FDS Chronicles

Nicolas Fenmore

Gordon Gekko in the iconic ‘80’s film, Wall Street, said simply, “Greed is good”. His three words epitomized the period more than any of the fashion, decor, or platinum blonde hair ever could. Nicolas Fenmore may not have worn suspenders, slicked back his hair, or dawned contrast-collar shirts, but his name elicits that fast-paced, greed-driven decade more than other in the business lexicon.

Graduating from Harvard business school in 1980, Fenmore found little success in his first few years out of college. He moved to New York in hopes of garnering for himself some of the plentiful wealth that the virile 80’s Bull market offered. However, making a name for himself in that harsh, cut-throat world proved more complicated than just having earned a degree. Fenmore, after spending almost two years making cold calls at the upscale investment firm, Speigalman, Goldblatt, and Jewstein, knew that he needed to take a less orthodox approach. His infamous wily back-door in would come in the form of the prestigious FDS Tennis Club and its throng of influential, affluent members. Fenmore once said in an interview, “There’s a saying on Wall Street, ‘Fortunes are made on the exchange floor, but more often they’re found in lockers and bathrooms — much easier to catch everyone with their pants down.” In 1982, Fenmore quit his job at SG&J and took up as a bathroom attendant at the elite upper east side club. The decision would change his life.

Why he made the switch is still unclear, but it’s generally assumed that he was fed up with paying dues to old men he didn’t think deserved their wealth. He’s never spoken about his drastic change directly, but in his memoir, I Own You, he said simply, “I wanted to be a king. I couldn’t do that at that hymie excuse for a firm.” So, Fenmore took to giving out hand towels and cologne in the locker room of the FDS Tennis Club. For the next three years there was no mention of Nicolas Fenmore. As far as anyone was concerned, he had become just another child of higher education who couldn’t make it in the real world. However, soon they would find themselves drastically mistaken.

In 1985, Fenmore walked onto the New York Stock Exchange floor. In a bland grey suit with a faux trader’s badge, Fenmore went unnoticed among the raucous crowds of flashy runners, buyers and traders. Fenmore didn’t make a single trade that day. In fact, it’s reported he only said four words. Running into the men’s bathroom, he screamed, “Russia dropped the bomb.” Fenmore’s sentence rippled through the exchange, and in an era before cellphones or the internet, it sent the market into a selling frenzy . Before anyone could be consulted outside the exchange floor, the market had dropped by thousands of points. And, by the time it was clear no bomb had been dropped turning Cold War hot, the market had closed at a record low. Of course, looking back on the amoral scare that Fenmore incited, it’s clear that the losses normally would have become minimal as the market recouped itself the in following days. But Fenmore had waited two years to stage what was later coined, Red Friday, and it had been by no means random.

Not long after starting his job at the Tennis Club, Fenmore had identified all of the influential members from the financial sector. All the major players of the era were there: Alex Fischel, Zach Robinson, Jake Makin, and, most importantly, Callum “Big Liz” Beals. Whether Fenmore went to work at FDS with a scheme in mind or whether it just fell into his lap, has never been determined. But either way, when Beals and unknown non-members started having clandestine late night meetings, Fenmore watched intently. What Fenmore found out were the intimate details of the largest merger of the modern age. Beals planned to essentially buy the entire oil market and dissolve it into one company, and thanks to the extensive deregulation of the Reagan Administration, such a deal was possible. Fenmore watched Beals closely for the next two years, and catalogued an array of meetings and backhand dealing. The Friday before the infamous Big Liz Beals Fuels merger would take place, Fenmore walked onto Exchange Floor. And, well, the rest is history.

The following Monday at noon the merger was announced and went into effect. By this time Fenmore had bought thousands of shares of stock in all the major oil companies at abysmally low prices due to the panic the Friday before. When the market closed on Monday, the newly formed BLB Fuels was the highest stock by far, quoted at 420.69. And it would only continue to rise in the coming days and weeks. In three days, Fenmore had become one of the world’s five richest men. It only took him another two years to become the world’s richest.

When asked about his success now, Fenmore is out spoken about the winning power of greed and its ability to fuel an economy. One CNN reporter made the mistake of asking him if he thought about the poor, and even went far to say she thought that he neglected philanthropy in has constant vying for additional wealth. Fenmore replied simply, “I think of the poor, in fact, I keep two of them with me at all times. One to make my calls, and the other to suck my dick. You’d be fitted for both.” That reporter, Jaein Lee, was never seen on television again. More recently, despite a change in times and an increasingly regulated market, Fenmore still is considered to rule finance, and by extension, the entire business world. Perhaps most telling of the hegemony that has become Nicolas Fenmore, is the annual Times 100 Most Influential People list. In recent years the list has been decreased by one, to read 2-100. When asked why the number 1 spot had been removed, the editor said only, “Why reprint it when it hasn’t changed in over 20 years.” After a moment, he added, “It probably never will.”

