引了32 個投資人,包括大都會人壽、通用電氣、日本日興證券等。

 目前,黑石已經擁有52 個合夥人和750名雇員,每年有超過850億美元的多元化收入,集團旗下47家公司若結合起來可以逼近《財富》500強的前20名,成為當今華爾街增長勢 頭最迅猛的金融王國。當然,令施瓦茨曼感到最愜意的是,自己再也不會爲尋找1000萬美元投資而四處奔波,相反,那些攜帶幾億美元的投資者會主動找上門來。

 成就了黑石的同時也成就了自己。有人說施瓦茨曼單從迴圈的基本投資報酬中每年就可以把5,000萬美元搬回家,他的個人財富據預計已經超過30億 美元。不久前,《財富》雜誌評出了2006年度最有權力的31位風雲人物,施瓦茨曼榜上有名。由於他控制著華爾街最熱門的公司,《財富》雜誌將其響亮地譽 爲“華爾街新一代領軍人物”。


 與施瓦茨曼順利創業相比,勞倫斯·芬克(Lawrence Fink)就顯得有些大起大落,並最終脫穎于施瓦茨曼的黑石集團。

  加利福尼亞大學MBA畢業後,經一位教授的推薦,芬克進入了當時作為華爾街老牌的第一波士頓銀行,幹起了當時許多人並不願意幹的房地産抵押債券交易員。當時的房地産抵押債券剛剛誕生,經營市場非常狹小,但許多保險公司和銀行出於規避風險的需要都試圖減少手中持有的抵押債權。看準機會的芬克大膽向公司請纓,要求組織一支特別團隊定向研究和開發市場。一個星期之後,由芬克團隊發明的房地産抵押貸款債權憑證(CMO)業務面世,這種將債券的本金與利息拆解後重組,形成更多樣化、流動性更佳的債券商品,剛好契合當時退休基金經理人的投資需要,並在3年不到的時間發展成爲美國房貸債券市場的主流商品。 而當時芬克服務的第一波士頓銀行也因爲此項業務的開拓有了近百萬美元的進賬,這在當時無疑是一個天文數字。

 嶄露頭角的芬克得到上司的極大賞識,進入第一波士頓的第二年,芬克就被調到了固定收益證券部門,負責當時非常新興的分期貸款抵押債券 (MBS)。而就在短短的五年時間裏,芬克就把這個産品變成了第一波士頓的拳頭産品,並爲公司創造460萬美元的營收,其中有一個季度竟創造了130萬美元的盈利記錄。而在此之前,第一波士頓銀行沒有出現第二人。一時間,芬克成了第一波士頓的超級賺錢機器,並被破例提升成爲第一波士頓歷史上最年輕的合夥人,當時他只有28歲。

 作爲一種特殊獎勵,第一波士頓銀行除了為芬克留出合夥人的位置之外,公司董事會還給芬克放了一段出外旅遊的長假。但天有不測風雲,等到芬克 的快樂旅行結束,命運女神就跟他開了一個幾乎讓他致命的玩笑。1986年,芬克領導的債券部門在一樁高風險交易中押上大注,但由於受美國政府金融政策全面收縮的影響,結果慘賠100萬美元。一夜間,資本市場上的小金童失去了頭上的耀眼光環,第一波士頓也很快對芬克作出了解職的決定。

 一次偶然的機會,失業後的芬克看到一則後來決定他人生命運的招聘廣告。第二天,他就敲開風險投資商黑石集團(Black Stone)的大門。當時的黑石集團成立不到兩年,是一家註冊資本僅40萬美元的小型並購公司,其創始人彼得森和施瓦茨曼也急需在華爾街搜羅到一些頂尖金融人才,而芬克的不請自至自然讓他們喜出望外。

