The Pig Next to You

Steve Bernstein began his career at Salomon Brothers in 1983. He shares humorous events from his first years there.

The Meeting from Hell

Here was my big chance. My boss asked me to attend a meeting with the president of a major Japanese insurance company and his key executives. They were coming to Salomon Brothers to see John Gutfreund, our chairman and CEO, and Tom Strauss, our president. Being a very junior salesperson, this was my first experience participating in such a high-profile meeting. I prepared for it as a climber would for Mt. Everest. I studied every market, knew the yields of every government bond in the world, tracked all the major currencies, brushed up on global events, and was able to recite the financial statement of this client verbatim.

All for naught. I sat through the meeting shaking with fear, but not a single question was posed to me. It occurred to me later that this meeting had nothing to do with me and maybe I am not the center of the universe all the time.

As the conversation progressed, it became obvious that I was as important to this gathering as the coffee table in front of us, maybe less so. This calmed me. At the conclusion of the meeting, I felt the need to provide some meaningful role, albeit a small one. I decided to open the office door for our guests’ departure. Rising from my chair, I made a quick, hard turn around my armchair and reached for the door.

MISTAKE!

The elegant antique end table, which was situated right next to my chair and had existed in perfect condition for over 150 years, was soon lying injured on the carpet, nursing its broken leg like a Thoroughbred waiting for the fatal bullet, its contents strewn all over Gutfreund’s brilliant white carpet.

Let me describe the scene more precisely: Before my mad rush to the door, Gutfreund’s freshly lit cigar had been resting in a marble ashtray next to me. As the table fell, the cigar tattooed the alabaster carpet with ash and the ashtray started rolling across the room. My desire to alleviate the situation was thwarted by my indecision over which item to address first. The table was the most expensive, but the cigar was doing the most damage, yet the ashtray was the most mobile. Unfortunately, I chose a fourth option, which was to stand motionless, mouth agape. Strauss dove for the ashtray; Gutfreund, in his inimitable style, crushed the cigar beneath his loafer; the president of Daiichi Life delicately lifted the broken table to an upright state that was now far from level.

How do you placate your parents, who funded your education for over twenty years, when you must explain to them that you were fired from a plum Wall Street job because of a lapse of grace and spatial awareness? “But Dad, I knew the dollar exchange rate of every currency in the world—go ahead, ask me!”

Never before had I received (or worn) a pink slip, but I expected it to arrive as soon as I returned to my desk. My boss, who knew that nothing would come of the extremely embarrassing situation, enjoyed my misery. As it turned out, I had a 22-year career at Salomon free of pink slips, which was not the case for Mr. Gutfreund and Mr. Strauss.

The Shoe Incident

“Alan” was the clerk on Salomon Brothers’ commercial paper desk in the mid-1980s. This meant he was the lowest of the low. Alan was very good at his job and was liked by all traders and salespeople, but he was also very easy to poke fun at. Alan was short, plump, and had a high-pitched, nasal voice, not unlike that of a cartoon character. He always wore a pair of ugly brown shoes to work, no matter what color suit he had on. “Johnny” was one of the senior commercial paper traders and a practical joker. If he wasn’t poking fun at Alan, then he was probably sleeping.

One afternoon, Johnny got a call from nature. He headed to the bathroom, newspaper in hand, for a stint that was going to be on the long side. As Johnny was finishing up his business, he glanced over to the floor of the adjoining stall and noticed Alan’s ugly brown shoes, hiding under a bunched-up pair of pants. Not one to pass up an opportunity, Johnny readied himself for a quick exit and went into action.

He reached under the wall, grabbed one of Alan’s shoes, and tried to wrestle it from his foot, to take back to the desk as his trophy. Alan would not give up his sole so easily. He writhed in a fit of frenzy as Johnny pulled and twisted his shoe, to no avail. Johnny finally gave up and cackled uncontrollably as he ran from the stall, leaving Alan to contemplate why his few minutes of peace had been so seriously invaded.

Johnny hustled back to the desk with a smirk on his face, ready to share a laugh with the other traders at Alan’s expense. There was only one problem - and it was a big one: When Johnny returned to the desk, Alan was sitting in his seat. A chill ran up Johnny’s spine as he asked Alan a question to which he already knew the answer: “Tell me you were in the bathroom just now,” he pleaded. No such luck.

Johnny sat down in his seat and slumped as far down as possible, keeping an eye on the bathroom door. Who could it have been? His only hope was that it was someone with less stature in the firm than Alan, which was nearly impossible. Moments later, the bathroom door was flung open with fury as our illustrious chief economist and vice chairman, Henry Kaufman, aka “Dr. Doom,” bolted onto the trading floor in a rage, wearing his own pair of ugly brown shoes. He glared piercingly at every person with hatred, ready to change the course of someone’s life. Johnny slumped down in his chair, shaking like a leaf, as he waited for his pursuer to withdraw.

