The era that defined Wall Street is finally, officially over. Michael Lewis, who chronicled its excess in Liar's Poker, returns to his old haunt to figure out what went wrong.

To this day, the willingness of a Wall Street investment bank to pay me hundreds of thousands of dollars to dispense investment advice to grownups remains a mystery to me. I was 24 years old, with no experience of, or particular interest in, guessing which stocks and bonds would rise and which would fall. The essential function of Wall Street is to allocate capital—to decide who should get it and who should not. Believe me when I tell you that I hadn't the first clue.

I'd never taken an accounting course, never run a business, never even had savings of my own to manage. I stumbled into a job at Salomon Brothers in 1985 and stumbled out much richer three years later, and even though I wrote a book about the experience, the whole thing still strikes me as preposterous—which is one of the reasons the money was so easy to walk away from. I figured the situation was unsustainable. Sooner rather than later, someone was going to identify me, along with a lot of people more or less like me, as a fraud. Sooner rather than later, there would come a Great Reckoning when Wall Street would wake up and hundreds if not thousands of young people like me, who had no business making huge bets with other people's money, would be expelled from finance.

When I sat down to write my account of the experience in 1989—Liar's Poker, it was called—it was in the spirit of a young man who thought he was getting out while the getting was good. I was merely scribbling down a message on my way out and stuffing it into a bottle for those who would pass through these parts in the far distant future.

Unless some insider got all of this down on paper, I figured, no future human would believe that it happened.

I thought I was writing a period piece about the 1980s in America. Not for a moment did I suspect that the financial 1980s would last two full decades longer or that the difference in degree between Wall Street and ordinary life would swell into a difference in kind. I expected readers of the future to be outraged that back in 1986, the C.E.O. of Salomon Brothers, John Gutfreund, was paid $3.1 million; I expected them to gape in horror when I reported that one of our traders, Howie Rubin, had moved to Merrill Lynch, where he lost $250 million; I assumed they'd be shocked to learn that a Wall Street C.E.O. had only the vaguest idea of the risks his traders were running. What I didn't expect was that any future reader would look on my experience and say, "How quaint."

I had no great agenda, apart from telling what I took to be a remarkable tale, but if you got a few drinks in me and then asked what effect I thought my book would have on the world, I might have said something like, "I hope that college students trying to figure out what to do with their lives will read it and decide that it's silly to phony it up and abandon their passions to become financiers." I hoped that some bright kid at, say, Ohio State University who really wanted to be an oceanographer would read my book, spurn the offer from Morgan Stanley, and set out to sea.

Somehow that message failed to come across. Six months after Liar's Poker was published, I was knee-deep in letters from students at Ohio State who wanted to know if I had any other secrets to share about Wall Street. They'd read my book as a how-to manual.

In the two decades since then, I had been waiting for the end of Wall Street. The outrageous bonuses, the slender returns to shareholders, the never-ending scandals, the bursting of the internet bubble, the crisis following the collapse of Long-Term Capital Management: Over and over again, the big Wall Street investment banks would be, in some narrow way, discredited. Yet they just kept on growing, along with the sums of money that they doled out to 26-year-olds to perform tasks of no obvious social utility. The rebellion by American youth against the money culture never happened. Why bother to overturn your parents' world when you can buy it, slice it up into tranches, and sell off the pieces?

 At some point, I gave up waiting for the end. There was no scandal or reversal, I assumed, that could sink the system.

Then came Meredith Whitney with news. Whitney was an obscure analyst of financial firms for Oppenheimer Securities who, on October 31, 2007, ceased to be obscure. On that day, she predicted that Citigroup had so mismanaged its affairs that it would need to slash its dividend or go bust. It's never entirely clear on any given day what causes what in the stock market, but it was pretty obvious that on October 31, Meredith Whitney caused the market in financial stocks to crash. By the end of the trading day, a woman whom basically no one had ever heard of had shaved $369 billion off the value of financial firms in the market. Four days later, Citigroup's C.E.O., Chuck Prince, resigned. In January, Citigroup slashed its dividend.

