Tuesday, October 4, 2011


The Old Man was a stock broker. In fact, family lore has him as one of the youngest stock brokers in the early 50's. To his credit he shed the office, just like that undertakers suit, at the end of the day. We rarely saw the broker side of dad. I know nothing of that world. But we all had to admit that it was that world that paid the bills. That said, he was not your typical broker. He was a real people person. So after a while he managed the brokers. The cats that worked for him drove the Mercedes and went to the country club. They made way more dash than Dick. The other thing that set him apart in the job was his unblinking honesty. That's not a plus in that biz. He retired incredibly frustrated.
   Now with the lines being drawn on Wall Street I think back to how pissed the Old Man was in his later years. He saw how crooked the bankers, the hedge fund managers, the entire system was. Seems like when he retired the whole place went to shit.  I think he was keeping a lid on it just a bit....keeping the worse of 'em in line. With him gone they all ran amok.
    I knew the turkey and deer hunting father, the guy who drove the crappy station wagon and partied with his blue collar friends. We were complete opposites in many ways, but the common ground we found spread wide. He would be proud of the Wall Street occupation. When I first came back to hunting I told him I wanted to donate my deer to the homeless. (This was a couple of years before those programs existed).  He just smirked and told me I'd better not donate my meat before it was on the butcher's table. Truer words were never spoken. I may not even get a deer this year. But if I do I would like to put it in the truck, take it to Wall Street and butcher it up for the troops. I heard somewhere a revolution runs on it's stomach. I make a helluva a back strap. Save me a parking space.


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