 來到黑石集團的第二年,芬克憑藉著自己在債券行業浸淫多年的獨到眼光向公司提出了成立金融管理公司的建議,並在得到同意後迅速策劃出一整套行之有效的營銷方案,芬克也被任命爲新公司的董事長(註:1988年, 成立Blackstone Financial Management). 1992, Blackstone Financial Management公司正式從黑石集團分離,芬克帶著八位合夥人開始單幹,後來芬克將公司命名爲貝萊德 (BlackRock)。關於貝萊德從黑石集團最終脫離的原因,華爾街流傳著這樣一種版本,即芬克和貝萊德公司其他合夥人不喜歡黑石集團對他們的業務說三道四,黑石公司一再強調它的董事會完全獨立運作。



 黑石的員工都尊稱施瓦茨曼爲“精神教父”,而能夠得到這樣一個集體封號,施瓦茨曼當然知道其中的別樣滋味。在黑石成立的很長一段時間裏,施瓦茨曼與其他曾經的合夥人並不總是那麽容易找到默契,有人調侃說曾經因為與施瓦茨曼産生口角而與“黑石”分道揚鑣的合夥人可以組成一支華爾街的“明星棒球 隊”,其中也囊括了許多業界“顯赫’人物的名字。有一個曾經目睹其中一次”分手“場景的人回憶:”當時雙方吼聲連連、咒駡不斷,那真是我平生在華爾街所見 最厲害的一次爭吵。“然而,正如”黑石“從上世紀80年代一路走來經歷了不少風雨一樣,施瓦茨曼也從昔日的幼稚與莽撞中一步步逐漸成長爲了一名成熟的企業家。

 因此,當美國《財富》雜誌記者單刀直入向施瓦茨曼問起那些與前合夥人發生口角的歷史時,施瓦茨曼也毫不隱晦地說:”那是很久以前的事了,好多年 了。但從那時候起,我真的已經變成熟了很多。“的確,今天的施瓦茨曼總是以謙謙君子的形象出現在衆人面前,每當遇到可能與合夥人發生爭執的事情,施瓦茨曼一定會以笑臉相陪,甚至他還會將那些工作中發生過不愉快的合作者請到自己在曼哈頓區公園大街上的豪宅或者佛羅里達州棕櫚灘的海濱別墅度周末,讓金髮美貌的第二任妻子爲同事們親自下廚做菜。“黑石需要一種團隊共用精神”,施瓦茨曼這樣解釋自己的變化。

 除了從不缺席周一的例會外,施瓦茨曼還是每一個會議發言者的忠實聽衆。一個為與會者十分熟悉的場景是,每當會議分組表決時,施瓦茨曼就會靜靜坐 在一旁,如果要插話或者不贊成某一看法,此時的施瓦茨曼從不提高嗓門,而是以其泰然甚至迷人的談吐讓人折服。“要是我生氣,那顯而易見,”施瓦茨曼說, “我不必說太多。”

 其實,施瓦茨曼的領袖才能和人格魅力並不僅僅表現在公司內部,其在業界的良好口碑也是衆人皆曉,由此施瓦茨曼也爲自己贏得了“非主流世界大師” 的雅號。在黑石集團的早期,整個投行和基金持有人都推崇敵意並購策略,但就是從這時起,施瓦茨曼爲黑石定下了一條基本準則:不做敵意收購。史蒂夫·施瓦茨 曼認爲:“敵意收購往往是一個把收購成本無限制提高的過程,入侵者要應對可能出現的毒丸計劃、黃金降落傘或者白衣騎士,而被侵略者為求自保,往往啓動槓桿 收購,這直接導致了企業債務猛增。我們認爲,和每一筆收購生意中的關聯公司保持友善的關係相當重要,甚至我們可以放棄某些已經付出了艱辛的努力。”正是在過去22年中一貫秉持非敵意收購這一標誌性策略,黑石成爲了一個連對手都願意與之打交道的公司。

 收購飛思卡爾(freescale)半導體公司可以說是施瓦茨曼收購策略的一次完美演繹。飛思卡爾是曾經隸屬摩托羅拉的晶片生産商,此前,摩托羅拉在分拆其晶片業務過程中將一部分股權出售給KKR。同行是冤家。面對著黑石抛出的收購邀約,KKR在當初總是處處下絆使拐。為了既不影響收購進程又不違背自己的行爲準則,施瓦茨曼無數次地敲開KKR總裁亨利·克雷維斯辦公室的大門,而就在 這兩位國際級私募基金大佬友善與寬鬆的交談中,黑石集團最終以176億美元的適中價格將飛思卡爾攬入懷中。