From that moment, Whitney became E.F. Hutton: When she spoke, people listened. Her message was clear. If you want to know what these Wall Street firms are really worth, take a hard look at the crappy assets they bought with huge sums of ­borrowed money, and imagine what they'd fetch in a fire sale. The vast assemblages of highly paid people inside the firms were essentially worth nothing. For better than a year now, Whitney has responded to the claims by bankers and brokers that they had put their problems behind them with this write-down or that capital raise with a claim of her own: You're wrong. You're still not facing up to how badly you have mismanaged your business.

Rivals accused Whitney of being overrated; bloggers accused her of being lucky. What she was, mainly, was right. But it's true that she was, in part, guessing. There was no way she could have known what was going to happen to these Wall Street firms. The C.E.O.'s themselves didn't know.

Now, obviously, Meredith Whitney didn't sink Wall Street. She just expressed most clearly and loudly a view that was, in retrospect, far more seditious to the financial order than, say, Eliot Spitzer's campaign against Wall Street corruption. If mere scandal could have destroyed the big Wall Street investment banks, they'd have vanished long ago. This woman wasn't saying that Wall Street bankers were corrupt. She was saying they were stupid. These people whose job it was to allocate capital apparently didn't even know how to manage their own.

At some point, I could no longer contain myself: I called Whitney. This was back in March, when Wall Street's fate still hung in the balance. I thought, If she's right, then this really could be the end of Wall Street as we've known it. I was curious to see if she made sense but also to know where this young woman who was crashing the stock market with her every utterance had come from.

It turned out that she made a great deal of sense and that she'd arrived on Wall Street in 1993, from the Brown University history department. "I got to New York, and I didn't even know research existed," she says. She'd wound up at Oppenheimer and had the most incredible piece of luck: to be trained by a man who helped her establish not merely a career but a worldview. His name, she says, was Steve Eisman.

Eisman had moved on, but they kept in touch. "After I made the Citi call," she says, "one of the best things that happened was when Steve called and told me how proud he was of me."

Having never heard of Eisman, I didn't think anything of this. But a few months later, I called Whitney again and asked her, as I was asking others, whom she knew who had anticipated the cataclysm and set themselves up to make a fortune from it. There's a long list of people who now say they saw it coming all along but a far shorter one of people who actually did. Of those, even fewer had the nerve to bet on their vision. It's not easy to stand apart from mass hysteria—to believe that most of what's in the financial news is wrong or distorted, to believe that most important financial people are either lying or deluded—without actually being insane. A handful of people had been inside the black box, understood how it worked, and bet on it blowing up. Whitney rattled off a list with a half-dozen names on it. At the top was Steve Eisman.

Steve Eisman entered finance about the time I exited it. He'd grown up in New York City and gone to a Jewish day school, the University of Pennsylvania, and Harvard Law School. In 1991, he was a 30-year-old corporate lawyer. "I hated it," he says. "I hated being a lawyer. My parents worked as brokers at Oppenheimer. They managed to finagle me a job. It's not pretty, but that's what happened."

He was hired as a junior equity analyst, a helpmate who didn't actually offer his opinions. That changed in December 1991, less than a year into his new job, when a subprime mortgage lender called Ames Financial went public and no one at Oppenheimer particularly cared to express an opinion about it. One of Oppenheimer's investment bankers stomped around the research department looking for anyone who knew anything about the mortgage business. Recalls Eisman: "I'm a junior analyst and just trying to figure out which end is up, but I told him that as a lawyer I'd worked on a deal for the Money Store." He was promptly appointed the lead analyst for Ames Financial. "What I didn't tell him was that my job had been to proofread the ­documents and that I hadn't understood a word of the fucking things."

Ames Financial belonged to a category of firms known as nonbank financial institutions. The category didn't include J.P. Morgan, but it did encompass many little-known companies that one way or another were involved in the early-1990s boom in subprime mortgage lending—the lower class of American finance.

