For 45 years, Harold Finley kept a secret. Friends, business associates and even his step-mother-in-law didn’t know that the highly successful Lockport man shared a common bond with the likes of notorious Nathan Leopold, who graduated from the University of Chicago at 18, one year before he and Richard Loeb “thrill-killed” Bobby Franks 71 years ago.
Or William James Sidis, whose 250-plus IQ was higher than Albert Einstein’s 200. Sidis’ only legacy when he died destitute at age 46 was his collection of 2,000 street car transfers.
Then there was Christopher Harding of Australia, whose IQ of 197 earned him a place in the Guinness Book but who spent much of his 50-plus years washing cars, stocking library shelves and dumping trash.
Fearing guilt by association with these brilliant societal misfits, Finley, 79, kept quiet about the fact that he had been a child prodigy, possessing an IQ to match that of Harding. “I think people think all prodigies are like this,” said Finley, first vice president of investments with Howe Barnes Investments Inc. of Chicago. “I want to be sure I don’t fit those characteristics. I know how to earn a living.”
Finley is a soft-spoken gentleman whose small frame bears no resemblance to his stature as one of LaSalle Street’s financial wizards with a pedigree of honorary doctorates and board appointments; a modest man who was featured in Time magazine.
Harold Marshall Finley was born to Judge Harry and Kate Finley, on Feb. 24, 1916, in McConnelsville, a small town in southeastern Ohio.
At nine months, Finley walked 30 feet across the floor. By 2, he taught himself to read and, 10 months later, could tell time even with his pocket watch upside down.
Finley wrote a 100-page book at age 5, the same year he took a Stanford-Binet intelligence quotient test. When his 168 score was challenged, he took it again and earned 197 on another test, the second highest IQ ever recorded in the country at that time.
Weighing just 40 pounds, 6-year-old Harold Finley started school in the 4th grade on Labor Day 1922. One month later, he skipped to the 5th grade. But he was too small to defend himself against classmates who claimed he was “mollycoddled” and accused his father of doing his homework. He was 7 in the 7th grade and led a prayer meeting at his parents’ Presbyterian church one year later, vowing to become an ordained minister.
The valedictorian of the Class of 1929, Finley, 13, spoke to his classmates about the importance of thrift. “It’s terrible how people borrow money to buy a piano,” he said, five months before the stock market crashed.
Although Finley’s father feared he would be “a fish out of water,” the 76-pound teen drove part of the 400 miles to Evanston and enrolled at Northwestern University, receiving full scholarships if he maintained A- grades. Four years later, Time magazine wrote about the 17-year-old economics major who made Phi Beta Kappa, earned a 95 percent grade average and graduated fourth in the Class of 1933.
James L. Carey of Lisle remembers his classmate: “Harold fit into all niches and had a wonderful sense of humor. Socially, he was remarkably adjusted and well liked.”
Although Northwestern’s president, Walter Dill Scott, promised to help Finley find a job after graduation, little work was available in the financial district because of the Depression. But breaking from the stereotype of prodigies who can’t make a living, Finley landed a job with Lamson Brothers, a brokerage firm, two days after graduation. It was then that Finley decided to keep his intellect a secret.
During World War II, the army rejected Finley because he weighed less than 125 pounds. He returned to his religious roots, graduating from Chicago Theological Seminary in 1944.
On Feb. 15, 1942, Finley, 25, preached his first sermon to a struggling Congregational church in Homer Township. Stepping to the pulpit, he realized he left his sermon notes in the coat room and preached by memory, impressing a girl in the front row. One year later, Jean Rowley became his wife.
Finley served as pastor at six churches over 15 years. Although he accepted an offer to work for Chicago Title & Trust in 1950, he continued his ministry and counsels inmates at the Joliet Correctional Center.
Finley worked as an investment manager with Chicago Title & Trust for 23 years and authored “Everybody’s Guide to the Stock Market,” which is now out of print after going through four editions since its 1956 publication. He later became senior vice president of investments at Kemper Securities Inc. of Chicago before joining Howe Barnes Investments with his son, Robert, last year. For 20 years, he wrote market trends columns for the Chicago Tribune and Chicago Today, becoming syndicated in 46 newspapers.
But it was after serving as president of the Rotary Club of Chicago in 1979 that his longtime secret was discovered when members researched his past for a farewell roast. Members told him afterward, “You’re the smartest person I ever met. We’ve known you for years and never knew that you were smarter than others.” Their acceptance prompted Finley, then 63, to admit he had been a prodigy.
“I was kind of pleased they hadn’t suspected I was strange or different,” Finley said. “It got me thinking this wasn’t so bad.”
Another area of normalcy has been the Finleys’ 52-year marriage.
“Harold’s very bright in statistics and memory but has no ability mechanically and can’t keep things organized,” said Jean, 77, who credits their strong marriage to “(Harold’s) success financially and my ability to take care of things at home.”
Their son, Robert, 50, of Lockport, struggled to make top grades in school but charted stocks at age 6. He marvels how his father rattles off stock market fluctuations for any given day and year and calculates math problems in his head. On weekdays, Finley rides with Robert to the train station for their commute downtown, where they share an office at Howe Barnes.
In the meantime, he’s quietly busy using his abilities for more than making money.
Finley crusades to support gifted kids and keep them from becoming misfits. “A gifted kid who committed suicide because he felt out of step with society might have been another Einstein,” he said.
He serves as a trustee of the Science and Arts Academy, a school for gifted students from pre-kindergarten through high school in Des Plaines. “It’s been a dream of mine that children with outstanding abilities would have a school that gives them special attention,” he said. “I feel it’s a great investment in the lives of bright youngsters. So many kids with high IQs feel out of step with the crowd and shunned by kids.”
Finley spoke at the school’s commencement service last spring, encouraging students to be themselves, work hard and excel.
“The students really appreciated what he said because here is a person who understands them,” said Helene Bartz, director of the academy. “The gifted kids cannot make it on their own. One of the greatest contributions he has made is that he has understood why we are here and financially supported us.”
