The New Market Wizards: Conversations with America's Top Traders

More is learned from one’s errors than from one’s successes.

—P
RIMO
L
EVI

I must create a system or be enslaved by another man’s.

—W
ILLIAM
B
LAKE

H
ere’s what I believe:

1. The markets are not random. I don’t care if the number of academicians who have argued the efficient market hypothesis would stretch to the moon and back if laid end to end; they are simply wrong.
   
2. The markets are not random, because they are based on human behavior, and human behavior, especially mass behavior, is not random. It never has been, and it probably never will be.
   
3. There is no holy grail or grand secret to the markets, but there are many patterns that can lead to profits.
   
4. There are a million ways to make money in markets. The irony is that they are all very difficult to find.
   
5. The markets are always changing, and they are always the same.
   
6. The secret to success in the markets lies not in discovering some incredible indicator or elaborate theory; rather, it lies within each individual.
   
7. To excel in trading requires a combination of talent and extremely hard work—(surprise!) the same combination required for excellence in any field. Those seeking success by buying the latest $300 or even $3,000 system, or by following the latest hot tip, will never find the answer because they haven’t yet understood the question.
   
8. Success in trading is a worthy goal, but it will be worthless if it is not accompanied by success in your life (and I use the word
   success
   here without monetary connotation).
   

In conducting the interviews for this book and its predecessor,
Market Wizards,
I became absolutely convinced that winning in the markets is a matter of skill and discipline, not luck. The magnitude and consistency of the winning track records compiled by many of those I interviewed simply defy chance. I believe the Market Wizards provide role models for what it takes to win in the markets. Those seeking quick fortunes should be discouraged at the onset.

I have strived to reach two audiences: the professionals who have staked careers in the markets or are serious students of the markets, and the lay readers who have a general interest in the financial markets and a curiosity about those who have won dramatically in an arena where the vast majority loses. In order to keep the book accessible to the layperson, I have tried to avoid particularly esoteric topics and have included explanations wherever appropriate. At the same time, I have strived to maintain all core ideas so that there would be no loss of meaningful information to those with a good working knowledge of the markets. I think this book should be as meaningful to the layperson as to the professional simply because the elements that determine success in trading are totally applicable to success in virtually any field or to achieving any meaningful goal.

The Jademaster

O
ne cold winter morning a young man walks five miles through the snow. He knocks on the Jademaster’s door. The Jademaster answers with a broom in his hand.

“Yes?”

“I want to learn about Jade.”

“Very well then, come in out of the cold.”

They sit by the fire sipping hot green tea. The Jademaster presses a green stone deeply into the young man’s hand and begins to talk about tree frogs. After a few minutes, the young man interrupts.

“Excuse me, I am here to learn about Jade, not tree frogs.”

The Jademaster takes the stone and tells the young man to go home and return in a week. The following week the young man returns. The Jademaster presses another green stone into the young man’s hand and continues the story. Again, the young man interrupts. Again, the Jademaster sends him home. Weeks pass. The young man interrupts less and less. The young man also learns to brew the hot green tea, clean up the kitchen and sweep the floors. Spring comes.

One day, the young man observes, “The stone I hold is not genuine Jade.”

I lean back in my chair, savoring the story. My student interrupts.

“OK. OK. That’s a great story. I don’t see what it has to do with making money. I come to you to find out about the markets. I want to learn about the bulls and the bears, commodities, stocks, bonds, calls and options. I want to make big money. You tell me a fable about Jade. What is this? You…”

“That’s all for now. Leave those price charts on the table. Come back next week.”

Months pass. My student interrupts less and less as I continue the story of
The Trader’s Window.

—from
The Trader’s Window,
E
D
S
EYKOTA

O
n the lecture tour following the completion of this book’s predecessor,
Market Wizards,
certain questions came up with reliable frequency. One common question was: “Has your own trading improved dramatically now that you’ve just finished interviewing some of the world’s best traders?” Although I had the advantage of having plenty of room for dramatic improvement in my trading, my response was a bit of a cop-out. “Well,” I would answer, “I don’t know. You see, at the moment, I’m not trading.”

While it may seem a bit heretical for the author of
Market Wizards
not to be trading, there was a perfectly good reason for my inaction. One of the cardinal rules about trading is (or should be): Don’t trade when you can’t afford to lose. In fact, there are few more certain ways of guaranteeing that you
will
lose than by trading money you can’t afford to lose. If your trading capital is too important, you will be doomed to a number of fatal errors. You will miss out on some of the best trading opportunities because these are often the most risky. You will jump out of perfectly good positions prematurely on the first sign of adverse price movement only to then see the market go in the anticipated direction. You will be too quick to take the first bit of profit because of concern that the market will take it away from you. Ironically, overconcern about losing may even lead to staying with losing trades as fear triggers indecisiveness, much like a deer frozen in the glare of a car’s headlights. In short, trading with “scared money” will lead to a host of negative emotions that will cloud decision making and virtually guarantee failure.

