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Summary
Summary
The definitive biography of the most important economic statesman of our time
Sebastian Mallaby's magisterial biography of Alan Greenspan, the product of over five years of research based on untrammeled access to his subject and his closest professional and personal intimates, brings into vivid focus the mysterious point where the government and the economy meet. To understand Greenspan's story is to see the economic and political landscape of the last 30 years--and the presidency from Reagan to George W. Bush--in a whole new light. As the most influential economic statesman of his age, Greenspan spent a lifetime grappling with a momentous shift: the transformation of finance from the fixed and regulated system of the post-war era to the free-for-all of the past quarter century. The story of Greenspan is also the story of the making of modern finance, for good and for ill.
Greenspan's life is a quintessential American success story: raised by a single mother in the Jewish émigré community of Washington Heights, he was a math prodigy who found a niche as a stats-crunching consultant. A master at explaining the economic weather to captains of industry, he translated that skill into advising Richard Nixon in his 1968 campaign. This led to a perch on the White House Council of Economic Advisers, and then to a dazzling array of business and government roles, from which the path to the Fed was relatively clear. A fire-breathing libertarian and disciple of Ayn Rand in his youth who once called the Fed's creation a historic mistake, Mallaby shows how Greenspan reinvented himself as a pragmatist once in power. In his analysis, and in his core mission of keeping inflation in check, he was a maestro indeed, and hailed as such. At his retirement in 2006, he was lauded as the age's necessary man, the veritable God in the machine, the global economy's avatar. His memoirs sold for record sums to publishers around the world.
But then came 2008. Mallaby's story lands with both feet on the great crash which did so much to damage Alan Greenspan's reputation. Mallaby argues that the conventional wisdom is off base: Greenspan wasn't a naïve ideologue who believed greater regulation was unnecessary. He had pressed for greater regulation of some key areas of finance over the years, and had gotten nowhere. To argue that he didn't know the risks in irrational markets is to miss the point. He knew more than almost anyo≠ the question is why he didn't act, and whether anyone else could or would have. A close reading of Greenspan's life provides fascinating answers to these questions, answers whose lessons we would do well to heed. Because perhaps Mallaby's greatest lesson is that economic statesmanship, like political statesmanship, is the art of the possible. The Man Who Knew is a searching reckoning with what exactly comprised the art, and the possible, in the career of Alan Greenspan.
Author Notes
Sebastian Mallaby is the author of several books, including the bestselling More Money Than God . A former Financial Times contributing editor and two-time Pulitzer Prize finalist, Mallaby is the Paul A. Volcker Senior Fellow for International Economics at the Council on Foreign Relations.
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Alan Greenspan, who served as chairman of the Federal Reserve from 1987 to 2006 (the second longest tenure in history), is revealed in this biography to have been neither the fabled maestro who mastered inflation nor the reviled incompetent who failed to anticipate the Great Recession. According to Mallaby (More Money than God), a Financial Times contributing editor, he was a formidable analyst and forecaster, but one whose laissez-faire philosophy allowed unregulated derivatives and "shadow banking" to proliferate and culminate in the 2008 financial crisis. Mallaby also explores one of Greenspan's less appreciated talents, possibly the one where his real genius lay: a canny instinct for political survival. Mallaby's treatment of Greenspan's life is thorough, balanced, and well-informed (due no doubt in part to Greenspan's cooperation). A less judicious (or more commercially minded) biographer might be tempted to dwell on Greenspan's recent, and sensational, fall from grace, but Mallaby is careful to give each season of Greenspan's life its proportional weight. He has written a masterful, detailed portrait of one of the leading economic figures of our time. Agent: Andrew Wylie, Wylie Agency. (Oct.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
