Manages Parisian Family Office. Began Wall Street, 82. Founded investment firm, Native American Advisors. Member, White Earth Chippewa Tribe. Was NYSE/FINRA arb. Conservative. Raised on Native reservations. Pureblood, clot-shot free. In a world elevated on a tech-driven dopamine binge, he trades from Ghost Ranch on the Yellowstone River in MT, his TN farm, Pamelot or CASA TULE', his winter camp in Los Cabos, Mexico. Always been, and will always be, an optimist.

Thursday, March 15, 2012


Probably for alot longer than you I've been talking on a cell phone.   They are great tools and I've come to rely on mine as much as anyone in the investment management business.  A couple of nights ago, for the first time in history, my cell phone was lost.   I mean lost.  I mean never to be found again.  Yes, it sucked.  We had covered some great miles together and there were some great calls made over that phone.  Through snow storms, desert heat, different continents and big country in our West she was always a dependable creature.  We had a good bond.  We were friends.  We took care of each other.

As I was moping around after dinner there were several sirens that pulled up to a residence in my neighborhood about a half mile away.  My son and I went on over to see if there might be anything we could help with.  As the paramedics came out of the house pumping fists on the chest of my neighbor that cell phone seemed very insignificant.  It wasn't important at all.  May I never forget that lesson.

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