The completion of
Market Wizards
coincided with my having a house built. Perhaps somewhere out in this great country, there is someone who has actually built a house for what they thought it would cost. But I doubt it. When financing the building of a house, you find yourself repeatedly uttering that seemingly innocuous phrase, “Oh, it’s only another $2,000.” All those $2,000s add up, not to mention the much larger sums. One of our extravagances was an indoor swimming pool, and to help pay for this item I liquidated my commodity account—in the truest sense of the word. It was my sincerest intention not to resume trading until I felt I had adequate risk capital available, and an unending stream of improvements on the house kept pushing that date further into the future. In addition, working at a demanding full-time job and simultaneously writing a book is a draining experience. Trading requires energy, and I felt I needed time to recuperate without any additional strains. In short, I didn’t want to trade.

This was the situation one day when, in reviewing my charts in the afternoon, I found myself with the firm conviction that the British pound was about to collapse. In the previous two weeks, the pound had moved straight down without even a hint of a technical rebound. After this sharp break, in the most recent week, the pound had settled into a narrow, sideways pattern. In my experience, this type of combined price action often leads to another price decline. Markets will often do whatever confounds the most traders. In this type of situation, many traders who have been long realize they have been wrong and are reconciled to liquidating a bad position—not right away, of course, but on the first rebound. Other traders who have been waiting to go short realize that the train may have left without them. They too are waiting for any minor rebound as an opportunity to sell. The simple truth is that most traders cannot stand the thought of selling near a recent low, especially soon after a sharp break. Consequently, with everyone waiting to sell the first rally, the market never rallies.

In any case, one look at the chart and I felt convinced this was one of those situations in which the market would never lift its head. Although my strong conviction tempted me to implement a short position, I also felt it was an inappropriate time to resume trading. I looked at my watch. There were exactly ten minutes left to the close. I procrastinated. The market closed.

That night before leaving work, I felt I had made a mistake. If I was so sure the market was going down, I reasoned, I should have gone short, even if I didn’t want to trade. So I walked over to the twenty-four-hour trading desk and placed an order to go short the British pound in the overnight market. The next morning I came in and the pound was down over 200 points on the opening. I placed a token amount of money into the account and entered a stop order to liquidate the trade if the market returned to my entry level. I rationalized that I was only trading with the market’s money, and since my plan was to cease trading on a return to breakeven, I was not really violating my beliefs against trading with inadequate capital. Thus, I found myself trading once again, despite a desire not to do so.

This particular trade provides a good illustration of one of the principles that emerged from my interviews for
Market Wizards
. Patience was an element that a number of the supertraders stressed as being critical to success. James Rogers said it perhaps most colorfully, “I just wait until there is money lying in the corner, and all I have to do is go over there and pick it up. I do nothing in the meantime.” In essence, by not wanting to trade, I had inadvertently transformed myself into a master of patience. By forcing myself to wait until there was a trade that appeared so compelling that I could not stand the thought of not taking it, I had vastly improved the odds.

During the next few months, I continued to trade and my equity steadily increased, as I seemed to be making mostly correct trading decisions. My account grew from $0 (not counting an initial $4,000 deposit that was quickly withdrawn once profits more than covered margin requirements) to over $25,000. It was at this juncture, while traveling on a business trip, that nearly all my positions turned sour simultaneously. I made some hasty decisions between meetings, virtually all of which proved wrong. Within about a week, I had lost about one-third of my gains. Normally, when I surrender a meaningful percentage of my profits, I put on the brakes, either trading only minimally or ceasing to trade altogether. Instinctively, I seemed to be following the same script on this occasion, as my positions were reduced to minimal levels.

At this time, I received a call from my friend Harvey (not his real name). Harvey is a practitioner of Elliott Wave analysis (a complex theory that attempts to explain all market behavior as part of a grand structure of price waves).
^*
Harvey often calls me for my market opinion and in the process can’t resist telling me his. Although I have usually found it to be a mistake to listen to anyone else’s opinions on specific trades, in my experience Harvey had made some very good calls. This time he caught my ear.

“Listen, Jack,” he said, “you have to sell the British pound!” At the time, the British pound had gone virtually straight up for four months, moving to a one-and-a-half-year high.

“Actually,” I replied, “my own projection suggests that we may be only a few cents away from a major top, but I would never sell into a runaway market like this. I’m going to wait until there are some signs of the market topping.”

“It will never happen,” Harvey shot back. “This is the fifth of a fifth.” (This is a rerference to the wave structure of prices that will mean something to Elliotticians, as enthusiasts of this methodology are known. As for other readers, any attempt at an explanation is more likely to confuse than enlighten—take my word for it.) “This is the market’s last gasp, it will probably just gap lower on Monday morning and never look back.” (This conversation was taking place on a Friday afternoon with the pound near its highs for the week.) “I really feel sure about this one.”

I paused, thinking: I’ve just taken a hit in the markets. Harvey is usually pretty good in his analysis, and this time he seems particularly confident about his call. Maybe I’ll coattail him on just this one trade, and if he’s right, it will be an easy way for me to get back on a winning track.

