Author: A.T.

So we’re all watching the O-lympics — which is a lot healthier, if you ask me, than when we were all watching the O-J show — and all anyone can think of are “the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat” (as one TV network used to put it). Certainly a lot nobler sounding than “greed and fear,” or “bull and bear,” or “bid and asked,” which may be the rough equivalents from Wall Street. On the other hand, show me an economy that was ever built on the speed of its runners.

I tried to think what I could say about the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat and quickly remembered: I don’t know the first thing about sports. Nothing! I was the only left halfback on my high school varsity soccer team to be right-footed (though I did have heart), and it went downhill from there.

But business is a sport itself, no? A competition? Coke versus Pepsi? Kodak versus Fuji? Gimbel’s versus Macy’s?

So here’s the story I wanted to tell all you aspiring Gold Medalists (and even just those of you going for the gold):

R.H. Macy started a small thread-and-needle shop in Boston in 1842 that closed within a year. A second, also in Boston, was shuttered in 1845. You can just feel his frustration as he made his last entry in the account book:

“I have worked Two Years for Nothing.
“Damn.
“Damn
“damn
“damn”

(And, as I’m fond of reminding slow-starters, Tolstoy was 50 before he wrote his first book.)

The lessons: don’t give up, of course. But also: in considering whether to back some entrepreneur, don’t necessarily count him out for having failed in the past. Indeed, just the opposite may sometimes be true. That failure can be just the education an entrepreneur needs.

Note: When it comes to Internet companies, there are no failures. Any 20-year-old with an idea can be reliably expected to go public at a $200-million-plus valuation, so give him whatever he asks for.

(Or so I thought until a couple of weeks ago. Lately, at least a little sanity has reappeared.)

Tomorrow:  Can You Beat an Index Fund?

No, this is not a comment about the new anti-matter mutual fund group. It’s just that yesterday I made a passing reference to a handwritten Albert Einstein letter I had acquired — the smartest man in the world (fight promoter Don King, I am guessing, is second smartest, judging from the hair) writing on the subject of infidelity.

He was replying to a distraught colleague who had apparently written to solicit his advice: her husband was cheating on her.

A couple of you — I won’t name names — were curious just what his advice was.

For what it’s worth (and without naming the lady, even though it was 43 years ago):

Dear Dr. ————–:

I can empathize with you well, that the situation you describe is very painful for you. But as a mature, knowledgeable person you should attempt with all your strength to overcome this situation from within yourself, rather than feeling deceived or mistreated.

I am sure you know that most men (as well as quite a number of women) are not monogamously endowed by nature. Enforced faithfulness, however, is a bitter fruit for everyone involved. Instead of letting anger towards your husband arise within you, you should pity him, since fate has forced him to balance between two women that are very likely hostile towards each other because of him. This is not an enviable situation and for a well-meaning person there is no satisfactory solution to this problem.

If he is a benevolent and just person and his general conduct is decent towards you, you should be able to respond to this with a smile and not make a case of war out of it. Anyway, you should not take the view that your honor has been violated by his behavior. When you get angry, tell yourself that you are still in the simpler and less incriminating position that he.

With friendly greetings,

A. Einstein

Now, when I said up above “for what it’s worth,” I naturally meant his advice. But what is the letter itself worth — handwritten in German. I’m not selling it, but I thought it would be fun to try an experiment.

If this intrigues you at all, just tell me what you think a letter like this is worth. What would/should go for at auction?

I am having addiction problems. It used to be just computer Scrabble — I actually have that one fairly well under control. Go to meetings only once a week, now. Shrink says I’ll never fully shake the urge to double click that icon, no matter how deep on my desktop I bury it. I just take it a day at a time.

But my weakness for “historic documents” seems to overwhelm my normally cheap and prudent nature. I just acquired four new Einstein pieces — one, handwritten in German to a colleague who apparently had written in despair that her husband was cheating on her. The smartest man in the world gives his thoughts/advice on infidelity. Another is his 1938 lease on the summer cottage at which, the following year, he wrote a famous letter to FDR urging him to build an A-bomb. The two best are typewritten in English about why people should not cooperate with the House UnAmerican Committee — Senator Joe McCarthy.

