? ? ? ?我把雪佛蘭56賣了來湊大學(xué)的學(xué)費(fèi)。我的父母都沒有上大學(xué)，所以對于他們來說我上大學(xué)是一件大事。我用賣車的錢和我平時(shí)的儲(chǔ)蓄來支付大學(xué)的學(xué)費(fèi)。從我開始工作，我父母一直要求我工資的10%存入他們的賬戶。
? ? ? ?1961年，我被加利福尼亞大學(xué)錄取。當(dāng)時(shí)州法律規(guī)定如果你畢業(yè)于肯塔基州認(rèn)可的高中，那么你將被接受到英國。但是難的是你到了那里之后怎么留下來。因?yàn)樗麄儧]有多余的房間給肯塔基州的高中畢業(yè)生，他們會(huì)在前兩個(gè)學(xué)期盡量多得剔除不需要的學(xué)生。新生英語課是剔除學(xué)生的課程。在我的第一個(gè)學(xué)期初，有人告訴我這個(gè)課程只是一個(gè)“游戲”，但是我不能失敗，我必須確定我不會(huì)被學(xué)校剔除，因?yàn)閺拇髮W(xué)畢業(yè)是我唯一一條能進(jìn)入鄉(xiāng)村俱樂部的路，而且是以“Mr. Paul”尊稱的身份。所以我努力學(xué)習(xí)，甩掉了我末尾排名并且在新生英語拿到了一個(gè)B。我第一個(gè)學(xué)期拿到2.5的G點(diǎn)，并且G點(diǎn)2.0是所有人留下來的分?jǐn)?shù)線。已經(jīng)在第一個(gè)關(guān)鍵的學(xué)期生存下來，我把我的注意力轉(zhuǎn)向社會(huì)生活上。
生活部分
? ? ? ? 我是個(gè)小男孩的時(shí)候，為了給自己帶來更多驚喜，就嘗試接觸社會(huì)。我周圍所有的人都有比我更多的錢。他們都有Bass Weejuns。我甚至不知道Bass Weejuns是什么（它是一種鞋）。每一個(gè)在Lexington的人都穿Bass Weejuns。我沒錢，沒好的衣服，沒Bass Weejuns。我甚至沒有一個(gè)正裝。我第一次買正裝是在大三大四的時(shí)候。我的室友Tommy
? ? ? ?Kron借我錢買的。我的父母每周寄給我$10，這些錢是從我以前每周存進(jìn)他們的賬戶中取的。在我離開Elsmere的時(shí)候，我已經(jīng)有一個(gè)漂亮的轎車，我成為了社交達(dá)人，我是學(xué)生會(huì)的主席等等。我已經(jīng)可以算是一個(gè)鄉(xiāng)紳男孩了，但是當(dāng)我成為Kentucky大學(xué)的新生的時(shí)候，我又變得是一個(gè)“饑荒者”。
? ? ? ?我只是Kincaid Hall一個(gè)新生，一個(gè)一無所有的人。通常的，在大學(xué)區(qū)間沒有什么比大學(xué)新生更加可憐。你完全沒有價(jià)值。那些女新生全都在看著高年紀(jì)男孩，因?yàn)檫@些男孩經(jīng)常機(jī)會(huì)，喝啤酒，講他們高中的故事。
? ? ? ?六個(gè)月之后，我決定我去參加聯(lián)誼。我有一種聯(lián)誼的沖動(dòng)，但是我沒有漂亮的衣裳，沒有高富帥朋友，最重要是沒錢。我的室友Jim Hersha，他也和我差不多，有著相同的背景，同樣聯(lián)誼的沖動(dòng)。第一聯(lián)誼派對是在Sigma Nu的房子里面。這些人是瘋的。那里是野獸的群居地。我向上帝發(fā)誓，電影里面每一件事都會(huì)在Sigma Nu出現(xiàn)。當(dāng)我成為高年級學(xué)生的時(shí)候，那些畢業(yè)的校友開了一個(gè)新的聯(lián)誼俱樂部。為了進(jìn)門，你可能需要從窗口丟一個(gè)磚頭，因?yàn)樗麄兂磷碓跍厝徉l(xiāng)。Hersha和我都覺得Sigma Nus對于我們來說有點(diǎn)瘋狂了。
? ? ? ?在我們加入Kappa Sigs俱樂部之前，我們很少知道我們不應(yīng)該是決定的人。我們讓Chutzpah邀請自己成為KappaSigs而不是邀請我們。我們根本就不了解，我們違反規(guī)則，甚至不知道。
IS GIN A DRINK OR A CARD GAME?
