| "Jimmy O’Conner woke up at 5 A.M. every
weekday (and sometimes Saturdays but never Sundays) for the last six
months to sell the Times on the corner of Wall and Broad
Street, right next to the New York Stock Exchange. He used to vend for the
World last year but seemed to get better tips selling the Times, as
it was cheaper and so people had extra pennies. Most of the men he sold
to were important men, he could tell that even at eight years old. Jimmy
would sell papers all day, and he received a bonus last month for
clearing the most papers in all of Manhattan. His mother and sisters at
home appreciated the extra bread and meat he had been bringing home from
the butcher.
One man in particular always made sure he tipped little Jimmy a penny a day or sometimes a candy bar, and Jimmy made sure he set aside a special paper for him with the financial page folded over the top so that he could check the stocks without setting down his coffee. He was always wearing fancy clothes and shoes, and in a hurry so Jimmy figured he was a stock broker. Another ‘gent Jimmy met always had spectacular stories to tell, as he was a muckraker (one who exposes corruption in big business and government). He told Jimmy about what those guys were up to up there in the skyscrapers; all the money and power they had. It only made Jimmy want to become a broker himself. On a certain peculiar morning in late October of ‘29, Jimmy noticed the man who tipped him a penny a day was not in such a hurry to get to work. He was sweating and nervous looking, reminding Jimmy of a kid at his schoolhouse who owed the bully lunch money. Jimmy handed him his paper with the financial page on top as usual, but the man did not give him a tip. Instead he handed Jimmy a large sealed brown paper envelope and patted him on the head, telling him to keep it until he was grown up and then look inside. That was the last time Jimmy saw the man. Little Jimmy, or Jim O’Conner, Sr., is my father. He later learned that this man who had tipped him well was indeed a broker, and had committed suicide by jumping out of his office the very same day he gave my dad that envelope. The day was October 29th, 1929, or ‘Black Tuesday’. Years later, on his twenty-first birthday my father opened the envelope that the man gave him that day, revealing hundreds of letters of stock that had appreciated to become worth a couple hundred thousand dollars. My father never became a broker but he definitely handled his share of transactions." |