Well into my second year at Harvard Business School (HBS), spring was coming, Bostonâs snow was melting, and classmates were accepting job offers when one of them asked one day at lunch, âCharley, have you decided on a job yet?â
âNot yet. Several good interviews, but no definite offers. Why do you ask?â
âMy father has a friend whoâs looking for an MBA to work at Rockefeller. Could that interest you?â
Thinking he meant the Rockefeller Foundation, I said I was interested. âGreat!â he said, âExpect a call from a man with an unusual name: Strange.â
So I soon agreed to meet Robert Strangeâat his suggestion in the remarkably unremarkable third-floor âapartmentâ of three rooms off one open landing in an old Victorian frame house where my wife and I were living. At the appointed time, Bob Strange rang the doorbell and cheerfully followed me up the stairs. Sitting together on secondhand chairs that might have come from Goodwill, we began to talk. After half an hour, I knew I could learn a lot from a man as thoughtful, informed, and articulate as Bob Strange, so if he offered me a job I would take it. But while it was becoming clear that he did not work at the Rockefeller Foundation, it wasnât clear what kind of work he did do. Iâd better find out.
During the next half hour, I learned his work involved investing, a field I knew nothing about but that sounded interesting, and his employer was Rockefeller Brothers, Inc., which managed investments for Rockefeller family members and philanthropies they had endowed. The interview seemed to go well, and near the end Bob said, âWell, weâve covered quite a lot of ground, Charley. Would you like to join us?â I said yes. Then Bob asked, âWhen would you like to start?â and, smiling, went on to suggest, âWith vacations and all, summers are rather quiet, so why donât you come in on Tuesday after Labor Day?â I said âFine. Iâll be there,â and that was that.
After Bob left, I went to tell my wife, who had been discreetly reading in the bedroom with the door closed. âGood news! I got the job.â
âGreat! What will you be doing?â
âInvesting.â
âSounds interesting! What will you get paid?â
âGosh, I forgot to ask.â
Setting my pay at $6,000 was, I later learned, easy. Thatâs what the Rockefeller bankâChase Manhattanâpaid first-year MBAs and also what the Family paid beginning domestic servants.
That was in 1963. Few of my Harvard Business School classmates went into investments and only a very few went to Wall Street. Several went into commercial banking, almost always for the training programs and a few years of experience before moving on to a corporate jobâbut almost never for a career.
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âChahley, Chahley, didnât you learn anything about investing at Hahvud?â My supervisor, Phil Bauer, had just finished reading my first reportâon textile stocksâ at Rockefeller Brothers, Inc. He was not pleased. My report was all too obviously the work of a rank beginner.
Confessing the obvious, I explained that the only course on investing at Harvard Business School was notoriously dull, given by a boring professor and dealing largely with the tedious routines of a local bankâs junior trust officer administering trusts for the family of a wealthy widow, Miss Hilda Heald. Instead of the usual class size of 80, the course had only a dozen studentsâall looking for a âgutâ course where decent grades were assured because the professor needed students for his course. Meeting from 11:30 to 1:00, the course was aptly known as Darkness at Noon.
âWell, Chahley, the Rockafellahs ah rich people, but not so rich they can afford a complete beginnah like you! You gotta learn somethinâ about investinââand soon!â Before the day was over, arrangements were made for me to join the training program at a Wall Street firm, Wertheim & Company, to learn the basics of securities analysis; to join the New York Society of Security Analysts so I could hear companiesâ presentations and meet other analysts; and to enroll in night courses on investment basics at New York Universityâs downtown business school. Tuition would be paid so long as my grades were B+ or betterâgenerous terms and important for a married guy living in New York City on a salary of $6,000. The fall term was about to begin, so I went to register for courses.
Arriving at a large room where a sign said REGISTRATION, I joined one of several long lines of twenty-somethings and eventually stood in front of a card table with a typewriter on it and a young woman sitting behind it. âSpecial or regular?â she asked. Since I didnât answer quickly, she rephrased her question: âAre you a special student or a regular student?â
âCan you explain the difference?â
âSure, special students are just taking one or two courses; regular students are in a degree program. Whatâs your latest school and last degree?â
âHarvard Business SchoolâMBA.â
âOh wow! Harvard Business School! Thatâs really great! Well, since you already have your MBA, you should be in our PhD program!â
âDoes it cost more?â
âSame price. Why not try it? You can always drop out.â
Since nobody in my family had ever earned a PhD, I thought, âWhy not?â It might be interesting and it would surprise my sister and brother, who had always gotten higher grades. I signed up with no idea that it would take me 14 long years to complete the PhD.
At NYU, I took two courses three nights a week, starting with proudly traditional courses in securities analysis, where the older faculty showed us how to analyze financial statements, estimate capital expenditures and their incremental rates of return, and create flow-of-funds statements. We also learned, during the 15-minute break between classes, how to dash two blocks to the hamburger shop, wolf bites of hot hamburger with gulps of cold milkshake to obtain a tolerable average temperature, and dash back to class.
The theoretical part of my training came from courses taught by the younger faculty, who were excited about and deeply engaged in the then new world of efficient markets, Modern Portfolio Theory, and the slew of research studies made possible by large new databases.
The practical part of my training took far less time: six eye-opening months at Wertheim & Company. Training was led by Joseph R. Lasser, a superb financial analyst with a warm personality who enjoyed showing us that the accounts in financial reports were a language that could be translated into a superior understanding of business realities if you got behind the reported numbers. A patient teacher-coachââLet me show you how ⌠and then you show me you can do itââJoe believed in clearly written reports because clear writing required clear thinking and thorough understanding of a companyâs business. Joe also believed each report should tell an investment story that would hold the readerâs interest without ever promoting the stock beyond the two underlined words in the upper left corner of page one of each report: Purchase Recommendation.
As research director of a major securities firm and an accomplished financial analyst and investor, Joe was one of the first to become a Chartered Financial Analyst, or CFA. That new certificationâpresumptuously described as the equivalent of a Certified Public Accountant (CPA) or a Chartered Life Underwriter (CLU), which at first it certainly was notâwould soon require passing three all-day written examinations that assessed the candidateâs skills in financial analysis and portfolio management. Joe said he thought we should all enroll in the study program, take the exams, and earn CFA Charters.1 So we sent off for the study materials and the list of books we should read, studied on our own, and took the examsâinvariably given each year on the most beautiful Saturday in June.
I was declared too young to take the third and final exam in 1968, and had to wait a year to mature. That same year, that third exam devoted the entire afternoon to one essay question: âPlease Commentâ on a recently published article brazenly titled âTo Get Performance, You Have to Be Orga...