To my knowledge, Dr. Henry Kaufman, possibly the most famous economist in the history of Wall Street, never found out who the culprit was, and unless he reads this story, probably never will.

Henry, Too

I also had what I like to call an “HK” experience, although it was much less confrontational. I was a freshly minted salesperson straight out of the training program. My boss asked me to call Henry’s office to get our estimate of the unemployment number. This monthly piece of economic data is crucial for the markets. Fortunes are gained or lost upon its release.

I was well aware of the importance of this number. I also knew that our estimate of this number was something every salesperson should already have ingrained in their head. As a novice salesman, there was no choice but to follow my boss’s instructions. I called Henry Kaufman’s office, certain that his secretary would answer and easily provide me with the information.

I didn’t know, at that time, that secretaries rarely show up to work before nine a.m. At seven a.m., which is when I needed the answer, they’re still teasing their hair at home, which left Henry Kaufman in the position of answering his own phone.

Hearing his familiar voice on the other end of the line snap at me “HENRY!” sent a wave of panic through my bones.

I decided the best thing to do was act like a senior salesperson even though at that moment sucking on a pacifier and crying for mommy seemed preferable. I cleared my throat and said confidently to Dr. Doom, “Henry, can you tell me what our estimate for unemployment is today?”

Maybe he thought I was testing him. Maybe he couldn’t believe that there was someone in the world who didn’t already know his forecast. Whatever the reason, I could sense the indignation on the other end of the phone. Henry growled and then angrily bellowed the words, “WHO IS THIS?” so loudly that I was instantly reminded of the Wizard of Oz, at the sound of whose voice the cowardly lion panicked and jumped out of the window. Since I was sitting in the middle of the trading floor, a window exit would have been a difficult choice, but not entirely out of the question. Once again, I was faced with a career-determining decision. I could identify myself and hope for the best or I could give him a false name and hope he never checked. I thought for a second about his question and realized immediately what course of action I should take.

I hung up.

If I’d had more nerve, I would have calmly said, “I’m the guy who tried to rip your shoe off in the bathroom.”

The Pig Next to You

My friend Andrew completed Salomon’s training program and was assigned to the mortgage trading desk. In case you never read the book Liar’s Poker, this was a wild bunch of guys. They were infamous for being a brash group of traders who gorged themselves with junk food every day. The combined weight of the mortgage traders was always a hotly debated topic. The co-heads of the desk, Mike and Mason, led by example, as they could politely be described as full-figured men. Andrew reported to the desk and was ordered to sit in the only open seat, which happened to be right between the two co-heads. His job: answering the phones. Any time the phone line lit up, Andrew was to forward the call to a more important person on the desk. He spent all day fielding calls, with his bosses berating him left and right.

Later that day, Andrew was sitting between the two men who would decide the path of his career on Wall Street. Or he thought he was sitting between the two. He picked up the phone and a caller demanded, “Let me speak to the pig next to you.”

Andrew responded thoughtfully and quickly, “Which one?” Although it was a good question, there was a serious complication. The caller was Mason, and Andrew hadn’t noticed that Mason was temporarily out of his usual seat and huddled with one of his traders at the end of the desk, calling to reach Mike. Andrew quickly realized his mistake and glanced nervously at Mason who growled, “You’re dead!”

Suspenders

Another funny situation on the mortgage trading desk occurred when an investment banker from the corporate finance department made the unfortunate error of walking by the traders on a not-so-busy afternoon. Since he was wearing the standard-issue suspenders that investment bankers seemed to think made them look awesome, the mortgage traders took offense immediately. Their unwritten rule was to cut the suspenders of anyone who wore them in the vicinity of the mortgage trading desk. Most salespeople and traders at the firm were aware of this and preferred the more casual “belt” look anyway.

The banker walked right into the lair, unaware of the discontent he was causing. One of the traders found a pair of scissors, got up from his chair, grabbed the back of the banker’s suspenders, and cut them in half. The banker was furious. He protested vehemently while everyone hooted around him. He retaliated by grabbing the suit jacket off the attacker’s chair and ripping it violently into pieces.

The whole desk howled with laughter, yet the trader was unfazed. It seems that he had been sitting at the desk of a colleague who was out to lunch at the time. His own suit jacket was safely hanging in the closet.

Steve Bernstein had a 22-year career at Salomon and Citi. He is now a Senior Managing Director at Lone Star Funds (Asia) and founder of Henley Business School's online Hedge Fund & Family Office programs. His memoir, There's A Book In Here Somewhere: Insignificant Events of My Life, from which these stories are taken, is available here.

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