• Clowning Around

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    It is said that artists speak for the ages. In 1951,
    Pablo Picasso described the end of our age when interviewed by Giovanni
    Papini: "From
    the moment that art ceases to be the nourishment of the best brains,
    the artist can use all the tricks of the intellectual charlatan.
    The refined people, the rich ones and the professional layabouts,
    only want what is sensational or scandalous in modern art. And since
    the days of cubism I have fed these boys what they wanted and pacified
    the critics with all the idiotic ideas that went through my head.
    Whilst I amused myself with all these pranks, I became famous and
    very rich. I am just a public clown, a fairground barker."
    The quotation is disputed. Whatever he said, Picasso's reputation
    suffered no harm when this confession was published.

    On February 21, 2008, the Financial Times
    published the confession of Han de Jong, Chief Economist, ABN Amro
    Bank: "I am obviously biased, but I find it sad to conclude
    that the role of serious economists in financial institutions is
    very limited today. We are little more than clowns, whose purpose
    is to entertain clients…."

    The substitution of image for substance, the promotion
    of sensational or simply idiotic ideas that destroy reality, are
    central to our time. Economic thought is a sad example of this deterioration,
    personified by a charlatan of little substance. This is not to deny
    the man credit for understanding how times were changing. Alan Greenspan
    was one of the first to climb the greasy poll of superficiality.
    He knew this path to the top did not include the study of economics.

    Having earned a master's degree in economics from
    NYU, Greenspan transferred to Columbia University in 1951. He pursued
    his doctorate studies under Arthur Burns. Burns had co-authored
    an influential book, Measuring
    Business Cycles
    . His academic achievements
    were substantial as were his political instincts. Burns would head
    President Eisenhower's Counsel of Economic Advisers (CEA) and be
    named Federal Reserve chairman under President Nixon. Greenspan
    would also serve in both positions.

    Greenspan did not finish his coursework at Columbia,
    but demonstrated his own political aptitude under Burns: He took
    up the pipe – Burns' trademark. Picasso might explain that Greenspan
    was Rene Magritte's subject in the surrealist's famous painting
    of a pipe. Under the pipe, Magritte painted: "Ceci n'est pas
    une pipe." ("This is not a pipe.") Greenspan understood
    he was not smoking a pipe. He knew the forgone parchment from Columbia
    was insubstantial compared to worshiping at Burns's doorstep. (When
    Burns was Federal Reserve chairman, he lived in the Watergate complex.
    When Greenspan moved to Washington as CEA director, he lived in
    the Watergate complex.)

    Lessons learned in young adulthood have a tendency
    to stick. Alan Greenspan might have observed how promotion was leap-frogging
    substance in post-War America. Lever Bros, the soap manufacturer,
    moved its headquarters to New York. Meanwhile, industrial America
    was heading for the suburbs. Why this journey? Chairman Charles
    Luckman explained: "New York is the answer to our major problem
    – selling…. All advertising centers in New York, all show business
    except the movies. The platform from which to sell goods in America
    is New York." Soap and Elvis needed a publicity agent.

    Greenspan may have observed an economist (aside
    from Burns) who shuffled seamlessly between academia and policymaking;
    one who generated the media attention necessary to an economist-politician.
    Harvard University professor Sumner Slichter told Washington that
    the Federal Reserve must accept inflation. This would achieve extended
    prosperity. (The Russians were catching up. Growth at any cost was
    gaining traction.) For such advice, which could only warm a politician's
    heart, Fortune magazine dubbed him the "father of inflation."
    (What a relief from that fussy Federal Reserve chairman, William
    McChesney Martin: "There is no validity whatever in the idea
    that any inflation, once accepted, can be confined to moderate proportions.")

    By the late-1950s, Greenspan was proprietor of Townsend-Greenspan,
    an economic consulting firm. He headed President Ford's Council
    of Economic Advisers in the mid-1970s. His economic forecasts were
    abysmal. (Senator Proxmire: "…I hope… when you get to the Federal
    Reserve Board everything will come up roses. You can't always be
    wrong.")

    This was of secondary importance. He received adulation
    where no other CEA director had gone before: the front cover of
    Newsweek, in the same year Jimmy Hoffa, Patty Hurst, and
    Liv Ullmann were likewise honored. The CEA was flooded with autograph
    requests. The clientele was not interested in the CEA director.
    They wanted Greenspan's autograph because he was famous.

    In August 1977, Elvis died. The nation mourned.
    This was not due to his presumed talent: singing. Elvis himself
    had said: "I don't know anything about music. In my line you
    don't have to." In 1977, Alan Greenspan received his Ph.D.
    in economics from N.Y.U. His thesis is a hodge-podge of articles
    written in the 1950s. At least, that is the scuttlebutt. N.Y.U.
    will not release his work. It doesn't really matter. It can be said
    of Alan Greenspan, with some exaggeration that "He doesn't
    know anything about economics. In his line you don't have to."

    His line was fame. Greenspan followed the most direct
    route: he dated the press. First Barbara Walters, then Susan Mills
    (a producer for the MacNeil-Lehrer Newshour), then he married
    a television personality, Andrea Mitchell. He gained entrée
    to the celebrity circuit. At the home of Oscar and Francoise de
    la Renta, Norman Mailer asked Giovanni Agnelli if he "was indeed
    Alan Greenspan u2018the famous economist.' "

    Townsend-Greenspan served Greenspan's own ambitions.
    Of the early Reagan years, White House staffer Martin Anderson recalls:
    "He had one life…. I don't think I was in the White House once
    where I didn't see him sitting in the lobby or working the offices.
    I was astounded by his omnipresence… He was always huddling in the
    corner with someone." In 1983, he was featured in a New
    York Times article about the lecture circuit ("The Superstars").
    Readers learned that "Mr. Greenspan has emerged as the most
    sought-after economist by lecture audiences worldwide."