? ? ? ?當(dāng)你加入一個(gè)俱樂部時(shí)，他們會(huì)讓你做一些愚蠢的事情。這是一種儀式。他們讓你擦鞋，擦窗，倒垃圾，只是一點(diǎn)點(diǎn)騷擾的惡作劇。有一天，我在房內(nèi)坐在地板上的擦鞋，兩個(gè)家伙，Johnny Cox和Pat Greer，都在玩Gin。在他們的一場比賽的中，格里爾不得不去某個(gè)地方。Johnny Cox看了看，說：
? ? ? ?“嘿，伙計(jì)。你知道Gin嗎？”
? ? ? ?“我知道，如果你像昨天晚上喝那么多Gin，你第二天會(huì)頭疼?！?/p>
? ? ? ?“不是酒那個(gè)Gin，你是白癡嗎？我說的是紙牌游戲的Gin，你知道怎么玩嗎？
? ? ? ? “不，先生，我不會(huì)。但我一直想學(xué)習(xí)?！?/p>
? ? ? ?現(xiàn)在才想起，我十歲的時(shí)候，我就在Summit Hills鄉(xiāng)村俱樂部學(xué)會(huì)了如何打牌。我已經(jīng)玩Gin八年了。
? ? ? ?“好吧，停止那個(gè)擦那狗屎，過來這里?！?/p>
? ? ? ?所以，我去了桌子，他說：“好吧，我們要玩Gin。而且先說好，伙計(jì)，你輸了得給錢。”
? ? ? ?“是的，先生，我明白了。但我沒有錢。我的意思是我真的沒有錢?！?/p>
? ? ? ?事實(shí)真相是我沒有錢。但我也不擔(dān)心我沒有錢。
? ? ? ?Cox說：“我明白，我明白。我們賭得非常，非常小。不過你還是要壓錢，但我們不會(huì)玩任何真正的錢。我們只能打5美分一點(diǎn)?！?/p>
? ? ? ?如果你不知道玩Gin的任何事情，你不會(huì)知道五分錢是真實(shí)的錢。一個(gè)五分鎳幣一點(diǎn)，一美元一盒，五美元一個(gè)游戲意味著你可能在一個(gè)游戲的十到十五美元附近玩的地方。那不便宜一個(gè)150分的游戲可能需要10手，15個(gè)手上。有二十三十分鐘左右的人要達(dá)到150點(diǎn)。所以現(xiàn)在你每小時(shí)玩三十塊錢。現(xiàn)在這是真正的錢。
? ? ? ?Cox解釋了規(guī)則，并告訴我如何保持得分等等。然后他分牌。我會(huì)Gin，我問：“對不起，先生，我忘了。當(dāng)我沒有牌出的時(shí)候，我該怎么辦？他們都不匹配？”他快瘋了?！胺畔?，伙計(jì)。好的，好的，你贏了?！彼娴牟徽J(rèn)為我知道發(fā)生了什么。
? ? ? ?我們玩了十七個(gè)小時(shí)，他說：“就這樣！我退出了！”我贏了612美元，在1962年是一大筆錢。一個(gè)學(xué)期的學(xué)費(fèi)是81美元，所以612美元是大錢。他沒有612美元，但他給了我50美元，欠我剩下的。對于我當(dāng)小弟的剩余時(shí)間，我不必再擦鞋，倒垃圾桶或做任何東西。他會(huì)得到其他小弟來擦鞋，然后我會(huì)給他二十五美分一雙。無論何時(shí)其他活動(dòng)要我做某事，我會(huì)說：“好，寫下來。Johnny，我應(yīng)該清理垃圾桶。你認(rèn)為這是值得的？兩美元？好的，罰款，減去兩美元?！庇腥藭?huì)倒垃圾桶，我會(huì)坐在那里和Cox玩Gin。這是另外一種課堂：聰明地工作，而不是努力地工作。
? ? ? ?不必再做任何小弟的工作，作為一種特例，使我脫離了其他的小弟。我也開始認(rèn)為自己跟大多數(shù)人有點(diǎn)不同；我?guī)缀跄芡瓿扇魏问虑?。我按照大一新英語的游戲規(guī)則考試，成功了。然后我不知不覺中打破了進(jìn)入俱樂部要當(dāng)兩年小弟的規(guī)則，但仍然成功。我有點(diǎn)不同。
非常小的差別
? ? ? ?我開始比別人更加多得思考自己該干啥。我整整一個(gè)學(xué)期，我沒有買過一本書，而且很少去上課。我十點(diǎn)左右起床，到教學(xué)樓的柵欄那里。那是每個(gè)人上課之間的地方。我坐那里和交朋友，玩hearts（另一個(gè)紙牌游戲），撩妹子，約會(huì)，讀Kentucky Colonel（學(xué)校報(bào)紙）。
? ? ? ?我們不僅在那里搭訕女孩，在那里約會(huì)，甚至我們中的一些人也遇到了我們的妻子。我打破了規(guī)則，在這個(gè)舞臺(tái)上也取得了成功。當(dāng)我遇到Pat時(shí)，我和另外兩個(gè)女孩Sandra和Debbie約會(huì)。剛剛讀完John Steinbeck的“Tortilla Flat”。這本書的主角是一個(gè)名叫丹尼的人。他和他的朋友很窮，住在加利福尼亞州蒙特里以外的山丘上。這本書的主題之一是人們可以使任何事物合理化。例如，當(dāng)一個(gè)朋友有錢的時(shí)候，丹尼偷了它，理性化了，他實(shí)際上是通過竊取給朋友做一個(gè)好事?！叭绻也话彦X從我的朋友那里拿走，他將用它來買一些酒，喝醉，甚至可能燒他的房子。他有這樣的錢真是太可怕了。身為他的朋友，我從他身上偷錢，救他。”
