Saturday, October 20, 2018
Bermuda –I’m in Bermuda this weekend, speaking at an investment conference. I’m here to talk about money — making it, growing it, protecting it.
I came in Thursday night at about 10:00 and taxied to the hotel in the dark. I hadn’t been here for 30 years and had only a few very fragmented memories — pretty, pastel-colored buildings and a beautiful sea. In the morning, those images were confirmed by a look out my balcony.
Indeed, Bermuda is an attractive place to spend a few days. As you can see, the scenery is beautiful in the usual tropical island ways. But Bermuda has its unique architecture and it has rolling hills and little cliffs and thousands of tiny islands along its shore, which gives one the feeling that there is more to be discovered here as opposed to, say, Grand Cayman or the Bahamas.
I wasn’t looking forward to the two presentations I was scheduled to make on Friday. I was exhausted after a week of meetings in Berlin, the Liverpool film festival, and three days of crushing attention at AWAI’s “Bootcamp.” (This year, there were more than 500 attendees.) I hadn’t prepared my comments and I didn’t want to. I felt like I didn’t care about investing anymore. The only thing I wanted to tell these investors was to stop worrying so much about money and spend more time with their grandkids.
So I spent the first part of the morning writing an essay on a new idea I’m working on: that the greatest danger we face in the USA today is not an economic one but a cultural epidemic. I am tentatively calling it the “culture of blame.” I haven’t yet looked that up yet to see if it’s an idea that’s already out there. It probably is. But I wrote the essay anyway. (You will see it here soon.)
My first obligation was at 10:00, a panel presentation on “investing outside the stock market.” It was me and two financial specialists and an economist. The emcee started the discussion by asking me for my “general thoughts” on diversifying.
I don’t remember what I said, but the audience was engaged. They sat upright, asked questions, and even laughed at a few of my jokes. It went by, as every presentation I’ve ever done has, in a flash. It was over and I wanted to keep going.
I went upstairs to my room to actually prepare for the 2:30 breakout session. This time, I would be presenting all by myself, and I couldn’t just wing it. I needed to do some thinking. I needed to create note cards or, at the very least, a crib sheet of topics. But I decided to close my eyes for a quick rest before I got to work… and I nodded off.
The phone rang. I was “on” in 10 minutes.
I got to the room exactly one minute early. No one was there. “Cripes,” I complained to someone who looked like he was in charge. “I said I wasn’t going to come unless there were people that wanted to see me. “The general session is running late,” he said. “They’ll be letting out in a few minutes.”
I heard the doors open and a steady stream of people began walking towards us. There were three workshops scheduled for 2:30, mine and two others. I knew and liked the young analysts heading up the other two, but not enough to feel okay about it if they had full rooms and I had only a few people. So I stood in front of the door to my room, urging people to come in like a Greek waiter in front of a cheap Parisian restaurant.
Five minutes later, my room was full.
I began by telling them a story about how my advice cost a colleague of mine $15 million. “I thought you should know that before you take anything I say seriously,” I said. They laughed. I relaxed.
We talked about “investing” in gold. I explained that I don’t see gold as an investment but as an insurance policy – insurance against financial Armageddon. I told them that bought a lot of it from 2001 to 2005, when it was trading between $250 and $500. “Since the price is now $1,200 and has been at this level for some time,” I said, “I feel like I have too much of it. I’d like to get rid of about half of it, but I don’t know where I’d put the money. “I know what you can do with it,” a lady in the back said. Everyone laughed. I did too.
I talked about real estate, and I gave them my magic formula. “If you invest the way I do,” I said, “you don’t need to pay attention to the general economy or the state of politics or price fluctuations. All you need to do is buy in the recommended range, have someone competent manage the property for you, and then keep on buying.”
Then I talked about art and I explained my scheme for cornering a certain market. They seemed to enjoy hearing about it, though I doubt that any of them will ever do it.
They asked a lot of questions and I answered most of them by telling them stories. They liked the stories. Most of them understood the implicit messages.
Then it was over – faster than I wanted it to be. I signed some books, took some photos, and went back to my room.
I had come unprepared – except for 35 years of experience – and I had told them the truth as I know it. Once again, it was “ready-fire-aim.” And once again, it worked out pretty well.
I’m looking forward to the cocktail party tonight so I can keep on talking.