Bear Stearns: Bare, Stern

This NYTimes article provides the most detailed account of a firing I’ve ever read in a paper. Warren J. Spector at Bear Stearns got the boot because his unit controlled the hedge funds that imploded a few weeks back. The first hint that it’s a weird article is the description of the firing:

Sitting behind his half moon desk on which stood computer terminals and a large metal-box lighter, Mr. Cayne broke the news to Mr. Spector that he wanted his resignation.

Seemed like a little more info than we needed. Then it began exploring the two men’s history with the game of bridge:

Indeed, with Mr. Spector’s own talent for bridge — he achieved the rank of life master at age 16 in 1974 — and his expertise in all varieties of bonds, it was widely assumed that Mr. Cayne would pass on the reins to Mr. Spector. (The two men’s devotion to bridge is highlighted by the fact that they both attended the North American bridge championship in Nashville late last July, at a time of increasing turmoil in the credit markets.)

But while bridge might have functioned as a bonding agent between Mr. Cayne and his predecessor, Alan C. Greenberg, it could not do the same for Mr. Spector — especially in the wake of the hedge fund meltdown at the firm’s asset management division.

Did I mention there’s too much detail?

In part this was a function of their sharply different personalities. Mr. Cayne is a raw, cigar-chomping man who embraces the scrappy, street-fighting ethos of the firm. Mr. Spector, who wears his thick head of hair longer than that of the standard banker, has more of suave, relaxed affect.

I guess the big question is: which guy’s the better bridge partner?

(Update: The WSJ article on Spector’s firing adds even more details, including the facts that he “wears black-rimmed glasses and maintains a trim physique”. . . and that he attended St. John’s College, where I got my master’s degree)

Go, fish

I return to A River Runs Through It every so often. The exploration of art, grace and family has become a touchstone for me, even though I’m not Presbyterian, have never fished, and have no plans to visit Montana. I find the writing beautiful and always get teary in the final pages.

I just finished re-reading it this morning. Here’s a piece:

As the heat mirages on the river in front of me danced with and through each other, I could feel patterns from my own life joining with them. It was here, while waiting for my brother, that I started this story, although of course at the time I did not know that stories of life are often more like rivers than books. But I knew a story had begun, perhaps long ago near the sound of water. And I sensed that ahead I would meet something that would never erode so there would be a sharp turn, deep circles, a deposit, and quietness.

The fisherman even has a phrase to describe what he does when he studies the patterns of a river. He says he is “reading the water,” and perhaps to tell his stories he has to do much the same thing. Then one of his biggest problems is to guess where and at what time of day life lies ready to be taken as a joke. And to guess whether it is going to be a little or a big joke.

For all of us, though, it is much easier to read the waters of tragedy.

–Norman Maclean

It’s funny but, as I look over that passage now, it lies flat and seems kinda preachy. I suppose you really need to read the whole thing.

Be mindful

Our friends John & Liz hosted a pool party yesterday, so Amy & I took her Mini for a spin up the NYThruway and had a lovely, relaxing time — surprising given the amount of small children present — meeting old friends and making new ones.

Oh, and we took pictures. I know you’ll be surprised to read that.

look up sometimes

Here’s my photoset from the day. Amy’s should be posted soon are over here!