? ? ? ?我很喜歡這本書，所以我買了三本，給了Pat，一個(gè)給Sandra，一個(gè)給Debbie。這是一個(gè)錯(cuò)誤——一個(gè)大錯(cuò)誤。盡管她們在不同的姐妹團(tuán)體，他們經(jīng)常在柵欄那里與幾個(gè)其他女孩見面，并吃午飯。一個(gè)命運(yùn)的一天，三個(gè)女孩都坐在那里讀著同樣的書：“嗨，你讀這本書很有趣。”“是的，我男朋友給我的。”“哦，真的”“我也是。”“我也是?！薄翱赡苁钦l？”我這方面沒有多少經(jīng)驗(yàn)，如果你要與不止一個(gè)女人在同一時(shí)間約會(huì)，那么和女人相處時(shí)，你不應(yīng)該使用同樣的手法。為什么？因?yàn)榕嘶ハ嘟徽?，如果她們發(fā)現(xiàn)你對待她們每一個(gè)人都一樣，那么沒有人會(huì)感到特別，她們都不會(huì)傾倒你。幸運(yùn)的是，Pat沒有把我丟棄。
? ? ? ? 我只是用這個(gè)訣竅做“錯(cuò)”的方式，但仍然成功。我的第一個(gè)兄弟會(huì)室友是JimDillon的名字。他也逃了很多課，但他已經(jīng)退學(xué)了。Hersha退學(xué)了，Dillon退學(xué)了，Dirken退學(xué)了，很多人都退學(xué)了，但是我沒有。這更說明了我的觀點(diǎn)：我有點(diǎn)不同，不知何故比其他人都好一點(diǎn)。其他幾個(gè)人試圖和Dillon、我一起生活，但沒有人能夠搞清楚為什么。他們不能與我們生活到一塊的原因是我們沒有做學(xué)生應(yīng)該做的事情：去上學(xué)。我們通宵聊天，喝啤酒。在我們約完妹子之后，我們回到房間已經(jīng)是十一點(diǎn)左右，然后我們坐下來聊天喝啤酒，直到清晨。嗯，所有人都很難三點(diǎn)不睡覺，然后八點(diǎn)去上課。所以我們不經(jīng)常上課。
? ? ? ?當(dāng)然你不常常上課，自然老師不喜歡你。如果你從來沒去過，遲早有問題。我住在關(guān)愛院的第一學(xué)期，我結(jié)束了Kentucky的每個(gè)學(xué)科。在Kentucky學(xué)科的評分有A，B，C，D，E（E是肯塔基州的F），W（退學(xué)）和I（不完整），我A到I都有。雖然我很少去經(jīng)濟(jì)學(xué)課，都是我拿到了一個(gè)A。我知道所謂的經(jīng)濟(jì)學(xué)是怎么回事，教授講邊際消費(fèi)傾向（邊際消費(fèi)傾向（MPC）是消費(fèi)曲線的斜率，它的數(shù)值通常是大于0而小于1的正數(shù)，這表明，消費(fèi)是隨收入增加而相應(yīng)增加的，但消費(fèi)增加的幅度低于收入增加的幅度）的時(shí)候，我對自己說：“我明白了，這是我可以理解的一個(gè)概念”。我可以看看這些供求曲線的時(shí)候我對自己說：“是的，我明白了。這就說得通了。好的，我們要在這里提供供應(yīng)，是的，價(jià)格會(huì)下降，我明白了”。甚至我沒有一本經(jīng)濟(jì)學(xué)的書，我只是在經(jīng)濟(jì)學(xué)考試前借了一本書，然后坐下來讀了整本書，然后得了A，我都理解是怎么回事。然后我進(jìn)考場，然后得了個(gè)A，因?yàn)槲依斫馑?。我可以用記問題的方式來記住這些東西，“好的，那個(gè)問題...他正在談?wù)揗PC...我可以看到它...好的，圖表看起來像這樣...它在頁面的左側(cè)，它應(yīng)該在第250頁左右，它說什么？”我能精確的記住它在哪個(gè)位置，長什么樣子，它說什么，然后我寫下來。我沒有攝影式記憶，但經(jīng)濟(jì)課，我有這種記憶力。教授討厭我，因?yàn)槲液苌偃ド险n，卻總是在他的測試中拿A。這讓他備受打擊。雖然在學(xué)校我沒有做我應(yīng)該做的事情，但我在學(xué)校里表現(xiàn)還算不錯(cuò)。歷史課我拿了B，C、D和E我已經(jīng)不記得是哪些課程了，哲學(xué)課拿了W。W是要被從課上退學(xué)，沒有成績。這就像你甚至沒有修這門課程。天知道為什么我修了哲學(xué)。我討厭它！對我來說根本沒有意義?，F(xiàn)在我只記得：“你在想什么，你就是什么?！闭l在乎？就像棒球?qū)ξ襾碚f不是很實(shí)際。
未來的光輝
? ? ? ?這個(gè)學(xué)期我未完成的課程是統(tǒng)計(jì)。雖然我喜歡教授克里斯蒂安博士，我不喜歡統(tǒng)計(jì);這太難了。有一天，Christian博士打電話給我，并說：“這里有一個(gè)朋友，你需要見面。我想你以后可能會(huì)像他一樣。你適合這個(gè)游戲。”這個(gè)老朋友叫Horace.Jack.Salmon,一個(gè)英國畢業(yè)生，是位于肯塔基州路易斯維爾的區(qū)域商品期貨專業(yè)經(jīng)紀(jì)公司的銷售經(jīng)理。我沒想到要知道他在說什么。我不能根據(jù)過去知道未來，但我尊重Christian博士，并認(rèn)為：“誰知道？也許我會(huì)喜歡像他一樣的生活方式。”所以我去了Christian博士的辦公室和Jack.Salmon會(huì)面。杰克坐在那里，談到大豆價(jià)格上漲，下跌，天氣，日本，種植面積，收益率，市場的興奮，以及你賺多少錢或者你輸了很多錢。金錢引起了我注意?！澳憧梢再嶅X這樣做嗎？”“你可以賺很多錢?！卑パ剑パ?，哎呀！這就是我想做的：賺很多錢。當(dāng)我離開學(xué)校的時(shí)候，有人問我要做什么，我的答案是“賺了很多錢”。“那么你要做什么？”“我要去做生意了?！蔽也恢牢以撛趺醋?，我從來沒有想過我會(huì)做什么;這不是你為了生活所做的事情，而是為你付出了多少。
離開學(xué)校
