Taking Stock

This post is about two men named John and the Stock Market.

At breakfast John G. commented that the DOW went down yesterday by $1.39. We all laughed, Lately the market has gone up over 100 points every day.

Then we had some serious talk about the market. After the sharp drop last March, the price of stocks has gone up and up. It’s crazy. I said, “Like a game of musical chairs, brokers keep moving from one stock to another expecting the price to go up on each place they land.”

John G. said, “I remember when you used to invest in a stock, keep it, and reinvest the dividends. I knew a man who did that year after year. When he retired, he started collecting the dividends. He had more money than when he was working.”

Today no one invests in stocks. They trade. Buying and selling, buying and selling. Brokers make millions.

I remember another trader. I met John D. 24 years ago. I went with him to the dealer to get his new Oldsmobile, bought with profits from stock trades. He told me he watched just one stock, which fluctuated in price between $26 and $32.

John and I had been dating a few months when he told me, “I bought a block of stock at $26. When it reaches $32, I’ll sell and take you on a Caribbean cruise.”

Week by week John gave me reports. “It’s now selling at $28.” “It’s gone up to 30 1/4” “Now 31 1/2" It won’t be long now.”

Then it started to go down. “It’s at 29. Don’t worry, it will go up again.”

Down it went: to $25, to $21, to $19, all the way down to $16.

John and I were married for two years before in October 1989 the stock finally reached $31. He did not risk any further. He sold. In November we booked a Caribbean cruise to leave Miami on New Year’s Eve.

Two weeks later I was diagnosed with breast cancer. The doctor said, “You must have a mastectomy. As soon as possible.”

“Not before I have my cruise!” I told him.

John and I celebrated New Year’s 1990 dancing on a ship bound for Puerto Rico, St. Thomas, St. Martin’s, Barbados, and Martinique. It was a great beginning for the year, followed by a radical mastectomy, six months of chemo, and six weeks of daily radiation.

Now I have no one to dance with on New Year's Eve. I go to dialysis three times a week; I won’t be going on any more cruises. Hey! Next month will be 20 years since my mastectomy. I am still here. . . . . and because I am no longer traveling, I have money to invest in the stock market.

Life is a seesaw. The stock market is still going up. I won’t be surprised when it goes down.