Economics is dubbed the dreary science, but as this comprehensive and absorbing biography reveals, economists can certainly enjoy lively and interesting lives. Mallaby, a senior fellow in international economics at the Council on Foreign Relations, enjoyed great access to Greenspan and many of his closest associates. The result is a portrait of a many-faceted and brilliant man far more appealing than the stolid technocrat who appeared before Congress and the public during his long tenure (1987-2006) as chairman of the Federal Reserve. Greenspan was raised by a single mother and grandparents in Manhattan. Passionate about music, math, and baseball, he earned a doctorate in economics. Greenspan advised Nixon in his 1968 presidential campaign and served on the White House Council of Economic Advisors, which led to his chairmanship of the Fed. His tight money policies helped to tame the inflation monster, but his disdain for regulation of Wall Street is often blamed for the collapse of the housing bubble and the Great Recession of 2008. Mallaby strives to fairly consider Greenspan's successes and failures in this balanced account.--Freeman, Jay Copyright 2016 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
ROGUE HEROES: The History of the SAS, Britain's Secret Special Forces Unit That Sabotaged the Nazis and Changed the Nature of War, by Ben Macintyre. (Crown, $28.) An entertaining history of the S.A.S. from its North African desert origins. CITY OF DREAMS: The 400-Year Epic History of Immigrant New York, by Tyler Anbinder. (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, $35.) A richly textured guide to the past of the nation's chief immigrant city. THE MAN WHO KNEW: The Life and Times of Alan Greenspan, by Sebastian Mallaby. (Penguin Press, $40.) This thorough account of the former Fed chairman's rise depicts him as political to a fault. THE WORD DETECTIVE: Searching for the Meaning of It All at the Oxford English Dictionary, by John Simpson. (Basic Books, $27.99.) From a former chief editor of the O.E.D., a charmingly frank account of a career dedicated to lexicography. DO NOT SAY WE HAVE NOTHING, by Madeleine Thien. (Norton, $26.95.) A Chinese-Canadian professor probes the mystery of her father's life amid upheavals in China in this ambitious novel. AMERICAN PHILOSOPHY: A Love Story, by John Kaag. (Farrar, Straus & Giroux, $26.) Kaag engages in a spirited lover's quarrel with the individualism of our national thought. THE MOTHERS, by Brit Bennett. (Riverhead, $26.) Three young people come of age in a black community in Southern California in this complex, ferociously moving debut novel. THE MORTIFICATIONS, by Derek Palacio. (Tim Duggan, $27.) This sweeping debut novel limns the exile and return of a Cuban-American family. RICH AND PRETTY, by Rumaan Alam. (Ecco/ HarperCollins, $25.99.) An astute debut novel about two women's long but fraying friendship. The full reviews of these and other recent books are on the web: nytimes.com/books.
Kirkus Review
The life of perhaps the wonkiest financial theorist to sit at the helm of the Federal Reserve.Alan Greenspan (b. 1926) is infamous for having led the governments chief financial institution in the years when all the perfect-storm conditions were setting up for the economy to tank and for, at least until that collapse, pressing an Ayn Randderived libertarian case whenever he could. Financial journalist Mallaby (More Money than God: Hedge Funds and the Making of a New Elite, 2010, etc.) offers correctives and nuances to this view in this not uncritical portrait. As a math whiz kid with an interest in politics, Greenspan held a cautious contempt for the gray mass culture of the 1950s, despite his eagerness to share in the prosperity it brought. While he played golf and drove nice cars, sure, he also came to a rightist critique that turned, as Mallaby writes, on his membership in a fringe group that was one part libertarian salon, two parts strange cult, namely the circle around the Russian egotist Rand and its embrace of a particularly austere brand of logical positivism. Greenspans ideological purity did not preclude him from mixing in societyhe dated Barbara Walters, after allbut it certainly seemed to reinforce an otherworldliness that prized theory over reality. In matters economic, Mallaby writes, Greenspan urged a kind of limited-government, free-market vision that rested uneasily with the close management required of the Fed. In that role, Greenspan took risky positions, including a complacent view of the housing bubble; after all, subprime lending and mortgage securitization had been around for years without triggering a catastrophe, though catastrophe is what ensued on his watch. Even so, as Mallaby closes by noting, Greenspan was not wholly averse to regulation, made financial calls that were seen as sound at the time, and may not have been able to ward off a crisis that was many years in the making. A well-crafted, thorough biography sure to interest students of the modern economy and financial system. Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Library Journal Review