? ? ? ?終于，我在1965年8月畢業(yè)了。是的，八月。我為了通過第二學(xué)期的新生會(huì)計(jì)不得不去暑期學(xué)校。我討厭會(huì)計(jì)。會(huì)計(jì)對我來說，是“找到缺失的鎳（美國最小的貨幣單位）”的謬論。我的態(tài)度是：“我不在乎鎳在哪里。支付人找到它。更好的是，我會(huì)給你一個(gè)鎳。只要不要求我找到那個(gè)失蹤的那一個(gè)?！?965年8月，東南亞的戰(zhàn)爭正在滾滾而來。當(dāng)時(shí)我是一名大一新生，越南剛剛開始，我在1961年報(bào)名了ROTC（美國預(yù)備軍）。我想，如果事態(tài)繼續(xù)擴(kuò)大，我寧愿去做一個(gè)官員的而不是一個(gè)炮兵。我試過當(dāng)炮兵，不喜歡它。官員更好。官員像鄉(xiāng)村俱樂部的成員一樣;炮兵是拿著包的家伙。我知道我寧愿做一個(gè)告訴那個(gè)人，把那把迫擊炮放在迫擊炮上的人那里，所以我報(bào)名了空軍ROTC。那么一個(gè)朋友告訴我，一旦我有大學(xué)學(xué)位，我可以隨時(shí)去軍官候補(bǔ)學(xué)校（OCS）。為什么我要當(dāng)了四年的這個(gè)ROTC的雇員，當(dāng)我可以只做六個(gè)月的OCS，只有當(dāng)我不得不？所以我退出ROTC。這是一個(gè)錯(cuò)誤-大錯(cuò)誤。的確，OCS只有六個(gè)月，但在你進(jìn)入之前還有四個(gè)多月的強(qiáng)化訓(xùn)練，而這十個(gè)月的ROTC看起來像是野餐。
? ? ? ?畢業(yè)后，我進(jìn)行了幾次面試，但無法得到工作機(jī)會(huì)。我太1－A了，沒有人會(huì)雇用我的。（1-A是草稿委員會(huì)草案的草案）。很明顯，我要獲得的唯一工作是服務(wù)于我的國家。我覺得沒有什么問題，我也沒有覺得傷自尊，我有20/20的愿景，我沒有結(jié)婚。草案是完全有效的，這是在彩票之后，所以他們正在帶著大家。如果你是1-A，你會(huì)去-除非你想出了一些非常棘手的事情。
? ? ? ? 由于我無法找到真正的工作，所以我不得不和父母一起搬回去，并且在處理進(jìn)入OCS時(shí)嘗試兼職。我去了White Horse，這是一個(gè)非常好的晚餐俱樂部，我在高中時(shí)工作。我向自己介紹了自己，對于一名前公交車男孩來說，這是一種大膽的事情。但是，再一次，我不知道更好。我對業(yè)主說，“好的，這是我的問題。我遲早要進(jìn)軍，但在此期間，我想要一份工作。我不想成為一名公交車男孩。我二十二歲，大學(xué)畢業(yè)，所以我不想成為一名公交車男孩。我真的不想成為一個(gè)服務(wù)員。我想我想成為一名酒保。”令我吃驚的是他說：“好吧，我答應(yīng)你。”
? ? ? ?在美國還有一個(gè)白天睡覺的社會(huì)人士來這里。這個(gè)社會(huì)由“夜人”組成，他們是服務(wù)于娛樂和餐飲行業(yè)的男服務(wù)員，女服務(wù)員和所有其他人的人。他們不生活在白天; 他們生活在晚上。在夜晚的人民社會(huì)，一名調(diào)酒師的地位是非常高的。與日常人一樣是醫(yī)生或律師。隨著夜晚的人們，右邊餐廳的頭酒吧就在那邊，靠近頂端。在夜民社會(huì)，紐約華爾道夫-阿斯托里亞的調(diào)酒師是一個(gè)家伙。所有的女服務(wù)員，服務(wù)員和公交車男孩都認(rèn)為他很整潔。唯一一個(gè)比頭部調(diào)酒師更冷的家伙就是maitre d'。所以如果你是二號調(diào)酒師，那么你并不是很遙遠(yuǎn)。這就像是晚上人們中的查理·羅伯克一樣。突然之間，我發(fā)現(xiàn)自己在二十二歲的成熟的年齡，在夜晚的人民社會(huì)里非常高。我有三十歲的女服務(wù)員，以為我很可愛，當(dāng)他們發(fā)現(xiàn)我要離開戰(zhàn)爭時(shí)，“哦，他”。
With night people, the head
bartender at the right restaurant is right up there near the top. Within the
night people’s society, the head bartender at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York
is a dude. All the waitresses, waiters, and bus boys think he’s neat. The only
guy cooler than the head bartender is the maitre d’. So if you’re the
number-two bartender, you’re not far off the top. This was like being a Charlie
Robkey among the night people. All of a sudden I found myself, at the ripe old
age of twenty-
two, very high up in the night
people’s society. I had thirty-year old waitresses who thought I was cute, and
when they found out that I was going away to war, “Ohhhhhh.”
