Chapter 21: It Has Never Made Sense, and Never Will!

October 13, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

On Wednesday afternoon, I left work and drove to Violet’s house to pick her up for the Hawks game against the Saint Louis Blues. She was ready when I arrived at her house, and we made the short drive to the Chicago Stadium, parking in a reserved lot, which, surprisingly, I had to pay for despite having a parking pass.

“So, this is just good for permission to park here?” I asked the parking attendant.

“Yep,” he replied. “It’s a license, and doesn’t include the parking fees. The season ticket holder should have told you.”

I handed over $10, which I thought was an outrageous amount for a parking spot, then pulled into a parking spot indicated by another attendant.

“I can pay for the parking,” Violet offered.

“It’s OK,” I replied. “I was just surprised that the pass didn’t include the parking fee.”

In the scheme of things, spending $10 on parking and probably around $20 on food and drinks was a great deal, considering the tickets had cost us nothing, and they were very good seats. We got out of the car, I locked it, and then we headed for the stadium, which was just a short walk away. We found the correct gate, presented our tickets, and then followed the signs to the correct section where an usher showed us to our seats which were fifteen rows up from the ice, just to the center-ice side of the blue line, and above the penalty box.

“Hot dogs, nachos, and Cokes?” Violet suggested.

“That sounds good to me!”

“Chicago-style, right?”

“I promise to never, ever, for the rest of my life, put catsup on hotdogs!”

Violet laughed, “It’s OK for little kids, but once you’re a teenager? Mustard only!”

We left our seats and went to a concession stand and ordered two Chicago-style hot dogs, a basket of nachos, and two Cokes. I paid, and when our order was ready, we took it back to our seats just as the players were coming onto the ice for warmups. We finished eating just as the warmup ended, and not long after we stood for Wayne Messmer to sing the National Anthem, though the roar of the crowd was such that we couldn’t hear it.

“I was taught you should stand quietly with your hand over your heart and never cheer the anthem,” I said as we sat down.

“It’s a Chicago thing,” Violet said. “I don’t know how it started, but it’s recent. Does it bother you?”

“In one sense, it’s just a song, in another, it’s about social convention. But if that’s the convention here, then I don’t think it’s a problem. Nobody seems upset.”

“You’ll find out about ‘upset’ if there’s a dirty play by the Blues or if the Blues win. They’re our biggest rivals.”

“I’ve never been to a hockey game,” I replied. “Cincinnati lost their professional team a few years ago, and I don’t recall it ever being on TV before that.”

“Do you know the rules?”

“The basic ones, yes.”

“I think the only thing that will confuse you is the offside rules. Basically, you have to carry the puck across the opposing team’s blue line, and you can only pass over one line otherwise. A pass from your defensive zone across the red center line is called a ‘two-line pass’ and is considered offside. And the player who carries the puck over the opponent’s blue line has to be the first over the line, or it’s offside.”

“That seems overly complicated compared to the NFL, where it’s simply a matter of being on the correct side of the ball.”

“In soccer, the rule is that you can’t pass the ball beyond the last defender, not counting the goalkeeper.”

“Strange. At least here there are clear lines drawn, and in the NFL it’s lining up correctly and not crossing the imaginary line where the ball is. Did you play soccer?”

“In gym class in grade school and High School. Boys played flag football and girls played soccer.”

“We never played soccer in gym class, so I don’t know much about it. Our school had a girls’ team, but I never saw them play.”

“Chicago actually has a professional team, the Chicago Sting, in the North American Soccer League.”

“I’ve seen them mentioned in the Sports section of the Trib, but didn’t pay much attention.”

“You can’t have missed that they were champions last year! That was in September, so after you moved here.”

“I do remember reading that,” I said. “But I had zero interest, so I guess it didn’t really register.”

“Well, they totally stunk this year, so I guess that’s no surprise.”

The players took the ice, and the game started, with the Blue scoring almost immediately, taking a 1-0 lead just over a minute into the game, much to the annoyance of the Chicago fans.

“See what I mean about upset?” Violet asked. “It’ll get worse, too.”

The fans lightened up a bit when Saint Louis was called for a penalty a few minutes later, but were annoyed when the Hawks didn’t score on the powerplay. Another penalty was called against Saint Louis, and this time a player named Steve Larmer, who Violet said was her favorite player, scored to tie the game 1-1. Saint Louis scored again less than two minutes after Chicago was called for penalty, and the first period ended 2-1.

“I need the ladies’,” Violet said.

We got up, and both used the facilities, and in typical fashion, I was done quicker because it was much easier for men to quickly use urinals than for women to use stalls, not to mention I was positive there were twice as many urinals in the men’s as there were stalls in the ladies’. I waited for her and when she came out, we went back to our seats to wait for the second period to start.

Things didn’t go well, and the Blues scored just two minutes in, making the score 3-1 and the crowd was restless and some fans were heckling the Hawks. About ten minutes later, things improved when Steve Larmer scored a powerplay goal to make it 3-2. Three minutes later the Hawks scored again, and got a third goal on another powerplay, ending the period with a 4-3 lead.