Over the course of many decades, respected American economist Alan Greenspan (b. 1926) has been a leading advisor to top government officials, including U.S. presidents. Greenspan's influence has shaped modern monetary and economic policymaking, especially from 1987 to 2006, when he served as chair of the Federal Reserve Bank. In this role, Greenspan determined U.S. monetary policies and was successful at keeping inflation rates low while modern financial systems were continually evolving. Mallaby (Paul A. Volcker Senior Fellow for International Economics, Council on Foreign Relations; More Money Than God) consulted extensively with Greenspan to write this book. To aid in the analysis is an appendix with five graphs entitled "The Greenspan Effect." During economic events such as bubbles bursting, crashes, recessions, and terrorism, Greenspan displayed perseverance, resiliency, and the foresight needed to weather these storms. The biography also delves into his childhood and young adult years and shows how he developed this inner strength along with economic acumen and visionary leadership. VERDICT This engaging work draws readers into an honest examination of how well Greenspan maintained economic stability and circumvented crises.-Caroline Geck, Somerset, NJ © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
One The Feeling of a Conqueror Growing up in the 1930s, he fell in love with the railroads. The great locomotives, puffing and panting as they hauled their unimaginable loads, seemed less like machines than mythical creatures-"some species of mastodon," as a book of the time put it.To watch the beam of light from the great monster's headlamps, to glimpse the hellish fire lighting the interior of the cab, to see the shadow of the fireman silhouetted against the glow-all this was to experience the thrill and terror of industry and progress, to see precisely what was meant by the American century. From around the age of eleven, the young Alan collected train timetables, memorized the routes and the towns along the way, and imagined himself traveling the continent: Duluth to Minneapolis, Minneapolis to Fargo, and then onward and westward to Helena, Spokane, and finally Seattle. It was a way of conjuring a world beyond Washington Heights, the neighborhood of immigrants he inhabited on the northern tongue of Manhattan; a way of escaping the squat redbrick apartment building with its ornate stucco moldings, of freeing his mind from the too-familiar streets filled with European accents-Yiddish, Irish, and German. Washington Heights had been developed just a few years earlier, after the New York subway stretched north to reach it in 1906. But although the subway had arrived, you could still see horses on the streets and men who cleaned up after them. No wonder the railroads seemed romantic. Alan lived with his grandparents Nathan and Anna Goldsmith and with his doting mother, Rose. They shared a one-bedroom apartment at 600 West 163rd Street; Nathan and Anna had the bedroom, while Alan and Rose slept in what had been built as the dining room. It was a modest accommodation for four people, but it seemed a reasonable lot-better than the crowded tenements of the Lower East Side, where other immigrants lived, and not bad given that the country was in the grip of the Depression. The Goldsmiths lived on the west side of Broadway, the dividing line that separated the salubrious part of the neighborhood from the rough-and-tumble east. "The . . . gentility of the neighborhood . . . along with the style of the buildings, the parks nearby, and the cool breeze from the Hudson in the evening carried vague reminders of the bourgeois sections of German cities," a contemporary wrote. German immigrants flocked to Washington Heights in such numbers that the area was sometimes known as Frankfurt on the Hudson. To Nathan and Anna, born in Russia, driven to migrate to Hungary and then from Hungary to America, life in New York must have seemed a blessing almost divine-they had boarded their grandson's imaginary train, and after much adventure had arrived safely. As for Rose, born in Hungary though