The Everything Store: Jeff Bezos and the Age of Amazon

by Brad Stone

“If you want to get to the truth about what makes us different, it’s this,” Bezos says, veering into a familiar Jeffism: “We are genuinely customer-centric, we are genuinely long-term oriented and we genuinely like to invent. Most companies are not those things. They are focused on the competitor, rather than the customer. They want to work on things that will pay dividends in two or three years, and if they don’t work in two or three years they will move on to something else. And they prefer to be close-followers rather than inventors, because it’s safer. So if you want to capture the truth about Amazon, that is why we are different. Very few companies have all of those three elements.”

Against that meager start, Bezos would tell investors he projected $74 million in sales by 2000 if things went moderately well, and $114 million in sales if they went much better than expected. (Actual net sales in 2000: $1.64 billion.) Bezos also predicted the company would be moderately profitable by that time (net loss in 2000: $1.4 billion).

Though they could not have known it, investors were looking at the opportunity of a lifetime. This highly driven, articulate young man talked with conviction about the Internet’s potential to deliver a more convenient shopping experience than crowded big-box stores where the staff routinely ignored customers. He predicted the company’s eventual ability to personalize a version of the website for each shopper based on his or her previous purchases. And he prophesied what must have seemed like a radical future: that everyone would one day use the Internet at high speeds, not over screeching dial-up modems, and that the infinite shelf space of the Web would enable the fulfillment of the merchandiser’s dream of the everything store—a store with infinite selection.

Eric and Susan Benson didn’t come to Amazon alone every day—they brought their dog Rufus, a Welsh corgi. Because the two would be working such long hours, Bezos had promised they could always bring Rufus to the office. That was no problem in the SoDo buildings, but then Amazon moved yet again, late in the summer of 1996, to a building downtown, and the company had to write Rufus into the lease with the new landlord. The dog, an amiable presence who liked to park himself in meetings and occasionally suffered gastric distress from being overfed by employees, became the startup’s mascot. There was a superstitious belief that his paw tap on the keyboard was required to launch a new feature, and even today, though Rufus is long gone, there’s a building named for him on Amazon’s Seattle campus.

Inside Amazon, employees lived under Bezos’s frugal edicts while they watched in awe as he kept pushing more and more chips into the pot. Gene Pope was an early engineer at Apple who reunited at Amazon with his former colleague Joel Spiegel. After watching the wild expansion for a few months, Pope said to Spiegel, “What we are doing here is building a giant rocket ship, and we’re going to light the fuse. Then it’s either going to go to the moon or leave a giant smoking crater in the ground. Either way I want to be here when it happens.”

But through it all, Bezos never showed anxiety or appeared to worry about the wild swings in public sentiment. “We were all running around the halls with our hair on fire thinking, What are we going to do?” says Mark Britto, a senior vice president. But not Jeff. “I have never seen anyone so calm in the eye of a storm. Ice water runs through his veins,” Britto says.

A decade later and finally preparing to retire, Sinegal remembers that conversation well. “I think Jeff looked at it and thought that was something that would apply to his business as well,” he says. Sinegal doesn’t regret educating an entrepreneur who would evolve into a ferocious competitor. “I’ve always had the opinion that we have shamelessly stolen any good ideas,” he says. In 2008, Sinegal bought a Kindle e-reader that turned out to be defective and wrote Bezos a laudatory e-mail after Amazon’s customer service replaced his device for free. Bezos wrote back, “I want you to consider me your personal customer service agent on the Kindle.”

It is of course unknowable whether the unusual circumstances of his birth helped to create that fecund entrepreneurial mix of intelligence, ambition, and a relentless need to prove himself. Two other technology icons, Steve Jobs and Larry Ellison, were adopted, and the experience is thought by some to have given each a powerful motivation to succeed. In Bezos’s case, what is undeniably true is that from his earliest years, his parents and teachers recognized that this child was different—unnaturally gifted, but also unusually driven. His childhood was a launching pad, of sorts, that sent Bezos rocketing toward a life as an entrepreneur. It also instilled in him an abiding interest in the exploration and discovery of space, a fascination that perhaps one day may actually take him there.

