Old Traders Never Die

Chapter 1

'I'd like you to meet Peter', my boss said as he introduced me to the man standing by his side. 'He's going to be working with us for a bit - on your desk'.

Working on my desk ? Had I heard right ? This Peter character was at least 60 years old, and looked well out of place on our trading floor. I didn't really know what to say, so I just nodded in acknowledgement and looked back at my screen.

'Can you get someone to show Peter around, Dave ? And then pop into my office'.

I arranged for one of the grunts to give Peter his guided tour, and I headed straight for Nigel's office.

'What the fuck is all this about ?', I shouted as soon as I entered. 'Are you having a laugh ?'

'Relax, Dave', came the reply. 'It won't be for long. And Peter's a good trader. At least he was - in his day'.

'And when exactly was 'his day', Nigel. Around the time England last won the fucking World Cup ?'

'Ok, so it was a while back. But this guy really knew the ropes back then. He was a fucking genius'.

I remained dubious.

'Come on, Nigel. What's really going on ?', I asked. 'This guy is right out of the fucking Ark. And has he ever traded electronically ?'.

'Of course he has. Don't be stupid, Dave'.

'Well exactly when did he last trade for a living, then ?' I not unreasonably asked.

Nigel was silent. He finally looked over at me and smiled, 'About 12 years ago'.

'12 fucking years ago!', I screamed. 'I don't think the rest of the desk have 12 years trading experience between them, and you're telling me that this bloke has been sitting at home with his pipe and slippers for over a fucking decade! No, Nigel. I'm sorry. You'll have to find someone else to babysit him. I'm far too busy for all this crap'.

'There is no-one else, Dave. That's the problem. Look, I owe this guy. He gave me my start in the markets. He stood by me a couple of times when I screwed up. I wouldn't have this job if it weren't for him, so I owe him. And you owe me', he reminded me with a wink of his eye. 'Look, Dave', he continued. 'Peter's going through a bad time. He's gone through a lot of his money, and his wife recently died. I just want to give him a break, and the chance to make some money back. Is that asking too much ?'.

Although I was unconvinced, there was nothing to do but accept the inevitable. Nigel was my boss, and my friend too. And he was right, I did owe him. So I just shrugged my shoulders and went back to the my desk.

'And keep his limits tight,' Nigel shouted after me. 'At least initially'.

'Is he even registered ?' I called back.

'Registered blind', I heard one of my traders say under his breath, clearly referring to Peter's thick 'coke-bottle' glasses.

I sat back and looked over at Peter (apparently he refused to respond to 'Pete'). I knew that he was going to be a problem. He was he at least 30 years older than anyone else on the desk (including me), and he dressed differently too. The rest of us all wore casual clothes, but Peter came to the office in a pin-stripe, braces, colourful shirt and a buttonhole! Very quickly he was given a nickname - 'Noah' (from out of the Ark).

I just hoped that Nigel knew what he was doing, and that Peter wasn't as clueless as he looked.

Chapter 2

'Look at Noah', Andy, the youngest member of my team said that morning. 'He's comatose'.

Peter had spent his first few days on 'orientation' - something Human Resources made-up a few years back to try and justify their existence. And this included some simulated trading which, I must admit, is usually essential. Although the new recruits who go through our simulated trading programmes usually do a 12 week course, Nigel wanted Peter to rush through it at high-speed. 'It'll only bore him', he told me.

As I looked over at him, I saw what Andy meant. Peter was just sitting there, seemingly in a daze watching the data dance across his screen.

'The silly old fucker's been like that since he first came in this morning. He's just sitting there staring at the fucking screen', Andy laughed loudly. 'What a fucking joke!'.

Peter must have heard Andy's outburst (not that he made much of an effort to keep it quiet), as he quickly came out of his trance-like state and headed to the gents toilet. I wasn't sure what to do. I instinctively wanted to go after him, to see if he was OK. But I also didn't want to embarrass him. I knew that this whole experience would be difficult for him too. I was sure that the last place he really wanted to be was on a highly sophisticated trading floor, surrounded by a bunch of less-than sophisticated kids who clearly regarded him as a dinosaur.

In the end, after giving Andy the sign to 'zip it', I followed Peter into the toilet. As I entered, I saw that he had taken off his glasses and his tie, unbuttoned the top of his shirt, and started to slosh water on his face. And he was shaking.

'Everything OK ?', I asked as nonchalantly as possible.

'Does it look like it, Dave ?', came the reply. 'I don't know what made me think I could hack it after all these years. I must be mad. This is a disaster. Everything is so different now. I just don't have it in me anymore. I was hoping that it would all fall back into place, but it hasn't. Trading is a different game now, a different animal'.

'Come on, Peter', I replied. 'You've got to give yourself a chance'.

'That's just it. I've had my chance. And I blew it. My time was in the 80s, and I made a lot of money. I was set up for life, but I wasted it. It's no good me thinking that I can reclaim former glories. The markets have moved on. Your kids are right. I am a fucking dinosaur'.

'Don't worry about them', I insisted. 'There a good crew really. They'll come 'round'.

'No, Dave. Those kids have got my number. I can't even bring myself to execute a fucking trade. I so scared of losing money, and letting Nigel down'.

'But you'll be letting Nigel down if you don't start trading', I pointed out. 'He's taken a lot of stick for you. You owe it to him to give it your best shot. And, anyway, he's clearly got a lot of faith in you'.

'But it's misguided faith, Dave. Don't you see ? Nigel and I have made the classic mistake of looking back into the past and romanticising. Times were never as good as we remember them, and we weren't as great as we think we were. Growing old does that to you, Dave. It plays tricks with your memory. Nigel seems to think that I'm a great conqueror back to reclaim his kingdom. The pressure on me to perform is immense'.

'Come on, Peter', I said as I grabbed hold of him. 'Let's go for a coffee. And leave your fucking tie off, will you!'.

'There's just so much information', Peter said as we sat down in the corner of the local Starbucks with our lattes. 'It's wasn't like that in my day. All this stuff just confuses you. All these analyst reports, opinions, charts, newsfeeds, blogs. It's a wonder anyone gets the time to do any fucking trading. It's just not healthy'.

'You'll learn to block that out', I reassured him. 'You just need a few good trades under your belt to get your confidence back. I'm sure it's no different than the old days really. You just have to make your trade and stay unemotional about it. And don't worry too much about what everyone else thinks. Do your own research and come to your own conclusions. I'm sure you'll be fine'.

'Fuck the coffee', Peter said as he stood up. 'It's almost lunchtime. Let's go and have a drink'.

A drink at lunchtime was not something that I'd ever done, because I always felt that I needed to be on top of my game. But I felt that I had started to bond with Peter, and that it was important to let him know that I was there for him.

We returned to the office over three hours later, both stinking of drink and worst the wear. And Nigel wasn't best pleased.

Source: Here Is The City (hitc.com)