The second company for which Eisman was given sole responsibility was Lomas Financial, which had just emerged from bankruptcy. "I put a sell rating on the thing because it was a piece of shit," Eisman says. "I didn't know that you weren't supposed to put a sell rating on companies. I thought there were three boxes—buy, hold, sell—and you could pick the one you thought you should." He was pressured generally to be a bit more upbeat, but upbeat wasn't Steve Eisman's style. Upbeat and Eisman didn't occupy the same planet. A hedge fund manager who counts Eisman as a friend set out to explain him to me but quit a minute into it. After describing how Eisman exposed various important people as either liars or idiots, the hedge fund manager started to laugh. "He's sort of a prick in a way, but he's smart and honest and fearless."

 "A lot of people don't get Steve," Whitney says. "But the people who get him love him." Eisman stuck to his sell rating on Lomas Financial, even after the company announced that investors needn't worry about its financial condition, as it had hedged its market risk. "The single greatest line I ever wrote as an analyst," says Eisman, "was after Lomas said they were hedged." He recited the line from memory: " 'The Lomas Financial Corp. is a perfectly hedged financial institution: It loses money in every conceivable interest-rate environment.' I enjoyed writing that sentence more than any sentence I ever wrote." A few months after he'd delivered that line in his report, Lomas Financial returned to bankruptcy.

Eisman wasn't, in short, an analyst with a sunny disposition who expected the best of his fellow financial man and the companies he created. "You have to understand," Eisman says in his defense, "I did subprime first. I lived with the worst first. These guys lied to infinity. What I learned from that experience was that Wall Street didn't give a shit what it sold."

Harboring suspicions about ­people's morals and telling investors that companies don't deserve their capital wasn't, in the 1990s or at any other time, the fast track to success on Wall Street. Eisman quit Oppenheimer in 2001 to work as an analyst at a hedge fund, but what he really wanted to do was run money. FrontPoint Partners, another hedge fund, hired him in 2004 to invest in financial stocks. Eisman's brief was to evaluate Wall Street banks, homebuilders, mortgage originators, and any company (General Electric or General Motors, for instance) with a big financial-services division—anyone who touched American finance. An insurance company backed him with $50 million, a paltry sum. "Basically, we tried to raise money and didn't really do it," Eisman says.

Instead of money, he attracted people whose worldviews were as shaded as his own—Vincent Daniel, for instance, who became a partner and an analyst in charge of the mortgage sector. Now 36, Daniel grew up a lower-middle-class kid in Queens. One of his first jobs, as a junior accountant at Arthur Andersen, was to audit Salomon Brothers' books. "It was shocking," he says. "No one could explain to me what they were doing." He left accounting in the middle of the internet boom to become a research analyst, looking at companies that made subprime loans. "I was the only guy I knew covering companies that were all going to go bust," he says. "I saw how the sausage was made in the economy, and it was really freaky."

Danny Moses, who became Eisman's head trader, was another who shared his perspective. Raised in Georgia, Moses, the son of a finance professor, was a bit less fatalistic than Daniel or Eisman, but he nevertheless shared a general sense that bad things can and do happen. When a Wall Street firm helped him get into a trade that seemed perfect in every way, he said to the salesman, "I appreciate this, but I just want to know one thing: How are you going to screw me?"

Heh heh heh, c'mon. We'd never do that, the trader started to say, but Moses was politely insistent: We both know that unadulterated good things like this trade don't just happen between little hedge funds and big Wall Street firms. I'll do it, but only after you explain to me how you are going to screw me. And the salesman explained how he was going to screw him. And Moses did the trade.

Both Daniel and Moses enjoyed, immensely, working with Steve Eisman. He put a fine point on the absurdity they saw everywhere around them. "Steve's fun to take to any Wall Street meeting," Daniel says. "Because he'll say 'Explain that to me' 30 different times. Or 'Could you explain that more, in English?' Because once you do that, there's a few things you learn. For a start, you figure out if they even know what they're talking about. And a lot of times, they don't!"

