Wall Street Therapy… April 29, 2013 turneythe buy-side-book blog 5 Comments ONE HOUR SESSION With my history I’m no stranger to a therapist’s office. One thing I’ve learned, the more comfy the chair the more expensive the therapy. I never understood why anyone would want to see a shrink. Seemed like a waste of time. Unless, that is, you’re trying to prove to the rest of the world that you’re trying to get your life back. I figure it might be fun to play a little word association game. I’ll write down the name of a brokerage firm and then respond with the first word or words that come to mind… Goldman Sachs – ski masks Morgan Stanley – suspenders Bear Stearns – that little newspaper boy from the movie Better Off Dead BTIG – G.F.E. B of A – Jan Brady Cowen – The Little Engine That Could DBKS – offensive linemen CSFB – Fight Club JP Morgan – Alex P. Keaton Leerink – Dr. Kevorkian Barclays – crumpets Lehman – MySpace Piper Jaffary – purple velvet shoes RBC – right fielder Citigroup – George Foreman UBS – Suicide Watch or the New York Jets Bernstein – A Beautiful Mind Cantor – Taco Bell Canaccord – TJ MAX FBR – a prostate exam ISI – Stephen Hawking Jefferies – Rothman’s Steakhouse bathroom JMP – are they trying to trick everyone into thinking you’re giving an order to JP Morgan? Jones – a professional fluffer Lazard – fax machines and 8 tracks Miller Tabak – Eyes Wide Shut Macquarie – The Larva Needham – Studio 54 Nite – serotonin Pac Crest – Helen Keller Raymond James – are they still in business? Susquehanna – three-card Monte Stern AG – Six Flags Weeden – whale belts Nomura – a haiku
BUY SIDE BANGERS March 11, 2013 turneythe buy-side-book blog No Comments STRAIGHT OUTTA WALL STREET Here’s something to ponder – something that is not in my forthcoming book The Buy Side: A gang of buy side traders cruises up Park Avenue in their 1963 black Chevy Impala convertible with high performance exhaust system, 20-inch rims and leather upholstery. White dudes, average age 32, and all make around $900k a year. Instead of glocks, they have their buy and sell tickets locked and loaded. They need capital. They roll up on Credit Suisse: pow pow, pow… All that’s left are chalk outlines. Then they make their way up to Midtown to light up Morgan Stanley with a sawed-off: ba-boom. After the closing bell they creep over to Barclays’ front porch to put down a couple of 40s of O.E. and marinate. Later, they make a move downtown to meet a tier IV broker – the mad hatter. They’re looking to pick up some rock. After they cop the package they come across a couple of suckas from Cantor Fitz. “Yo,” the buy side boys sing out, “You wanna open an account or what?” The brokers are overjoyed. That’s when the bangers take out a 9 millimeter and carjack the brokers’ expensed town cars. “Peace out – Girl Scout.” Maybe it was just me, but in my later years working the buy side I noticed a bizarre subculture developing on the street: gangsta-trading. It’s as if we took everything we learned from Biggie, N.W.A. and Tupac and applied it to the trading world. I mean, we were working on the street, so I guess it makes sense. Here’s a deleted excerpt from a chapter in The Buy Side: My life is now a few gold chains short of a hip-hop video. Nights are a blur of bottle service, clubs, and women. Meanwhile, days are filled with trading and our performance is great. The market keeps going up. The weekends feature private jets, helicopters and exotic locations. By the middle of 2003 we’re on pace to pay the street close to 40 million dollars in commissions. That’s a big number by any standard, but the fact that we only trade healthcare puts us in the spotlight. I’m sure you can imagine where the chapter goes from there…blah blah blah made a million dollars blah blah blah got an eight-ball of cocaine blah blah blah flew on a private jet to some tropical island. The chapter just didn’t cut it, so I cut it. I laugh at myself now, but back then I believed money and power made me a baller. I even had a nom de rap – Cleveland D. Oh yeah, I was a banger. I even helped write — and performed on – that Galleon song “Put Your Money on Galleon,” which dropped in the spring of 2000. The thing is, whether you’re a gangbanger on the street or a buy side trader busting caps in people, your life span isn’t very long. Sometimes it pays to be ruthless, but everyone pimping a buy side ride knows that the sell side is waiting in an alley, watching for a mistake to be made. And when a buy sider turns his back he’ll hear a click-click sound. I’m sure hedge fund guys will always be peacocking and Jim Crammer will never lose his borrowed trademark “booyah,” but as Ice Cube once said, “Today I didn’t even have to use my A.K. – I gotta say it was a good day.” A couple of years after I left the business I rolled into Random House and called out to the editors there, “Yo, I wanna do a book deal, fools. And I already know the cover. A photo of Wall Street (the actual street) with telephone wires running across the top. And hanging from those wires, you want to put some Prada shoes tied at the laces. Ya’ feeling me?” Those guys just didn’t get it. WORD!
