(SPX)(QQQ)(GLD)(DIA)(RLM)
by DeWayne Reeves
Dr Dean Handley -
Futures Trader / Visionary / New Sheriff In Town
Who is this guy and what gives him the right to kick in doors of Live Emini Trading Rooms, turn over tables and call a spade a spade? It's actually more the where than the who I suppose... a little place you may have heard of - America. Land of the free, home of the brave (huevos grande'). It's a simple story really. (insert Springsteen soundtrack)
Early in life he saw the incredible opportunity that existed in the world of Futures, from leverage, to around the clock liquidity, tax advantages (check with a tax professional) I could go on, but for once I would like to stay focused. He knew he needed training, he was more than willing to pay for it, he did his due diligence (he's a highly educated man), yet through the sophisticated "come hither siren song" played on 9 out of 10 "Trading / Training Sites", they got him. Tall, smart, good looking and still they ripped his freaking eyes out.
Stunned, shocked, reeling from the pain... he chalked it up to a bad experience and once again set out in search of a true education. They saw him coming and left him bleeding (financially, spiritually, not to mention questioning his own sanity), in a Wall Street back alley. Still groggy, he stagered to his feet, the proverbial Phoenix rising from his own ashes. He looked up, raised a fist as if preparing to curse God and stopped... the first unfurled to simply an open, upturned, outstretched, hand.
A chilhdood memory appeared out of no where. A monkey, a jar, a bannana and a closed hand. We've all heard it at some point, right? The greeedy monkey won't unclench his fist and so his pearl of great price (the banana) remains trapped in the jar. The moral being that a closed hand cannot receive a gift. Remember that? He swore no oath, made no threat, just a promise to himself.
(this dramatic renactment brought to you by
Financial Terrorism In The World Of Emini Futures
Twenty years ago few Americans had even heard the word terrorist, much less experienced and act of terrorism. The more Dean thought about it, he came to understand that this was exactly what thousands of would be Traders were facing every day... financial terrorists. Vengeance is mine saith the Lord, but hey, are you gonna' stand around and watch people get mugged in broad daylight, day, after day, after day? I would like to think not.
You're in Central Park and some "real man" starts slapping around his pregnant 95 pound "lady".
Do you -
Turn your back? (Survey - 40% said Yes)
Call 911? (can she withstand a 90 minute beating until the Po-Po roll up?)
Do something? (Dean's a doer. Hero to many, meddler to others, the right man at the right time.)
He saw injustice and he started to set it straight one room at a time. Wherever he shined his light, boy did they scatter. Except for a few. A few stood their ground and said "Come, sit, watch, evaluate". If we don't make the grade at least we have a Punch List from an Industry Expert that we can work from. Whatever you find wrong, if we agree, we'll fix it. How hard is that?
History Of A "Decade Old" Live Emini Trading Room
Before Traders could seek an Emini Education, learning to trade as they watched a Professional Trader at work trading real money in real time... there had to be a beginning. I read a great book (a few times) that said "Despise not humble beginnings". I assure you, it doesn't get much humbler than this.
Our goal since Day 1 at CFRN has been quite lofty. Considering the budget, education, training and know how, to many it seemed more a delusion of grandeur than a realistic business plan. Sometimes, when the entrepenuerial blood is flowing through your viens @ 100 Proof, you just have to fly by the seat of your pants and make the most of what you have to work with.
Mission? To run The Finest Trading Organization in the World.
Building the Emini Dream on Guts and Inspiration
We started as a humble radio station with a beat up old PC, mysteriously and precariously wired to an old Peavey Amp, a stand up Mic, a Handi-Coupler and the slowest T-1 since Adam. We had the big countdown over a period of weeks, my expert friends came and observed, made copious notes, drew sketches, snapped photographs and delivered the diagnosis. It's a Bumble-Bee.
A what? A Bumble-Bee I begged??? Aerodynamically they can't fly. You see this was 2005. I was prophesying that the day would come when CFRN would be played inside your Auto as you sped down Route 66. That day is here. They laughed at me like I suppose they laughed at Noah. At last we became the fodder of late night stand up. For those who don't know that's the turning point.