At the end of 2004, Eisman, Moses, and Daniel shared a sense that unhealthy things were going on in the U.S. housing market: Lots of firms were lending money to people who shouldn't have been borrowing it. They thought Alan Greenspan's decision after the internet bust to lower interest rates to 1 percent was a travesty that would lead to some terrible day of reckoning. Neither of these insights was entirely original. Ivy Zelman, at the time the housing-market analyst at Credit Suisse, had seen the bubble forming very early on. There's a simple measure of sanity in housing prices: the ratio of median home price to income. Historically, it runs around 3 to 1; by late 2004, it had risen nationally to 4 to 1. "All these people were saying it was nearly as high in some other countries," Zelman says. "But the problem wasn't just that it was 4 to 1. In Los Angeles, it was 10 to 1, and in Miami, 8.5 to 1. And then you coupled that with the buyers. They weren't real buyers. They were speculators." Zelman alienated clients with her pessimism, but she couldn't pretend everything was good. "It wasn't that hard in hindsight to see it," she says. "It was very hard to know when it would stop." Zelman spoke occasionally with Eisman and always left these conversations feeling better about her views and worse about the world. "You needed the occasional assurance that you weren't nuts," she says. She wasn't nuts. The world was.

By the spring of 2005, FrontPoint was fairly convinced that something was very screwed up not merely in a handful of companies but in the financial underpinnings of the entire U.S. mortgage market. In 2000, there had been $130 billion in subprime mortgage lending, with $55 billion of that repackaged as mortgage bonds. But in 2005, there was $625 billion in subprime mortgage loans, $507 billion of which found its way into mortgage bonds. Eisman couldn't understand who was making all these loans or why. He had a from-the-ground-up understanding of both the U.S. housing market and Wall Street. But he'd spent his life in the stock market, and it was clear that the stock market was, in this story, largely irrelevant. "What most people don't realize is that the fixed-income world dwarfs the equity world," he says. "The equity world is like a fucking zit compared with the bond market." He shorted companies that originated subprime loans, like New Century and Indy Mac, and companies that built the houses bought with the loans, such as Toll Brothers. Smart as these trades proved to be, they weren't entirely satisfying. These companies paid high dividends, and their shares were often expensive to borrow; selling them short was a costly proposition.

 Enter Greg Lippman, a mortgage-bond trader at Deutsche Bank. He arrived at FrontPoint bearing a 66-page presentation that described a better way for the fund to put its view of both Wall Street and the U.S. housing market into action. The smart trade, Lippman argued, was to sell short not New Century's stock but its bonds that were backed by the subprime loans it had made. Eisman hadn't known this was even possible—because until recently, it hadn't been. But Lippman, along with traders at other Wall Street investment banks, had created a way to short the subprime bond market with precision.

Here's where financial technology became suddenly, urgently relevant. The typical mortgage bond was still structured in much the same way it had been when I worked at Salomon Brothers. The loans went into a trust that was designed to pay off its investors not all at once but according to their rankings. The investors in the top tranche, rated AAA, received the first payment from the trust and, because their investment was the least risky, received the lowest interest rate on their money. The investors who held the trusts' BBB tranche got the last payments—and bore the brunt of the first defaults. Because they were taking the most risk, they received the highest return. Eisman wanted to bet that some subprime borrowers would default, causing the trust to suffer losses. The way to express this view was to short the BBB tranche. The trouble was that the BBB tranche was only a tiny slice of the deal.

But the scarcity of truly crappy subprime-mortgage bonds no longer mattered. The big Wall Street firms had just made it possible to short even the tiniest and most obscure subprime-mortgage-backed bond by creating, in effect, a market of side bets. Instead of shorting the actual BBB bond, you could now enter into an agreement for a credit-default swap with Deutsche Bank or Goldman Sachs. It cost money to make this side bet, but nothing like what it cost to short the stocks, and the upside was far greater.  