David Adler

David Adler is considered one of the most tragic pop-culture icons of all time. Once a bright shining star, Adler has since dimmed, and all but gone out. Growing up in the heart of Downtown Los Angeles where the Lakers rule all, Adler from birth was surrounded by die-hard sports fans who conferred their love of competition to the impressionable youth. Deeply affected by this atmosphere and his parents own skills at the game, Adler showed an interest in athletics as early as grade school. However, it wasn’t until he entered high school that his interest blossomed into full blown passion. As reported by his friends and family, this sudden enthusiasm is indubitably due to the loss of his parents the year before, only the first of many tragedies to afflict Adler’s life. His parents, Nick and Tala, died as a result of a botched con. Working as hustlers, Adler’s parents, would trick players on the pick-up courts into games by putting on a show of lackluster performance, only to then use real skill and take them for all they were worth. However, in this tragic instance the players that Adler’s parents unknowingly faced up against were future-NBA stars Kobe Bryant and Lamar Odom. Upon loosing the game resoundingly, Adler’s parents found themselves in a serious bind as they didn’t have the 500 hundred dollars they owed. Furious and broke, the two would-be stars called their highly unpublicized and hushed Crip connections to help them shake down the Adlers for the cash. The scene soon turned ugly, and when one of the Crip-enforcers start making moves towards Talla’s dress straps, the breaking point had been reached. After this moment the details become unreliable, but it is believed that Nick lunged at the large Crip trying to defend his wife. Both Adler’s parents were shot four times, twice in the head and twice in the heart. This catastrophe naturally destroyed Adler, but his reaction was unlike anything that would be expected. Rather than become bitter or disillusioned, or blame gang violence and crime, Adler blamed his parents horrible massacre squarely on their loss. He once told the press, “If I can’t win, then, well, what do I have? Money, women, life, they’re all games. And if I can’t win at them, then I don’t really deserve any of them, do I?”. Adler swore to never repeat his parents fatal mistake, and dedicated his life to be able to out preform everyone he met. Adler didn’t learned the identities of the suspected killers until years later, as they were never officially brought up on charges.

Adler would spend the next four years living Basketball. He was the star of his high school varsity team and led it to victory four years in a row. But, of course this wasn’t enough for the young triumph-hungry David Adler; he also made sure that he had the best grades as well as conquered all the best girls. Some called it popularity, Adler phrased it tellingly as, “I won high school”. Naturally, Adler was a shoe-in at any university, and he walked onto the USC Basketball team. Adler essentially repeated his performance from high school all over again. Outstanding records in athletics, academics, and not least women, defined Adler’s college career. Upon graduation, he left as the forecasted first draft pick and a newlywed to his college sweet heart, Audrey Wayne. Adler was on the direct path to making his dreams a reality. His uncle, when prompted about Adler’s mental condition at the time, attested that for the first time since the death of his parents, Adler was beginning to allow  himself to finally relax and enjoy life a little bit. He started to see the magnificence and wonder of life, instead of only seeing a scoreboard. However, this respite was not long to last as tragedy was looming over Adler once again, in wait.

That June Adler was chosen as the first Draft pick by the Lakers who had traded six players to be able to have the spot. Adler’s entering the NBA was one of the most anticipated rookie appearances of all time, even eclipsing his hero, Kobe Byrant. During his first season with the Lakers, Adler rocketed to fame. Landing sponsorship deals and garnering massive fan appeal, Adler became exorbitantly wealthy and was renowned as one of the most successful rookie stories of all time. He said to one reporter in the off-season of after his first year, “Mark my words, I am untouchable.” Adler finally starting to feel that he didn’t need to prove himself to win, but simple be himself, entered his sophomore season ready for a repeat performance. However, his run at the top was soon to run out. In his first game of his second season, Adler dove down for a loose ball, but didn’t come up. The center for the Boston Celtics had accidently stomped on his ankle shattering the bone and the nerves. Adler spent months in hospitals. After numerous surgeries the ankle became infected. Adler would eventually lose the foot.

Adler thought he could fall no further, but unfortunately he was gravely mistaken. Soon after his accident one of his parent’s killers came out with a tell-all memoir from death row that chronicled his devious crimes and exploits. Fingered were both Bryant and Odom. Distraught that two of his heros and former colleges were responsible for the destruction of his family, Adler suffered his parents death all of over again. He lost everything in the preceding months. He funneled away all his money on the hopes of winning an impossible lawsuit against Bryant and Odom for conspiracy to commit murder. What money he was left with was snatched from him by his wife Wayne. She divorced him as it was clear to her that he was no longer on any kind of path to success. Adler had lost everything he had won for himself; all of his hopes dashed and doused out. Adler tried to commit suicide twice. But both times failed, having been rushed to the ER just in time.