But what the heck are these things worth? How do you compare the value of an Einstein letter with the value of some mint condition 1954 Brooklyn Dodgers baseball card? Or a Roman coin? Or a second-rate impressionist painting?

Part of the fun is the person signing, but for me the name itself is not a sufficient lure to trigger the addiction. It’s the content.

Here is a cheap letter dated July 18, 1898, on the stationery of Colliers Weekly. The writer, aged 28, in his first year as ad manager, is trying to persuade the Urbana Wine Company to advertise. It’s signed: “Conde Nast.” Isn’t that nice?

And here is a cheap letter dated September 5, 1917, from a guy in the United States Food Administration — Herbert Hoover, who would be President just a few years later (how’d he pull that off?) to the Rolin Film Company in Los Angeles.

“Confronted with the stern necessity of stopping every possible waste of food and foodstuffs during the continuance of the war, we are compelled to earnestly request that the use of real food in scenes on the stage in theatres and the use of real food in the course of the production of motion pictures be entirely eliminated.”

Substitutes for real food can undoubtedly be found, he writes, or if not, the scene could just be omitted.

Think of all the food that will be saved this way!

I don’t know whether it’s more a comment on our desperate circumstances during World War I, the occasional silliness of bureaucrats, or the small-mindedness of Herbert Hoover. But I love it. And it cost a heck of a lot less than Einstein on infidelity.

(Please don’t ruin my fun and tell me this was just some guy who happened to have the same name as the future dam.)

Have you already recommended the ‘low expense no-load mutual funds’ that you like?

Not here.

If not would you? Thanks. — S. Ruch

Sure:

1. The various Vanguard index funds, because their super-low expenses mean you are almost certain to do better than the majority of your fellow stock market and mutual-fund investors — though you will never do exceptionally well.

2. The T. Rowe Price funds, especially if you’d like a little hand-holding.

3. The Twentieth Century funds, though this may not be the best time to start with aggressive funds that do best in bull markets — this one may be in its latter stages.

4. The Mutual Series funds, but hurry — they are about to be purchased by the Franklin group of funds, and for new investors will become “load” funds. (Existing investors will be able to make new investments without the load, they say.)

Tomorrow: My First Ostrich

Did you have fun last week?

“The U.S. stock market is behaving like a thermodynamic milkshake: there are easier ways to gain 9.25 points, as the Dow did Tuesday, than by exploring a 220-point range, with a stunning 680 million shares traded.”

— Mark Anderson, STRATEGIC NEWS SERVICE

(SNS is a high-level, high-tech industry $195/year weekly electronic newsletter targeted at CEO types and those sophisticated at high-tech investing. For a free one-month trial, e-mail to Markrander@aol.com.)

Tomorrow: Favorite Mutual Funds

“As a parent who oversees the contribution of $2,000 each to IRA accounts for two summer employed college student sons, I urge you to tell everyone to do the same. Or is there some new tax angle that would not make it as prudent as I think it is?”

Yesterday we cured the common cold, but this one may be even better. It won’t help you, but it could sure help your kids if you can afford it. And they don’t have to be college-age, either.

Say you have a 12-year-old earning $100 a week this summer cleaning pools or mowing lawns or teaching Windows 95. Have her set up an IRA with some good low-expense no-load mutual fund and put all the money there.

She will resist this idea strenuously, but there’s a way around that. Increase her allowance by the same $100, so it doesn’t cost her a dime. If she still doesn’t like the idea, you have a mentally challenged kid. (Or, if your powers of persuasion are a little better than that, tell her you’ll chip in $75, so it only costs her $25 in current cash to stash away $100-a-week in her IRA. That should sound pretty good, too, and gives her more of a stake in it.)

No one starts this early. But because “the power of compound interest” over a lifetime is so extraordinary, they should. So long as the money is earned in some legitimate arms-length way (not mowing YOUR lawn or cleaning YOUR pool or teaching YOU Windows 95), your child is entitled to put up to $2,000 of it a year into an IRA.

Clearly, the purpose wouldn’t be to save taxes in the short run. Indeed, there’s always the risk your kid will, irresponsibly, raid the IRA in a few years. That would just serve to transform today’s mostly nontaxable dollars (because on a kid’s meager income little or no tax is due) into taxable dollars (because by then he/she’ll be a taxpayer).