Sales Traders: A Taxonomy of the Good and the Bad February 25, 2013 turneythe buy-side-book blog 1 Comment I offer the below listing (which you won’t find in my forthcoming book The Buy Side) mostly for those who don’t make a living on the Street, though those who do will recognize the following types. A sales trader, by definition, provides trading assistance, research and market knowledge to his list of buy side clients. To attract more attention from these clients, brokers sometimes get very creative in the services they offer. In my years on the Street I relied on some excellent sales traders – both men and women. But even the great ones rarely represented as much as 25% of my total coverage. On any given day, I’d talk to 100 to 150 sales people. Almost without exception, the sales traders I dealt with fit one of the following profiles: 1.) Lax Man – Typically, this trader grew up in Jersey, Long Island or maybe Westchester. He was in his late twenties or early thirties. Lax Man was the first guy to ask me if I wanted to get in the March Madness pool. He’d “crushed it” in Vegas the prior weekend and, the night before, the hostess at Stanton Social was “vibing him.” He referred to everyone as Bro, Pal, Chief, Guy or Boss. 2.) Honorary (Wo)Man – She was cute and could trade locker room stories with the best. She used her sex appeal to create business. Behind her back, the guys on her desk would say, “She blows for flow.” But, in reality, she worked hard — harder than most of the men on her desk. She had something to prove. She knew the business and did an excellent job. She wasn’t married. 3.) Salty Man – He’d been with his firm for twenty years and secretly — or maybe not so secretly — hated me and the business. He still talked in fractions and resisted using email or instant messenger. He’d been divorced three times and didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Odds were, he was going to die on the desk. 4.) No Man – This guy had no research, no flow and no worries. He liked to meet me after work. 5.) Low Man –If I sneezed he’d say “bless you,” if I was tired and hung over he’d worry he’d done something wrong. He worked extremely hard, but the problem was he didn’t get a lot of respect from his own desk. 6.) The Man – He’d answer the phone “250k up – what do you want to do?” Management loved him—he was the busiest guy on Wall Street. All you had to do was ask him. He’d get business done and wears his firm’s crest on his sleeve. He worked for one of the white-shoe investment banks and had gone to one of the best schools. He wound up as an equity sales trader because he wasn’t smart enough to do something more difficult, but he always spun it that it was his choice to trade. 7.) Family Man – He’d been passed over for several promotions, and was often caught off the desk calling his wife to discuss the twins’ science project. He’d accepted the ceiling in his career; Family Man was honest, calm and genuinely cared about doing the right thing. He tended to whisper. 8.) Script Man – Every mornin he’d call at the exact time using the exact voice from the day before. Early in his career he’d been confused about the business, so he decided to keep it simple. He never cracked a joke in his entire career. 9.) Five Foot Ten Man – He was just a dude, laid back, did a good job, didn’t love the business, but realized he could make twenty times more doing this than being a teacher or going into the family business. We got along great because we both knew we were frauds. 10.) Dr. Serious Man – He had the most important job in the world. Trading stocks and talking about the market were as important as finding a cure for cancer. He’d yell at his wife for calling at 9:15 a.m.; his kids weren’t welcome to pay a surprise visit to the office; and his clients weren’t always right — he was. Do these types still exist on Wall Street’s trading floors? Wherever there are orders flowing, they can be found.