The world had all but forgotten David Adler. He spent the last four years selling used cars in Van Nuys using his former fame as a gimmic. It wasn’t until last june that he came back into public notice when he tried to gun down Bryant outside of the Staples Center. His attempts were not successful in assassinating the Lakers’ star, but they were successful in killing two bystanders. Adler, sentenced to the death penalty by lethal injection, now waits on death row for the impending inevitable.

His prison warden says that he has acclimated to the environment nicely. Apparently, he has taken up playing chess.

Collin Citron

Collin Citron. Some hold he is a hero, most deem him a blight upon society, but unquestionably he is most famous New York dirt punk to ever live. Born and raised on the City streets, Citron was “hard” from birth. Legend has it he came out of the birth canal with “His hair slicked back, and his fists pumping.” Surely, a ‘hood from the get-go. Be this as it may, little is conclusively known about Citron’s youth. There are records of him attending P.S. 181 in 1974, but he was thrown out soon after enrolling in the 3rd Grade for apparently assaulting his teacher with a shiv made from a Power Rangers “Go-Go Fork”. When asked about the incident, Citron’s teacher, who requested to remain anonymous, said, “I taught for 30 years and I never saw a kid pass through my class who I actually believed was rotten to the core. When he assaulted me I looked into his eyes, aghast. He smiled.” She still has a shard of red plastic embedded an inch from her aortic artery. There are no records of Citron ever enrolling in school again, making the next decade of his life primarily undocumented. It is commonly assumed among historians, though, that during this time he wandered the streets of Brooklyn honing his brawling and hardening his fists. Other than that, this period is a mystery.

Citron doesn’t resurface again until 1984, when he joins the gang, NYC Funk. The notoriously violent, punk-riot gang derived their moniker from their unofficial creed of never showering so their rivals would know them by their stench. Needless to say that Citron, who always outdid his peers, was by far the most pungent. Quickly rising the ranks of “The Funk” through a series of assassinations and a final coup d’etat said to have rivaled Bosnian death-squad massacres in its brutality, Citron ruled the Brooklyn based gang by 1986, and by extension the very streets themselves. At the young age of 20, Collin Citron had New York in his hand. And Citron’s hands were rough.

In the following five years Citron is reported to have squashed any and all rival gangs, and to have boxed out all genres other than gutter punk from the local Brooklyn venues. During this time the NYPD had a standing bounty for Citron’s arrest that, at its peak, stood at a staggering 3 million dollars. However, despite a few close calls, the police never managed to even detain the infamous NY street lord. This is particularly incredible considering one of Citron’s favorite activities was to take to the streets at night, pick fights with policemen, and precede to beat and mangle them beyond recognition. He wrote in one of the thousands of notebooks found after his death containing his day to day qualms and disgust with the City, “Cop blood feel good on my knuckles. It pulse like sex and run real red.”

Citron, king of “The Rotten Apple”, is said to have killed upwards of a thousand men, all with his bare hands. But amazingly, the most feared man in New York was brought down by a 6 year old Brooklyn native. Citron was buying a Tall-boy of PBR from a Korean bodega when Nathaniel Bridges strolled in carrying his father’s 22 gauge, sawed-off shotgun. Perhaps most ironically, Bridges had been imitating his very victim, wandering the neighborhood, playing a local game known as, “King Citron Killz”. Upon seeing the unofficial lord of New York, Bridges, unaware of his victim’s prestige, fired one shot decapitating Citron, and pasting his brains and skull across the counter as well as the 78 year old Korean shop-owner’s face. NYC Funk released an unofficial bounty for Bridges body saying they would tear him apart nail by nail, bone by bone, vein by vein. However, the NYPD quickly took Bridges into custody, awarding him the 3 million dollar bounty, and entering him into the FBI protection plan. Bridges whereabouts remain unknown.

Although Citron died almost 10 years ago, his memory and his violence still live on. His message of taking life one punch at a time still strongly resinates with Brooklyn youth. It’s safe to say that there will never be another dirt punk as seminal as Collin Citron.

Newman Wolf

Newman Wolf is a Los Angeles Socialite noted for sudden appearances around the city, as well as his legendary first impressions. One 818 local was quoted in saying, when she saw Wolf for the first time she simply thought to herself, “Who is that guy? And how do I get to know him?”. During the early 90’s Wolf gained minimal celebrity as he milked his budding it-boy persona and growing buzz by joining the rock power quartet, The Irregars. Quickly rising to fame, The Irregars enjoyed city wide popularity, playing such venues as the Roxy, The Sunset Junction music festival, and the infamous Kutting Room. By 1999 they had reached the top of the mountain, and were crowned Kings of LA. Unfortunately, that mountain was soon to crumble. In the following summer, Wolf found the love of a beautiful valley rose…The Irregars would never be the same. With his valley rose at his side, Wolf’s ego became engorged and the band soon succumbed to bickering and in-fighting. They didn’t last the year.