So I said (I still cringe at the recollection), “OK Harvey, I’ll follow you on this trade. But I must tell you that from past experience I’ve found listening to other opinions disastrous. If I get in on your opinion, I’ll have no basis for deciding when to get out of the trade. So understand that my plan is to follow you all the way. I’ll get out when you get out, and you need to let me know when you change your opinion.” Harvey readily agreed. I went short at the market about a half-hour before the close and then watched as prices continued to edge higher, with the pound closing near its high for the week.

The following Monday morning, the British pound opened 220 points higher. One of my trading rules is: Never hold a position that gaps sharply against you right after you have put it on. (A gap refers to the market opening sharply higher or lower than the previous close.) The trade seemed wrong. My own instincts were to just get out. However, since I had entered this trade on Harvey’s analysis, I thought it was important to remain consistent. So I called Harvey and said, “This short pound trade doesn’t look so good to me, but since I don’t think it’s a good idea to mix analysis on a trade, my plan is to follow you on the exit of the position. So what do you think?”

“It’s gone a little higher than I thought. But this is just a wave extension. I think we’re very close to the top. I’m staying short.”

The market continued to edge higher during the week. On Friday, the release of some negative economic news for the pound caused the currency to trade briefly lower during the morning, but by the afternoon prices were up for the day once again. This contrarian response to the news set off warning bells. Again, my instincts were to get out. But I didn’t want to deviate from the game plan at this late juncture, so I called Harvey again. Well, as you might have guessed, the wave was still extending and he was still as bearish as ever. And yes, I stayed short.

On the next Monday morning, it was no great surprise that the market was up another few hundred points. A day later, with the market still edging higher, Harvey called. His confidence unshaken, he triumphantly announced, “Good news, I’ve redone my analysis and we’re very close to the top.” I groaned to myself. Somehow this enthusiasm over an event that had not yet occurred seemed ominous. My own confidence in the trade reached a new low.

No need to continue the gruesome details. About one week later, I decided to throw in the towel, Harvey or no Harvey. By the way, the market was still moving higher seven months later.

It is amazing how one trading sin led to a cascade of others. It started out with greed in wanting to find an easy way to recoup some losses—by following someone else’s trade. This action also violated my strong belief that it is unwise to be swayed by other people’s opinions in trading. These errors were quickly followed by ignoring some screaming market clues to liquidate the position. Finally, by surrendering the decision process of the trade to another party, I had no method for risk control. Let me be absolutely clear that the point is not that I followed bad advice and lost money, but rather that the market is a stern enforcer that unmercifully and unfailingly extracts harsh fines for all (trading) transgressions. The fault for the losses was totally my own, not Harvey’s (nor that of the method, Elliott Ware Analysis, which has been wed effectively by many traders).

I traded lightly for another month and then decided to call it quits as my account neared the breakeven point. It had been a quick ride up and down, with little to show for it except some market experience.

Several months later I was a speaker at a seminar at which Ed Seykota had agreed to make a rare appearance. Ed was one of the phenomenal futures traders I interviewed for
Market Wizards
. His views on the markets provide an unusual blend of scientific analysis, psychology, and humor.

Ed began his presentation by asking for a volunteer from the audience to point to the time periods on various charts that coincided with the dates of financial magazine covers he had brought along. He started in the early 1980s. The cover blared: “Are Interest Rates Going to 20%?” Sure enough, the date of the magazine cover was in near-perfect synchrony with the bottom of the bond market. At another point, he pulled out a cover with an ominous picture of farm fields withering away under a blazing sun. The publication date coincided with price peak of the grain markets during the 1988 drought. Moving ahead to then-current times, he showed a magazine cover that read: “How High Can Oil Prices Go?” This story was written at the time of skyrocketing oil prices in the months following the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait. “My guess is that we’ve probably seen the top of the oil market”, said Ed. He was right.

“Now you understand how to get all the important information about impending market trends from news and financial magazines. Just read the covers and forget about the articles inside.” Quintessential Ed Seykota.

I was eager to speak to Ed so that I could relay my trading experiences and glean the benefits of his insights. Unfortunately, at every break during the seminar, each of us was surrounded by attendees asking questions. We were staying at the same small hotel in San Francisco. After we got back, I asked Ed if he cared to go out and find a spot where we could relax and talk. Although he appeared a bit beat, he agreed.

We walked around the area trying to find something that resembled a comfortable local bar or café, but all we managed to find were large hotels. Finally, in desperation we wandered into one. In the lounge, a loud band and a truly bad singer were belting out their version of what else—“New York, New York.” (I’m sure if we were in New York, the band would have been playing “I Left My Heart in San Francisco.”) This certainly would not do for a quiet conversation with the man I hoped would be my temporary mentor. We sat down in the lobby outside, but the strains of the music were still uncomfortably loud (yes, Virginia, there are sounds worse than Muzak), and the atmosphere was deadly. My hopes for an intimate conversation were quickly fading.