But look how it works if done right:

1. Your kid gets into a working/saving habit. This alone is priceless.

2. Maybe your kid learns a little about investing and capitalism. This can’t hurt, since it’s the foundation of our prosperity.

3. If your kid puts $1,000 a year into an IRA from age 12 through 21 and then stops, and if the mutual fund grows at 10% a year over the kid’s lifetime, then the income from those ten summer jobs — $10,000 — will grow by age 70 (when withdrawals must begin) to $1.7 million. Which would be enough to throw off an annual income of $200,000 for the following 20 years, to age 90. All for having done this at the outset.

Of course, figuring 3% inflation over the same period, $200,000 a year would really be only about $35,000 by then. And that’s pre-tax. But how many 70-year-olds do you know today who wouldn’t be glad for a $35,000 boost to their annual income?

(And because this money would be “locked away” in an IRA, college financial aid offices should not take it into account in determining available funds, which could make a difference in obtaining student aid.)

So, yes: if your kids are working this summer, or a few hours a week during the school year, you might consider something like this. And if they’re not working, maybe they should be.

The IRA can be set up, and 1996 income deposited, any time until next April 15. But better to do it today.

Robert Leroy Ripley was a sports cartoonist for the New York Evening Globe. He drew his first “Believe It or Not” December 19, 1918. It showed, among others, a Canadian who ran the 100-yard dash in 14 seconds — backwards — and a Frenchman who (believe it or not) actually held his breath underwater for more than 6 minutes. Soon he ventured beyond the sporting world (“Boy died of old age at age 7”) and an industry was born.

Growing up, one of my favorite books was Ripley’s Believe It Or Not. (I believed it.) And one of the stories in the book, although I can’t say I recall more than its gist, was of an auction at which a man paid a thousand pounds for a book billed simply as, “the secret of good health” — or something like that.

He won the bidding, grabbed the book, and found that all its pages were blank except the first. It said: “Keep your feet warm and your head cool” and you’ll be a healthy man. (Not an easy thing to do in a world where heat rises.) Well, he immediately got a hot head at having been taken this way, and cold feet about going through with the deal, but all sales were final.

But it’s not such bad advice. Here’s a little more. It may not be worth a thousand pounds to you, but has been to me — and it’s free.

You know that little tickling feeling you get at the back of your throat where it connects to your nose, and the next day you’re sneezing and pretty soon you’re coughing and it goes to your chest and the Contac is making you sleepy or the Sudafed is making you feet tingle at night and no amount of orange juice keeps the damn thing from running its course?

If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you are a lucky mammal.

Anyway, a friend seems to have solved this problem for me: apple cider vinegar. At the first hint of a tickle, I now just screw up my face and take a tiny, tiny sip of the stuff (it’s really not so bad — think of the dressing on a salad, sans the salad), tip my head back and let it swish around the tickle as much as I can before swallowing it. Then maybe a second or third time.

End of story.

Obviously, I can’t say it will work for you, or continue to work for me. But it’s worked for the friend who turned me onto it, and I’m convinced it’s worked for me. Placebo effect? Perhaps — that’s just fine with me. At least it hasn’t cost you a thousand pounds.

Tomorrow: Your Kids’ Summer Jobs

Yesterday I told you a little about naked puts and calls — games you always win (until you go broke). But what of writing “covered calls,” where you own the underlying stock against which you sell the calls?

Covered calls are perceived to be much less dangerous than naked calls (where you don’t own the underlying stock) — and they are. At least you can’t lose everything. Normally, they are a way to enhance your return. Here was a stock paying a 3% dividend and appreciating maybe 6% a year. You decide to write calls against it every couple of months, pocketing a couple of hundred bucks each time that might add another 15% a year to your return. Ain’t hay!

The calls you choose to write, in this example, are always at a strike price high enough above the current market price that they’re not likely to be exercised. And even if they were — well, what would be so awful about that? You bought the stock years ago at 40, say. Now it’s 60. You agree to sell it at 65 any time in the next couple of months — and are paid a couple of hundred bucks for making that agreement (writing the call). Now the stock jumps to 80. Well, you get your $65 for a stock that was 60 when you wrote the call, and you get to keep the couple hundred bucks. The only “downside,” if you can call it that, is that your profit is less than it otherwise would have been — you get $65 instead of $80 — and you’re forced to “realize” and pay tax on the gain.

