Great autobiographies are few and far between. Not many of us, after all, possess the requisite talent, self-awareness, and willingness to bare our souls to the world. Perhaps, then, it is not surprising that the best of them have so often come out of left field. I know I would have hated its terminally anal-retentive author, had I known him, but The Education of Henry Adams is inescapable in any worthwhile survey of American literature. And U. S. Grant, his mind wonderfully concentrated by the tragic circumstances of sudden poverty and impending death, produced a military memoir that is second to none, not even Caesar's.
But no group of people, I think, has produced fewer first-rate autobiographies than businessmen. Alfred P. Sloan's My Years With General Motors comes immediately to mind as an exception, but there are not too many others. This is curious, as businessmen's lives have often made great fiction (The Titan by Theodore Dreiser, for instance) and provided the source for perhaps the greatest of all American movies, Citizen Kane.
But even more curious, the lives of real businessmen have, at least three times in this century, been turned into first-rate pseudoautobiographies.
The one in the news recently is Reminiscences of a Stock Operator, by Edwin Lefevre, recently republished after years out of print. Although a pseudoautobiography, it is, let me hasten to add, an honest piece of work--more than can be said for the other two.
Lefevre was a journalist who spent several weeks interviewing the great turn-of-the-century speculator Jesse Livermore. Having done so, he wrote a first-person account of the stock-trading exploits of a Larry Livingstone, first serialized in The Saturday Evening Post and then published in book form in 1923, dedicated to its source.
Although not a stock speculator at all himself, Lefevre did such a good job of evoking the mind of one of the great ones that much of Wall Street immediately assumed that "Lefevre" was nothing more than a pseudonym for "Livermore." Even The New York Times reviewed the book as nonfiction.
Many Wall Streeters still regard it as nonfiction, at least in the larger sense. For the book is packed with advice speculators should hold dear to their hearts: "[Prices] are never too high to begin buying or too low to begin selling." "Always sell what shows you a loss and keep what shows you a profit."
This is why, ever since its first appearance, Reminiscences of a Stock Operator has been regarded as the best possible textbook for those enrolled in Speculation 101, a course that at Wall Street University can be a very expensive one indeed.
Even older is The Book of Daniel Drew. In February 1905 a short filler in the New York Tribune stated that a trunk in an attic, unopened for decades, had yielded a memoir by the early speculator. In 1910 The Book of Daniel Drew appeared, "edited" by Bouck White. It has been in print more or less ever since.
Daniel Drew was one of the legendary characters of early Wall Street. He had invented, and practiced with boundless enthusiasm, many of the tricks that speculators used in those unregulated days to separate the public, and one another, from their money. At the same time, however, Drew was a genuinely pious Methodist, endowing churches with the money he had fleeced from his victims.
Drew, who had little formal education, was hardly likely to have taken to the doubtful solace of the pen in his old age. Indeed, White never produced the memoir that The Book of Daniel Drew was supposedly based on, doubtless because it never existed, while the Drew family from the start called it a fake. But what a fake! The crafty, devious, utterly amoral, but genuinely devout Drew comes vividly to life in its pages. So does the New York of Drew's day, for White had done his homework thoroughly.
White, in fact, was quite as eccentric as Drew. Born in 1874, five years before Drew's death, he graduated from Harvard and the Union Theological Seminary and was ordained a Congregational minister in 1904. …