Excuse Me, Is This Corner Occupied?

The first thing I noticed was the NBC News truck outside the entrance to my apartment building. They weren’t interviewing me, so the “Genius next door” piece still waits to be written. Then I saw the police, never a good thing. I have nothing against the police, I regard them as protection - but against what? Finally, I saw the protestors. A group of them, not many, had staked out the four subway entrances at my intersection. Some held signs reading, “Occupy Wall Street,” others, “Occupy all streets” and one that read, “Resist” on one side and “This is my vote” on the other. (For portentous obscurity, that gets my vote.) More surprisingly, a line of men and women, all in liturgical black, ran the length of the subway entrance on my corner. Like the man who was resisting and voting at the same time, their signs were legible, but not clear. Although, the marker-on-cardboard look gave them a touch of priest-like humility.

Where I live is not an obvious site for an Occupy demonstration. It is not the home of the corporate elite, nor conspicuously one per cent. Nothing in their signs suggested that they were trying to recruit supporters, either. So, I approached a woman carrying an “Occupy all streets” sign and - in my least confrontational voice – asked, “Why have you chosen this corner to occupy?” In a voice even gentler than my mine, she replied, “I don’t know.” This woman, by the way, did not look like a fire-breathing radical. If Mother Jones is a ten, she was a two. “They told us to come here and we did.” Soon after, they all left for a rally in Foley Square. Judging from the Occupy movement that appeared on my doorstep, my hopes for economic justice may have to be curbed.

More Bulls Than Occupy Wall Street Can Bear.

Mayor Michael Bloomberg did two favors for the Occupy Wall Street protestors. First, he let them stay in Zucotti Park long enough for them to be missed when he kicked them out. Second, he kicked them out. The latter may need explaining.

At 1 AM on Tuesday morning, 11/15, an overtime army of New York City Police Officers removed the Occupy Wall Street protestors, sleeping bag and baggage, from Zucotti Park in lower Manhattan. The stated reason for evicting them was offenses in excess of their First Amendment right to gather. More likely, the reason was being an unwholesome encampment on public property, unredeemed by Hippie nostalgia. Either way, their removal was complete, but not permanent. As a judge affirmed later that day, they may return to Zucotti Park and protest, but they may not live there. That’s the favor.

Now, that Occupy Wall Street supporters can only stand in protest, they have to stand for something. There are no secondary benefits to being on your feet all day in all kinds of weather. You’re never going to outlast an executive in an Aeron chair, so you need a specific goal and, most of all, you have to keep your eyes on the prize. A strong commitment to a vague ideal won’t work anymore. Everyone is against economic injustice. If the one per cent could have the same amount of wealth and privileges without doing violence to the ninety-nine per cent, they’d grab it. Some wouldn’t, but some protestors attacked an Emergency Medical Service worker. The Occupy Wall Street movement needs an agenda and to achieve that, they need a leader. None of this hand-waving stuff, you might as well wring your hands against injustice. The movement needs someone who will both take the lead and take the call when Mayor Bloomberg wants his favors repaid. (Don't think he forgot.)

Take the eeek train.

It was a rare day for people-watching on the New York City subway. First, there was a short, fat woman with her hair piled high and the cord from her earphones hanging down. She looked like the "Snookie" balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving parade.

Then there was a wealthy businessman in a bespoke, gray, pinstriped suit. I know it was custom-tailored because the only place it wrinkled was where it met his shoes. His pocket square was a show-er, not a blower, and formed a perfect, white slash instead of those fake-looking three points. Just above it, his face sported a red glow that wasn't quite a sunburn. It was more of a "Monday morning, spent all day Sunday on the golf course" rosiness. He couldn't look more like a banker if he was conjured up by Occupy Wall Street.

Finally, there was a woman who . . . I'll just describe her. She was chewing gum, not a crime, but she was chewing it with her mouth open - and she had buck teeth, so her mouth contorted into a sneer when she chewed. Her gaping maw drew attention to an even bigger nose, which was topped by harlequin glasses. From it all came a nasal buzz, which I assume was her voice.