  除了每天早晨6點準時來到辦公室提前開始工作外,從不缺席周一的例會也是芬克爲自己確定的雷打不動的規矩,即便是在遙遠的法國公寓中度假,抑或在倫敦、東京出差公幹,他都會通過視頻鏡頭參加會議。會議通常從上午8 點半開始,一直持續到將近下午下班,整個會議都是由芬克親自主持。通常,貝萊德公司的合夥人會圍坐在大圓桌周圍,後面坐的是會議遲到者以及級別稍低的投資經理。芬克爲會議制定的規則是,與會者講話都必須單刀直入,切中問題的要害,決不能兜圈子。而每到例會的那天,芬克就會讓秘書提前爲自己訂好外賣午餐。

  在貝萊德,員工們被鼓勵穿著商業休閒裝,但芬克仍然每天習慣繫著領帶工作,他說這樣能夠隨時以嚴整的形象出現在客戶面前。如今在芬克的客戶名單裏,你可以輕鬆地找到例如微軟公司、波音公司、福特汽車或者加州公衆退休福利系統這樣的名字。《華爾街日報》記者蘇珊普蓮據此寫道:“通過和這些客戶的緊 密聯繫,勞倫斯·芬克成爲華爾街的幕後推手之一,也無意中構成了華爾街‘權力午餐’風景線的一角。”


 其實,芬克的攝人魅力遠不只表現在員工面前的言談舉止,而讓他最感到自豪的是自己在華爾街非常順暢與和諧的人脈關係。紐約證券交易所董事長格拉索遭遇彈劾後,芬克被華爾街所有的金融公司推舉為替交易所挑選繼任者的負責人,並最終不負眾望,將優秀的職業經理人約翰· 里德扶上馬背。當全球頂級獵頭公司——史賓沙管理顧問公司總裁托馬斯·內夫為摩根士丹利四處尋找新的CEO並親自致電芬克讓他考慮出任時,芬克不僅委婉謝 絕,而且還為前大摩首席執行官麥晉桁能夠返回原職頻繁地穿針引線,並最終促成了麥氏的光復。


 喬納森·格雷是黑石集團房地産業務的高級執行董事——施瓦茨曼最爲欣賞的一名愛將,這位今年只有38歲就已經被華爾街描述為最聰明的房地産行業投資者,今天仍清楚地記得一天下班前被叫到CEO辦公室秘密口授作戰命令的情形:施瓦茨曼端坐在棕色的大擡椅上,手上夾著的雪茄冒出輕煙,神情嚴肅地對格雷說自己決定競購美國最大商業物業集團——權益寫字樓投資信託公司(EOP),要求格雷在三天之內拿出競購書。行動出乎所有人的意料之外,2007年2月 9日,EOP順利地裝進了黑石的口袋。



 22年來,施瓦茨曼已經將黑石打造成了私募基金、房地産和企業債務管理等綜合性金融品牌。資料表明,單單在房地産業務和私募基金業務兩個部門,黑石集團過去5年的每年投資收益率都保持在30%以上,如此豐厚的投資收益自然刺激了很多新的投資人急於入夥。單單在2006 年,黑石集團就新募集了156 億美元,成爲全球最大的收購基金。目前黑石集團正在募集一筆規模爲200億美元的收購基金、一隻規模爲100億美元的房地産基金,商業銀行也樂於提供4倍資産的貸款,黑石集團手中可運用的資金高達1250億美元。





 通過併購實現與出色的股票基金管理公司合作以擴大黑石公司的規模,是剛剛過去的一年中芬克重點思考的問題。聞到腥味的摩根士丹利CEO麥晉桁提前向芬克抛出繡球。當時摩根士丹利提出兩套方案:收購或者將基金部門與貝萊德公司合併;成立的新公司由摩根士丹利控制。而且論麥晉桁與芬克之間不錯的私交 關係,摩根士丹利相信這樁買賣定成無疑。不過,幾乎在麥晉桁向芬克開出並購要約的同時,美林的CEO斯坦尼·奧尼爾也主動提出與芬克合併業務的要求。


