ENDPAPER

DOWN THE STEPS WENT I, INTO the subterranean depths, torch thrust out ahead for light, seeking the Office of Career Services conference room. Okay, I didn't actually thrust out a torch, but it was pretty dark down there. And frightening. The agonizing search for summer employment was upon me.

An auspicious beginning it was, too. I was tardy for the introductory meeting of the SEO program (no, not the Student Employment Office; these initials stand as symbols for a phrase--which escapes me now--for more arcane and laden with significance that that). The program places enterprising minority youth--i.e., me--in Wall Street investment firms for the summer, where we can get out of the house, have power lunches, network, you name it.

I entered the conference room, took off my prescription sunglasses, and hung them on the collar of my sweater. Very cool, I thought. Of course, since I didn't have my "indoor" glasses, I couldn't see anything, but why worry. I could hear.

Veterans of the program were there to share their wisdom with the initiated. As they spoke of what was "fun" about the program, I thought myself trapped in the surrealistic scenes those of us who are chronically late often experience, where you don't have any idea what's going on and people are saying strange and seemingly fantastic things which would probably have been perfectly clear to you if only you had arrived punctually:

"I don't know, I just got into being corporate, playing the office game, getting into the politics..."

"It was really exciting being around high-powered people, people with lots of money."

We were even offered a role model:

Who was the guy who worked with Boesky, how much did he make, $41 million?"

Thirty-five."

Now, I wasn't offended by these naked expressions of greed. I myself can be quite greedy. I must have a Porsche 928S with a phone, and that Panasonic multivision system where you can control your television, stereo, VCR, and the U.S. tactical nuclear arsenal with the same remote. This is going to take some cash.

Minorities shouldn't be held to a higher standard than white people; we should be allowed to sacrifice our principles at the alter of Mammon just like them. After all, this is America and we're all created equal. Tee hee.

The weird aspect of the utterances voiced in that room, though, was that these fellows actually thought they could become rich, $41 million rich, by working for Dillon Read or Kidder Peabody.

Didn't they watch Coming Together at 2:30 a.m.? Didn't they read the business Section of the Sunday Times? Didn't they peruse the pages of the Wall Street Journal?

Weren't they aware that the corporate structure they worshipped was the very quagmire in which blacks now find themselves trapped, mysteriously unable to advance beyond the middle management level? When none of the top 100 earners on Wall Street are black, you've got to wonder. Ninety percent of Black executives polled by the Journal said they felt their companies were unwilling to promote Blacks beyond the middle management level. You're just not going to make $41 million as a middle manager.

But my surprise was based on more than statistics. I've been Black for some time now, and I've known a lot of Black people, and we could all only agree on a couple of things: 1) The Celtics are evil, and very ugly, and 2) You can't make any money working for the "man."

In my last minority summer internship program (okay, maybe so it's reverse discrimination, but we've been oppressed for 300 years, and we can hardly join any country clubs), everybody seemed to be assimilationist--we rarely made fun of white people. Of course, we played it close to the vest regarding our true sentiments.

Towards the end of the long summer, several of us revealed our belief that the only way to go was to learn as much as we could working for whites, and then go out on our own. Dillon Read, Kidder Peabody, and Merrill Lynch were the enemy, buttresses of the subtle institutional racism that everyone keeps saying has replaced overt racism as the real problem facing Blacks now. It was taken as a given that within the corporate structure Blacks were never going to rise high enough to achieve real financial independence, or get Panasonic multivision systems. Well, maybe those.

Of course, I'm hardly the person to preach to a conference room full of Blacks. I can't even take it strong to the basket. Still, I'm concerned. In order for Blacks to exert influence, we've got to get the money. Jobs in investment banking were for me always one step on the way to getting rich, not the way. Stuck in a dead-end, no-power job, waiting for the secretary to bring the cheese croissants, is hardly the way to go.

Then again, maybe everyone said these same things before I came in. You just can't be sure when you're tardy.