The Grass Is Greener Because You’re Stupid

Some people need to be told how good they’ve had it….by me

In 1978 I worked for a commodities firm at the Chicago Board of Trade. For those of you not familiar with the commodities market, it’s kind of like the stock market on steroids. It is not for the feint of heart, nor for the person with limited finances. Unlike the stock market, in commodities, you can lose more money than you have in your account. The mere thought of that can get the adrenaline going.

The nature of the commodities business attracts ex-professional athletes because of all the reasons listed above. Not only do they become brokers, but famous people came to the trading floor to take a tour and get a taste of the excitement. I shook hands with Prince Charles! I also told him that we had the first name (Charles…not Prince). He did not seem impressed. I wasn’t impressed either. He had a fishy handshake.

As far as ex-professional athletes at the Board of Trade, there were a few. George Seales was there, George Altman, and a few others I can’t remember.

Glenn Beckert was a broker at the Board of Trade. Glenn Beckert played professional baseball. Glenn Beckert was one of my childhood heroes. I was a Chicago White Sox fan (I was a South Sider), but nobody…I mean nobody could dispute that the best infield in the history of the game of baseball was (from 3rd to 1st) Ron Santo, Don Kessinger, Glenn Beckert, and Ernie Banks.

I had to check trades for the company I worked for every morning on the trading floor with brokers. I had to talk to the brokers about the trade in question, and this never bothered me; until the day I had to talk to Glenn Beckert.

I stuttered. I think I might have peed in my pants a little. I wasn’t sure if my spoken words were intelligible. I shook his hand, but did not tell him he was one of my heroes. I thought that was too geeky. His hand was as leathery as a baseball mitt, and unfortunately, he saw that I was nervous. He smiled the friendliest smile I had ever seen, and he patted me on the shoulder.

My career at the exchange continued, and as a result, I had to talk to Glenn many times. There was the first time he needed my attention for something and he called me “Charley.” My heart dropped to my stomach. Glenn Beckert knew my name. We were friends. We were BEST friends. He probably didn’t know it, but I did, and that’s what counted. Let me say that there couldn’t have been a nicer person in the world; celebrity or not.

Across the street from the Board of Trade was the local hang out of the commodity gang called “Brokers Inn.” That’s where everyone went to have drinks after the trading day, and perhaps something to eat.

One afternoon I walked into the restaurant and Glenn Beckert was sitting at the bar huddled over his drink. He saw me walk in and called me over. Yes, I typed that correctly. He called me over. He said, “Hey Charley…let me buy you a drink.” I sat next to him at the bar and kept thinking that I was sitting at a bar with Glenn Beckert, 2nd baseman for the 1969 Cubs, four time All Star, and he was buying me a drink.

We talked about the market and other non-baseball topics, when he said to me, “You know…I admire you, Charley.” If it was a sit-com it would have been a spit-take.

“What?”

“No, seriously. I admire you. You got into this business while you’re still young, and you have plenty of time to learn the ropes and get good at it before you become a broker. I didn’t have that advantage.”

I thought about it for a second. And only a second, because I didn’t plan on saying what I said. “Glenn…with all due respect…fuck you!”

He laughed. “What?!”

My voice rose in volume a bit. I think I was genuinely pissed. “You lived every boy’s dream. You played professional baseball. You played 2nd base with the greatest infield there ever will be. You were the Beckert in Santo, Kessinger, Beckert, and Banks! You’re Glenn Beckert, for chrissakes. So, umm, fuck you!”

He laughed and ordered me another drink. “Well, I guess that’s one way of looking at it. I guess sometimes I forget about that. Thanks, Charley.”

He said my name again.

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