Listen to “The Fly”: Don’t ‘Old Man Scott’ Yourselves

One of my favorite pastimes is reading old newspapers. The easiest ways to do this is via the NY Times archives, sting back to 1851, part of a monthly subscription plan (yes, I subscribe to the FAILING NY Times). I came across this article tonight and wanted to share it with you. I am fairly certain I am the first to cover the tragic ending of Wallace Scott, known as ‘Old Man Scott’ on Wall Street, in well over 100 years. But the lessons are as fresh and relevant today as they were in 1909 when he passed.

The author of the above column didn’t discuss how Mr. Scott made it on Wall Street, only how he fell into ruin. The circumstances of Scott’s failure weren’t all that notable. How many of you are familiar with the great panic of 1904?

People are often remembered by how they finished, not how they started — just like movies. It’s an odd juxtaposition, considering that most people are sentimental and often reminisce over the good times of yesteryear — yet are so quick to cement the character and lives of others by how they finished.

No one cares about your plight. Your rise to fortune are meaningless footnotes in time. As I write this, I know many of you trollops are taking outsized risks in the market and the reason for that is because you’re trying to get rich. If and when you fail, you’ll simply chalk it up to needing to risk money to make money. You’ll lie to your wives and loved one’s about the true nature of your failure, having “Old Man Scotted” yourselves into the poorhouse. But you know the true culprit, utter and extreme stupidity — a sordid blend of ignorance that makes people willfully ruin themselves at the altar of greed.

Let me be your conscience and a stark reminder that today’s success can easily morph into tomorrow’s failure.

Having said that, “The Fly” doesn’t intend to ever fail again, having done so once after the dot bomb era and have gone straight up ever since. I’m the MNCS.ob (old schoolers know) of this trading game, fully evolved at the highest levels — tier one gravity hammer wielding alpha-predator, defecating on subpar knuckle-dragging spit catchers for sport. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be tossing grenades at the market again, lacing fuckers up and knocking them out cold just to prove a point.

(NOTE: If I didn’t remind you, 99% of you would only remember this article by the vitriolic rant during the last paragraph, instead of the narrative woven in every paragraph that was laid before it. Point proven, QED).