I’m so honored and grateful… February 6, 2013 turneythe buy-side-book blog No Comments Right before we went to the printers I received one more blurb for the book. “This is why I keep my money safe and sound under the mattress. You could get high just reading this book. Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be Wall Street traders.” –James Patterson, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Along Came a Spider and Kiss the Girls And I’m so thankful for all of the other people who blurbed for me before. I’m very excited for June 4th… “Turney Duff is a natural storyteller, and his tale of how a naive kid from Maine traded in L.L. Bean for Armani and got sucked into the seamy side of Wall Street is almost impossible to put down. The book is by turns hilarious, harrowing, maddening, and illuminating. After this debut, the smart money will be on Duff.” –Bethany McLean, New York Times bestselling author of The Smartest Guys in the Room and All the Devils Are Here “Turney Duff’s The Buy Side picks up where the Academy Award-winning film about systemic corruption on Wall Street, ‘Inside Job,’ leaves off. Duff, who at one time was the promising rookie on the trading desk at troubled hedge fund Galleon, gives us a front-row seat to the Street’s dark side – but the tale also features a personal story that will have you cheeringas Duff fights his way through a jungle of excess and figures out what really matters. To all those who want to rule the market not just during business hours but after hours, beware — you may not have Duff’s survival skills.” –Lawrence G. McDonald, New York Times bestselling author of A Colossal Failure of Common Sense “The Buy Side takes the reader on an extremely wild ride so eloquently and honestly that we never want it to end. Cocaine wants everything you love and everything that loves you. Turney Duff had everything and nothing while trading billions of dollars on a razor’s edge. His book takes you from Wall Street to Skid Row to the Thompson Hotel – and then, mercifully, back to sanity and finding a place in the world. Hang on, The Buy Side is gonna move you around, and there are no seatbelts to keep you from getting hit hard.” –Brian O’Dea, author of High: Confessions of an International Drug Smuggler “The Buy Side is ‘Wall Street’ meets ‘Breaking Bad’ – except that this book is fact not fiction. Turney Duff yields to temptation at every turn, and the sheer volume of criminal behavior he saw, and even participated in, is astonishing…If you want to see Wall Street’s seamy underbelly firsthand, read this book.” –Frank Partnoy, bestselling author of F.I.A.S.C.O and Infectious Greed “If you took Gordon Gekko, Bud Fox, a copy of Bright Lights, Big City, and threw them in a blender with an ounce of cocaine, a bottle of Patron Tequila, and your favorite teddy bear you’d have yourself a Buy Side smoothie. Turney’s my kind of guy; a madman with heart. I couldn’t put the book down.” –Colin Broderick, author of Orangutan “Does Wall Street make people crazy or are crazy people simply attracted to Wall Street? The Buy Side doesn’t get us any closer to answering that question, but along the way we get a look inside perhaps the most ethically-challenged investment firm in recent memory, and a harrowing journey through drug addiction and recovery. This is not a musical comedy; at the end, you’re just relieved that Duff is alive.” –Jared Dillian, author of Street Freak: Money and Madness at Lehman Brothers “Turney Duff’s The Buy Side is the perfect parable for Wall Street’s lost decade. Duff’s account of his rise and fall has it all, from a fast-paced coke-crazed trip through Manhattan nightlife that conjures Bright Lights, Big City, to an eyewitness account of insider trading and front running that reads like a federal indictment. Broke but not broken, Duff ends up better than others on Wall Street have–sober, chastened, and lucky to be alive after the self-destructive excesses of easy money and empty ambition.” -Guy Lawson, New York Times bestselling author of Octopus
First Taste of the Apple… January 16, 2013 turneythe buy-side-book blog No Comments Over the past year, every time my phone dings with an email, I wonder, Is it about the book? Is it my agent? Is it my editor? What if it’s from my publisher? About a years ago I heard that same ding and I quickly checked. It was an email from my editor. Perhaps you’ve heard this… A novelist is a failed short story writer… A short story writer is a failed poet… The reason my editor wrote those lines was because we were having a minor tug of war over the length of the book. I didn’t think I could tell my story in under 400 pages and he was thinking 250 might be plenty. He was more right than I was: shorter is better It’s interesting looking back, because now I have six or seven chapters that no one has ever seen, not even my agent. But I think creating them was a necessary part of my process. They just didn’t fit in into the book’s arc. In losing those chapters I also lost some irony. For instance, the first chapter I wrote that’s not in the book was about the summer of 1976 when I came to New York City for the first time. I was a towheaded 6-year-old from Cleveland with a doting mom and a strict father and three older sisters. The trip was an all-expenses-paid weekend for a safety poster contest that I’d won. In a bid to win it all, I’d drawn a picture of a kid standing on a bike and pasted a picture of Fonzi on it with the caption: “The Fonz Says Sit On It.” What struck me as I worked on that