After the count down, the first day I keyed up that Mic and (in theory) sent my voice around the world, I had no feedback system in place. Did it work? Not work? I went into a manic state somewhere between Mark Driscoll, Joel Osteen and Robin Williams. I rattled for 2 hours straight until the call for nicotine (yes I was and no I don't) became greater than the call to Pioneer, so I threw my little homemade switch which took me from Talk to Music, went outside and deep inhaled more than 1...
As I shuffled back in it crossed my mind to check my email. When that baby opened it sounded like Harrah's - ding, ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.....
I scanned them quickly, after all... I had Radio to do (or so I thought). It ranged from "Son, it's Mama... I can hear you kind of, but what are you talking about? Are you ok Son?
To the - I hear you, I hear you, I hear you, over and over and over agian.
Then came the liberals, the anti-capitalists (even they were listening) and boy were they ticked off. Seems their team had not quite managed to wire up a beat up PC (turns out they were Mac people), to a Peavey Amp, stand up Mic, Hand-Coupler and $60 Studio Headphones.
All that mattered was "THEY HEARD ME!". From Boston, to Tennessee, to Texas. Mexico to Bogata (long story / previous life). I had a Platform. I spoke.... they heard... it was magical.
They said I couoldn't, but without getting Preachy here - "With God all things are possible" and his fingerprints were all over this thing. I had a buyout offer inside of 90 days, but I'm still behind the Mic today almost 10 years later making folks cringe day after day.
Emini Futures Are The Fuel Not The Purpose
Each of us were uniqely handcrafted with a built in purpose and destiny. Some find it early in life, others stumble around like a drunken sailor and eventually trip over it at 37. Hint: It finds you at the exact time it's supposed to. Never early and never late.
Speaking for my wife and I (and other drunken sailors - she was a civillian), our destiny fell in our lap the day we realized over 100 women a day here in Phoenix were being turned away from our handfull of Domestic Violence Shelters (yes, being told "No room at the Inn, go home, if you make it through the night... come back and try again tomorrow").
This wasn't news actually, turns out it's been going on since man was old enough to prove his manliness. However, I had just finished reading
Rose Madder in the Spring of 1996. A book that when I picked it up, was simply more Stephen King to read. I had read The Stand twice and was hoping this might be in the same genre. The book had a profound effect. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, so what did I do? Conduct a survey? March with a Poster? Lobby Congress? No. There are rare occassions when you have to be a Doer. Anything else just falls short.
My wife and I opened a Privately Funded Home for Battered Women and Abused Children. Government money was available but the strings attached were more like a noose. These women and children needed to be safe tonight.
Any idea how long it takes to get a grant funded? 6 months to 2 years with no guarantee you'll get it.
Guess how long it takes to rent a house? 2 hours.
I was a salesman at the time so I worked a few bell to bell shifts to raise the money.
We made the decision on a Sunday afternoon. Real Women and Children were not beaten Wed night.
Am I boasting? You betcha! I'm bragging about the God far greater than the forces of evil. He called us up and sent us out. We didn't ask questions, we just did it. Of course people said "You can't do that". I agreed with them. I knew that I could do very little on my own, but in Partnership with the great I Am, mountains don't just move, they pick up their hills and RUN.
So there we were... No money (except my weekly paycheck and daily cash bonuses), no education, no training. Just lots of big eyes and smiling faces every where you looked.... and Cereal. I remember lots and lots of Cereal and Milk of course, oh... and the smell of fresh poop. You see my wife and I had no kids of our own. At 37 I had long since stopped pooping my own pants, so I had sort of forgotten what it smelled like. It may not be Napalm in the Morning, but it is a powerful odor. When God whispered in my ear one morning, I realized what I was smelling... FREEDOM!
Let's look each other in the eye for a minute, Freedom or not it still made me a little queasy and still does, but I would not change a thing. Except for one. I could have really used the the cash to get all those precious bodies out of that crack infested neighborhood rental, into a nice suburban home with grass and a picket fence.
A place where these women could learn their self worth was not tied to some sorry excuse for a man. Or was he just a Boy? A hurting little boy who never grew up and remained trapped behind a 6-pack, 2 fat lines of meth and the memories of all the beatings he took as a child? I'm not making excuses for him, just telling you how far this world has fallen since God told Adam "Don't let the gate hit you in the rear". (He didn't really say that. At least I have no scriptural reference for it.)
