The statement came from a man sitting three or four stools away from me in a sparsely populated Midtown bar, where I was waiting for a friend. "But I have to buy you a drink to hear it?" I asked.
"Absolutely not," he said. "I can buy my own drinks. My 401(k) is intact. I got out of the market 8 or 10 years ago, when I saw what was happening."
He did indeed look capable of buying his own drinks — one of which, a dry martini, straight up, was on the bar in front of him. He was a well-preserved, gray-haired man of about retirement age, dressed in the same sort of clothes he must have worn on some Ivy League campus in the late '50s or early '60s — a tweed jacket, gray pants, a blue button-down shirt and a club tie that, seen from a distance, seemed adorned with tiny brussels sprouts."O.K.," I said. "Let's hear it."
Read the rest.