ultimately-to-be-discarded chapter was how my first experience in NYC as a kid was much like how I was treated on any given night as a buy side trader. Working on the buy side was like when the lifeguard blows the whistle at 4 p.m. every afternoon and yells “free swim.” There were times when I was responsible for distributing $40 million in commissions. So that meant I had throngs of sell side guys courting me. We’ve all heard stories of extravagant Wall Street entertaining: the private jets, the floor seats at the Garden and the exclusive golf courses. But that’s only where it started for me. One broker offered to pay my monthly car garage expense; another wanted to establish an open tab for me at Mexican Radio, one of my favorite restaurants. But for shear determination, nothing beats the time a broker helped me remove a toilet from my Bleecker Street apartment. Never underestimate a sales trader on a 40% payout. He came over after work and helped me carry a ten year old toilet about three blocks over to the Bowery and then we ran as fast as we could to get away from the evidence. For the record – that’s worth about 500,000 shares the next trading session. These days I carry my own toilets, it builds character. Here’s an excerpt from the first chapter (not in the book) I wrote… My father leads our way to the baggage claim. I proudly wear my plastic wings compliments of the crew. My mother holds my hand, but excuses herself to smoke a cigarette when we get to our destination. Flocks of people perch and wait. The grand echoes from the baggage carrousel cue everyone’s attention. I want to get on and ride it. During the flight I had two cups of Orange Crush. My lips and teeth are carroty in color and my body circulates with caffeine. “Don’t move,” my father says as he tries to locate our luggage, and as he does my mom returns. A short time later, we’re soaking up “swank Manhattan” – shades of things to come: The Plaza Hotel operates like Santa’s workshop, organized chaos. White gloves and black and maroon outfits everywhere. The limo door opens. A uniformed man smiles and welcomes us. He instructs us to proceed to the front desk. A black man, wearing all white is opening up the trunk. I wonder why he’s stealing our luggage. No one seems to care; I keep my eye on him as we enter the front of the building. I’ll cut it off here. Other highlights to that chapter that is not in the book involve a blue leisure suit with a silk shirt and huge collars, a specially made cheeseburger at Mamma Leone’s, (not on the menu) and front row seats at the Magic Show staring Doug Henning — just your typical weekend for a 6-year-old on the buy side. In addition to the trip, I also received a $500 savings bond for the safety poster contest. And ten years later I’d cash it in to buy a moped. Everyone from Kennebunk probably knows the moped story, but if you don’t, maybe I’ll share it later…
What it Really Means… December 19, 2012 turneythe buy-side-book blog No Comments When I first started on Wall Street in 1994, I knew less than nothing. It was embarrassing. But as the years went on I finally figured out what things REALLY MEAN… * “Sooooo, are we still on for tonight?” Really means – I still have stripper glitter stuck on my neck from last night and I’d prefer it if you would cancel. * “I gotta hop” Really means – Leave me alone I’m reading www.danzatap.com * “Would you like 4 Mets tickets this weekend?” Really means – You are my absolute last resort and these tickets landed in my lap when the back office guy’s sister didn’t want them. * “I treat your orders just like it’s my kid’s college money.” Really means – I’ve really botched this order up and pleasedon’t cut me off. * “Hey can you call me on the outside.” Really means – I have the most insane hooker story for you. * “I’m jammed up.” Really means – Go haunt a house and leave me alone. *“Hey can I call you at home tonight?” Really means – I have a job offer, but it’s dependent on you trading a million dollars in commissions with me next year. * “Is it allergy season?” Really means – I did a lot of cocaine last night so please stop staring at me every time I sniffle. * “I caught another seller.” Really means – My market maker might be the worst trader on the street, sorry about your forthcoming report. *“Does anyone have the NY Post?” Really means – I’m going to be in the bathroom for a really long time. Can you watch my orders? * “We aren’t allowed to open any new accounts, but try back in six months.” Really means – you should leave the firm you are working for – Immediately… * “Let’s do a breakfast.” Really means – I’m a recovering alcoholic, an active alcoholic or an aspiring alcoholic and I don’t want you to see me at night. * “We got 25k MSFT for sale.” Really means – I’m living proof that there should be more cuts on Wall Street. * “We should get Justin Bieber tickets and bring your kids.” Really means – I will do ANYTHING for an order; see how wide I can open my mouth… * “Bobby isn’t in yet, he’s in a meeting.” Really means – Were the f&ck is Bobby? * “Last night when I was looking at my charts I noticed a correlation between…” Really means – I wear black jeans on casual Fridays. * “According to the F-Test, the portfolio’s return are heteroscedastic. If we use a weighted-least squares approach, we should be able to model the portfolio’s future returns without the use of a stochastic random variable.” Really means – I browse the amputee section at my local porn shop on the weekends. * “I hate Wall Street.” Really means – I hate Wall Street, but love money.