YOU’RE
IN THE ARMY NOW
Meanwhile I was having a problem
getting into OCS, and the draft board was closing in. Why the problem? Well,
because I had two misdemeanors on my record, both of which were related to
spring breaks in Florida. One misdemeanor was for using a hotel’s wooden deck
chairs as firewood for a bonfire on the beach in Daytona. (It seemed like a
good idea at the time.)
breaking into an outdoor display case in Ft. Lauderdale to try to steal a
mounted sailfish to take back to the frat house. (I can’t even recall if that
seemed like a good idea at the time.)
So when I tried to
get into OCS and a question on the application form asked: “Have you ever been
arrested?” I had to put “Yes.” To get into OCS, I had to go to Washington. My
father knew a federal judge and Pat’s father was best friends with a
congressman from Tennessee. So I went to Washington and met with the judge and
the congressman. The federal judge was nice to put on the application, but it
was the congressman who got the job done. This is when I
hooks works. Knowing the right person to get something done will get it done.
He said to me, “You sure you don’t want to be in the navy? The navy owes me
big. I could do the navy real easy.” (The deal was: in the army’s
college-option OCS, when you graduated and got commissioned, you only had to
serve two years. The navy was three; the air force was four. I was very
interested in doing this in as short a time as possible.) I said, “No sir, I
really want to be in the army.” The congressman just picked up the phone,
called the army, and bingo—I got in the army OCS. Now that’s what I call having
hooks.
Basic
training and OCS are a lot
games in the fraternity. They test you by giving you things to do in impossibly
short time frames. They do it to see what happens to you when you get stressed
out. That’s the game: “Let’s give this guy an impossible situation and see what
happens.” It’s like weeding out students with freshman English. If you don’t
know it’s a game and how to play it, you will stress out. Their game plan is to
get as many people as possible to quit in as short a time as possible. If
you’re focusing on this thing like it’s really serious, then the training is
very stressful. If you’re focusing on it like: “This is a game and all these
clowns are doing is trying to drive me crazy,” it isn’t hard. I had no problem
with it. It
the sense that it was physically demanding, but it wasn’t hard psychologically.
I knew it was a game, and I understood their rules and their motivation.
The top 20 percent
in the class were invited to stay at Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland, to be
instructors for the new Ordinance OCS Program. Being an instructor is a great
way to learn public speaking because you’re in front of a bunch of officer
candidates who have to be there and you outrank them. You don’t have to be
worried that they’re going be unhappy with the job you’re doing. You’re the
lieutenant, and they’re the candidates. You’re in total control. So if they
make
shoot them. Since then I’ve spoken to audiences of fifty or more people more
than a hundred times, and I love it.
After I graduated
from OCS and became an OCS instructor, I had to go through Military
Occupational Specialty (MOS) school. The first day of MOS school, a general
came in and talked about the course. Then he said that at the end of the course
they would recognize an honor graduate based on the highest academic standing
and the highest this and the highest that.
I went home that
night and said to Pat (we were married by then), “This is it! Everybody has
been giving me this B.S. all my life that I don’t do what I
don’t work to potential. All right, I tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna be
the damn honor graduate. I’m gonna be that man. I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna do
whatever it takes to be that guy.” At the end of the course I was the honor
graduate. I couldn’t believe it! I had done it, and it wasn’t even that hard!
All I did was figure out what the rules of the game were and then followed
them.
Naturally, I had
accepted the army’s offer to be an instructor at Aberdeen. It was great! I
became well known within the ranks as being a very good instructor. I was good
at it. It’s very easy to be an instructor when you say the same thing every
week and they change the people you’re saying it to.
stuff I can’t do, like math and statistics. But when He was passing out
talents, He said, “And this one gets the gift of gab.”
