Meat on Wall Street: How I Survived the Stock Market Grind

Author: (American) Kessler, translated by Li Fangling
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-11-01
Features: I dialed the phone number listed in the advertisement. "Hello, this is the Research Department," a woman answered from the other end. "Ah? The Research Department?" I hesitated for a moment, but quickly said politely, "Could you please transfer me to Robert Cornell?" "He's not in the office today. Would you like him to leave a message for you?" "Please have him call back for Andy Kessler, at this phone number. Sorry, by the way, could you tell me which company this is the Research Department of?" "Paine Weber." The other end replied. I had seen an advertisement for Paine Weber earlier, but I knew nothing about the company. It was 1985, I was 26 years old, and I wasn't in a great hurry to get this job. Cornell called me back the next morning. His voice on the phone was peculiar and deep. He inquired about my background and asked when we could meet in person. I was about to leave my residence in New Jersey to go to a headhunting firm in Manhattan, New York, which specialized in short-term job opportunities for programmers and tech industry professionals, so I told Cornell we could meet during lunchtime. I decided to wear my best clothes: a burgundy-red shirt, a navy blue wool tie, loose double-weave pants from Haggar, and no jacket—this was the earliest "tech geek fashion," which started to become popular around 1985. I ran into a former colleague at the intersection of 51st Street and Sixth Avenue. He asked where I was going. "Dressed like this for an interview at Paine Weber?" he eyed me up and down with the expression of someone thinking, "How could you possibly dress like such a ridiculous fool." Well, I was a ridiculous fool. I started to feel a bit uncomfortable about how poorly I was dressed. I walked into Paine Weber at 1285 Avenue of the Americas, took the elevator to the 9th floor, and headed toward the receptionist. Behind me, a door was slightly ajar, and I quickly glanced inside. It was filled with people shouting at each other or shouting into the phone—it was a strange place. The reception area was furnished with the worst artwork I had ever seen in my life. Ugly modern paintings looked like something a three-year-old had made. "Hi, I'm Robert Cornell." He was surprisingly short, and his voice was just as deep as it sounded on the phone. As he shook my hand, he slowly scanned me from head to toe and back again (I didn't mention that I was wearing dirty brown "Florsheim" loafers?), and a strange smile spread across his face. Later, I learned that the smile implied: Take a look at this person's clothes and appearance. I thought, This must be the guy I'm looking for! "Come in, let me introduce a few people who will be joining us for lunch to you. Smith, Gruberman, let's go!" The first guy to appear was a bit chubby, well-dressed, and bald, greeting us with a British accent. Cornell introduced him: "This is Steve Smith, he's the top guy in the Wall Street computer industry as an analyst." The second guy who came over was wearing a three-piece suit, his shiny black hair slicked back, and he had a very noticeable, menacing mustache that looked sinister. He greeted us with a thick Philadelphia accent: "Hey!" He sounded almost...