The day after his visit to the Stork Club last week, Jesse Livermore turned up for lunch in the bar of the Sherry-Netherland Hotel. Tense, distraught, he took a table by himself, spoke to no one, from time to time took out a little memorandum book and jotted while he ate his lunch. Then he left. At 4:30 that afternoon he was back again. He ordered two old-fashioneds, sipped them slowly. Suddenly he rose from his table and went into the lobby. Ten minutes later an attendant found him slumped in a chair in the ground-floor men's room. At his feet was a 32-calibre automatic. Blood ran from the hole behind his ear. In the memorandum book police found an eight-page note to his wife. Over & over it repeated: "This is the only way out. ... I am tired of fighting. ... I am unworthy of your love. ... I am a failure."
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