I was the first
lieutenant at Aberdeen to become a master instructor. It was just another game
to me. You had to do a bunch of B.S., and I did it. It wasn’t hard. Every other
master instructor had been at least a captain, and most were majors or
lieutenant colonels. I was only a second lieutenant, the lowest ranking officer
there is.
The master
instructor title, OCS training, and the MOS honor graduate were the same deal:
“It’s a game. They wrote these rules; I understand these rules. I can follow
these rules and win
big deal. It isn’t hard.” Some of it was aggravating, but I didn’t take it
personally. There was nothing personal about it. They didn’t know I existed
when they wrote the rules so it was totally impersonal. You can either play the
system or you can let the system play you. Pick one. I like playing the system
because it’s more fun and you win more. If you let the system play you, you can
get very frustrated and very beat up.
After thirteen
months at Aberdeen, I received orders sending me to South Korea. My record was
starting to build. I’d just gotten the medal for the job I did as an instructor
and the master instructor honor. The army is very big on that stuff
to first lieutenant. They made me the adjutant, the guy in charge of personnel,
for a battalion. I was the S-1 of the battalion at Camp Humphries, Korea. It
was all paperwork. I had to sign everything. I hated paperwork, but I did it. I
also did the rest of my job with a little more flair than my predecessors. I
came up with ideas and new ways of doing things. I become noticed. I was not
very good at being invisible.
One day I got a
call from the XO (the number-two man) of the brigade, the unit above the
battalion. He wanted to meet me for lunch. I cleared it with my boss (the
military is very big on chain-of-command stuff) and met him for
me the job of S-3, which was the operations officer of the brigade. Now,
understand that this was the equivalent of number-three man in the brigade. The
organizational chart is: the brigade commander, then the brigade XO, then the
S-3.
I was about five
steps away from that S-3 position as the adjutant of the battalion so this guy
wanted to multi-promote me five steps. The S-3 was usually a lieutenant colonel
and I was only a first lieutenant! Realistically, I should have to go through
captain, then major, then lieutenant colonel before I’d even be considered for
this job. I became S-3 of the brigade at the ripe old age of twenty-three. I
had about as much
S-3 as I did being a goalie on the Hartford Whalers. I didn’t have any idea
what I was doing. I was in way over my head; six-foot-three in ten feet of
water.
One of the missions
of this brigade was Eighth Army nuclear weapons storage. I had a sidearm—Top
Secret this, Top Secret that. “Aye yi yi. I’m twenty-three years old! What am I
doing? Are these people nuts? I don’t need this responsibility. Jesus Christ!
This is scary. My only claim to fame is that I was a master instructor back in
Aberdeen, and that was easy. Two years ago I was burning hotel deck chairs for
a bonfire on a beach in Daytona, Florida, and now I’m sitting on World War III!
this!” Someone else should have been doing this nuclear-weapons thing.
Since Vietnam washeating up so much during the 1960s, Korea was kind of in the background—untilthePuebloincident. In 1968 the North Koreans captured the intelligenceship U.S.S.Puebloin international waters. Theworld would havebeen real scared if it had known that I had the position I had during thePuebloaffair.
My experience in the
military reinforced my view that it really was money that was important in
life, not what you did to make it. In the military it’s the other way around.
Your job is more important than money. Sure, I was
lieutenant instead of a lieutenant colonel, but I wasn’t getting a lieutenant
colonel’s pay. I was only too happy to return to the real world again where
money was what counted.
My mother had gotten
me into Xavier University in Cincinnati on probation as a student in their MBA
program. I was on probation because I only had a 2.2 grade-point average coming
out of undergraduate school. Pat and I moved to Cincinnati and got an
apartment. She started teaching, and I started school.
Because of my
experiences in the army and especially because of what I had proved to myself
by being the honor graduate, I wanted to do well in school
I cruised through
the first-semester classes. Most of the other people in the program were
General Electric engineers coming back to school to get their MBAs. There was a
big GE plant outside Cincinnati in Evandale, and these guys were all either
chemical or electrical engineers. They all carried
their belts (this was during the dark ages before hand-held calculators), but
most couldn’t spell marketing or economics.
Then we had to takea course called Quantitative Business Methods. It was a math course. The firstday of class, this geek math teacher (who was atotalmath teacher:dull, dry, and two slide rules on his belt) started out by saying, “To passthis class you will need a working knowledge of calculus.” Oops! I hadn’t takencalculus. I wasn’t going to take calculus. I couldn’t spell calculus. But I hadto have this course to graduate. I sat through the first few classes, but Ididn’t understand any of it. All these geeks I’d been laughing at in all theseother
fine. They understood everything he was talking about. They had their little
slide rules out arguing over the third place decimal to the answer, and I
couldn’t even get the right handle. I studied for two days for the first test
and still only made a thirty-eight; the lowest grade in the class—by a lot.
So I called a buddy
of mine I had gone to high school with who majored in math at Notre Dame.
“Ralph, I need a tutor. I mean, I’m in deep, deep shit here. I’ll pay you. I’ve
got to pass this course. I don’t know what I’m doing. I need somebody who can
talk to me and make sense out of this stuff.” He agreed to help me. The game
was: I didn’t care if I
just had to get me to where I could pass this course. I studied my tail off. I
still didn’t know any of it, but I did pull a C in the course.