 可能到現在麥晉桁並不明白自己在與奧尼爾的競爭中失利的真正原因。與摩根士丹利提出的併購方案不同,美林向貝萊德提出的併購條件是,以占新貝萊德 60%資産的美林資産管理部,換取新貝萊德49.8%的股份並且簽訂3年後降低股權的條款。這就意味著美林只是新貝萊德的參股股東之一,並沒有摩根士丹利一再強調要掌握新公司控股權的霸氣,而這恰恰是芬克最爲反感的地方。“與美林合併的貝萊德並不是美林的子公司”,這個後來芬克向媒體不斷強調的觀點無疑是要外界知道:貝萊德是貝萊德自己的公司,是芬克和合夥人的公司,不由其他利益集團控制。

 作出決定的芬克在2006年9月快速實現與美林的合作。貝萊德在這場交易中實施一個近乎完美的“一石三鳥”計劃:一方面削減了PNC公司對貝萊德公司的控制權,使其股份由原來的70%下降到35%(1995年PNC以62%股權入股貝萊德公司),而且一旦董事會判決PNC對新貝萊德不利,它就必須全部出賣所持有的貝萊德股份;同時,美林證券雖向新公司投入60%的資産,但卻只得到了49.8%的股份。此外,新公司將在貝萊德的名下運行,芬克出任新公司 的董事長兼首席執行官。勞倫斯·芬克終於擺脫了強權股東的威脅,他的投資理念也將在新貝萊德得到最完美的展現。合併後的貝萊德公司也從美國第三大債券管理公司 躍升爲全球最大的公開上市資産管理公司,資産管理規模接近1兆美元。


 更要緊的是,貝萊德在投資組合上一向偏重於固定收益産品,甚至過度偏向債券。相對於固定收益産品3,210億美元的規模,貝萊德只有440億股票投資規模。 利率和債券價格往往反方向波動,中長期債券對利率的變化更爲敏感。過去兩年中,美國聯邦儲備委員會17次加息,國際市場上能源和貴金屬價格飛漲,原材料短缺現象也將長期持續下去。這種局面極有可能引致美國國內的中長期利率上漲,而與此緊密相關的中長期國債的價格優勢就會被無情擠掉。對於十分注重風險的芬克而言,如此潛藏的危機不能不是一塊心病。而尋求與股票基金管理公司的合作,就可以在快速提升貝萊德股票投資比例的過程中達到分散債券投資風險的直接目的。




《環球時報》 ( 2006-06-07 13)




  1936年12月,金宇中出生於韓國大邱市一個書香門第,父親是位中學校長,曾兼任大學 教授,母親也受過高等教育。朝鮮戰爭的爆發摧毀了這個原本平靜的小康之家。父親在戰亂中死去,養家糊口的重擔落在了14歲的金宇中身上。他賣過自製冷飲、蘿蔔,後來又找到一份報童的工作,少年金宇中的商業天賦也隨之顯現出來。與大多數報童不同,他沒有選擇人流量大的市場,卻跑到偏遠的聚集著北方難民的市場賣報,因為渴望得到故鄉消息的人更愛看報。賣一份報收一份錢幾乎是全世界報童的唯一賣報模式,金宇中卻認為這樣做太浪費時間,為了搶先賣出報紙,他每天取到報紙後,就迅速發給面熟的老顧客,發完才回過頭來逐個收錢。就這樣,金宇中成了大邱無人不曉的報童。
















《商界名家》 2005年09月號

文/ 特約記者 孟一凡




  飛機降落後,金宇中被直接帶往拘留所,一個月後,他又從拘留所被帶往醫院。重病纏身 的金宇中說自己是只“正在死去的狐狸”,面對這樣一個風燭殘年的老人,人們有太多感慨、太多疑問——大宇倒閉的背後有多少秘密?他爲什麽要逃亡,現在他油燈將盡,爲什麽又要回來面對反對者的尖銳批評和檢察官的嚴厲審訊?等待他的將會是什麽,總統大赦還是終身監禁?



