Lee Geiger

Today, I settled all family business, so don’t tell me you’re innocent.

Michael Corleone (Al Pacino), “The Godfather”

Stationed like a lighthouse beacon navigating weary fishermen after a long day of trolling the high seas, a squadron of white-jacketed valets, arranged like a Full Monty version of the Radio City Rockettes, waited curbside in front of the Bently Reserve to shuttle the expected fleet of Beemers and Benzes. “This must be the place,” I said to myself. “Some things never change.”

The Montgomery Securities reunion came off as advertised. Akin to a family reunion organized to honor the memory of the generational patriarch, Montgomery alums travelled far and wide to celebrate their communal pasts, and to rekindle personal relationships that may have dimmed with the passage of time. The evening had the feel of a bygone Montgomery Christmas party, minus the mandatory ice sculptures and caviar bar (the event was for charity, after all). The atmosphere was festive, the mood engaged, and everyone seemed very happy to be there. I know I sure was.

I gathered my nametag (thank goodness for those!) feeling a tad apprehensive, thanks to self-applying a bullseye on my backside courtesy of last week’s pre-reunion blog post. But my early jitters evaporated quickly, almost from the moment I stepped into the main room. From the corner of my eye I spied a tall, dark and handsome man in a snappy blue suit, vigorously shaking hands and wearing a smile wider than a market in Immune Response. It was Greg Allcroft, the last person I expected to see. Greg’s sparkling eyes and welcoming presence jumped-started my evening and, as promised in my blog post, I gave him a bear hug worthy of a much loved family member. We smiled and chatted for a while, and then I asked Greg if I could meet his wife, a woman I had never met but whom I admired and respected a great deal. Greg brought over a vivacious and dazzling blonde, and after reading my name tag she said, “You’re the one who wrote the note.” Then she pulled me close to her, as if to whisper a secret into my ear. “You’re the reason we’re here,” she said. “You showed us how much everyone loves Greg.”

Cue the tears.

I spent the next four hours reconnecting with my former colleagues, doing my darndest to listen with my ears instead of my mouth. I had spent years working ten hours a day with some of these people, and I genuinely wanted to know what they were up to. How many kids do they have? How many spouses had they burned through? And what in the name of Clown Alley were they doing now? One had helped start up another brokerage firm, a mega-profitable enterprise that has led to a plethora of two-comma paychecks. Yet despite his pile of cash he remains the same friendly, easy going guy who helped me move into my house over two decades ago. Another former sales trader had saved every dollar he ever made in the business and retired to Colorado, where he now spends his days riding his mountain bike and wondering where to take his nephews for ice cream. At the end of the evening I met a former investment banker who had plowed much of his wealth and energy into starting a charter school in Delaware. At an age when most of his brethren are either swinging a golf club or fertilizing daisies, this former Montgomery partner was working harder than ever. And loves it.

Like any family reunion, there were many I wanted to meet along with a few souls I wanted to avoid. I’ve reached a point in my life where I do not want to waste time with what displeases me, and I’ve lost the will to please those who do not like me. That being said, I’ve also learned that hanging on to trivial animosities and petty bitterness is fundamentally a “me” problem, so I smiled and shook hands with those whose mere physical presence used to make me want to hack into their chests and tear out their spleens, or gouge my eyes out with a garden trowel. Or something like that.

Midway through the evening, former Montgomery founder and Indian Chief Thom Weisel stepped onto a stage and made a few welcoming and congratulatory remarks, and he was followed by a video presentation featuring a “What are you doing now?” theme. Legendary salesman Michael Balog then took the stage and sang his version of “Montgomery Pie,” an unforgettable performance that brought down the house. “The last time I saw that many Montgomery salespeople clapping and high-fiving each other,” I said to Bobby Olsen, my former assistant, “was the day Leslie’s Poolmart came public.”

My stories told and my energy dispensed, I looked at my watch and realized it was WAY past my bedtime for a school night. As I plopped into my car and headed for home, I came to the stark realization that I had probably seen most of these people for the very last time. But instead of somber melancholy, I felt a pleasant spirit of relief, a satisfying sense of closure. Working at Montgomery Securities wasn’t always unicorns and rainbows, but I had reached a fitting settlement with an extraordinary collection of uniquely talented individuals who accomplished a great deal during an incomparable period of time.

Au revoir, Montgomery Securities.