The point was: I was
laughing at all those guys in all the other classes because they couldn’t carry
my jock strap in economics and marketing, and all of a sudden I couldn’t carry
their jock straps in math. That taught me that there are people for places,
places for people. You can do some things and you can’t do other things. Don’t
get all upset about the things you can’t do. If you can’t do something, pay
someone else who can and don’t worry about it.
WATCHERS AND THE BUTTERFLY
Since my grand plan was to “go into
business” and “make a lot of money,” becoming a stockbroker seemed like the
perfect job. It’s really just a well respected sales job, but if you’re good at
it the pay is super. I decided to get acquainted with some prospective
employers for when I finished the MBA. I went down to “the street” in
Cincinnati, and I started going to all the brokerage offices: Bache, DuPont,
Hornblower— some of the names don’t even exist anymore. I was looking for a
part-time job that would accommodate my school schedule. The deal I wanted was
this: “I
ten a.m. to three p.m. I don’t care what I do. I don’t care what I get paid, if
I get paid. But when I finish graduate school, I want to go into your training
program and become a registered broker.” At most of the big firms I was a round
peg in their square hole; they wanted full-time or nothing. One major wire
house was the exception.
I walked into this
office on just the right day in 1968. One of the biggest brokers in the office
was primarily a commodities broker, and I happened to walk in the day after his
assistant had quit. This broker was producing $300,000 to $500,000 a year in
gross
commissions—incommodities—in
The office manager’s
secretary said, “You’ll have to talk to the office manager, Mr. Fitzgerald.” I
went in to talk to Larry Fitzgerald and he said,
“What do you know about
commodities?” I didn’t know anything, but I remembered a few of the buzz words
from the meeting I had with Jack Salmon and Dr. Christian in college. I said,
“I’ve always been interested in futures. I’m particularly interested in the
soybeans … and meal … and oil. Trying to figure out how the weather is going to
affect the crop.” I used the buzz words I had heard Salmon use. Fitzgerald
said, “Okay, you’re hired—if Cohan wants you. Go out and meet Ed Cohan.” Cohan
commodities broker. Fitzgerald introduced me to him, and after a very short
interview Cohan said, “Okay, you’re hired.”
On my way out of the
office, Fitzgerald’s secretary told me to come back the next day to fill out an
application and take a test. “Test? What kind of test?” I asked. She said it
was called the Minnesota Study of Values Test. Without knowing it, she had just
let me know that there was a game to be played. This time the game was a test.
I didn’t know anything about this test, but I planned to find out about it.
I went straight toa bookstore and found a book titledThe Brain Watchersthat had threechapters on the Minnesota
Test. I bought the book and read it that night so I’d be ready for the test the
next day. The questions on the MSV Test have five multiple-choice answers that
you rank in their order of importance to you. The five categories of answers
are Money, Politics, Aesthetics, Religion, and Social Significance. For
example, one question I remember was:
When you look at Leonardo Da Vinci’s paintingThe Last
Supper, what do you feel? Rank thefollowing in their order ofimportance, 1 being the most important and 5 being the least important.
The social implications of
the event,
The beauty of the painting,
The value of the painting,
The political impact of the
painting,
The religious ramifications
of the painting.
Depending on what kind of job you
are applying for, there is a right way and a wrong way to rank the answers. If
you want to be a broker, the ranking for the question above is as follows: the
highest ranking is the money answer, followed by the politics answer, social
significance, aesthetics, and finally the religion answer. If you want to go to
work as a parish priest, every right first answer is the religion answer, then
social, and so on, and the money answer is always last. Once you know that’s
how their game is played, the test isn’t hard. It’s very simple. You can see
very quickly which one of the five choices
the categories; then you just rank them the way you believe the employer wants
them ranked.
So the next day, I
took the test and gave them 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 money, politics, social significance,
aesthetics, religion on every question. I didn’t even miss one on purpose to
make it look good. That was a small mistake. I should have reversed 1 and 2 a
couple of times, but I didn’t. My test was perfect—absolutely no wrong answers.
Now, when they grade this test, it comes out on a scattergram chart. If you’re
meant to be a
broker, your scattergram looks
something like a butterfly. Well, mine came out a perfect butterfly. Fitzgerald
didn’t care; he was going to hire me
blew the test. But he did say, “You really did well on that test. I haven’t
seen anybody do that well before.” I told him I had studied a little bit before
I took the test. “You’re not really able to study for that test.”
“Well, you are, and
you aren’t,” I said. The next day I started working as Cohan’s assistant.
It was 1968, and
the stock market was booming. It was going straight up, and everything was
wonderful. Everyone in the office was making money. Then suddenly it stopped
going up, and it started going down. When that happened, the only guy in the
office making money was Ed Cohan. He was still doing business, and everyone else
was looking
said to myself, “Self, I think I’m going into futures. I like the idea that I’m
not at the mercy of the market only going up; I like the idea of being able to
make money when the market goes down, too.” I don’t care how good a stockbroker
you are; if the market is going down you’re in trouble. You’ve got to take a
defensive posture, and you’re not going to do as much business.