  在那次訪問中,頹靡的金宇中顯得有些神情恍惚。一方面,他極力爲自己申辯:“也許最多5 年,人們將會明白,我並沒有犯錯誤,時間能證明一切。”另一方面,他又承認自己犯了致命的錯誤:“我最大的錯誤是過於野心勃勃,尤其是在汽車行業,我努力 乙太快的速度做太多的事情。”


  金宇中14歲的時候,父親在戰亂中死去,那之後,養家糊口的重擔便落在了金宇中的身上,報童是他的第一份工作。與大多數報童不同,金宇中沒有選擇人流量大、離報社近的西門市場賣報,反而選擇了偏遠的防川市場,因爲在那裏,渴望得到故鄉消 息的北方難民比當地人更愛看報。賣一份報收一份錢幾乎是全世界報童的唯一模式,金宇中卻認爲這樣做太浪費時間,爲了搶先一步賣出報紙,他想出了先看報後收 錢的辦法——每天取到報紙後,他就跑到防川市場把報紙迅速發給面熟的老顧客,發完才回過頭來逐個收錢。憑藉這個手段,金宇中成了大邱有名的報童,繼而成爲 10名賣報領班之一。


  “金宇中速度”曾經征服了許多人,英國《經濟學家》稱他爲“偉大的冒險家”,烏茲別克斯坦總統卡理莫夫說他是“金可汗”,競爭對手讚他是一個勇於下大賭注的玩家,連金宇中本人也略有得意地說自己“在哪里都聞得到錢的味道”。然而,正所謂 “上帝要誰滅亡,必先讓他瘋狂”,金宇中敗也敗在“冒險”這兩個字上。

  1993年,金宇中提出“世界經營”的口號,那時候,大宇在海外的企業不過幾十家,5年後,大宇在全球110個國家擁有600多家企業。貪婪的大宇涉足太多的産業:汽車造船電視鋼琴航空配件光纜通訊等,無所不包,這其中,金宇中最大的夢想還是將大宇打造成世界汽車業的霸主。在歐美發達市場,大宇的競爭力不足,金宇中就採取了他一貫策略——佔領一個沒有競爭對手的新興市場,期望長期獲利,就這樣,大宇在波蘭烏克蘭伊朗越南印度等國家建立了多個汽車工廠。然而,就在金宇中的汽車之夢全面展開,但遠未産生利潤之時, 亞洲金融危機爆發了,此時,為了給他的全球擴張行動提供資金,金宇中已借貸 200 億美元,大宇的債務危機全面爆發。“我想在 5 年內做到通常需要 10 到 15 年辦到的事情,” 金宇中說,“這是我的錯誤,爲了獲得規模效益,我們在沒有市場的地方投資,然後我們不得不想辦法賣掉這些汽車。”




  1998年,大宇的主貸款銀行——國有的韓國發展銀行(KDB)拒絕進一步追加貸款。大宇只得 靠大量發行高息債券和商業票據的方法融到135億美元的短期債務資金,隨後韓國政府又禁止這種大量發行“借條”的做法。1999年,金宇中用他的個人財 産進行抵押融資時,政府金融監管委員會公開警告全體國民注意防止可能存在的犯罪行為,大宇發行的債券也被列爲後保債券。金宇中拯救大宇的努力徹底失敗了。



  1989年,正是風光無限的時候,金宇中出版了一本名為《廣闊天地 大有作為》的自傳,在書中,類似“榮譽的喪失意味著社會生命的死亡”的格言警句隨處可見,然而,誰也沒有想到,10年之後,金宇中選擇了一種不名譽的方式離開——逃亡。






  在韓國經濟日報近期出版的一本新書——《金宇中背後的故事》中,作者甚至提出了一個 聳人聽聞的“陰謀論”——由於大宇曾在80年代同伊朗、90年代同伊拉克、利比亞有大量生意往來,這些都是令美國頭疼的國家,因此在金融危機中,美國通過國際貨幣基金組織和韓國政府扼殺本身已經十分虛弱的大宇。