Welcome to the "melting pot."

Jeffrey Immelt asks, "Where's the Love?"

Jeffrey Immelt doesn’t want money and power. As Chairman and CEO of General Electric, he has them. What he wants is a little appreciation. Not much, just enough to keep him going. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Considering what’s he’s done for our country, a little thanks is in order. Very little.

As our country faces an unemployment crisis deeper and longer than any since the Great Depression, Mr. Immelt oversees a company with 300,000 employees, more than half of them overseas. What’s more, G.E. does sixty per cent of their business abroad. One source of those profits is selling advanced technology to foreign companies that compete with American ones. At home, G.E. can be counted on to pay little or nothing in taxes.

That may be a little harsh. I’m sure the chairman can put his company in a better light. As he told Lesley Stahl on Sixty Minutes (10/9/11), “It’s the world we live in. This where we have to be … the customers are here. And, that’s just the way it is. I’m never going to apologize for that, ever, ever.”

Not that Mr. Immelt is completely without a conscience. He isn’t. Not completely. “I wish all our customers were in Chicago . . . but this is where the growth is.” (Take that, Sears, McDonald’s and Kraft.) Nor is G.E. neglecting the U.S. They’ve just built a new factory in Batesville, Mississippi. A highly automated, new factory. “You’re going to have fewer people that do any task,” says the CEO, “In the end, it makes the system more productive.” They’re also hiring again at G.E.’s Appliance Park in Louisville, KY, but only because of rising labor costs in China and Mexico. It doesn’t take much to undercut them, either. Lesley Stahl says, “A lot of the jobs we saw were $13/hr jobs. That’s really not the ticket, is it, to a really vibrant middle class?” “You’ve gotta start somewhere,” is the reply.

As for that secret technology, it’s no secret at all. Ms. Stahl mentions, “ . . . recent joint venture with China, where a new G.E. computer system will go into a Chinese airliner that could eventually compete with Boeing.” Mr. Immelt’s answer is evasive, so Ms. Stahl counters with, “Let me be more specific, are we in any way giving the Chinese a technology that they didn’t have before? That depletes our competitive edge in the future?” “We give nothing,” sputters the CEO, “We own it” and “We see them as a big market.”

Okay, international business is extremely complicated, but everyone pays taxes. It’s the one national obligation that no one can avoid – no one except G.E. Neither Stahl nor Immelt will put a number on the amount that G.E. pays in taxes. She says, “It’s not quite zero, but it’s pretty low.” He prefers to say, “ . . . we’ve had an extraordinary couple of years.”

Is it possible that Jeffrey Immelt is unaware of the unemployment crisis in this country? No, for two reasons. One is that Lesley Stahl puts the question to him directly. “Shouldn’t American corporations – don’t they have some kind of civic responsibility to create jobs? No?” “My name is not above the door. I work for investors.” Two, he’s just been appointed to head a Presidential commission on job creation in the U.S. (Why Pres. Obama chose him for this particular post is, frankly, obscure. At best, it muddies the distinction between being President of all the people and being afraid of the powerful ones.)

That’s all fine and official and looks good on his resume, but where’s the love? Jeffrey Immelt, the person, not the CEO, pleads his case with Lesley Stahl: “I want you to root for me . . . Everybody in Germany roots for Siemens. Everybody in Japan roots for Toshiba. I want you to say, ‘Win, G.E.’ I think this notion that it’s the population of the U.S. against the big companies is just wrong . . .When I walk through a factory with you or anybody . . . our employees basically like us. They root for us, they want us to win. I don’t know why you don’t.”

What a guy. Makes you proud to be a G.E. stockholder.

Wedlock and Key: Update

On the front page of today's (11/4) New York Times is an article about Ryan Fitzpatrick, quarterback of the Buffalo Bills, who, unlike many of his colleagues, wears his wedding ring while playing. Ben Shpigel quotes him as follows, "It stands for something. It's not like I'm trying to throw a message in anyone's face. It's just a personal thing between me and my wife. It's important for me not to take it off." I couldn't have said it better myself. I've said it differently and, I hope, just as well, but with a different spin. I reprint it below.

