It should be running, it ain't running. Come on, come on.
In 1988, Steve Jobs stepped offstage at San Francisco's Davies Symphony Hall to unveil the NeXT Cube — his first major act of reinvention after being exiled from Apple — and for a few breathless seconds, the machine refused to cooperate. A hot microphone captured his unguarded panic, a recording that stayed hidden for nearly three decades before surfacing to remind the world that even the most mythologized performances are held together by contingency and quiet desperation. The Cube that anchored that moment is now headed to auction, carrying with it the full weight of what ambition looks like when it is stripped of its choreography.
- Jobs returned to the public stage in 1988 carrying enormous personal stakes — this was his first major product launch since Apple's board had forced him out, and failure was not an abstraction.
- When the NeXT Cube refused to boot on cue, a live microphone caught him whispering profanities in the wings, a crack in the famously impenetrable persona that no one would know about for nearly thirty years.
- Behind the scenes, technical director Gregor Bailar had engineered an elaborate safety net — multiple backup Cubes hidden throughout the venue — ensuring the applause-worthy demonstration the audience witnessed was never truly dependent on the single machine Jobs stood beside.
- The video of Jobs's panicked whispers surfaced on YouTube in 2016, reframing the launch from a triumph of vision into a more human story about vulnerability, preparation, and the performance of certainty.
- The original Cube from that demonstration is now being auctioned by Sotheby's at an $80,000 starting price, with Bailar hoping it lands in a museum rather than a private collection — a wish to preserve the artifact as history rather than trophy.
Steve Jobs had built his reputation on product presentations that felt inevitable — controlled, choreographed, almost theatrical in their confidence. But on a San Francisco stage in 1988, introducing the NeXT Cube to the world for the first time since Apple's board had pushed him out, the machine simply refused to boot. What the audience didn't see was Jobs offstage, whispering into what he believed was a dead microphone: "It should be running, it ain't running. Come on, come on."
The camera was still rolling. The moment stayed buried for nearly three decades.
Gregor Bailar, NeXT's technical director that day, had actually built a deliberate delay into the startup sequence to give Jobs time to walk offstage — a detail Jobs had apparently forgotten during the wait. Bailar reassured him from the wings, and when the machine finally came to life, the applause was enormous. What the crowd also didn't know was that the sound for the celebrated violin duet demonstration wasn't coming from Jobs's Cube at all, but from one of several backup machines Bailar had quietly positioned around the venue.
The presentation was widely praised. The NeXT Cube entered the world as a marvel. The marketplace, however, was less forgiving — NeXT never achieved significant commercial success, and Apple absorbed the company in 1997. What survived was the software architecture that became the foundation of modern Mac OS, now running on billions of devices.
When the hot mic footage finally surfaced on YouTube in 2016, it landed differently than a simple technical glitch might have. It was a glimpse of the man behind the mythology — rattled, urgent, needing things to work.
Bailar kept the original Cube from that demonstration. Now in his later years, he has consigned it to Sotheby's with a starting bid of $80,000, though he says the money isn't the point. He wants it in a museum. Working alongside Jobs, he reflected, was harder than he ever anticipated — but that pressure, he said, was precisely what made the work matter.
Steve Jobs had a reputation for flawless product presentations—the kind of controlled, choreographed moments that made technology feel inevitable. But on a stage at the Louise M Davies Symphony Hall in San Francisco in 1988, something went wrong, and for a few seconds, the world's most carefully constructed public persona cracked.
It was his first major product introduction since Apple's board had forced him out three years earlier. The NeXT Cube sat on stage, a sleek black computer that Jobs had promised would show the crowd the future. He walked offstage after his introduction, turned the machine on, and waited for it to boot. Nothing happened. "It should be running, it ain't running. Come on, come on," he said into what he thought was a dead microphone. The camera recording the event, however, was still rolling. For nearly three decades, no one outside that moment knew about the panic in his voice.
Gregor Bailar was there that day as NeXT's technical director. He had overseen every detail of the Cube's debut, including a deliberate delay built into the startup sequence to give Jobs time to walk offstage. Jobs, apparently, had forgotten about the delay. "I was talking with him backstage, assuring him, 'Yeah, it's coming'," Bailar recalled. "We had rehearsed it many times, but we gave the start of the Cube a delay to give Steve time to walk off stage." When the computer finally booted, the applause was thunderous. "Come on, OK, there it is," Jobs whispered as the machine came to life.
The presentation itself became a success story. The demonstration featured a violinist playing a duet with the NeXT Cube, showcasing the machine's audio capabilities. What the audience didn't know was that the sound wasn't actually coming from the computer Jobs was operating on stage. Bailar had arranged for multiple backup Cubes positioned throughout the venue, a redundancy designed to prevent exactly the kind of failure that had nearly happened. "There was a third Cube and that's where the sound came from," he said. The precaution worked. The event was widely praised, and the NeXT Cube entered the world as a technological marvel.
The marketplace, however, had other ideas. NeXT ultimately failed to gain significant commercial traction. Apple acquired the company in 1997, absorbing its technology and its vision. What emerged from that acquisition was the foundation for modern Mac OS—software that now runs on billions of devices worldwide. The NeXT Cube, once positioned as the future, became a historical artifact.
That video of Jobs's panicked whispers remained hidden until 2016, when it surfaced on YouTube. By then, the moment had taken on a different weight. It was no longer just a technical glitch; it was a glimpse of the man behind the mythology, the person who could be rattled, who needed things to work, who understood the stakes of being watched.
Bailar left NeXT in 1992 and went on to work for Nasdaq and the National Wildlife Foundation. He kept the Cube—the actual machine from that 1988 demonstration. Now, with Sotheby's handling the sale, it's being auctioned with a starting price of $80,000. Bailar said he has no interest in the money. "I just want it to find a good home," he explained, hoping a museum or institution would preserve it as a piece of technology history. Working with Jobs had been intense, he reflected. "It was a lot harder in many ways than I ever thought it would be, but you get pushed and you do great things. That's the purpose of it." The Cube, in the end, became both a monument to ambition and a reminder that even the most polished performances are built on contingency, backup plans, and the hope that things will work when they need to.
Notable Quotes
It was a lot harder in many ways than I ever thought it would be, but you get pushed and you do great things.— Gregor Bailar, on working with Steve Jobs at NeXT
I have no need for the money or interest in cash—I just want it to find a good home.— Gregor Bailar, on auctioning the historic NeXT Cube
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does this moment matter so much? It's just a computer that didn't boot on the first try.
Because it's Steve Jobs, and he never let anyone see him sweat. This was his comeback moment—his first major presentation after being exiled from Apple. If that Cube had failed in front of the world, the narrative would have been completely different.
But it didn't fail. The presentation succeeded. So what's the real story?
The real story is that it almost did fail, and nobody knew. For 28 years, nobody knew. Jobs's entire mythology is built on this idea of inevitability, of perfect control. This video proves that underneath was someone frantically willing a machine to work, same as anyone else.
Bailar had backup computers ready. So the failure was never actually a risk.
Right, but Jobs didn't know that in the moment. He'd forgotten about the delay they'd rehearsed. He was standing offstage thinking the whole thing was falling apart. The backups were insurance, but they weren't his insurance—they were Bailar's.
What does it say that Bailar is now auctioning the actual Cube from that day?
It says he understands what it represents. It's not just a failed computer company's product. It's the physical object that was there when Jobs panicked, when the future almost didn't arrive on schedule. He wants it in a museum because he knows future people will want to understand what that moment meant.