now as American as baseball, there was much to celebrate, too. She had a steady job as a salesperson at the Ludwig-Baumann furniture store in the Bronx, which paid enough to meet the rent of $48 each month, keep food on the table, and even spare Alan a quarter a week for pocket money. Besides, she was happy to be living just half a block away from her sister, the well-to-do Mary. In summer Alan would stay with Mary at her vacation house close to Rockaway Beach, on the near end of Long Island. Alan and his cousin Wesley would spend hours walking the sands with their heads down, searching doggedly for lost coins. Then they would spend the fruits of their labor on candy. Rose's greatest blessing was young Alan himself, born on March 6, 1926, the product of her brief marriage to Herbert Greenspan. The boy naturally expanded to fill the gaps in Rose's life-the husband who had left when their son was still small, the absence of other children. Each morning her young hero with his perfectly even features and broad smile would soldier off to the P.S. 169 elementary school on Audubon Avenue, and each afternoon he would return with extraordinary things. From very early on, he could add large numbers in his head, and seemed even to enjoy it. Rose trotted him out in front of aunts and uncles to perform. "Alan, what's thirty-five plus ninety-two?" she would ask. "A hundred and twenty-seven," came back the answer. A few years after he turned addition into a performance art, Alan developed a passion for baseball, and it was hard to say what thrilled him more: the excitement of listening to the radio commentary of the 1936 World Series or the discovery of a world that could be reduced to the statistics and symbols of a prodigious ten-year-old's devising. The statistics were straightforward, but pleasing all the same: a player who got a hit on three out of eleven appearances had a batting average of .273; one who succeeded five out of thirteen times had an average of .385; it was thanks to baseball that Alan memorized the conversion tables for fractions into decimals. But the symbols were where the creativity came in. Alan invented a notation that allowed him to track each play of the big games. If a player hit a ground ball, he would inscribe a careful x on his green scoring sheet. If the player hit a line drive, he would enter an ellipse; a circle with an x through it meant a high fly, and an alpha meant a deep hit into the outfield. Each fielder's position was assigned a number that could be combined with the symbols to create a precise record of the play: for example, an ellipse next to an 11 meant a line drive to right center field. Reflecting on his childhood some seventy-five years later, Alan remained convinced that his system was better than anything that even the newspaper writers had invented. Rose, no doubt, had agreed with him. Alan was too young to remember his father's departure, but the separation affected him deeply. To be a single child can be character forming. To be the single child of a single mother can be overwhelming. It has been said that Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the statesman who loomed over the America of Alan's youth, drew his confidence and ambition from his widowed mother's unrelenting attention: he was the work of her life, her monument.Fortunately for Alan, his mother was far less controlling than the imposing Sara Roosevelt, who thought nothing of installing her married son in a town house adjoining hers, then cutting a door from her large bedroom through her daughter-in-law's much smaller one in order to gain access to Franklin's quarters. But though Rose was mild by comparison, her son was nonetheless the sole outlet for her love, and it seems likely that his sense of what he might achieve expanded correspondingly. "A man who has been the indisputable favorite of his mother keeps for life the feeling of a conqueror, that confidence of success that often induces real success," Sigmund Freud declared, possibly with more intuition than evidence. At a minimum, Alan was prepared to believe that he could beat baseball writers at their own game, and that one day he might ride a train as far as the Pacific. Yet if Alan felt confident in his intellectual abilities, he was less comfortable with people. He could master baseball through force of intellect; human chemistry was different. Part of his self-doubt may have come from his mother, for Rose was a hard act to follow. Pretty, vivacious, and gregarious, she could easily have made any child feel tongue-tied by comparison. At family gatherings, Alan's uncle