“What do you think so far?” Violet asked.

“It’s a fun, fast game,” I replied. “But I don’t like how often they stop for the ‘two-line pass’ thing. That just messes up the flow of the game. I’m also happy the Hawks scored three goals because I thought a riot might break out!”

“Hawks fans are truly fanatics, which is the origin of that word. Do you want to come to another game?”

“Absolutely.”

“Esposito needs to keep his head in this game during the third period!”

“Who?”

“Tony Esposito, the Hawks goalie.”

The third period went the Hawks’ way, with them getting two goals to one for Saint Louis, making the final score 6-4 in favor of the Hawks. When the game ended, Violet and I left the stadium, walked back to my car, and headed for her house in University Village.

“I really enjoyed the game,” I said as I headed south on Halsted.

“Me, too. I had fun and I’m really glad we’re friends!”

“So am I.”

At Violet’s house, I parked in the street and walked her to the front door. She gave me a quick, tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, and after she went inside, I walked back to my car.

October 15, 1982, Chicago, Illinois

On Friday morning, Haley called and asked me to come to the Personnel office. I asked Jack to cover for me and quickly walked down the hall.

“Mrs. Peterson is waiting for you,” Haley said with a bright smile. “Go on in.”

I walked past Haley to Mrs. Peterson’s office and stood in the doorway.

“Come in, shut the door, and sit down, Jonathan,” she said.

I did as she requested.

“Congratulations on moving up so quickly! I have some paperwork for you to sign and some things to go over with you. This will take about thirty minutes.”

“That should be OK,” I replied. “The guys just finished their rounds.”

“First, I have an offer letter for you, which outlines your position as a Securities Analyst and lists your start date, salary, and bonus potential. It references an employment contract which I will go over with you. I’ll also go over the changes to your benefits. Once we’ve done that, you can sign the offer letter, or, if you prefer, show everything to an attorney before you sign. I can give you ten business days if you want to do that.”

“Is there some reason I should show it to an attorney?”

“I can’t give you legal advice, but many people do.”

“Let me ask this — am I in a position where I could negotiate any changes to the contract?”

Mrs. Peterson smiled knowingly, “I don’t believe so.”

“Then there’s no point in spending money on an attorney, is there?”

“I can’t answer that,” she said, again with a smile.

“Then let’s get started, and I’ll sign once we’re done.”

“OK! First, as the offer letter states, this is contingent on you receiving your Series 3 license no later than February 24th, 1983. I don’t see that as a problem, do you?”

“No. I’m taking the exam next week and I expect to pass with flying colors. I’ve completed the prep course and studied. If, by some quirk of fate, I don’t pass, there is a test offered in December which I can take. The background check will be no problem, as I’ve never been in trouble with the law, nor had so much as a parking or speeding ticket.”

“They check your credit as well.”

“That’ll be fine, I think, though there will be limited information.”

“They’re more interested in legal judgments against you than anything.”

“No trouble there, then.”

“Your start date is March 1st, 1983, and your initial salary is $45,000 per year, paid twice monthly. Your bonus eligibility is up to $45,000, and any amounts authorized by Mr. Spurgeon are paid in February of the following calendar year, which, in your case, would be February 1984. Twenty-five percent of any bonus amount is paid into the Spurgeon Select Fund, with a five-year lockup period, or, should you leave Spurgeon, a one-year redemption period at Mr. Spurgeon’s sole discretion. Any questions so far?”

“No.”

“Good. Your new position has a matching feature for any voluntary contributions to the Spurgeon Select fund, at 30¢ on the dollar up to the maximum of 10%. I believe you are contributing the maximum now.”

“Yes, and I intend to continue that.”

“In addition, you’re eligible to buy into the fund in any amount you wish, subject to the usual rules, though the minimum investment is waived for employees.”

“Got it.”

“Your health benefits remain the same, but Spurgeon also covers 100% of the family premium on your behalf, should you need it.”

“Not anytime soon,” I replied.

“Your life insurance will increase to two times your annual salary, with the premiums covered by Spurgeon. You can, without a physical, increase that to five times by paying the extra premium. You’ll also be enrolled in our Accidental Death policy, as well as our disability policy, with the premiums covered by Spurgeon. Any questions?”

“No.”

“On the financial side, if you bank with First Chicago, you’ll receive an upgrade to their highest level account, with no monthly fees. I’d strongly recommend you move to them, if you aren’t already there, as it simplifies the monitoring and reporting we’re required to do on all financial accounts of licensed staff.”

“I bank with them.”

“Good. We’ll notify them on your behalf. You also qualify for a discounted, low-interest mortgage, with the maximum you can borrow determined by Mr. Spurgeon. Our current interest rate is 4%, compared to over 15% on the open market. There are deferred payment plans and many options, but I won’t cover those unless you intend to buy a house right away.”

“Not right away,” I replied. “I’d prefer to build my reserves before I do that.”

