My Holiday Jolt

Since I was a little boy I have always been fond of the holiday season. As a child in Scranton, what wasn't to love? The holidays were that time of year when familes of modest means spent a fair bit of their annual disposable income on a large number of things they didn't need. I am glad to say that over the years my fondness for the holidays has evolved somewhat beyond the conspicuous consumption. To me, the holidays are the one time of year when the financial world I know stops for a few short days and lets me spend time with my family and reflect on things other than whether the dollar is going up or down. (O.k. In Europe my world stops for the whole of July and August too. But you should never let the facts get in the way of a good story).

After nearly 15 years in the financial markets, however, I have increasingly found myself needing a "jolt" each year to get me into the holiday spirit. After all, while the pre-holiday season for most is spent at shopping malls, my schedule is usually dominated by the dreaded bonus season. Poor Jim, I can hear you all saying. How tough can the investment banking bonus season really be? In truth, it is harder than you realize, especially if you are in research. Remember, research doesn't actually make any real money for a bank - the money is made by traders (or lost by traders, in the case of 2008). So during the bonus season, you spend 3-4 weeks convincing traders to give a little of that bonus cash to their loyal research support. Then, once you've spent all your political capital with the traders, you spend one day in December being told by your research staff that the bonuses you have fought for are well short of what they deserve.

Normally, the holiday jolt comes at the start of my December trip with Dina and the boys to the US. But this year, for various reasons, we are staying in England. Which means I had for look to a new source to kickstart my holiday spirit. Now admittedly, there is no better place than America for a little holiday lunatic fringe:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/northamerica/usa/3534711/Wal-Mart-worker-dies-in-Black-Friday-sales-stampede.html).

But England has some wonderful holiday traditions of its own - christmas crackers, mulled wine, mince pies and the most traditional of English holiday traditions, the annual nativity play. It was here, Ranen's first nativity play, that I found my holiday jolt. And I must say, it took me a little by surprise. For one thing, in a country where less than 15% of the population attends church services once a month, the central role of the nativity play has always been a mystery to me. More important, it is true that Dina has grown a little less dogmatic about how we will raise our jewish boys. But even for me, the thought of Ranen playing an inn-keeper in a play about the birth of jesus hadn't fully registered when he started school in September. Indeed, one reason we chose his school was the headmistress' insistence that it is not a very religious school. If it isn't, I can only wonder what the religious ones are like. (For the record, the other reason I liked the school were the really cool uniforms).

And so, on a chilly Friday afternoon, after a long week and a long commute from Canary Wharf, I arrived at St. Luke's Church to find my holiday jolt. As I walked in, my first sight was Ranen in a bath robe, size 18-24 mos (pictured above). Dina insists that she was told by Ms. Sasha, Ranen's teacher, that a white robe was acceptable attire for a inn-keeper. But deep down, I reckoned it may just have been her little way of protesting the school's "non secular" play. No matter. The sound of children singing and the occasional smile from Ranen as he checked to see I will still there was enough to put me in the holiday mood. (Not to mention the mulled wine and mince pies served afterward).

Happy holidays,

A Scranton Boy in Chelsea

P.S. If you need a little holiday jolt of your own, have a look at this video - it is Ranen singing a little African holiday ditty (when I was his age, I did not even know that Africa existed).

From Scranton to Chelsea: The Real Story

I was once told that somewhere around 10% of Americans hold US passports. Admittedly, I didn't have the energy to check this, but lets assume it is pretty close to the truth. If 10% of all Americans bother to get their passports, it is probably safe to say that the percentage of passport holders in Scranton - where I was born - is somewhat less than that. With this in mind, my first ever blog is meant to map out how I came from these humble beginnings in the Scranton suburb of Archbald (pop = 6,220) to my current home in the bureau of Chelsea, London. (Apologies for the length, but it is, after all, the tale of my life thus far).

I would love to tell you that I was one of those children that dreamed of a life in far off places. But far off in Archbald is not the same as most other places. Like many Scrantonians, "far off" typically meant a summer holiday in Wildwood, the jewel of the Jersey shore. Indeed, the most exotic far off place I ever visited as a child was New York City, and that was only when I was 18. (I didn't count the bus trip with dad to see the New York Yankees play the Boston Red Sox - our bus broke down, which meant my first real experience of the big apple was a late Friday evening in the Bronx in the late 1970s). No, lets say that my childhood gave away no clues of the life that I was going to live. Indeed, it took me until age 22 to board my first plane. But somehow, by the start of 2008, I was boarding no less than 100 planes per year (yes, nearly one every three days). And by time of print, I had visited over 40 countries. How did it happen? Three dates over the past 21 years played central role in my tale.