Murray, who now went by the name of Mario and tried to pass as Italian, would play the piano with great flair; he had achieved success as a writer of musicals in Hollywood. But it was Rose who provided the accompaniment, a repertoire of period songs performed in the loose and haunting manner of a torch singer. Leaning over the baby grand piano in the living room of their apartment, flashing her infectious smile, Rose could make herself the center of the party. Alan would be left feeling that he was somehow off toward the side-a "sideman," he would call himself. But the most obvious explanation for the young Alan's diffidence lay with his father. Herbert Greenspan had arrived in the United States as the four-year-old Haim Grunspann, a lowly "steerage alien" aboard a ship that docked in Ellis Island in August 1906. Like Rose, he was good-looking, with the aquiline nose and fine cheekbones of the film star Gene Kelly. But while Rose was unfailingly sunny, Herbert could be awkward and withdrawn, and he may have passed down to Alan a tendency to live inside his own head. The fact of Herbert's absence reinforced that tendency greatly. After the divorce, Herbert moved back in with his family in Brooklyn, barely twenty miles away. But though he would promise to take Alan on outings, he often failed to keep his word."Alan hardly got to see him. But I do remember the ecstasy that Alan exhibited on those rare occasions when his father visited," his cousin Wesley remembered.The experience of being let down by his father taught Alan that depending on the love of others could be a path to pain. It seemed safer to retreat into his own mind, to the controlled world of baseball statistics and railroad timetables. As a very young child, Alan expressed his longing for a father directly. His stern grandfather was no substitute-Nathan spoke in a forbidding Yiddish accent and was consumed by the world of his synagogue, which Alan found so alien that he later came close to refusing the bar mitzvah.But Alan's uncle Irwin, the father of Wesley, was a more approachable figure.Sometimes Irwin would set out for a walk holding Wesley with one hand and Wesley's younger sister with the other, with Alan tagging alongside. Pretty soon Alan would worm his way between uncle and cousin until his hand was being held, and Wesley was left to keep up independently. But as Alan grew older, these transparent pleas for love were less frequent; he dealt with the gap left by his father by withdrawing into himself, and found that spending time alone made him feel comfortable and happy.Even his school friends could see that he was unusually self-contained. Irwin Kantor, Alan's closest companion at the Edward W. Stitt Junior High School on 164th Street, spent hours at his apartment, absorbed in a game the two boys invented, a form of baseball with dice. Years later, Irwin remembered Alan as a strange loner-no siblings, no father, a mother who was out at work, and grandparents who seemed stuck in an old world in which children spoke only when spoken to. "I think he really grew up with the radio, with his own thoughts," Greenspan's wife, Andrea Mitchell, would say later. "I don't know if it made him sad and lonely, but it certainly shaped the person he is. He's not easily accessible to people and he's very shy. "Very shy," she added. If AlanÕs circumstances fed his natural introspection, they also nourished his ambition. A powerful voice inside him whispered that he was capable of greatness-his facility with numbers showed that this was so, and his motherÕs adoration removed all doubt of it. Yet he also understood that the world would never recognize his greatness unless he demonstrated it beyond doubt, for he lacked the levity and carefree charm necessary to attain status without effort. If he was ever going to be someone, he would have to work hard. By doing things, achieving things, the sideman would be noticed. His father had a clear idea of how Alan's ambition might be directed. In 1935, Herbert published a tract called Recovery Ahead!, a paean to the New Deal that likened Roosevelt to a grand general leading the country to the "Delectable Mountains of prosperity." Herbert's motives for writing were commercial, not literary or scholarly; an ad for the book in the New York Times promised "a chart in which the writer predicts the month by month fluctuations of the stock market during 1935 and 1936."Unembarrassed by this startling claim of foresight, Herbert presented a copy of Recovery to his son, with an inscription hoping that the nine-year-old would take an interest in economics. "At your maturity