I finished the MBA
program in September 1969, and, as part of the deal I made with the brokerage
firm, I was off to the three-month broker-training program in New York. I went
to the Big Apple a month before the program started and spent that time in the
futures
elbows with all the biggies. I wanted to know how they did what they did and
why, what worked and what didn’t work. I was on a fast track because I’d been
working for Ed Cohan for a year, so everyone in the futures division in New
York knew who I was. I was the one with the perfect butterfly chart.
Once again, I got
the impression I was better than the others. I was “more equal” than the other
trainees because I knew most of the people in the futures division and I worked
for Cohan. Once we got into the actual training program, I ended up teaching
part of the commodity portion of the program. The regular instructors were from
New York, and
what to say as far as the tests were concerned. But they didn’t really know
futures because the big futures exchanges were in Chicago. They quickly figured
out that I did know what was going on, and they made me an assistant
instructor. When they had questions on commodities, they would come to me. If I
didn’t know the answer, I knew I could get the answer from Cohan. Once again, I
had the Midas touch and a hook.
Someone on the
staff told somebody back in the futures division that I’d been a very big help
teaching the class, and I got a call from Tom O’Hare, the firm’s tax-straddle
expert. He did huge production, $2 million or $3
on referrals from stockbrokers. A broker would call and say, “I’ve got a client
who’s made $2.5 million this year. Can you do a tax trick?” Tom would say,
“Yeah. How big a trick do you want? How much of that is he willing to risk to
try to do it?” Tom O’Hare was a master at it.
Well, Tom called me
and wanted to see me in his office. When I got there, we exchanged
pleasantries, and then he pulled out my file. He said, “I really wanted to meet
the prima donna who actually had the gall to paint a perfect butterfly.”
“I’m sorry sir? I
don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you
do! Nobody could do a
unless he knew exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Well, I
read a book—”
“That book wouldn’tbeThe BrainWatcherswould it?”
“Well, let me see,
as I recall … yes, I think that was the name of the book … and it helped me a
lot on the test.”
He said, “Okay. How
close do you think you would really have come to the butterfly if you hadn’t
read the book?”
“To be honest,
pretty close. If I hadn’t known the game, I still wouldn’t have been far off.”
(I wanted to be part of the country-club set, remember? I already believed
money was important.)
“Okay. This
is what I do.”
Then O’Hare
proceeded to tell me
My alternative was
to go back to Cincinnati as a broker under Cohan, basically as his assistant.
But that
was fifty-two years old, and he had a client book that was massive. He wasn’t
going to be there forever, so whoever went to work for him was going to inherit
the book and make a lot of money. Back in Cincinnati I was probably going to
make $15,000 to $18,000 plus whatever I could produce by getting my own
customers. (At that time a $100,000 producer would have netted about
$25,000—big money in 1968.) And this guy was offering me $23,000.
I said, “Mr. O’Hare,
I’m extremely flattered that you called me in to see you. I think working with
you would be absolutely super. But as flattered as I am, I don’t think I can
take the job.”
immediately it became obvious that this was not the kind of guy who was told
“no” very often— particularly by some twenty-four-year-old who didn’t know
where the washroom was.
“What do you mean,
you can’t take the job?”
“Well, it’s that
number. I really don’t want to live in New York, and neither does my wife. I
could do it. I could open a travel agency in Kabul, Afghanistan, if the numbers
were right. I have a new bride who’s pregnant with our first child, and she
doesn’t want to move to New York. We could deal with it. But there would have
to be some compensation for dealing with it, and,
quite frankly, $23,000 doesn’t do it.” “What do you mean?
What are you
going to make in your first year in
Cincinnati?”
“Well, all I have to
do is $100,000 in gross production and I’ll make at least $25,000. Plus, you
know Larry Fitzgerald is going to give me a bonus if I do $100,000 my first
year. I’ll probably make twenty-six or twenty-seven grand. So why would I want
to come to New York for twenty-three grand when I know the odds are—”
“Wait a minute! You’re going to do a hundred grand your
first year?”
“Well, yeah,
I think so.”
“But
aren’t you going to be working for Cohan?”
sir, but he can’t handle his book. His book is huge. I’ll take what he can’t
get to. I think I can gross $150,000 out of his book in my spare time.”
“Okay.
I’ll offer you $27,000.” “$30,000.”
“Get out of my office.” “I went a little too far?”
“Yep. You went a little too far. Get out of my office.”
“Mr. O’Hare, it’s
been a pleasure. I hope you have considered it a pleasure. I’ll talk to you in
a year, and we’ll see who was right. I won’t forget; please, don’t you forget
because, honest to God, I am flattered that you invited me in here and offered
me the job.”
I did
$162,000 my first year; one of
production figures a rookie at the firm ever did. I called O’Hare and said, “I
am LOS-2 [length of service, two years] as of today. Go over and check your
little machine. You’re going to find I did $162,000. I was right, and you knew
I was right. Plus, Fitzgerald gave me a little kicker; I made 26.7 percent out
of that $162,000. I made $43,000 in Cincinnati, which spends a lot better than
$27,000 in New York. Would you like to reopen negotiations? I’m now $50,000
offer.” He laughed and said, “No. I’ve gotten someone who may not have the
chutzpah you do, but he’ll do just fine for $28,000.”
