Jim McEntee, J.M.’s friend and the one partner who relied on his nose, as distinct from a computer, sensed the trade-winds changing. He repeatedly urged his partners to lower the firm’s risks, but McEntee was ignored as a nonscientific, old-fashioned gambler. Since moving to Connecticut, the partners, who no longer had to jostle with the throngs on Wall Street every day, had become even more isolated from the anecdotal, but occasionally useful, gossip that traders pass around.