Some people fear that marriage is doomed. Not by our society’s hideous divorce rate of 33%. Nor by laws that make it financially advantageous for poor and older people to remain single. Instead, it's the prospect of loving and devoted couples of the same sex being legally married that fills them with horror. All those people should go to jail. There, surprisingly, is where marriage receives its most ringing affirmation.

According to the Federal bureau of Prisons, inmates are allowed three personal items: religious medals, prescription eyeglasses and wedding rings. The first two help you see the light, so they are essential for being saved – if only by “The Midnight Special.” The last one bears examination.

There are several, logical reasons for prohibiting jewelry behind bars: they don't want convicts indulging their vanity, getting bludgeoned for their baubles or cutting their way out with a diamond ring. It doesn't matter to other prisoners whether you're married or not. It only matters, but matters greatly, to the person wearing the ring.

A wedding ring means that you are never alone or forgotten, two feelings that are common while incarcerated. It reminds you that, as in marriage, losing privacy and control over your life can sometimes be a good thing. That unlike your debt to society, some debts never have to be repaid. While prison is busy trying to erase your identity, a wedding ring doubles it. What’s more, that frail-looking gold band is your unbreakable link to the outside world. It even allows you to visit that world if only in your heart and mind. As Romeo says, “With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot keep love out.”

For some reason, the people most worried about our society are also the most religious. The two seem to travel together like earthquakes and tidal waves. If these people truly care about the future of marriage, they should spend less time in a house of worship and more time in a House of Correction.

Michael Kimelman: The Average Gatsby

He’s an American failure, but not a romantic one. An average Gatsby, not a great one. Michael Kimelman was all but guaranteed a successful career as a Wall Street lawyer, but that wasn’t enough. He wanted to work less and make more. Soon, he’ll be working in the prison laundry. How did he go from “white shoe” to white sheets in what appears to be record time?

Michael Kimelman was a first-year associate in corporate law at the old and distinguished firm of Sullivan and Cromwell. How old? Early partners preferred writing longhand to using that new-fangled invention, the typewriter. How distinguished? Partners may leave to become Secretary of State, but only temporarily. Starting salary for associates hovers around $200,000. Making partner means being a millionaire with job security.

It’s the kind of job that people dream about, but Michael was dreaming of something else. According to the article by Peter Lattman in The New York Times (10/23) “ ‘At S&C, I was working 100 hours a week and sleeping under my desk,’ Mr. Kimelman said, ‘Trading stocks seemed like a better life.” So “ . . . with the bull market raging in the 1990’s, he left the law” and “. . . pursued a career in the fast-money world of ‘prop shops,’ or proprietary trading firms, where dozens of traders buy and sell stocks with the firm's money. The traders then split their money with the firm, typically 50/50. Though Mr. Kimmelman lived comfortably, he was hardly a Wall Street titan. In his best year, Mr. Kimmelman said he earned $400,000 and never had more than $1 million in the bank.”

So far, so good. The unambitious among us might settle for a million in the bank, but not Michael. He wants his own "prop shop." Like F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Jay Gatsby, he believes in the green light: the promise of wealth and happiness that hovers just out of our reach. “. . . the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us.” Nothing wrong with that – unless you get involved with the Goffer brothers. In 2008, he opens Incremental Capital with his friend, Emmanuel Goffer as partner. To provide the initial funds, they approach Emmanuel’s brother, Zvi, “a fast-talking trader from Brooklyn.” What part of that description inspires confidence? (The words “a” and “from” don’t count.) Zvi, to his credit, has just been hired by a highly-regarded hedge fund named Galleon (as in “pirate ship”) and works for Raj Rajaratnam, one of the richest and most powerful men on Wall Street. Zvi arranges for Michael and Emmanuel to meet Raj and make their pitch. Everyone gets along, but no one gets money. That’s doubly a shame because Incremental Capital needs Galleon’s research as much as its money. To quote Mr. Kimelman, “ ‘Some guys do their own work, but there’s also a lot of piggybacking off of other people’s stock ideas.’ ” What’s worse, Galleon draws up the gangplank when they fire Zvi Goffer for poor performance. That green light is starting to flicker.