“Wise. Other benefits include access to the corporate gym membership, use of our corporate memberships in the Union Club of Chicago and the Art Institute, and access to our boxes at Chicago Stadium and Soldier Field, including game tickets. You will need to reserve your spots and analysts are permitted to reserve one Bears game, four Bulls games, and five Hawks games, and you may bring one guest. You can request more tickets or more games, but that requires approval from Mr. Matheson and Mr. Spurgeon. Questions?”

“No.”

“Your position has a sick time bank which starts with five days and accumulates 0.2 days per week, and there are no limits to the number of days you can accumulate. Your vacation bank starts at ten days and accumulates at one day per month for the first two years, 1.5 days per month for years three through ten, and two days per month after ten years. You can bank up to 30 days, after which the days are paid out quarterly. In addition, you are required to use two consecutive weeks each year as sensitive leave, and that must cover ten trading days.”

“Sensitive leave?” I asked.

“Basically, you have to be out of the office for ten consecutive trading days with no contact with the office except with Personnel. It’s designed to expose trading schemes or market manipulation. I’ll provide you with the exact rules, but the basic gist is you can’t even speak to a client, or any licensed employee or staff on your team during that period without express permission from the Compliance Office. We strongly recommend not speaking to anyone for any reason except Personnel, and we’ll coordinate any necessary communication.”

“Do I have to take that next year, then?”

“Yes. That’s why we give you an additional ten vacation days immediately. You’ll coordinate the time off with Mr. Matheson, who will, I guarantee, complain about it, but it’s mandatory and Mr. Spurgeon makes no exceptions.”

“OK.”

“I’m sure you’re aware of the rules and regulations regarding trading accounts, so I won’t belabor them, but suffice it to say, you can only trade in monitored accounts. Any violation of that rule is grounds for automatic termination and will be reported to the SEC and CFTC. There is no leniency.”

“Got it.”

“Then let’s go over the employment contract.”

We went through it section by section, and there really wasn’t anything surprising, or, in my mind, controversial. The Cliff’s Notes version was a list of all the things that could get you fined, sanctioned, fired, or arrested, and an admonition not to do them. I’d learned all of that in my class and from studying, though there were a few Spurgeon rules as well, including Sensitive Leave.

“Any questions?” Mrs. Peterson asked when we finished.

“None I can think of,” I replied. “I’ll sign the offer letter.”

“OK,” she said, sliding two copies over.

I signed both copies, which already had Mr. Spurgeon’s signature, and Mrs. Peterson notarized both copies and gave me one.

“Haley will bring you the benefits forms in February where you can make your elections. You have to fill out and sign all new forms because you’re moving from a support staff position to a financial executive position. I’d also advise you to develop a relationship with a tax expert, either a CPA or tax attorney of your choosing. If you move up, your income is going to go up significantly, and you’ll likely be investing in instruments which have significant potential tax liabilities.”

“I can wait on that, right?”

“Certainly until next year. At that point, it will depend on your financial situation and the types of investments you make.”

“OK.”

“That’s it. Haley will give you a copy of the financial executive handbook on your way out.”

“Who tells Mr. Nelson?” I asked.

“He knows. He had to sign off on this because technically it’s a transfer from one department to another. You’ll need to check with Mr. Matheson as to when you can make this public.”

“Thanks.”

“Congratulations again,” Mrs. Peterson said.

“Thank you.”

I left her office and stopped at Haley’s desk to get a copy of the handbook and also asked for a manila envelope so I could conceal the letter and handbook from anyone in the mailroom. She got an envelope for me and handed it to me with the handbook.

“Want to celebrate the big promotion after work today?” she asked.

“I can’t make it public just yet,” I replied.

“I was thinking of a private celebration! Just you and me!”

“I’m having dinner with some friends tonight,” I replied.

“Rain check, then! Just let me know!”

I smiled but didn’t respond, as I didn’t want to get into a debate with her about dating people from the office, something I felt was a very bad idea, despite Haley being smoking hot and having the cutest butt in the entire office, which went along with a great figure and full lips.

“Everything OK?” Jack asked when I returned to the mailroom.

“Yes. No problems at all.”

He got up from my desk and I sat down, putting the envelope in my satchel. When it was time for my lunch break, I went to see Mr. Nelson to make sure he had all the information, which he did, then went up to 32 to see Mr. Matheson.

“Mr. Spurgeon will send out a memo once you pass your licensure test,” Mr. Matheson said. “After that, you can talk about it; not before.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

“You have your chance, Kane. Your foot is in the door. Now it’s up to you to prove you belong here.”

“I won’t let you down, Mr. Matheson.”

“You better not. Let me know when you’re notified about the license.”

“Will do. I thought the firm would be notified.”

“Not for the Series 3, because you don’t need a sponsor. When you sit for the Series 7, I’ll be notified you took the test and whether or not you passed. Anything else?”

“No,” I replied.

I left and went back downstairs and ate my lunch in the break room, not wanting to go out in the cold and rain. When I finished my lunch, I went back to my desk, wishing I could say something to Jack, but knowing that I couldn’t. And that meant not saying anything to anyone other than my mom and Bev, who already knew. I couldn’t risk Mr. Spurgeon’s wrath if I were to leak the information before he announced it, and that wouldn’t happen until after I passed my exam.