Exit Boy Wonder

In the sombre old Governors' Room of the New York Stock Exchange, young William McChesney Martin Jr.--about to retire after three years as president--stood before 700 members last week and delivered what he called his valedictory address. The market had just closed with a day's sales of only 290,000 shares; the month just ended had been the worst February in 26 years. The Exchange itself had lost $981,348 in 1940 on top of 1939's $1,149,373 deficit; its broker members, who live on volume, presumably had lost a lot more than that. Thus neither President Martin nor his audience had any reason to be gay. When he finished, he knew and they knew that he had delivered not a valedictory but a funeral oration.

Bill Martin became first paid president of the Stock Exchange after the Richard Whitney scandal, when Wall Street's Old Guard had given way to its Young Turks. New Dealish, optimistic, they rallied behind Newcomer Martin in a campaign to re-establish the Exchange's good name. Bachelor Martin was only 31, sobersided, athletic, a good-natured mathematics whiz who ate in the Automat, wore no hat, and dabbled at writing plays in which he admitted he could never make the heroines sound natural. Blessed by President Roosevelt and Bill Douglas, no-smoking, no-drinking Bill Martin took up his $48,000 job amid a shower of bouquets from all sides.

But from the beginning Bill Martin was pulled one way by the Street's Old Guard, another by the Young Turks, a third by SEC, several ways at once by public opinion. An honest student concerned only with facts, he had no talent for playing politics, soon found that by trying to please everybody he was pleasing nobody.

As the Exchange's business slumped from bad to worse, Martin was bound to be the scapegoat. Brokers began telling each other that he lacked "oomph," or something. In the fight among brokers for the little business that was left, Martin was caught in the middle. In the fight between SEC and the Street's SEC-haters, he was caught in the middle again.

In his valedictory-elegy last week, Martin outlined, patiently and soberly, what was wrong with Wall Street, chiefly: 1) the war; 2) taxes (especially the capital-gains tax); 3) a bad name on Main Street ("We are still suffering under the stigma of the Whitney incident and all that went along with it"). He also had a few suggestions: streamline the Board of Governors, apply "merchandising . . . energy and hard work."

Then he delivered the first sharp words he had allowed himself in his brief official career. Said he of the Stock Exchange members: "I would be naive if . . .I told you that I thought I had had the loyal support that I think I am entitled to from all branches of the membership." (His audience sat in grim, chill silence.) Said he of SEC and its staff: "[They are] to a degree men of good will, but they are men utterly ignorant of the basic conception of markets." (SEC cracked back next day with the fact that its staff was drawn chiefly from brokerage houses and brokers' law firms.)

Indirectly, Valedictorian Martin confessed that the job of Stock Exchange president was hopeless and thankless. Nobody knew whom the president was supposed to represent or what he was supposed to do. But fate had provided Bill Martin with a face-saving exit. Disinclined to plead exemption on the ground that his job is of civil importance, he is prepared to be drafted as soon as his number comes up (probably in May). Wall Street's Boy Wonder of 1938 is 1941's most willing draftee.

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