Tony is the guy who wore a wire to take down the Wolf of Wall Street. If there ever were a sequel, it would basically be Tony's life story. Tony actually wrote his bio while in prison. Here is an excerpt of the first few pages.
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How I went from the dusty streets of Cairo through America's most notorious bucket-shops to leading a crusade against fraud on Wall Street only to confront the dark allegations of extortion and FBI corruption and ended up as the only US citizen ever accused of knowing about the 9/11 attacks BEFORE they happened, is the story I'm about to share.
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I had just pulled a long drag on a Marlboro that one of my buddies had given me, since I was out and was looking out the large showroom window as he pulled up. He was young, mid twenties, sharply dressed, hair gelled and had a hot olive skinned companion who struck me as being either Italian or Greek. She was Brazilian. He looked like he either had money or was trying very hard to pretend he did. I decided to believe him and quickly tossed my cancer-stick behind someone else's parked car as I came out the door. I needed to get to him first. The place, C & M Chevrolet on Balboa Avenue in America's finest city, San Diego, California.
He was 26, his name believe it or not, was strange - John Strange and he said he wanted a corvette. I was 19 and had dropped out of USC and then San Diego State as a Bio-Med and then a Micro-Biology major, but I was also good, real good.
Earlier that summer between semesters at USC and San Diego State, instead of going back to Chicago to see my folks I decided to stick around, make a few bucks and chase girls. I Landed a job at a dealership near school on the crime-infested El Cajon Boulevard named Hagen Chevrolet as a "lot-boy". My job was to wash & move cars, jump start batteries and basically do whatever the salesmen and managers needed done. Within the 1st week I knew it wasn't going to work. There were guys and even a few gals that were making between $200 and $1000 on each car they sold and this place was located in a dump. My $4.50/hour wasn't gonna cut it.
As I watched the more experienced salesmen, saw what they did and heard what they said, it became clear to me that I could do the same if not better. I asked to join the ranks if the open-floor salesforce at Hagen and after a 60 second interview with the Sates manager, I was in.
Within 2 weeks I outsold everyone there. If someone came on the lot and I got a hold of them they were leaving in either a new or used car unless of course they were among those people common to El Cajon Blvd, who could never buy a car, people we called "roaches". People whose credit was loaded with charge-efts and collection accounts and or people either without a job or a pot to piss in. Within my first 30 days I sold 24 cars and earned myself close to $3,000, big bucks by Hagen standards, but then again Hagen had just one Corvette on the lot and 30 Chevy Sprints. So just as quickly, once again I became unhappy. I figured I could do better, all I needed was a better store.
Not surprisingly, going back to school wasn't even an option anymore, I had tasted money that I had earned and had no desire to go back. I had no interest in spending another 2 or 3 years to get my degree, then another 4 at Medical School. I wanted to get out and earn a living now, so I set out to learn the car business so that "one day" I would own my own dealership. And being 19 and it sounding at least like some sort of plan, its what I told my parents.
My parents however, didn't take this news very well. They were both very much academically oriented, my father had a PhD in Mechanical Engineering and my mother was an MD and successful Anesthesiologist. Plus they had already spent a small fortune on me at USC so when I told them that I wanted to quit school so that I could become a car salesman, well, as you can imagine - it didn't go over too well.
In any event, my mind had been made up, all I needed now was to just find a more prestigious location to establish myself. Armed with a 30 day track record, a pressed cardboard salesman of the month plaque and an ego as big Southern California, I landed a spot at one of San Diego's biggest Chevy Dealers, C & M Chevrolet. And I excelled. I mean- I killed 'em,
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Anyway, back to John Strange, after finding & driving a blue Corvette that John seemed partial to we all headed back to my little open doored office just off the showroom floor and once again began the dance that only I knew. Since Corvettes are expensive and John was young I wanted to find out if John's eyes were bigger than his wallet. I didn't want to waste my time talking numbers to some bullshit artist or some guy just trying to impress a girl. I found the best way to deflate the rhetoric and terminate the massive waste of time lost to these guys in such encounters was to pull out the credit application first.
Strange didn't flinch, his answers were short to the point and non-evasive, a good sign: "Occupation?" Stock Broker. Employer? Blinder Robinson, Years employed? 3 years 6 months. Income? About $20,000.
Huh? I looked up at him then down at the sticker price sheet of $54,000, then up again and asked. "How much were you planning on putting down.?" Answer: "Maybe $5000." "Hmmmm", I said. "Well I'm not sure that I'll be able to get you financed with $5,000 down and an income of of $20,000 per year". That's when he hit me with, "It's $20,000 per month not per year!" I said, "Oh", but I was thinking, 'Holy Crap, $20K per month!!! Shit, that was more than most of the doctors and lawyers that were in their 40's, 50's and 60's that came in and bought crap... Then I thought - What the hell is a stockbroker?? What the fuck do they do?? As a matter of a fact what the fuck is a stock?
Needless to say, John Strange pissed me off. Everything I thought I was going to do, all my dimly assembled plans came tumbling down. No longer was I satisfied with the $4-6000/month I was making back in 1987 at the tender age of 19. Because, now I needed to figure out how to become a stockbroker and how to make $20,000/month. Keep in mind that I had zero knowledge of Wall Street. I couldn't make heads or tails of anything written in the Wall Street Journal. I didn't understand any of the numbers or scrolling symbols and fractions on TV, or anything that was in the paper about the New York Stock Exchange. To be honest with you, I always thought that those guys all crowded around waving their arms, throwing bit of paper in the air and screaming at each other on TV looked retarded. It always seemed that there had to be a smarter and more efficient way to get shit done with all that money. And even though I had no inkling of what the Dow Jones Industrial Index was or what it meant when it was up or down, I did know what $20,000/month was, and that was good enough.
I scoured the classifieds looking for anyone who might be hiring "stock brokers" and when I found nothing. I picked up the phone book and started at "A" and began calling every Firm in San Diego announcing that I wanted to become a stockbroker and that they should hire me before it was too late. I then tried a different tack and offered to be a clerk or assistant or if they would consider letting me clean out their trash baskets, anything just so I could get my foot in somebody's door. I asked for interviews at EF Hutton, Merrill Lynch, Paine Webber & Drexel Burnham but got nowhere.
My success in car sales simply wasn't opening these doors. Every time I talked to someone at these big name stuffy firms about my desire to become a stockbroker and how badly I wanted to learn the business they would ask me a few questions then usually just laugh, tell me they weren't interested and then hang up. True, I had no degree, no MBA and absolutely no idea what I was talking about but so fuckin what? They sold stuff and I sold stuff. How different could it be? While it initially became clear that becoming a stockbroker was going to be a little tougher than becoming a car salesman, it wasn't by much.
Because a few weeks later, in late November of 2001, a 1/2 page ad in the Business Section of the San Diego Union Tribune announced "STOCKBROKER TRAINEES WANTED" in big bold black ink. I couldn't believe it, my prayers had been answered. It seemed like the clouds opened up and harps and humming and shit like that could be heard. The same firm that John Strange worked for, the same firm that he told me couldn't possibly be interested in me was now looking to hire several stockbroker trainees to enter the lucrative world of finance and investment banking. And the best part of all, "no experience was necessary". The ad went on and explained that top Blinder Robinson brokers and managers would be at The Hyatt Islandia in San Diego to explain who they were and all about this golden opportunity to those who thought they might have what it takes to make it on Wall Street.
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- Jeff |