    Greenspan became Federal Reserve chairman in 1987
    and served until January 2006. He continued his fame game. Fewer
    than 10% of Americans knew the name of the Federal Reserve chairman
    in 1979. In 2001, 90% knew Greenspan's name, though zero percent
    knew what he was talking about. This was to his benefit. It was
    believed he spoke on an elevated but indecipherable level. To the
    dedicated student of Federal Open Market Committee transcripts,
    Greenspan's contributions read like a screwball comedy. Few were
    in on the joke, so he was recast. He was the greatest testament
    of Magritte's warning to the twentieth century: "This is not
    a Federal Reserve chairman." He played a deity, an icon, Zeus,
    Moses, God — descriptions from an adoring or befuddled press. Greenspan
    lived in his own bulletproof bubble. As has happened in different
    countries at regrettable moments, the skeptic could only dismiss
    the transcendental gifts of this very common man at the risk of
    ridicule and loss of job.

    As readers of Greenspan's
    Bubbles

    know, he left a remarkable record of back-sightedness. His odes
    to technology drew a delirious public under the big top. On March
    6, 2000, he told a star-struck audience: "[T]he essential contribution
    of information technology is the expansion of knowledge and its
    obverse, the reduction of uncertainty. Before the quantum jump in
    information availability, most business decisions were made in a
    fog of uncertainty." The Federal Reserve chairman received
    a standing ovation. Less than two years later, after befogged technology
    investors had lost a few trillion dollars, he told a different audience:
    "[A]las, technology has not allowed us to see into the future
    any more clearly than we could previously."

    As stock prices rose in the late-1990s, Greenspan
    led his audiences to believe the Federal Reserve would calm the
    waters (if not part them). For instance, in February 1997: "[R]egrettably,
    history is strewn with new eras that, in the end, have proven to
    be a mirage…. [C]aution seems especially warranted with regard to
    the sharp rise in equity prices during the past two years." Two years later, when the stock market bubble had engulfed
    the nation, Greenspan told a Congressional committee: "[B]ubbles
    generally are perceptible only after the fact…. Betting against
    markets is usually precarious at best." With that, the circus
    animals bid stocks to the moon, knowing the Federal Reserve was
    party to the greatest snow job on earth.

    In 2004, the Federal Reserve chairman juggled and
    rode his unicycle for a different crowd: "Many homeowners might
    have saved tens of thousands of dollars had they held adjustable-rate
    mortgages rather than fixed-rate mortgages over the past decade."
    Only a fairground barker could make this statement in the same week
    it was announced that house prices had risen 17% over the past year
    in San Diego County, 29% in Los Angeles County, and 28% in New York.
    Just as his "can't see, can't speak policy" fed the chimpanzees
    in 1999, the circus act spurred the interest-only mortgage market.
    This was often the only affordable mortgage, meaning, the owner
    could make the first monthly payment but not necessarily the second.
    In California, the percentage of interest-only mortgages had risen
    from 2% in 2002 to 47% at the time Greenspan spoke. By the fall
    of 2004, 67% of California residential mortgages were interest-only.
    (The median residential real estate price in California rose from
    $262,000 in 2001, to $316,000 in 2002, to $450,000 in 2004, and
    to $542,000 in 2005.)

    His
    dialogue alone might resurrect screwball comedy, if only it wasn't
    real. Alan Greenspan is still famous, but the adoration has waned.
    His clown act worked when he threw candy and fireworks above the
    crowd. The masses have eaten the candy and are suffering shellfire.
    He is no longer an icon. Deities do not scramble for approval. Gods
    do not attract such headlines as: "Don't Blame Me!" (Sunday
    Times of London). Alan Greenspan wants respect. We do not respect
    gods; we worship them. We respect certain people, when they are
    deserving. Greenspan told us in early April of this year: "I
    have no regrets on any of the Federal Reserve policies that we initiated
    back then because I think they were very professionally done."
    That the votes were properly tallied is not in question; the accomplishments
    of the ersatz economist are the enigma. He wrote articles, "some
    of them for publications such as Business Economics, which
    would not have met the scholarly standards for most economics departments."
    (Jeff Madrick, New York Review of Books, July 19, 2001.)
    He shambled through his Ph.D. thesis, composed of articles described
    by Madrick. He used Townsend-Greenspan as a platform to court the
    rich and the professional layabouts. It is too late to establish
    himself as a comprehensive economist; he made a different choice
    fifty years ago.

    In 2004, John Kenneth Galbraith described the Federal
    Reserve's painless decisions made "in a pleasant, unobtrusive
    building in the nation's capital" as not of "the real
    world but to that of hope and imagination. Here our most implausible
    and most cherished escape from reality" is led by "an
    informed, confident and respected figure of no slight theatrical
    talent." When we are prepared to assess the end of this age
    honestly, here rests a truthful epitaph for Alan Greenspan and the
    Federal Reserve System.

    This is a longer version of that published in
    Whiskey & Gunpowder.

    May
    17, 2008

    Frederick
    Sheehan [send him mail]
    is the co-author with William Fleckenstein of Greenspan's
    Bubbles
    , McGraw-Hill, 2008.

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