Of Swing Dances and Boxes

Five, six, seven, eight. I was doing the steps I knew like the back of my hand. With my lips stretched into a smile, lungs heaving for air, I looked at my partner, Julia. It was her time to captivate. I let go of her hand as she did her final pirouette. The audience filled the room with a thunderous applause. The spotlight beamed even brighter. Hand-in-hand we approached the end of the stage as we bowed in gratitude. I looked out into the crowd of the hotel ballroom. People were clapping, others were lifting their champagne glasses in approval. My heart is still racing with adrenaline, neurons firing up. Feelings I’ve always reveled in. We were in Calcutta, thousands of miles away from home. Yet, I’ve never felt lighter. I was touring the world while doing something I’m very passionate about—dancing. It was a fairytale. But the happily-ever-after did not end there. The year is 1958. My name is Nicolas Darvas and I had just made over $300,000 dollars.

I was 3 when I started dancing. I was 32 when I started trading the stock market. In 1952, I received an offer to perform in Toronto. But instead of paying me money, the two club owners offered to pay me stocks instead. It was unusual, intriguing. I did not know anything about the market. They gave me 6000 shares of a mining company I did not even know existed. The shares were valued at $3000. The name of the company is Brilund. I went on in my career thinking nothing of it. Two months later, after a dancing engagement in New York’s Copacabana, I nonchalantly glanced at the daily paper. It was then that I learned I had just made a profit of $8000. My jaw fell on its own. I sold all my Brilund shares faster than a lightning. I did not win the lottery, but I might as well have. My eyes have been opened. What is this thing that I had been missing all my life?

It was with the same ball of excitement that I committed one of trading’s gravest mistakes. After my first accidental win on the stock market, I was constantly on my toes looking for the next big hit. Do you know a good stock, I was asking people left and right.  And I was also getting answers left and right. It seemed like everybody knew something. I was in pursuit of the next “hot tip”. I realized that in order to know which stock to buy, I must have the needed information. I must know a secret. I listened eagerly to people dressed to the nines but were almost as clueless as I was. Stock ABC will skyrocket to 50% in 5 weeks, said a guy in a velvety blue fedora hat. He looked like he owned a yacht, or maybe a 50-acre farmland in Texas. He was drinking scotch. I met him after one of my performances. As I have all of my other stock “advisers”. I buy when they say buy, I jump when they say jump. Even if it was over a cliff. I followed all their tips religiously. I would get another Brilund if I only ask the right people, I kept repeating on my head as I saw my profits plunge. I owned 25-30 stocks at a time. I have developed an emotional attachment to most of them. I triumphed over my small gains. I turned a blind eye on my huge losses. I was losing and losing but I didn’t care. It took me time and a couple thousand dollars to realize I was doing everything wrong. But I guess I was still lucky. Some people never realize they are blindly following false prophets.

I studied like a madman. I decided that I am the captain of my own ship. I read hundreds of books about the stock market. I followed the quotations closely. I ignored company disclosures, market rumors and advices from Wall Street brokers. I developed a tunnel vision, I only see the price pattern of a stock and everything else fades in the background. I developed a system and followed it meticulously. In 1958, while on a dancing tour in India, I learned that I had made over $300,000. A few months later, my profits rose to half-a-million dollars. It was more money than I ever imagined. I was just 39. I have been all-over the world. There was nothing else I could ask for.

I was 40 when I had a rude awakening. I was trading in New York amongst all the Wall Street plutocrats. My previous gains floated my ego up in the air. I thought I had it all mastered. Little by little, my carefully-thought out system was surrendering in helpless abandon. I regressed to my amateur trading days. I listened to rumors, I followed advices blindly. I had a plan, a system. But they seemed like distant memories. I bought at the highs and sold at the lows. In months, I have lost almost $100,000. I was depressed, I was frustrated. I could not understand what had happened. Or maybe, maybe I did. My ears were my enemy.

People like me who lost a lot of money in a very short span of time almost always want to get back in the game immediately in the hopes of recuperating losses. Every trade becomes a means to breakeven, not to gain. Senses are forsaken, in its place are emotions and greed. I realized that the importance of trade vacation is often underrated. Thankfully, I still had some sliver of sense left in me. I paused. I took a time off. I reflected on all my bad trades and I realized, yet again, what I have known years ago: I am the captain of my own ship.

In May of 1959, I made two million dollars.