Pit Bull by Martin Schwartz

Author:Martin Schwartz [Schwartz, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780061844638
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Big Shots Make Big Targets

When you’re trading, it’s important to have your guns on. You can’t be wandering around the Street unarmed, and if you don’t know the terrain, you’re going to get killed. That’s why I spent so much time working on my methodology and reconnoitering the floor of the Amex with my friend Hayes Noel before I started trading. Unfortunately, I forgot this rule on one of my trips to the Windy City.

In the spring of 1987, Audrey and I were six months into collecting art and we were having a ball. When Al Fresco and Cliff Palette told us that for a reasonable donation they could get us an invitation to the opening of the Windy City Museum in Chicago, I grabbed my checkbook and pulled out my pen. The founder of the museum and his wife were major collectors of American Impressionists and the opening of their museum was going to be one of the big art events of the year. It was black tie all the way and muckety-mucks from the art world would be flying in from all over. I sent off my check and shined up my alligator shoes. I was going to the ball.

We checked into the Drake Hotel the night before the opening and since I had nothing to do the next day, I decided I’d go over to the Merc and visit with my clerk, Debbie Horn. For the past five years I’d been one of the biggest individual traders in S&P 500 futures, but I’d never been to the S&P futures pit and I figured it would be fun to watch the boys trade. I took a cab over to Wacker Drive, Chicago’s equivalent of Park Avenue, and got out at The Chicago Mercantile Exchange Center. I looked up at the twin forty-story towers clad in granite and thought to myself, I own this place!

I strode up to the membership desk. “I’m Marty Schwartz. I’m a member. May I have my badge, please.”

I expected the girl at the desk to snap to attention when she heard the name Schwartz, but instead, she gave me a blank stare and said, “How are you spelling Schwartz?” Well, what did she know? She wasn’t part of the action. Wait until I got to the floor. Then we’d see some heads snap.

I walked onto the floor sporting my Armani suit, my Bally alligators, my shiny badge. Holy shit, the place was huge! It was as big as a football field and I had no idea where to find Debbie. The market was open and everybody was moving at a frantic pace, running this way and that. It looked like Grand Central Station at rush hour. I needed help so I tackled the first runner who came by. “Hey! I’m Marty Schwartz! Where the hell’s the S&P futures pit?”

“Hey! Who cares! It’s over there.” He waved aimlessly at the crowd and kept moving. I started to make my way across the floor. Raised octagonal platforms with steps descending toward their centers were all around me.

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