What do you do with someone who’s been fired for incompetence? If you’re Michael Kimelman, you hire him. He has reasons, though. Zvi knows everyone on Wall Street, just ask him, and he’s Emmanuel’s brother. To review, Mr. Kimelman is involved in a high-speed, high-risk financial operation (which he has not completely mastered) with two brothers, one of whom has been fired by a hedge fund for poor performance and is not exactly trustworthy. And he’s using his own money. What could go wrong?

The government could investigate Galleon on suspicions of insider trading. Well-founded suspicions, it turns out. Twenty-five executives, lawyers and traders are charged including Raj Rajaratnam himself. Far from being limited to Galleon, the trail leads into the boardroom of Goldman Sachs and down, way down, to Incremental Capital, whose star employee is busy passing out $100,000 bribes as if they were legal. So many people are arrested that the government decides to throw the small ones back. “Prosecutors offered Mr. Kimelman a deal shortly after his arrest in 2009: plead guilty to a sentence of participating in a conspiracy and receive no prison time, only a sentence of probation.” Great! The father of three young children grabs the deal with both hands and thanks all that’s holy for his deliverance, right? That’s one possibility. No shame in starting over. Gatsby is all about re-invention. Another is that he tries to beat the rap and get away clean. Given what you know, by now, about Michael’s judgment, which do you think he chose?

“ ‘Of course I have regrets about not pleading guilty; I could have ended this ordeal two years ago,’ said Mr. Kimelman. ‘But at the same time, I wouldn’t have been able to look at myself in the mirror if I admitted to something I didn’t do.’ ” Now, he’s been convicted of it and will have two-and-half years to ponder the difference. “With no parole in the federal prison system, he will serve out his entire sentence, though he can get a slight reduction for good behavior.” Michael Kimelman will be forty-three when he gets out of prison. Had he stayed with Sullivan and Cromwell, he’d be a partner by now.

Rich Who Deserve Obscurity: The Madoffs

Name a famous liar with a big nose and a heart of wood. That’s right, Bernie Madoff. We haven’t heard from him in while. The last time was two years ago when he was supposedly dying of cancer. (TFT 8/24/09) Like everything else about him, it wasn’t true. His family, however, is coming out of the shadows. His wife, Ruth, and remaining son, Andrew, were interviewed by Morley Safer on Sixty Minutes (10/30). Minus the perky bob that made her resemble a furtive Katy Couric, Ruth Madoff looked every one of her seventy years. She spoke reluctantly and revealed nothing. Her son, Andrew, spoke more easily, but also didn’t say anything. Who made the program worth watching was the woman sitting next to Andrew. Catherine Hooper is young, attractive and, most of all, fearless. She has to be. She’s Andrew’s fiancée. Getting married is always a leap of faith, but tying yourself emotionally and financially to someone named Madoff? That’s bungee jumping.

What do Ruth and Andrew Madoff want? What do they expect to gain from this (and other) public appearances? It can’t be publicity for their newly published memoir, Truth and Consequences. They don’t need it. If the name Madoff doesn’t come back to you in waves, you’re not going to buy the book. Sympathy? Not as along as she lives in a gated community and both, by their own admission, are still worth millions. Respect? Not as long as their husband and father lives in a gated community. (He’s got one hundred and forty-eight more years to go.) If they really want to avoid his shadow, they should avoid the spotlight, too. They can’t change history by writing a book or change people’s opinions by appearing on TV. They can only change their name. Either that or wait until a bigger crook comes along and makes everyone forget Bernie Madoff. My money’s on the latter.