| One of my unusual tics as an editor is that I can usually remember where I was, or what I was doing, when I discovered a new author I admire or a new subject of great cultural fascination. To wit: I recall reading a print out of Gay Talese’s unforgettable 1966 Esquire piece, Frank Sinatra Has a Cold, perhaps the greatest magazine story ever written, in the back of a yellow taxi cab some 25 years ago, stopping and starting amid the traffic headed eastward on 57th Street. And I also recall sitting in my cubicle on the 22nd floor of 4 Times Square reading about Feliz Rohatyn in the uncorrected proofs of Bill Cohan’s masterful debut book on Lazard, The Last Tycoons. (Of all the pieces we’ve published at Puck, Bill’s Carlos Watson Has a Cold remains a favorite.)
To that end, I recall having a conversation more than two years ago with Teddy Schleifer that was equally impactful. It was early Spring 2021, and my partners and I were building Puck out of a charming studio apartment on Bank Street. Teddy had just joined the company as one of our first full-time employees. We’d known one another for years, but had never worked together before, so we were immersing ourselves in a series of deep conversations about his beat. In particular, he was familiarizing me with all the plots and subplots and the characters who made it all come to life.
At one point, he mentioned a young man I’d never heard of before named Sam Bankman-Fried, allegedly the richest person in the world under thirty, a crypto deity. I yawned slightly and rolled my eyes: I’d never heard much about this S.B.F. guy, but the world of crypto wasn’t entirely my cup of tea. Also, call me old fashioned, but I still hail from a generation where people wear long pants to work, comb their hair, and look people in the eye when they speak.
Teddy politely cut me off and explained that this was all entirely the point. S.B.F. had earned his billions in the largely unregulated subterranean backwater of finance, and now he was riding his cash and quirks toward a sort of Kardashian hyper-relevancy. Like what, I asked, naively. He then enumerated all the celebrity partnerships, the big buddies in pro sports and Hollywood and the burgeoning pet causes in Washington. Indeed, we were building Puck to reflect the small world that straddles Wall Street, Washington, Silicon Valley, and Hollywood, and there was perhaps no better avatar than S.B.F., himself.
The best part of my job is that I get to learn from the best. Indeed, after that conversation Teddy integrated Sam Bankman-Fried as one of the core characters within his beat. As S.B.F.’s empire crumbled a year ago, Teddy established himself as the leading journalist on the story. His piece about his visit with Sam under house arrest, The Only Living Boy in Palo Alto, is another entry in the Puck literary canon.
Since S.B.F.’s trial started last week, Teddy has been a fixture in the courtroom. On some level, as he’s conveyed to me, it’s been a surreal experience. He’s about the same age as Bankman-Fried, and the only journalist who has truly known him pre-fame to post-fortune. His dispatches from the courtroom are a masterclass in reportage, scrutiny, and empathy, even as the screws tighten and Sam’s future unequivocally darkens. The S.B.F. case is, of course, about financial fraud. But it’s also about insecurity, risk addiction, and emptiness.
If you’re tight on time this weekend, I’d suggest turning your attention to two pieces, in particular. First, Teddy on S.B.F.’s Expected Value Calculation, which lays out the psychological dimensions that enmeshed Bankman-Fried in this mess. I’d also recommend Teddy’s Caroline in My Mind, which offers a courtroom analysis of Caroline Ellison, S.B.F.’s former colleague and erstwhile paramour, and perhaps the second most intriguing character in this imbroglio. Both works are excellent character studies and examples of expert reportage—and the complete quintessence of what you should expect from Puck. |