The first date takes us back to February 1987, when I was a sophomore at Pennsylvania State University. It was then that I met Dina Blum, a freshman and my future bride to be. In truth, it was not one of those "love at first sight" experiences for either of us (although it was ironic that our first date was to see a enjoyable little movie called "She's Having a Baby"). I was the small town Scranton boy, she the big city Philadelphia girl. Mine was a Scranton catholic upbringing - in other words "go to church or I will hit you with a shoe". Hers, a conservative jewish one - I am not sure what coaxing took place, but I am certain shoes were not used. Indeed, apart from a few common friends, it wasn't obvious what the two of us had in common. But from early on, it was clear that one thing we shared was a fierce competitiveness. Admittedly, up to that point, the competition I was normally accustomed to involved running as fast as I could to avoid being thumped by 250 pound boys (i.e. American football). But with Dina having little interest in this particular game (she insists she was a fierce archer in HS), our competition focused on the books. Up to that point, my academic career at PSU had me on course for a mid-level manager role back home. But mainly because I couldn't bear losing at anything to this feisty girl from Philly, an intellectual curiosity was born (For the record, Dina and I are still together after all these years - this blog's picture shows us at a little town on the Amalfi Coast this past summer).

The next date was the spring of 1994. At the time I had just joined the fabled JPMorgan as an analyst in the Human Resources department. It was a lowly job, but I was working for an investment bank and all I needed was my big break. That break came in the most unlikely of ways - my first (and hopefully last) utter failure. As I mapped my course to the dream banking job, I landed a role working for the HR team covering the fixed income, foreign exchange and emerging markets division. This was my chance. Unfortunately, in my race for the trading floor, I managed to piss off all three HR persons I was supposed to be covering. And so, for the first time in my life, I was told to find a new job or begin thinking about a new firm. I opted for the former. Of the dozens (ok, two or three) possibilities presented to me, one stood out - economics research. Yes, it was an even more junior role than the junior role I had been asked to leave. But it was a chance to work for those famed fixed income and FX traders, even if it was doing something I had not the foggiest idea about. Here, my research career began.

The last central date of my tale came in July 2001. By then, I had moved on from economics into currency research. And capitilizing on my still fairly modest reputation I jumped ship - from JPMorgan to Lehman Brothers. To many, the move was not obvious. JPMorgan was one of the largest currency institutions in the world. At the time, Lehman was ranked 35th by market share (to this day, I honestly can not name 35 banks that have FX operations). But this was my chance to be a big fish in a small FX operation - inside a US investment bank that was THE up-and-comer on Wall Street. And so, in July 2001 I began my career as head of currency research at Lehman Brothers.

Seven years later, I have seen a good chunk of the world, booked millions of air miles and settled with Dina and our two boys, Ranen (4) and Gideon (1) in post code SW3, Chelsea London. It has been a wild ride. And of course, as many of you know, the ride is not yet done. 2008 was a to mark several important milestones for Lehman Brothers. The first was the news that Lehman's FX department had broken into the top 10 for global market share and was top amongst all US investment banks (at the time, there were four). The big fish was now in a big pond - and was one of only a handful of persons that were there when it was 35th. Of course, the second milestone was Lehman's bankruptcy filing in September - the biggest bankruptcy in history and undoubtedly one of worst events in the history of financial markets (for the record, the FX department was ahead of budget at the time, so don't blame me).

I have moved on quickly. I am now working for another big US bank, again as Head of Currency Research. And, in a search for a more full catharsis from my Lehman demons, we decided to move house - from east Chelsea to west Chelsea (ok, literally about a mile from the old house and still in Sw3). But if the events of the last few months have taught me anything, it is that I have lived a rather unusual life by the standards of many of my fellow Scrantonians. This blog is an opportunity for me to jot it all down and hopefully to share it with the six or seven family members that regularly use the world wide web. I hope you enjoy it!

A Scranton Boy in Chelsea

P.S. Since we moved to London, my whole extended family have gotten their passports