So there was this guy who always sold pretty good wherever he worked. Not on human strength, but the kind of energy that comes when you have a Godly boot up against your backside, this feller went from good seller to Rock Star overnight. Socked away enough cash in 2 months, he opened his own shop. He did have a little help from a friend. The night before we were to open the next day, my wife called me into the bedroom. She said, "You're really going to do this?" "I have no choice", was my reply.
She bent down and reached up under the mattress. Now keep in mind we had been through a rough patch. Most of you know the story. This was '96 and the 3 houses were gone, Mercedes gone, Truck gone, dignity, self respect, gone, gone. She pulled out an envelope and handed it to me. I said "I can't". She pushed it back and said "I still believe in you".
I opened it. 2 grand. Her entire life savings. A lifetime in an envelope. "I'll pay you back. I promise". In the beginning of '96 my word was worth less than Bill Clinton. She looked up at me and smiled. "I know you will." We were living in a rental that was quite unique. Urban legend pegged it as a Speakeasy in the 20's and a Brothel in the 40's. In the late 90's it was mostly a dump.
When we we found it we were 3 days from homeless. I found this place, no sign out front, just a lady having a yard sale. I stopped to look with empty pockets. "Cool place" I said. "It's for rent" she said. "How much?"
"Don't know, but here's the owners number."
I called him, with her phone and my empty pockets. So this Angel was called Brian. We shot the breeze as men do. How much I asked? He told me. (holy smokes that's cheap) First and last, you know the usual. I explained I was a little short at the moment. How short? Broke. The line went dead.
Then he said, "When can you pay me?". "I'm a little over extended at the moment, but within a few weeks for sure. " He said OK. The next question was when do you need to move? Today. Line went dead again.
OK, get the key from the lady there and I'll come by and meet you in a few days. Line went dead. He finally said "Are you going to move in today or not?" "Yes-sir and I look forward to meeting you. " The line really did go dead this time. I had to hang up before he came to his senses.
3,500 sq. ft in a historic neighborhood. Coronado District - punch it up. you won't believe it. 9 months later bought it for cash. I said all that to say this, God gave us a sweet deal on a rental and I found a guy on the Westside who had a house, with grass, FENCE, pickets and all... (you should sit down) and an Assumable Mortgage. I went to see the house after a phone call and when the door opened I couldn't see who was inside. Security screen. I hear this booming laugh. Awkward.
Door swings open, big bear hug, guy I taught how to sell a few years back. Yep. When he found out my plans he said write me a $3k check and I'll sign it over. No bank. Nothing but the hand of God all over the place. I'm not the smartest guy in the world, but this all pretty much proves the existence of God.
We no longer have to rely on the account of 3 hysterical women standing in front of an empty tomb.
24 hours later we were packing up big eyes and happy smiles, (26 eyes and 13 smiles) and we took them HOME! Their Home!
Friends and family thought we were nuts, we didn't care. We were ALIVE, perhaps for the first time in 37 years. Who cares what people think when you're in cahoots with Jehova Jireh.
There was a huge problem and while we couldn't fix it all, we fixed part of it. The images of women being beaten were removed from my mind and once again I could sleep. Like a baby (not being beaten).
Shortly there after we met an African Pastor and found out he had 11 Orphans living in his home back in Kampala with no water and no electricity. Didn't seem right. Looked at my wife, she nodded, we built an Orphanage. Over 600 kids are asleep there tonight.... 15 years later. Money? Education? Experience? Still a little short...
Hand of God? Oh yeah. I call it the Hand-O-Plenty.
I had a purpose, a destiny, something burning inside no man could put out and no Z pack could cure.
I think Dean vibrates along the same meridian. Not the same mission, but the same drive and passion. We're focused on different things, but we're off the couch. He's not giving up on his passions and neither am I.
I have a feeling the world just might start hearing more from both of us on a regular basis. Time will tell.
Thank you Dean. Not for putting me on your list, but for reminding me of the world that lies beyond this desk and the work I have there gives life. The desk creates cash flow, but the women, the kids, all of it... a life worth living. A legacy, a divine appointment with the one who made me out of dirt.
God Bless you Brother!
Blessings
DeWayne
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June 7, 2015 at 12:05 AM 
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