I read through the list of 400 richest people in America
in Forbes magazine last night and there at # 91 was my old friend from high school, Stanley Druckenmiller--3.5 billion, three kids, has a charity for education in Harlem, NYC. 3.5 billion. With a b. Madre de Dios. And except for the growth of the jowls, he looks remarkably the same.
Stan's parents moved up to Baltimore or somewhere at the start of our senior year so he stayed a few months each with three of us, me, George Whitley and Harry Talheimer, I believe, so he didn't have to transfer his last year. He was a strange mix of socially liberal and fiscally eager, basically a good guy.
I know you'll never read this, Stan, but I'm proud of you, just as much for the few billion as for the charity and the three children. If we ever do cross paths, I hope you'll tell me the straight poop on your years working for George Soros and the raid you helped engineer on the British Pound, over some glasses of thousand dollar brandy, of course. Your treat.
UPDATE: I found an old photo of Stan, Ry Marchant and me at Stan's wedding in the late 70s near Pittsburgh. I'm standing downhill.
Labels: Personal History; Stanley Druckenmiller