Who Does That?

After years of using PCs, years I've since fully repressed, I ventured to the dark side and bought an iMac for the house when they were first introduced in 1999. Unlike my previous computers, the hardest part of the iMac purchase decision was in the color selection. Was it to be blueberry, grape, lime, strawberry or tangerine? (What, no biege?) Of course I wondered whether any fruit-colored computer would actually perform the myriad complex tasks I required of it. I mean, really, how could a whimsical strawberry computer named after a fruit no less measure up to my serious, black IBM ThinkPad? No way could it.

And then I got it home. Plug in the keyboard and the mouse. Plug in the power cable. Turn it on. Installation complete. No C: prompt. (Remember those?) No software to install. Just plug and play. Total time: Three minutes.

But, all things considered, none of this is what caught my attention about my first Mac. Stopping me in my tracks was the power cable. I was used to industrial power cords. Black, heavy-duty, and unremarkable. After all, its role was to provide the juice to the machine and its place would be to sit sight unseen behind the computer. But Apple thought otherwise. The iMac's power cord was translucent, with the three cables within it visible and, amazingly, enshrouded in colorful plastic. All for a power cable that no one would likely ever see.

Who does that? Who even thinks that a power cable should be attractive, much less interesting and, possibly, artistic?

Steve did.

Whether it was his idea or not is immaterial. Steve's company delivered the coolest power cable ever. And if the power cable is creative, imagine the computer it powers. That's Apple.

That first iMac and the lovely power cord were just the beginning. What was a foray into Apple became a passion. After my IBM ThinkPad and, later, my Dell laptop became bothersome (and boring), I took the leap and bought my first MacBook. An amazing machine, one that made just about everything colorful and interesting. Even the packaging it came in -- an attache-like box with a handle -- was cool.

But that's not what struck me about the computer. Again, it was the power cord. As any MacBook user knows, the cord doesn't actually plug into the computer. It's attached via a magnet, allowing me, and many others like me, to trip over it repeatedly without endangering the computer (as I have so often). A magnetic connection. One allowing a quick and non-lethal disconnection. Beyond clever.

Who does that? Who thinks that a power cable should attach to a laptop in such a way that might prevent a klutz from destroying his computer?

Steve did.

Was it his idea? It matters not. What does matter is that the product represented the highest level of innovation, the most creative, most thorough thinking of the time. If the power cable was this cleverly designed, imagine what the computer itself might be able to do. That's Apple.

Speaking of brilliance, let's talk iPhone. No early adopter me, I visited the Apple Store several times before buying my first. Aside from the wonderment of this incredible device, what caught my attention was Contacts. As anyone who owns an iPhone knows, the Contacts function operates much like an electronic Rolodex. One can move through the directory with a flick of a finger, the faster the flick, the faster the directory moves. But what was amazing to me was that the directory did not stop instantly after the flick of the finger. That would have been so Microsoft. Instead, the directory slowed and eventually came to a gentle stop. Like how it would work if it was physical rather then digital. I remember laughing like a kid with a cool new toy the first few times I played with Contacts. I still marvel.

Who does this? Who spends the time, effort and money to get an electronic contacts directory to respond to a sweep of a finger and then, amazingly, to slow and eventually come to a smooth stop? It couldn't have been easy and what value does it add, you might ask, beside delight? Who creates an environment where this level of elegance is expected?

Steve did.

Whether his idea or not, the iPhone's Contacts function is just one of many that typifies an amazing device. The brilliant fusion of creativity and functionality. That's Apple.

The examples are nearly endless. The way in which the icons on any Mac reflect off of the dock. How the Map function of the iPhone shows the back of the map when curled up. How you turn a page of a book or magazine on the iPad. (No buttons. That would have been too simple and far too inelegant. By Apple's standards, crude.)

Who does this? Who creates a company filled with passionate people, each willing to take creativity and functionality to entirely new levels? Who makes products many are willing to stand in long lines to buy? Who brings art to machines, makes them completely intuitive and beautiful and enriches our lives in the process?

Steve did.

There are too few companies like Apple. Too few companies have employees filling the official job title of Evangelist. Too few have the courage to create their own path, to do things their own way. Far too few seek to change the lives of their customers. Even fewer have as their purpose to change the world.

There are too few Apples because there are too few Steves. And now there's one less. Dude, you'll be missed.