By Alex Berger
(Mr. Webster, your definition is wrong. It should include “or losing your shirt.”)Like most Americans, I have had my share of hard knocks. And I thought my luck was about to change on that “Black Sunday” when my neighbor, Vincent, a stockbroker, and I, were attending a Giants football game. He suggested that I invest in the stock market and he invited me to his office the next day. I should have known better as I watched the Giants lose that day. But, alas and alack, I didn't realize my Giants were telling me something.Even Gloria tried to stop me. She said, “Why is the investment broker, who invests all your money, called a BROKER? And, if Vincent was so great, why does he still have to work? Gloria was right. I should have been firm and liquidated Vincent's spiel from my mind. But, readers, much to my regret, I learned a good lesson that day – always listen to your wife.Once I was ensconced in Vincent's office, he got me. He showed me a wall plaque indicating that his grandfather, Vincent Sr., was voted the Stockbroker of the Year – in 1929! “He taught me all I know,” chirped Vincent III, proudly. “How is the market doing right now, Vin?” I inquired. (I called him Vin because it rhymed with 'Win'.) “See, you have become a professional investor, already,” he responded.”According to my instant, up-to-date indicator report of what's what and what's not, Helium is up. Feathers are down. Paper is stationary. Pencils lost a few points and Toilet Tissue touched a new bottom.” I was very impressed. He next pointed to his desk sign, which stated “the buck stops here.” In my case, it certainly did.Vincent suggested that I must always be alert and well attuned to the economic heartbeat of America, and learn to cry a lot. But, brimming with confidence, I bravely advised Vincent that I wanted to be bullish. But the next day, I wanted to be bearish, and I soon became brokish. The minute Vincent took my money, my stocks fell so rapidly, my blue-chip stocks turned a morbidly white.I knew that I didn't understand the stock market but I believed in Vincent. He said that stocks would provide security for Gloria and me in our old age. I discovered all it did was hasten its arrival. After a few weeks, Vincent sent me my first, beautifully printed stock report, much to my dismay. I turned to Gloria and said, “Our green pastures of retirement are looking parched. Remember those investments we were going to retire on at 55? Well, our retirement age is now 348.As I kept losing, Gloria asked why I was continuing. “We never have to worry about taxes,” I responded. Why is it that a person can lose so much money on something called securities? I discovered when a person is rich on the stock market, it is on paper – and when he is broke, it is in cash. The stock market has its own system of checks and balances. For every nut selling, there is another nut buying.The fluctuation has made me money-mad. I am mad because it took my money away. The stocks that I purchased aren't even listed in the financial pages any more. They are now found in the obituary section. However, I did have one bit of good news recently. My migraine split two for one. The stock market is so volatile, I became rich and poor on the same day. Despite our losses, Vincent said that my financial situation has become fluid. It certainly has. Every stock was going down the drain. I know that you can't take it with you, but the way the market has gone, I think my stocks will get there before I do. But, really, my financial losses don't really bother me. At night, I sleep like a baby – I sleep for an hour, then get up and cry for an hour.Last week, Vincent, very excitedly, called me and said, “I think you should buy a thousand shares of this company. I asked, “Why?” He answered, “Because it is the only way I can sell mine.” I finally had a man-to-man talk with him. He set up a personalized, calculated, all-encompassing program designed to reach certain investment goals during the next five years – such as getting even. He informed me that my losses weren't his fault. The bears simply ate all the bulls. Have you noticed that barbers are charging more because the faces have become longer?Do you know what the latest dope on Wall Street is? Me! I have taken a philosophical view of things. If God had intended for me to be rich, He never would have given me the stock market. The more I visit my stockbroker today, the more I will visit the pawnbroker tomorrow. Vincent has learned to do one thing very well – apologize.Some investors do okay playing the stock market. A man I know borrowed $100,000. He invested it and lost every penny. He climbed on a high ledge and jumped off. A stroke of good luck finally shone on him – he landed on his stockbroker!But, in retrospect, if my stocks did well, what would Gloria and I do with all the money? We could buy a wardrobe of expensive Italian suits and dresses, a fleet of fancy cars, and a house in Palm Springs in California. Perhaps I could also buy season tickets to the Giant football games for my two sons, my two daughters-in-law, my four grandchildren, my editor and Vincent. John Travolta would fly Gloria and me to New York for every Giants home game at Giants Stadium in his private Lear jet, with Angelina Jolie as the flight attendant. Yes, and I would hire Phil Simms to help Eli Manning become a better Giants quarterback next season.P.S.: This morning, I finally made a killing in the stock market. I shot Vincent!Reach columnist Alex Berger at timesledger@aol.com or call 718-229-0300, Ext. 138.
