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Authors: John Rolfe, Peter Troob
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himself to order for all of us. “We’ll take three of everything, and keep the drinks
coming. I don’t want to see anybody’s glass empty.” We gorged ourselves as wave after wave of food arrived. Before long, not
only were we corralling every passing waitress to bring additional food, but the busboys as well.
By the time we had departed from the restaurant and pointed ourselves in the direction of Le Bar Bat, the aggregate level
of drunkenness in our merry band had increased considerably. Our merriness increased as the hours in Le Bar Bat slipped by
and we continued our rum-fueled binge. Then came the debaucherous display of Rod Ferramo.
One of the BAs, Hope, had been downing shots with increasing rapidity over the course of the evening. The combination of the
shots, the heat, and the level of the music at Le Bar Bat had pushed her beyond her limits. As she stood at the bar waiting
for her next drink to arrive, an uncontrollable urge to vomit overcame her. She ducked her head underneath the bar, and began
spewing forth a fragrant mixture of barbecue chicken and Captain Morgan spiced rum. Ferramo, who at the time of the opening
projectile was on the dance floor immediately adjacent to the bar, witnessed these initial throes of expulsion and interpreted
Hope’s temporary incapacity as an opportunity to initiate an impressive public display ofvulgarity. He quickly positioned himself behind her, whipped out his hogan, and as she continued her litany of expurgation
he straddled her backside, grabbed her hips, and began to grind her from behind in a simulation that would have made a dog
in heat blush.
As we viewed this display from across the dance floor we were thoroughly befuddled. Was this guy really so desperate and so
sexually depraved? What the hell was going on? Some of the people whom we knew in investment banking were good guys. Did the
pressure just cause some of the others to snap? We didn’t know. Maybe it was the sleepless nights. Maybe it was the lack of
a social life. Maybe it was the opportunity to finally not be the one getting shit upon but to be the one doing the shitting.
Either way, we didn’t realize that in the not-too-distant future we, too, would be full-time associates doing things we never
thought we would stoop so low to do. It was uncanny what a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week nonstop-stress career choice
would do to our judgment.
The Social Scene II:
Dinner with the Chairman
Not all activities on the summer associates’ social calendar lived up to the standard set by our initial outing at Le Bar
Bat. Many of the dinners, baseball games, and nights drinking and dancing were uneventful. Others were, however, notable in
their own right. One of the most anticipated evenings out was a summer associate dinner at the Links Club with Dick Jenrette,
one of the founders ofour firm. Jenrette was a legend on Wall Street. He was chairman of The Equitable, a company that was both DLJ’s corporate
parent and one of the country’s largest insurance companies. Jenrette was famous not only as one of the founders of DLJ but
also for his instrumental role in having brought The Equitable back from the brink of insolvency in the early 1990s. For our
summer associate class a chance to meet the man was a real honor.
Basically, the reason for us to meet Jenrette was summed up by an older associate. He said, “It’s a yearly tradition. The
old man sucks it up for a night and presses the flesh with all the summer idiots. I think they figure that trotting Jenrette
out gets people to sign on full-time when the offers come out in the fall.”
That evening’s dinner at the Links Club, hosted by dear Dick Jenrette, was well done. The Links Club was an all-male institution
whose membership roster was among the most exclusive in New York City. Special permission had been sought, and granted, to
allow for the presence of our one female summer associate
coming. I don’t want to see anybody’s glass empty.” We gorged ourselves as wave after wave of food arrived. Before long, not
only were we corralling every passing waitress to bring additional food, but the busboys as well.
By the time we had departed from the restaurant and pointed ourselves in the direction of Le Bar Bat, the aggregate level
of drunkenness in our merry band had increased considerably. Our merriness increased as the hours in Le Bar Bat slipped by
and we continued our rum-fueled binge. Then came the debaucherous display of Rod Ferramo.
One of the BAs, Hope, had been downing shots with increasing rapidity over the course of the evening. The combination of the
shots, the heat, and the level of the music at Le Bar Bat had pushed her beyond her limits. As she stood at the bar waiting
for her next drink to arrive, an uncontrollable urge to vomit overcame her. She ducked her head underneath the bar, and began
spewing forth a fragrant mixture of barbecue chicken and Captain Morgan spiced rum. Ferramo, who at the time of the opening
projectile was on the dance floor immediately adjacent to the bar, witnessed these initial throes of expulsion and interpreted
Hope’s temporary incapacity as an opportunity to initiate an impressive public display ofvulgarity. He quickly positioned himself behind her, whipped out his hogan, and as she continued her litany of expurgation
he straddled her backside, grabbed her hips, and began to grind her from behind in a simulation that would have made a dog
in heat blush.
As we viewed this display from across the dance floor we were thoroughly befuddled. Was this guy really so desperate and so
sexually depraved? What the hell was going on? Some of the people whom we knew in investment banking were good guys. Did the
pressure just cause some of the others to snap? We didn’t know. Maybe it was the sleepless nights. Maybe it was the lack of
a social life. Maybe it was the opportunity to finally not be the one getting shit upon but to be the one doing the shitting.
Either way, we didn’t realize that in the not-too-distant future we, too, would be full-time associates doing things we never
thought we would stoop so low to do. It was uncanny what a twenty-four-hour, seven-day-a-week nonstop-stress career choice
would do to our judgment.
The Social Scene II:
Dinner with the Chairman
Not all activities on the summer associates’ social calendar lived up to the standard set by our initial outing at Le Bar
Bat. Many of the dinners, baseball games, and nights drinking and dancing were uneventful. Others were, however, notable in
their own right. One of the most anticipated evenings out was a summer associate dinner at the Links Club with Dick Jenrette,
one of the founders ofour firm. Jenrette was a legend on Wall Street. He was chairman of The Equitable, a company that was both DLJ’s corporate
parent and one of the country’s largest insurance companies. Jenrette was famous not only as one of the founders of DLJ but
also for his instrumental role in having brought The Equitable back from the brink of insolvency in the early 1990s. For our
summer associate class a chance to meet the man was a real honor.
Basically, the reason for us to meet Jenrette was summed up by an older associate. He said, “It’s a yearly tradition. The
old man sucks it up for a night and presses the flesh with all the summer idiots. I think they figure that trotting Jenrette
out gets people to sign on full-time when the offers come out in the fall.”
That evening’s dinner at the Links Club, hosted by dear Dick Jenrette, was well done. The Links Club was an all-male institution
whose membership roster was among the most exclusive in New York City. Special permission had been sought, and granted, to
allow for the presence of our one female summer associate
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