Corn Squeeze

"Corners," as every one knows, are forbidden on most civilized stock and commodity exchanges. Not so the "squeeze," which approaches a corner without actually turning it. Last week the corn pit of the Chicago Board of Trade, slumbering in the doldrums of depression, was stirred to humming life by a squeeze worthy of the late great Benjamin P. ("Old Hutch") Hutchinson himself. Thomas Montgomery Howell, a wiry, taciturn La Salle Street grain broker who is picked by many to fill the big shoes left empty when Arthur William Cutten moved up to Winnipeg (TIME, Jan. 26), was the squeezer. Many a fellow trader, including (according to stoutly denied reports) the Federal Farm Board's brokers, were the squeezees.

It all began several weeks ago when Trader Howell remarked, "If corn isn't worth more than 50 cents a bushel, I'm willing to lose money buying it." He bought, mostly around that price, until early last week he was reported to have 70% of the visible corn supply in his possession (5,000,000 bushels out of a total supply of 6,813,000). By the morning of July 30 deliveries were pouring in to him, and 157 carloads of corn were standing on the tracks consigned to the firm buying for him. The shorts, whose July contracts fell due at midnight of the next day, had already bid up corn to 68-c- the day before, now went on to raise it to 72 1/2-c---a gain of 14-c- in less than two days. At that point Trader Howell, well knowing the distinction between a corner and a squeeze, came to terms in private negotiations and released his corn at 72-c-. The price broke, closed at 68-c-. Rose the next day to 72 1/2-c- and stayed there until the end of trading --and of the month.

Trader Howell's profits on his squeeze were estimated at close to $1,000,000, all of which went into his own pocket, for he works entirely by himself. His reply to a peace overture from another operator is quoted as: "I go along, ask no quarter, and don't give any." He was born in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, was in the advertising business in Lincoln, Neb., before he went to Chicago, has been a pit trader since 1915. Neat, almost dainty in appearance (his hands and feet are tiny) he moves restlessly about the floor dressed usually in grey with a dark blue shirt. He has a country place near Chicago where he shoots pheasants, a yacht upon which he winters in Florida. Associates who see much of him but know little expect more Howell news before long. They suspect he also has some bears by the tail in cotton.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.