Bill Gray was fairly well dressed, always
a hat and a tie. He never looked out of place on Montgomery Street,
the Wall Street of the West Coast.
He stood a few feet from the entrance
of my office building in front of a popular coffee shop. If you
saw him standing there looking up at the Schwab sign across the
street with his pencil in hand, you wouldn’t think anything
unusual was going on. You’d figure he’s just some
guy watching how the Stock Market was going, checking the electronic
Seeing him every day at his station,
however, would give one pause, as, "What in hell is he writing
down in that book and why?” Every time the Schwab sign indicated
a change in the Dow, up or down, he lowered his head and intently
wrote; a very busy person.
It turns out that Bill does leave his
post occasionally. He runs into my building to the pay phone in
the back. He pretends to call his broker, reading from his notebook,
barking out instructions on trades.
Management of the building finally banned
him from this practice as he grew rather excited and loud during
these imaginary conversations.
This did not curb Bill's schedule. Every
day, rain or shine, there he was, keeping score. We think.
Then one day Bill’s not there and
was never seen again.