Bezos wrote out his valedictory speech longhand. His mother typed it up, pausing just long enough to realize that for a high-school senior, Jeff had some wildly outlandish ambitions. She still has a copy, which includes the classic Star Trek opening, “Space, the final frontier,” and discusses his dream of saving humanity by creating permanent human colonies in orbiting space stations while turning the planet into an enormous nature preserve. These were not pie-in-the-sky ideas. They were personal goals. “Whatever image he had of his own future, it always involved becoming wealthy,” Ursula Werner says. “There was no way to get what he wanted without it.” What exactly did he want? “The reason he’s earning so much money,” Werner told journalists who contacted her in the 1990s, seeking to understand the Internet magnate, “is to get to outer space.”

Raman was a native of a small village in southern India. His father had died when he was fifteen, plunging his family into poverty. He bootstrapped his way to a degree in electrical engineering, then to a job at Tata Consulting Engineers in Mumbai, and then to a consultant gig at Walmart in Texas, where he climbed the ranks of its IT department and met Rick Dalzell.5 Raman was whip-smart, a tireless worker, and he had a reputation as an exceedingly demanding manager. He also had some memorable habits, including chewing an Indian betel leaf called pan during meetings and spitting into the garbage pails.

“I realized I’d rather die than launch that store,” says Erich Ringewald, a product manager who worked on the initiative. Bezos agreed to scrap the effort and start over. Meanwhile, Apple increased its lead in digital media. Amazon finally introduced the MP3 Store in 2007, featuring songs without DRM that users could freely copy. But Apple quickly negotiated the same agreements and Amazon remained a perennial straggler in music.

The sales of books, music, and movies accounted for 74 percent of Amazon’s annual revenues that year. If those formats were inevitably transitioning to digital, as Apple’s accomplishment seemed to demonstrate, then Amazon had to move quickly to protect itself. “We were freaking out over what the iPod had done to Amazon’s music business,” says director John Doerr. “We feared that there would be another kind of device from Apple or someone else that would go after the core business: books.” Investor Bill Miller from Legg Mason often discussed the digital transition with Bezos when the two got together. “I think the thing that blindsided Jeff and helped with the Kindle was the iPod, which overturned the music business faster than he thought,” says Miller. “He had always understood this stuff was going digital, but he didn’t expect to have his CD business eviscerated like that.”

Bezos was apparently contemplating a dedicated electronic reader as early as 2003—around the time Gemstar pulled the Rocketbook from shelves. Andreas Weigend, Amazon’s short-lived chief scientist, remembers Bezos speaking to his technical team about such a device and saying, “It’s for one-handed reading.” Upon imagining what the other hand might be doing, Weigend started to laugh out loud, and then everyone else in the small conference room did as well. “Jeff, the good kid that he is, had no idea what one-handed reading could refer to,” Weigend says.

Drawing lessons directly from the book, Bezos unshackled Kessel from Amazon’s traditional media organization. “Your job is to kill your own business,” he told him. “I want you to proceed as if your goal is to put everyone selling physical books out of a job.” Bezos underscored the urgency of the effort. He believed that if Amazon didn’t lead the world into the age of digital reading, then Apple or Google would. When Kessel asked Bezos what his deadline was on developing the company’s first piece of hardware, an electronic reading device, Bezos told him, “You are basically already late.”

In 2008 Meg Whitman passed eBay’s reins to John Donahoe, a tall and gracious onetime Dartmouth College basketball player and a former consultant for Bain and Company. One of Donahoe’s first trips in his new capacity was to Seattle, where he went to pay a courtesy visit to Bezos at Amazon’s headquarters. The executives talked about innovation, hiring, and how they got enough exercise and dealt with stress. Bezos was now working out regularly and was on a strict lean-protein diet. At the meeting, Donahoe paid his respects to the e-commerce pioneer. “I am always going to be less cool than you,” he told Bezos. “I have huge admiration for what you’ve done.” Bezos said that he did not view Amazon and eBay as fighting a winner-take-all battle. “Our job is to grow the e-commerce pie and if we do that there is going to be room for five Amazons and five eBays,” Bezos said. “I’ve never said a negative thing about eBay and I never will. I don’t want anyone to view this as a zero-sum game.”