Part 4

Monkey Business; Swinging Through the Wall Street Jungle
by John Rolfe, Peter Troob

(Page 4 of 5)

"Yeah, right, Troob. Tommy Lee is only taking two guys this year and KKR is taking one. You're good, but either your dad has got to be loaded or you've got to get the managing partner laid if you want that job."

"Well, maybe I'll look at the banking jobs again."

"What! Troob, are you insane?"

"Where else am I going to make that kind of money? Anyway, it's a stepping-stone to a better job. It'll open up opportunities for me in the future. It'll help me get to the buy-side."

"Jesus, man, I don't know."

"Look, I can't discuss this anymore, Danny. I've got to get out of this steam room. My balls look like raisins."

Danny and I ended up interviewing at all the investment banking houses. We were sucked in even before the whole recruiting process began. We had fallen into the trap of money, prestige, and security. We were about to start the selling of our souls. We entered the Harvard Business School fray and away we went.

Presentations and Cocktail Parties

At Wharton, the highly scripted mating dance during which the recruiters first made contact with the recruits corresponded, by no great coincidence, with the first few weeks of classes. Rolling updates of scheduled recruiter visits were distributed to all the students on a weekly basis, and a prominent announcement heralded each day's corporate arrivals: "Coming today, Merrill Lynch in Room 1, Booze Allen in Room 2, and Johnson & Johnson in Room 3."

Subliminally, what was being said was, "Those interested in the big money will head directly to rooms 1 and 2, and anybody with a yen to learn how to market rubber nipples and non-petroleum-based sexual lubricants will kindly report to room 3." The daily routine was nothing if not consistent. The last classes of the day ended at 4:30 p.m. The first corporate presentations of the day began at 4:45 p.m. For Troob at Harvard, or for me at Wharton, it was all the same.

The recruiters' presentations were no small-time affair. More often than not, the big guns themselves came out to make the sales pitch. CEOs and presidents of America's Fortune 500 regularly swallowed their pride, pressed their suits, and shuffled past the rows of Formica-topped desks to go to the head of the class. Once there, they described in gushing terms how incredibly honored they were to be standing in front of America's finest business school students, and why their diamond-encrusted clubhouse was truly the only one to consider becoming a member of.

John Chalsty, then president and head of the Banking Group at DLJ, described just how fortunate he'd been to be able to spend the last twenty-five years of his career at DLJ. DLJ was the hottest firm on Wall Street. It employed a lot fewer bankers than Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley, or First Boston, but when it came to salaries, bonuses, and sexy deals, it was the big time. It was a swank firm full of young, aggressive bankers, many of whom were ex-Drexel Burnham Lambert employees. These were the guys who'd defined Wall Street in the eighties, and they had a flair for the adventurous. They were deal makers, and junk bonds (or, in the 1990s' cleaned-up lingo, "high-yield bonds") were their forte. DLJ was the home of the high-yield bond, and high-yield bond sales were on a rapid rise. Chalsty, dressed like we imagined a banker would be-Hermes tie, handmade suit, Ferragamo shoes, and a monogrammed shirt-exhorted us in his regal South African accent:

"Just go out and do what makes you happy. It's so important to be happy in this life, I implore you, just go out and find what it is that makes you happy and really, truly satisfies you, and then don't stop until you've made all your dreams come true."

He spoke on, telling tales of his trip to Russia as a member of a governmental delegation sent to provide advice to the Russian economic and political chieftains on opening the markets to capitalism. He spoke of the professional opportunities that awaited us at DLJ, the camaraderie, the ability to realize our potential. By God, this man sounded like a genius! You could see the eager MBAs pleading, "Where do I sign? I'll polish shoes! I'll scrub toilets! I'll bugger a billy goat! I'll do anything, as long as it's with John Chalsty at DLJ!"

And then, in a moment of subtle biting wit so perfect for the moment that it made the whole room feel faint, Mr. Chalsty handed the podium over to Lou Charles, at that time head of the Equity Research and Trading Group: "I'd like to introduce Lou Charles, the head of our Equity Research and Trading department. Good God, Lou, where on earth did you get that tie? It looks like the tablecloth at the Mexican restaurant I dined at two evenings ago." The walls of the classroom literally shook with laughter. An unprecedented level of mirth! Amazing! Unprecedented hilarity! They're such good friends that they're making fun of each other right here in front of everybody! Everyone in the room was begging, "Tell me, HOW CAN I GET A JOB HERE?"

Copyright © 2000 by John Rolfe and Peter Troob

About the Author

John Rolfe grew up in Virginia, the heart of Dixie. He survived on a daily diet of collard greens and ham hocks. He attended the first in a long line of parent-teacher conferences for disciplinary problems as a kindergartner after hocking a loogie onto another student in his gym class. John's parents deny all responsibility for his early, ornery demeanor.

Peter Troob grew up on the rough and tumble streets of Scarsdale New York. While in grade school he starred in James and the Giant Peach and then went on to be Sonny in the Scarsdale High School senior play, Grease. Only 5'8", Peter mistakenly fancied himself a career in the NBA until, during his senior year in high school, he tore his anterior cruciate ligament and decided to take up golf instead.