Chicago Board of Trade. The trading floor, the pit. Noise and chaos. Brokers and dealers. Colorful jackets and badges. Buy and sell. Bulls and bears.
It all was happening here, in the six-story high trading room behind the tall windows under the clock facing LaSalle Street.
The urban legend says that back in heyday the pit was a place for the most expensive real estate in the world: it was a million dollars for one square foot. There were no actual titles, it was an informal ownership, just a place to stand on the trading floor. But still the money had changed hands.
The Chicago Board of Trade is a temple. A place to worship one god: money.
It may be just a building, but look close and what you see is a gigantic armchair.
Every night, at the stroke of midnight the Saturn, the Roman god of wealth rises from his throne and walks down LaSalle Street in the company of Ceres, the Roman goddess of grain who steps down from the top of the building.
The herd of buffalo emerges from the stone wall and follows them down the street.
The stone figures around the clock come alive. It’s harvest time. The Babylonian cuts the wheat and the Native American Indian collects the corn in a bag.
You may look at the buildings and see only cold stones. But every building is full of stories, mysteries and people’s past lives.
Imagination creates reality. Not the other way.