"Hello. I'm Macintosh. It sure is great to get out of that bag," it began.
The only thing it didn't seem to know how to do was to wait for the wild cheering and shrieks that erupted.
Instead of basking for a moment, it barreled ahead.
"Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I'd like to share with you a maxim I thought of the first time I met an IBM mainframe:
Never trust a computer you can't lift."
Once again the roar almost drowned out its final lines.
"Obviously, I can talk. But right now I'd like to sit back and listen.
So it is with considerable pride that I introduce a man who's been like a father to me, Steve Jobs."
Pandemonium erupted, with people in the crowd jumping up and down and pumping their fists in a frenzy.
Jobs nodded slowly, a tight-lipped but broad smile on his face, then looked down and started to choke up.
The ovation continued for five minutes.
After the Macintosh team returned to Bandley 3 that afternoon,
a truck pulled into the parking lot and Jobs had them all gather next to it.
Inside were a hundred new Macintosh computers, each personalized with a plaque.
"Steve presented them one at a time to each team member,
with a handshake and a smile, as the rest of us stood around cheering," Hertzfeld recalled.
It had been a grueling ride, and many egos had been bruised by Jobs's obnoxious and rough management style.
But neither Raskin nor Wozniak nor Sculley nor anyone else at the company could have pulled off the creation of the Macintosh.
Nor would it likely have emerged from focus groups and committees.
On the day he unveiled the Macintosh, a reporter from Popular Science asked Jobs what type of market research he had done.
Jobs responded by scoffing, "Did Alexander Graham Bell do any market research before he invented the telephone?"