(Actually, there are ways to avoid that. You can either buy back the call before it’s exercised or, if you miss that chance, buy new shares at $80 and deliver them at $65, rather than deliver the shares you bought years ago at 40.)

So why isn’t this one a money machine? It usually is. But not only do you limit your “upside” — at 65, in the example above — you retain the full “downside.” What if the market tanks, or just this stock, and it drops from 60 to 14?

So even covered calls, in the long-run — though not remotely the gamble naked puts or calls are — are a true money machine for one party only: your broker.

Tomorrow: A Cure for the Common Cold

We’ve been talking about options the last couple of days, so I wanted to warn you about a couple of ways to make money with options almost all the time.

NAKED PUTS

I met this guy in the Eighties who was trading naked puts. His broker — a genius — had turned him on to this money machine. Basically, there was the stock market is a powerful, long-term upswing. So say a stock of some solid company was 60. If you wrote (sold) a put on it at 50 — well, what was the chance it would fall that far in the two or three months til expiration? Very low. At the end of those two or three months the put expires, and you get to keep the premium you were paid to write it. Ka-ching!

Yes, there can be occasional nasty surprises even in a bull market. Say you were paid $300 to write a put obligating you to buy 100 shares of this currently-$60 stock at 50 and that — drat! — some scandal erupted that caused the stock to plunge to 35. Rarely happens, but then you’d be on the hook to buy it at 50 (paying $5,000 for 100 shares) even though it is only worth 35 (meaning you have a $1,500 paper loss, less the $300 you were paid to take this risk, plus commissions).

To avoid even this small risk, my friend was well diversified. And that made it pretty much a money machine. Month after month, he’d pocket the premiums on these “far out of the money naked puts” he was writing. His broker enjoyed the commissions. And, in truth, since virtually all of the puts expired worthless, there were only half the commissions there normally are in a trade — i.e., just the commission for writing the put, but no commission at the other end. The puts would expire worthless, the premium was my acquaintance’s to keep (and pay ordinary income tax on).

He made about a million dollars doing this.

And because he was so well diversified, there was really no risk. His broker calculated that the Dow would have to fall something like 300 points — in a day! — for him really to get burned, and that was . . . well, c’mon — back then 25 points was big move and 75 was jaw-dropping front-page news.

Smug may not have been exactly the right term for my acquaintance, but the Christmas gifts he was sending his broker were probably even more lavish than the Christmas gifts his broker was sending him. It’s =nice/= having a money machine.

And then of course, in the fall of 1987, the market dropped not 300 points but 508 in one day. He lost the million he had made and millions more.

It turned out to be one of those strategies that always make money — until you go broke.

There are others.

Naked puts are scary. So, too, naked calls. (There, with a stock selling at 60, you’d write a call obligating you to sell it to someone at 65, say, even though you don’t own it. No sweat! Unless it rises above 65, you’re cool. But if it rockets to 90, someone will in effect say: “OK, here’s my $6,500. Gimme my 100 shares.” And you will have to pay $9,000 plus commission to buy and deliver them.)

Really, you can construct lots of games at which you will almost always win a little, but eventually lose it all. Here’s one more. Go to Las Vegas with $2,000. Bet $1 on red. If you win, you’ve made $1. Do it again. If you lose, bet $2. If you win, you’ve still made $1 (the $2 you win less the first dollar you lost). Now start again at $1. If you lose that $2 also, double your bet again, to $4. Sooner or later you will win (it can’t =always/= come up black) and so sooner or later you will win $1 more than you lost. Then just start all over again betting $1, doubling, as needed, until you win.

This is a virtual printing press for dollar bills. You will just keep winning them all night. And you will even get free drinks. The only conceivable problem would be if it came up black 11 times in a row. The chances of that happening are almost nil, of course. But at that point you’d have lost $2,047 and — to win it back and make your dollar — you’d need to double your previous bet ($1,024) and bet $2,048. But you ain’t got it. (Or the table limit may not allow it.) You’re wiped out.

It’s one of those deals where you always win until you go broke.

Tomorrow: Covered Calls