Walter Wriston, Joe Pevehouse, WWII

"Those were simpler times."

Walter Wriston was CEO of Citi Bank plus being a savior of NYC from bankruptcy. For whatever insane reason I sent Mr.Wriston a copy of a book, South by South East by Walter Cronkite. The book's paper cover had a picture of the steamship Rex.

Meeting Mr. Wriston at John Gardiner's Tennis Ranch in the very early 80's is a highlight of my life. He was there with General Haig, Oscar Dunn of General Electric and Mrs.Wriston. General Haig was consumed with his self importance and Oscar Dunn was kinda a smart, good ole boy. My view was that Mrs.Wriston was the smartest of the group.

Mr. Wriston sent me a thank you note in which he said that he had, with his parents, taken the Rex on his first trip to Europe. He ended the note by saying, "Those were simpler times."

Some parts, of just being a civilian during WW II were toxic. Being young and a civilian wasn't all peaches and cream. The social pressure to be in the service was enormous. Being a young, healthy looking male and working as a civilian, on warships in the Brooklyn Navy Yard drew no kudos.You were a fucking draft dodger.

And when the war ended and we came home if you didn't wear a pin, we called The Ruptured Duck, on the lapel of your suit coat people kinda stared at you. The pin was formally known as the Honorable Service Pin and issued when discharged. Where the name Ruptured Duck came from God only knows.The Pins are currently for sale on eBay.

Jew's in uniform looked down at the civilian Jews who wouldn't fight Hitler and Tojo.We didn't bother to ask why they were still civilians. They just had to be fuck offs. Talk about discrimination.

But the war changed a lot of attitudes in NY. A Jew with a yarmulke could walk through German Yorktown in Manhattan without worrying about getting his fucking brains beat out by American Firster's, Third Reich lovers or a combination of the above.

Farewell parties for guys leaving for the Service were the order of the day. They always ended up being big time drunk scenes and they happened with great, almost weekly, regularity. Sometimes I wonder if that is when I started down the slippery slope of alcoholism.

Reminds me of our hospital ship stopping in Honolulu going home back to the States, getting a few hours shore leave and spending those hours drinking shots and beer. We were sure, having survived Okinawa, that we were indestructible. But I don't harbor Woody Allen's wish of becoming immortal by living forever. Just the thought of taking a fucking diuretic and constantly needing to pee for an eternity sounds awful.

Before we got to Honolulu we stopped in Yokohama. A bunch of us went directly, didn't pass GO, to a whorehouse.Once there, the thought of getting a dose and being forced to stay in the Army for another 60-90 days made my erection go away. Despite having paid my money I left. Jackin' off was a great dose preventative. Better than a med but not as good as getting laid.

Around 1980 sitting on a transcontinental DC 10 going to NYC, I was sitting next to gal. By definition a Jew like me can't sit next to someone for almost 5 hours without knowing what the hell that person does for a living. So I asked her. Turns out that this gal was a huge big shot in the consumer credit part of Citi Bank.

She in turn asked me what I did for a living.

"I'm a promoter."

"Really.", she says, "Tell me really what you do".

Out comes my business card which says 'Investment Banker'.

"Wow.", she says, "How did you become an investment banker?".

"I don't know how anyone else became an investment banker but I went to a printing shop and for $3.50 worth of business cards I became an investment banker. Pretty simple."

The woman looked at me like I was a bull with a bastard calf and never spoke to me again.

Those Investment Banker business cards were magic. My self invented title did help get me into a lot of places. But once inside, the interviewer knew, right away, that my master's degree came from the Bronx, Barnes Avenue School of Street Survival..

But then, at the end of the day, it all got down to the Joe Pevehouse mantra that, "If you can't dazzle them with your foot work then blind them with your bullshit". And I invented bullshit.

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