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Reminiscences of a Stock Operator
used to squeeze the boys with some frequency and make them pay high prices for the
Erie "sheers" they had sold short to him. He was himself squeezed by Commodore
Vanderbilt in Erie, and when old Drew begged for mercy the Commodore grimly quoted
the Great Bear's own deathless distich:
He that sells what isn't his'n Must buy it back or go to pris'n.
Wall Street remembers very little of an operator who for more than a generation was one
of its Titans. His chief claim to immortality seems to be the phrase "watering stock."
Addison G. Jerome was the acknowledged king of the Public Board in the spring of
1863. His market tips, they tell me, were considered as good as cash in bank. From all
accounts he was a great trader and made millions. He was liberal to the point of
extravagance and had a great following in the Street until Henry Keep, known as
William the Silent, squeezed him out of all his millions in the Old Southern corner.
Keep, by the way, was the brother-in-law of Gov. Roswell P. Flower.
In most of the old corners the manipulation consisted chiefly of not letting the other man
know that you were cornering the stock which he was variously invited to sell short. It
therefore was aimed chiefly at fellow professionals, for the general public does not take
kindly to the short side of the account. The reasons that prompted these wise
professionals to put out short lines in such stocks were pretty much the same as prompts
them to do the same thing to-day. Apart from the selling by faith-breaking politicians in
the Harlem corner of the Commodore, I gather from the stories I have read that the
professional traders sold the stock because it was too high. And the reason they thought
it was too high was that it never before had sold so high; and that made it too high to
buy; and if it was too high to buy it was just right to sell. That sounds pretty modern,
doesn't it? They were thinking of the price, and the Commodore was thinking of the
value! And so, for years afterwards, old-timers tell me that people used to say, "He went
short of Harlem!" whenever they wished to describe abject poverty.
Many years ago I happened to be speaking to one of Jay Gould's old brokers. He assured
me earnestly that Mr. Gould not only was a most unusual man it was of him that old
Daniel Drew shiveringly remarked, "His touch is Death!" but that he was head and
shoulders above all other manipulators past and present. He must have been a financial
wizard indeed to have done what he did; there can be no question of that. Even at this
distance I can see that he had an amazing knack for adapting himself to new conditions,
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