Cheapskates #2

Years ago, my firm underwrote the initial public offering of a regional airline. As usual, the company’s senior management team came to our offices to present their story and answer questions. (These presentations are theorectically meant to educate the sales force so they can help asset managers decide whether to purchase shares. The reality is that it’s good for management egos and gives the bankers one last chance to correct errors before taking the company on the road.) I was in sales at the time and drew the short straw on my team, landing me at the conference room table with a few dozen other people facing an hour of boredom.

Each attendee received a sleeve of golf balls, a golf towel, and a fairly nice hat courtesy of the airline whose shares we were preparing to sell. It was a thoughtful gesture and immediately raised the attendees' interest. In the middle of the conference room table was all the extra stuff -- probably a couple dozen sleeves of balls, a small stack of towels and ten or so hats. The pain of the presentation was dulled slightly by the giveaways, but I would have counted the hour a waste if not for what happened as the CEO concluded his remarks.

One of the bank's top salesmen was sitting opposite me at the table. Not that it matters for real life, but important to the story, is the fact that he made at least a million and a half dollars annually. That number is probably low (it was a very different time). Suffice it to say that his financial worries were more about bringing a large enough bag on bonus day to haul his winnings home than about whether he could make the car payment on his Dodge Viper.* This fellow golfed a great deal and, based on how much he talked about it, seemed to enjoy the sport. He looked pretty pleased to have scored $50 worth of free golf stuff.

As the CEO thanked everyone for attending, signalling the end of the meeting, this salesman literally climbed up on the table and swept all the remaining sleeves of golf balls into his arms. The management team was still in the room. Most people hadn't even pushed back their chairs from the table yet. He was so focused on scooping up a few hundred dollars in golf balls that he didn't notice the questioning looks from every eye in the room. It may be my imagination that he chortled gleefully while shuffling, Igor-like, out of the room craddling his treasure.

Somehow, my firm was not selected for the airline's three subsequent securities transactions...

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* I have no idea what he drove, but I like the image of a short Wall Street guy exercising his Napoleon complex behind the wheel of a needlessly expensive de classe vehicle.