  大宇的會計欺詐主要通過在集團內公司之間的資産交易偽造盈利數字。例如,在 1998年韓國深陷於戰後最嚴重金融危機時,大宇貿易大宇重工大宇電子公佈的合計年度淨利潤爲2.72億美元。但這三家公司有27億美元的收益是來自 於集團內部的資産交易,韓國政府的律師說,這些資産的實際價值要遠低得多,如果去掉這些通過內部資産交易炮製出來的利潤,這3家公司當年合計實際虧損24 億美元。

  此外,大宇還採用一些拙劣的手段掩蓋損失。大宇在烏克蘭投資2億美元興建汽車廠, 卻無法為這家工廠提供運營所需的配件,遭到烏克蘭政府的抱怨。大宇秘密地將韓國生産的汽車運到烏克蘭邊境,拆解後再送到廠裏重新裝配。通過這種虛假生産號稱取得了銷售收入和利潤,並以此非法獲取貸款。


  當然,更令韓國公衆關注的則是金宇中在韓國國內的賄賂行爲。金宇中曾以2億美金賄賂 1988年至1993年在位的韓國總統盧泰愚,後者總計6.5億美元的鉅額政治賄賂醜聞最終敗露。1995年,金宇中和其他8位商業領袖被判犯有行賄罪。 1996年,通過上訴,他和幾位CEO最終被判無罪,法院認定企業領導人爲了公司利益而採取的行爲不應由他們個人承擔責任。有傳聞說,在挽救大宇的過程 中,金宇中也曾花費鉅額資金“遊說”政客。



  金宇中回國當天,大批支持者和反對者趕到機場。幾個民間團體和部分大宇的前員工到機場抗議示威,要求起訴金宇中,不准特赦。示威者幾度和警察爆發衝突,機場一片混亂,場面相當火爆。反對者認為,金宇中應當為全球規模最大、給韓國國民造成 重大損失的大宇破産案負主要責任,入獄服刑。




  無論是判刑還是特赦,與剛剛完成了對著名CEO審判的美、俄相比,韓國對商業人士的態度要友善得多。前期,美國紐約法院宣判世界通信公司的前CEO埃博斯25年徒刑,俄羅斯則判處尤科斯公司前總裁霍多爾科夫斯基9年監禁。而2003年6 月,韓國最大的煉油商、著名財閥之一SK集團的董事長、前總統盧泰愚的女婿崔泰源因會計欺詐被判3年監禁,但只在監獄裏呆了3個月就出來了,並繼續擔任 SK集團的董事長。今年6月初,漢城上訴法庭維持了對崔泰源的有罪原判,但撤銷了他的3年監禁,稱他在改善公司治理方面起了關鍵作用。

  2006年5月30日, 韓國首爾中央地方法院以財務詐欺及挪用公款, 判處前大宇集團會長金宇中10年監禁, 並責令他賠償21.4兆韓圜, 並處以1,000萬韓圜的罰款. 但因個人健康因素而暫緩執行. 11月3日首爾高等法院駁回金宇中的上訴, 判處他八年六個月的徒刑, 罰金1,000萬韓圜及追繳17.9兆韓圜的資產. 之後獲總統盧武鉉特赦.

  2008年9月25日, 首爾地方法院判處金宇中18個月徒刑, 因企圖隱匿超過1,000億韓圜資產, 逃避數十億美元的罰款, 但考慮到他的健康因素緩刑兩年.

  2011年1月7日, 金宇中出席大宇造船海洋與中國遼寧省丹東日林集團簽署合作備忘錄的典禮. 目前大宇造船海洋的最大股東是債權銀行--

2010年4月13日 星期二


而後來有另一個人Curtis Faith則跳出來說Michael Covel 違反當初大家的保密協定, 在跟其他龜派師兄弟及師父商量後, 也自己出一本"Way of the Turtle",中譯本為<海龜投資法則>, 及也在書中指責Michael Covel 當初的表現根本就很糟, 而Michael Covel也利用TurtleTrader.com來污衊Curtis Faith...

而你引用的中文版前言應該是"海龜投資法則", 跟你貼出來的英文版書影是不一樣的....