I beg your indulgence here, as I share the details of my long-awaited “Warhol 15”.
Specifically, this Weekend Edition of the Wall Street Journal contains my photo. To the best of my knowledge, it is the first publication of my gnarly image in a recognized daily publication of any kind.
Those that doubt me can find me in the bottom-most shot in the following article. I’m the guy immediately next to the dude standing in green:
What’s that you say? Don’t have a WSJ subscription? Well, first, shame on you (particularly if you eschew it in favor of the perpetually perfidious New York Times). But no matter, here I am:
When made aware of this unsolicited P/R, my first reaction was, of course: “Holy Sh!t! My moment has come!”
It’s the Senior Cabin of 1975/Camp Menominee (CM), Eagle River, WI. Of which I was a charter member. For better or worse, the article makes no reference to me – or the crew with which I ran back then. It was simply used as a visual aide for a piece celebrating the joys of camp, written by a best-selling author who is also a CM alum. He was a bit younger than me, and I didn’t know him at the time.
He has gone on to write bestsellers about rangy topics like the Rolling Stones and the Chicago Cubs. Which I haven’t read but mean to.
Well, at any rate, if your picture is going to be in the Journal, this seems as favorable a manner as any. It certainly beats one of those stipple portraits for which they are known. You know, those avatar-like images drawn with little dots?
(As your risk manager, I can state this much with certainty: if you wake up one morning and find yourself stippled on Page 1 of the Journal, it’s over for you. You are beyond my help. I therefore advise you to comport yourselves in such a manner as to avoid this outcome at all costs).
I spent several summers at CM. And from what I can recall, mostly enjoyed the experience. But not as much as my parents did.
They were both single at the time, and it has since occurred that when they were not handing off my brother and me between their separate residences in Chicago and Southern California, an eightweek, summer hiatus from us two obnoxious little monsters must have had irresistible alure and was perhaps one of the few topics upon which they could agree.
So, off we went.
I’d like to tell you that it was a simpler time, but if it was, it wasn’t by much. It was the mid 70s, so we were dealing with Impeachment, Inflation, Energy Crises, Foreign Wars, Rampant Urban Blight and Crime, etc.
Sound familiar? Thought so.
The geopolitical stage was then dominated by a hodgepodge of shady characters. Ford had just replaced a deposed Nixon. Brezhnev ruled the Roost in Moscow. Mao was in the last year of his seemingly endless reign of China. Someone named Harold Wilson was ensconced at 10 Downing Street. The (blissfully-ignorant-as-to-what-awaited-him) Shah lorded over Iran. East and West Germany were still a thing. L’ll Kim’s grandfather called the shots in North Korea. Chirac was in the midst of the first of his two runs in Paris. Pierre Trudeau ran things up North – even as his fetching wife Margret was moaning underneath Mick in the backrooms of Studio 54.
It’s quite interesting to contrast this list with the current Heads of State in associated jurisdictions, which are, respectively, Biden, Putin, Zhe, the lame duck Bojo, Khamenei, the non-descript/I-knownothing- Scholz in a re-united Germany, L’il Kim, Macron, and Trudeau’s kid Justin in Ottawa.
It’s hard to argue the roster – weak as it was — has improved much across the intervening 47 years.
All of which becomes prominent in my mind when I think of Abe, and the Japanese Navy vet who did him this past week. He had stepped down a couple of years ago, and his replacement don’t kick up much dust. In 1975, a forgettable guy named Miki held that spot.
I’m here neither to bury nor praise Abe, but I will say that he had a righteous plan for Japan and did his damnedest to execute it.
Of whom, in these troubled times, can the same be said? Not a single Western Leader (and probably Biden least of all) seems to have a clue. Putin and Zhe apparently aspire to take over the world; Kim to make as much mischief as possible. The Ayatollah? Merely to rid the planet of us infidels.
However, and fortunately, it would perhaps be a stretch to state that our problems, relative to ’75, have risen dramatically in terms of magnitude and urgency. But you would’ve had to have reached the age of awareness back then to understand this. My generation grew up wondering when (as opposed to if) the Soviet Union and/or Russia was going to nuke us to smithereens, with the only saving grace being that they hated on each other more than on us. Inflation and interest rates were well on their way to the mid-high teens. Then, as now, we were suffering humiliating defeat in the foreign wars with which we (unwisely) chose to involve ourselves. But at least back then, instead of handing our cash and weapons directly to our erstwhile enemies, we at least had the good sense to dump our helicopters into the South China Sea.
For what it’s worth the market was better back then. It was before Captain Naz was even born, and prior to the launch of futures on the Gallant 500, an index which only priced periodically.
But the G5 managed to gin up a >30% gain in ‘75, rising from a beyond quaint 68 to a (still beyond quaint) 90 across the year.
Informing you of what you already know, thus far in ’22, the G and the N are down >18% and 25%, respectively, and have had to rally to achieve this lofty elevation.
But I reckon risk asset prices, wherever they are, will be anything but stationary over the next little while. The Big Summer Data Dump is under way, having begun with a June Jobs Report, within which, one survey (Payrolls) showed surprising vigor and the other (Household) came in implying a decrease, due in large part to mismatches between bountiful inventories of open positions, and ranks of the able-bodied — available and willing, to fill them.
From some perspectives, the markets took it all in serenely, but the optically strong jobs report goosed the CME’s Fedwatch meter to an implied >90% probability of a 75 bp rate hike at the end-ofthe- month, with the only other contingence even registering a blip is that of a 100 bp move:
Madame X 10-year note yields flirtatiously dropped below 3%, but you had to move faster to catch this than, say, I was at chasing the girls at nearby Woodland in ’75. Crude Oil dipped below $100/bbl, but again, only for the briefest of moments. Yields now stand at 3.08% and WTI Crude closed Friday at $104.79.
Nest week’s drama begins on Wednesday with the June CPI report. On Bastille Day (Thursday) comes PPI and, after the close, the commencement of bank earnings announcements. From a volatility perspective, it should be off to the races from there.
Surveys suggest that neither measure of inflation will have abated, and there is widespread handwringing as to the earnings cycle. With respect to the latter, warnings of waning microchip demand, and excessive inventories of sundry commercial and consumer products loom cloudily on the horizon. If the latter dynamics manifest, Inflation numbers should indeed come down, as there will be fire sales of everything – except, perhaps discretionary items such as food and energy — before the summer begins to wane.
But I hate like hell to think of waning summers, as they bring about wistful memories of the fabulous innings I spent at CM. These sorts of things stick with you, and I still keep in touch with some of the crew from Cabin 12. My best friend went and bought the Camp. One guy runs his dad’s home product manufacturing business. Another is a doctor in Akron. The guy in green, a truly righteous fellow, followed his dream and became one of the most successful veterinarians in Chicago.
And as for me, the winding roads brought me to Wall Street. Where I was sent to warn everybody that the hard slog we currently face has not yet run its course. Buckle in, my friends, because what awaits us is anything but a cookout under the North Woods skies. We can get through this summer, but not without bringing our full focus and attention to bear.
And, God willing, we can also avoid the worst of indignities—the dreaded front page stipple.
TIMSHEL