Skip Pratt is a senior executive with Morgan Stanley who would never exploit or make fun of investors despite the millions the firm has effortlessly squeezed out of the general populace and a government controlled stock market.
The old man was certainly one of the kindest rich men to ever cross my path here in New York City. He gave until he could give no more and then, he somehow managed to convince his rich friends to give to the Jewish charity for which I worked.
It’s such a shame the endowment of the Youth Counseling League somehow disappeared following the Bernard Madoff scandal. It seems the decades of service that Pratt gave to the Board of Directors was a waste of his time.
A tense meeting of the Trustees of the Jewish Board of Family and Children’s Services had just ended and Pratt called me aside—
”Young man,” he said, grabbing my shoulder as I was cleaning up after the meeting—putting aside bowls of egg salad for the maintenance staff who often came into the conference room following the disappearance of powerful men like Skip Pratt—”I must say, I read the minutes you wrote from our last meeting and I wanted to tell you that your writing skills are excellent.”
”Thank you, Mr. Pratt,” I said, turning quickly away from him, not wanting my boss to see me mingling with the power players who ran the state funded agency for which I worked.
I lost my job, several weeks following the meeting in which Mr. Pratt praised my writing. I told my boss, Joan Adams that I no longer wanted to take minutes for Board meetings.
”Why?” Joan Adams asked, her bad breath once again causing my face to distort.
”Because, I don’t like rich people. Skip Pratt is cool, but those other old, rich cunts on the board need a German dick up their ass.”
Ms. Adams was shocked. My statement went way beyond normal insubordination, and I knew it.
The meeting in which I wrote the minutes for which Mr. Pratt praised was not a comfortable meeting. Joyce Cowin, the Board Chair screamed like a mad woman several times. I thought for a while my life was in danger. It seems the agency had misappropriated several million dollars in the Youth Counseling League’s endowment fund. Paul Levine, CEO, insisted that money was not missing from the endowment, it was just that it had been incorrectly reported on previous financial reports.
I captured Mr. Levine’s concerns in my minutes and somehow made the missing million dollars seem so trivial. Mr. Pratt was relieved and I was fired two weeks later for referring to the entire Jewish board as a ”Bunch of Money Grubbing Whores” in a mass email I sent out while eating an egg McMuffin at my desk overlooking Park Avenue.