With the disintigration of the legendary rock force that was The Irregars, Wolf was crushed. After falling into a deep depression, compounded by the interminable divorce he was in the midst of with his now hated valley rose, Wolf all but disappeared. However, last year after a tell all E! True Hollywood interview in which Wolf finally divulged the long shrouded secrets concerning his bout with the virulent drug, DGAFLYF, as well as his long suspected involvement in the locally famous medical dispensary, Forever 20, Wolf seems to perhaps be making a come back. Although, while Wolf has to win the hearts of a new generation who seem to know nothing of his past, his old die-hard fans are coming out of the woodworks to support their old star. One anonymous Irregars fan was quoted in saying, “That Newman, he partied with the best of them; he was LA.”

Newman maybe a little older and a little wiser but he still has to battle the same demons every day. In a recent interview Wolf said, “You know I look at the faces of these kids today and think to myself, are you what I was like? These kids from C.H.A.M.P.S. and Oakwood they just look right through me. But, you know I’ve been DGAF free for three years now and hopefully with my recent Malibu endorsement and the few DJing gigs I have lined up, I can make my way back to the top.” Whether Wolf will be able to attain his former success is yet to be seen, but hopefully with the help of his celebrity support group, FDS, and the buzz that has been emanating from south of the boulevard, he’ll overcome.

Greg Hartunian

Greg Hartunian to some, the Fret Master to most. Hartunian has been the voice of a generation; his signature, “Chill Pickin”, has been hailed as a revelation among musicians and ushered in a revolution that’s roots can still be traced through popular music almost 50 years later. Hartunian started his career in the late 1950’s. He played bars mostly at first with an all “Negro” back up band, known only as “The Syngers”. He didn’t gain recognition until almost a decade later, but during this time he is reported to have developed his blazing tone and his baked style. He once said, “I may have struggled for years before I was heard, but it didn’t mean I didn’t feel high the whole time, ;-)” (Winky-Face added). It wasn’t until a well known music producer heard him at a tucked away bar in the Malibu area that Hartunian began his ascension to fame. That producer was Ram Korfman-Slips. Korfman-Slips said when asked about finding Hartunian, “I didn’t even know what I was in for when I walked into that little hole in the wall, FDS-West. My production manager had told me to check out this act “Tunin’ and the Syngers” but I didn’t expect to find anything special. But when I saw that kid on stage, all I could think to myself was, That kid looks like a Kennedy. After that the Chill Pickin got me too mellow to remember why I was there. I came to an hour later half way through a bag of coke, three prostitutes, and a three-quarters of a bag of tuxedos.” Korfman-Slips had found a gold mine.

After signing Hartunian, Korfman-Slips took little time to rocket him to the top. Hartunian, with his clear sex appeal, needed little more than a small amount of lime light to shoot to the top. During the 60’s Hartunian never went more than a month with out being at the head of the charts. He was a revolution. Girls wanted him, guys wanted to be him, and the world was never the same again. It is legend that Marylyn Monroe once said she would loose a toe to be with the Fret Master for just one night but upon asking him he simply laughed at her and said, “Chill”. Heart broken, Monroe died soon after from suicide, it is assumed that this was the inciting cause. However, the top weighed heavy on Hartunian and many of his personal ties soon dissolved. Hartunian went through many back up bands, The Syngers were replaced Quasichilloto, who were replaced by the Bongers, until Hartunian finally found his group that stayed with through the end, Life, the Universe, and Everything. This pattern of betrayal and anger followed Hartunian. Mired by intense drug and alcohol abuse Hartunian, finally hit rock bottom. He said in his memoirs, “The Chill Ride”, “I remember waking up one day and not know where I was. I looked to my left and I saw my the neck of my guitar, Jake, in my hand. But when I looked down the body had been shattered and ripped off. I tried to jump out of bed but I found that I had played so much Chill Pickin the nights preceding, that my arms were beyond use. I laid in that bed for two days. When I got up I could never play again.” After loosing Jake and playing himself into a stupor, Hartunian fell even deeper into drugs. Ironic, as that was what had led him there.

Hartunian was found dead three years later in 1974. At the time of his death it had been 6 years since he had released a single, and 3 years since he had played a show. When the police found him in his Los Angeles hotel room there was a note that said only, “My arms is tired, but my soul is rested. Chill on, brothers”. The tragedy of Hartunian’s passing was felt across the nation. And although he is gone hundreds of musicians choose to honor him still by playing on, and preaching his message of life and the chill.

Chill on, brothers. Chill on.