you may look back and endeavor to interpret the reasoning behind these logical forecasts and begin a like work of your own," Herbert wrote. But although his son would ultimately follow his suggested path, the advice meant nothing at the time. Alan read a few pages of the book and then gave up. It was too much for a nine-year-old. Pushing the New Deal to one side, Alan focused his ambitions on baseball-as well as analyzing the game, he played it. As he entered his teens, he developed an athletic frame, and his agility and reflexes gave him what the sport demanded. He was a left-hander, which made him a natural first baseman; playing in a local park with older kids one day, he hit a curveball so confidently that an impressed high schooler declared he was headed for the major leagues. The compliment filled Alan with a powerful pride. He would go to Yankee Stadium and gaze down at his heroes: Lou Gehrig on first, Joe DiMaggio in the outfield, Lefty Gomez or Red Ruffing pitching-seventy years later, he could still recite the lineup from memory. And as he watched those champions playing, he sometimes imagined a fantastic reversal of his role. One day, instead of looking down at that exquisite diamond, he might be down there himself. Instead of gazing, he would be gazed upon. He would take his position at the center of the universe.He would be a major league first baseman. Alan completed junior high school in 1939, having skipped one year on the advice of his teachers. His next port of call was George Washington High School, a formidable structure with Italianate columns perched on a hilly promontory overlooking the Harlem River; the dramatic setting reinforced the building's mass and height, as if it were some temple lifted from antiquity. The school was among the best in the city: it boasted excellent teachers, and it served a neighborhood of ambitious immigrants determined to succeed in their new land by excelling in the classroom.Alan continued to play baseball in high school, no doubt replaying that scene of himself at Yankee Stadium inside his head. But the truth was that his athletic progress began to taper off, and gradually he came to realize that his ambition needed a new outlet. This time he found it in music. Alan's focus on music confirmed his mother's influence-and his father's lack of it. As well as presenting the boy with his book on economics, Herbert had taken him to visit an uncle, an accountant who lived in enviable splendor in an apartment on Central Park South; given Alan's aptitude for math, he might have decided in his teens to adopt this uncle as a role model. But nothing about the father appealed much to the son; he was far more drawn to his maternal family. Grandfather Nathan was a cantor in a synagogue in the Bronx; Uncle Mario could play the most complex piano pieces on sight; Cousin Claire was on her way to becoming a professional singer. And, of course, music was Rose's love. The sound of a Bach concerto or a music-hall ballad transported Alan to a happy place, where his mother was singing and the rhythm and melody bound the two of them together. Excerpted from The Man Who Knew: The Life and Times of Alan Greenspan by Sebastian Mallaby All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.Table of Contents
Preface | p. xi |
Introduction: "He Has Set a Standard" | p. 1 |
Book I The Ideologue | |
1 The Feeling of a Conqueror | p. 13 |
2 The Un-Keynesian | p. 26 |
3 The Rebirth of Money | p. 39 |
4 Ayn Rand's Undertaker | p. 58 |
5 Against the New Frontier | p. 76 |
Book II The Politician | |
6 A Libertarian for Nixon | p. 101 |
7 Do-Nothingism | p. 128 |
8 "A Minority of One" | p. 155 |
9 Between Thatcher and Kissinger | p. 178 |
10 The First Housing Conundrum | p. 208 |
11 Republican Dreamers | p. 228 |
12 "Do We Really Need the Fed?" | p. 255 |
13 A Republican Volcker | p. 282 |
14 Without the Cigar | p. 305 |
Book III The Central Banker | |
15 "Greenspan's Irrelevant" | p. 327 |
16 Light Black Monday | p. 340 |
17 The Gun-Shy Chairman | p. 365 |
18 "You're The Big Guru" | p. 391 |
19 Maestro | p. 418 |
20 Alan Versus Alan | p. 446 |
21 The Zipswitch Chairman | p. 465 |
22 Irrational Exuberance | p. 482 |
23 "The Best Economy I've Ever Seen" | p. 509 |
24 "Uncle Alan Will Take Care Of Us" | p. 528 |
25 Alan.com | p. 549 |
26 "A Very Surreal Environment" | p. 569 |
27 Lowflation | p. 593 |
28 The Four Winds | p. 615 |
29 "I Found a Flaw" | p. 648 |
Conclusion: The Blind Roller Skater | p. 672 |
Acknowledgments | p. 687 |
Appendix: The Greenspan Effect | p. 691 |
Notes | p. 695 |
Image Credits | p. 757 |
Index | p. 759 |