Wachovia
The word “algorithm” dates back 900 years. It originated in Persia and was named after a genius who invented the number system. Later, he invented the decimal point and even algebra itself. “Algoritmi” is the Latinized version of his name.
In Latin, “algorismus” meant the decimal number system.
By the 13th Century, it was an English word.
By the late 19th Century, an algorithm meant a set of step-by-step rules for solving a problem.
In the early part of the 20th Century, Alan Turing figured out how a machine could, in theory, follow algorithmic instructions and solve complex problems.
The textbooks tell us that women had nothing to do with algorithms. But I knew six sisters who rewrote the code of survival on Wall Street without needing a compiler: Denise, Doreen, Dorothy, Donna, Debbie, and Diane.
The first time I met Denise I told her, “Jesus, you look like a bitch when you walk out of the office.” And she replied, “What do you think this place does to you?”
Denise worked at Wachovia. Wells Fargo bought them and was instantly oversubscribed for sales traders during a financial crisis.
I asked Denise if she’d like to cover Soros, and she says, “If I still have a job in an hour, I’ll be thrilled.”
My offer gave her the confidence to avoid the woodchipper. Eventually, Wells put her on commission and gave her a corporate card. She worked her ass off, went out every night, and met everyone she could. Due to her efforts, Wells decided to keep New York equity sales and even began to hire more people.
She calls them halcyon days: happiness, success, and prosperity.
A few years later, Wells Fargo sent a team to New York, so Denise set up as many meetings as possible for them. The Wells people ate and drank through the city, leaving with a new appreciation for the overly-indulgent Federal Reserve.
Eventually, I meet them all at the Ace. I walk into the hotel with shorts and a t-shirt, hammered, and Denise has a wall of suits with her. Every male looks the same—six feet, good hair, pinstripe suit, with a look of studied indifference or a sneer. Over her shoulder, I see a massive suckling pig and 40 orders of French fries. No one is eating anything.
Denise looks relieved to see me, but I hate pigs. Denise keeps saying, The pig’s here; you have to eat it and I’m like No, I want the fish.
You have to eat it, she repeated, almost pleading.
I don’t have to do anything. I’ll get the fish; don’t worry about it. I’m fine.
Look, everyone is here. It cost eleven hundred dollars.
Then, we all started teasing her for not knowing her customers. Surrounded by men, she grimaced, then took the slings and barbs in stride.
***
Somewhere in the distant echoes of who we once were, Denise and I met at Bethesda Fountain. The Central Park sculpture, also known as the Angel of the Waters, was designed by Emma Stebbins, the first female to receive a commission for a significant public work of art in New York City. I asked her what advice she would give a young woman embarking on the Wall Street rat race. And this is what she said:
Cherish every moment; it goes too fast.
Don’t take things so seriously. It always bugged me that I didn’t get to go to lunch with the guys, but I was just envious of my sisters who did, the ones who owned it.
All day, the voice in my head said, ‘They don’t like me; they don’t want me here.’ But I could’ve schooled anyone on that floor in hockey. Why not? As long as the stick is below the crossbar, it’s any game you want it to be.
At my best in finance, I was like a professional sportsman, making plays and taking hits in stride. I loved the game but sweated the small stuff too much. All the social drama felt like a big deal at the time, but why worry about it? You’re on Wall Street; worry about your business.
Ultimately, neither of us ate the pig, the symbol of ultimate indulgence. But we both played the game.
***
Wachovia didn’t feature in Occupy a Job on Wall Street, but I’m always open to a stroll around Central Park.
