Chicago was was everything I imagined and yet somehow, more.
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Once you get a taste of the world of trading, you want more. It’s pretty easy to get hooked on the process because it’s a thrill ride, complete with all of the appropriate ups and downs. That’s exactly how I felt back in 1979 when I sold some of my silver.
But what was this newfound joy going to do to my life? Would it be a thing that provided for my future, or would it take me down a bad path? Today, I know the answer. But back in the early 1980s, I wasn’t so sure.
The Chainsaw Years
At this point, I was thinking about college. I assumed I needed a degree to become a commodities trader, and since that’s all I wanted in life, I started to look down that road. That said, I was already doing that work, so did it make sense to pay so much money for something I may not ever need?
It was a tough call, so I punted it. I decided to save more money through silver trading and then reconsider later.
I did like the idea of college, though, particularly the part where I met lots of girls. A buddy of mine from high school, along with a few other friends, put together a punk-rock band and moved into a house in Madison near the University of Wisconsin. We called ourselves “The Chainsaws,” and when we weren’t practicing, I was keeping up on my trades by reading The Wall Street Journal.
It doesn’t get much more punk rock than that.
Getting Educated
Today, someone in their late teens would have to scan an ID to get into a college library, but back in the 1980s, I didn’t have that problem. Instead, I could walk onto campus at the University of Wisconsin and browse the stacks for hours. If I found something I liked, I read it—checking it out wasn’t an option, after all—and that’s how I expanded my knowledge base.
Things with the band weren’t going well, however. While we were performing regularly and making some money, $150 split four ways per gig (at best) wasn’t paying the bills. That was a problem.
I had money put away, but I didn’t want to spend it to support the rest of the group. When one of them asked me to do just that “until we sign a record contract,” I knew the situation had turned sour. I had no intentions of becoming a rockstar, so now I had to find another place to live.
Welcome to Chicago
I knew from the start that my career wasn’t on stage, so while I was performing with the group at night, I also talked to Terry Winter. He was my broker at Northwest Commodities, and he asked me a lot of smart questions about my train of thought. Basically, he was feeling me out for a role at the company. I just didn’t know it yet.
Of course, I was young and all too willing to show off my knowledge. He seemed impressed, which eventually led to an invitation to come to Chicago for the full tour. We had beers at Wrigley and—arguably the most important part—a tour of the trading floor.
On the Scene
It was everything I imagined and yet somehow, more. The excitement. The energy. The way everyone was shouting and yelling and fighting was spectacular. If this was what having an adult job was like, I needed to get signed up right away.
That night, after a spectacular steak dinner and a few martinis, I walked out front with Terry to thank him for one of the best days I’d ever had. His response: A job offer. Was I interested in becoming an associate commodity broker? Absolutely I was. That’s why I agreed, right there on the spot, and decided to move to Chicago in two weeks.
What I couldn’t have possibly known at the time was that in those 14 days, Terry was going to experience another turn of events. One that would have me driving right back to Wisconsin before noon.