The arrangement bore the same relation to actual finance as fantasy football bears to the N.F.L. Eisman was perplexed in particular about why Wall Street firms would be coming to him and asking him to sell short. "What Lippman did, to his credit, was he came around several times to me and said, 'Short this market,' " Eisman says. "In my entire life, I never saw a sell-side guy come in and say, 'Short my market.' "

And short Eisman did—then he tried to get his mind around what he'd just done so he could do it better. He'd call over to a big firm and ask for a list of mortgage bonds from all over the country. The juiciest shorts—the bonds ultimately backed by the mortgages most likely to default—had several characteristics. They'd be in what Wall Street people were now calling the sand states: Arizona, California, Florida, Nevada. The loans would have been made by one of the more dubious mortgage lenders; Long Beach Financial, wholly owned by Washington Mutual, was a great example. Long Beach Financial was moving money out the door as fast as it could, few questions asked, in loans built to self-destruct. It specialized in asking home­owners with bad credit and no proof of income to put no money down and defer interest payments for as long as possible. In Bakersfield, California, a Mexican strawberry picker with an income of $14,000 and no English was lent every penny he needed to buy a house for $720,000.

More generally, the subprime market tapped a tranche of the American public that did not typically have anything to do with Wall Street. Lenders were making loans to people who, based on their credit ratings, were less creditworthy than 71 percent of the population. Eisman knew some of these people. One day, his housekeeper, a South American woman, told him that she was planning to buy a townhouse in Queens. "The price was absurd, and they were giving her a low-down-payment option-ARM," says Eisman, who talked her into taking out a conventional fixed-rate mortgage. Next, the baby nurse he'd hired back in 1997 to take care of his newborn twin daughters phoned him. "She was this lovely woman from Jamaica," he says. "One day she calls me and says she and her sister own five townhouses in Queens. I said, 'How did that happen?' " It happened because after they bought the first one and its value rose, the lenders came and suggested they refinance and take out $250,000, which they used to buy another one. Then the price of that one rose too, and they repeated the experiment. "By the time they were done," Eisman says, "they owned five of them, the market was falling, and they couldn't make any of the payments."

 In retrospect, pretty much all of the riskiest subprime-backed bonds were worth betting against; they would all one day be worth zero. But at the time Eisman began to do it, in the fall of 2006, that wasn't clear. He and his team set out to find the smelliest pile of loans they could so that they could make side bets against them with Goldman Sachs or Deutsche Bank. What they were doing, oddly enough, was the analysis of subprime lending that should have been done before the loans were made: Which poor Americans were likely to jump which way with their finances? How much did home prices need to fall for these loans to blow up? (It turned out they didn't have to fall; they merely needed to stay flat.) The default rate in Georgia was five times higher than that in Florida even though the two states had the same unemployment rate. Why? Indiana had a 25 percent default rate; California's was only 5 percent. Why?

Moses actually flew down to Miami and wandered around neighborhoods built with subprime loans to see how bad things were. "He'd call me and say, 'Oh my God, this is a calamity here,' " recalls Eisman. All that was required for the BBB bonds to go to zero was for the default rate on the underlying loans to reach 14 percent. Eisman thought that, in certain sections of the country, it would go far, far higher.

The funny thing, looking back on it, is how long it took for even someone who predicted the disaster to grasp its root causes. They were learning about this on the fly, shorting the bonds and then trying to figure out what they had done. Eisman knew subprime lenders could be scumbags. What he underestimated was the total unabashed complicity of the upper class of American capitalism. For instance, he knew that the big Wall Street investment banks took huge piles of loans that in and of themselves might be rated BBB, threw them into a trust, carved the trust into tranches, and wound up with 60 percent of the new total being rated AAA.

But he couldn't figure out exactly how the rating agencies justified turning BBB loans into AAA-rated bonds. "I didn't understand how they were turning all this garbage into gold," he says. He brought some of the bond people from Goldman Sachs, Lehman Brothers, and UBS over for a visit. "We always asked the same question," says Eisman. "Where are the rating agencies in all of this? And I'd always get the same reaction. It was a smirk." He called Standard & Poor's and asked what would happen to default rates if real estate prices fell. The man at S&P couldn't say; its model for home prices had no ability to accept a negative number. "They were just assuming home prices would keep going up," Eisman says.

As an investor, Eisman was allowed on the quarterly conference calls held by Moody's but not allowed to ask questions. The people at Moody's were polite about their brush-off, however. The C.E.O. even invited Eisman and his team to his office for a visit in June 2007. By then, Eisman was so certain that the world had been turned upside down that he just assumed this guy must know it too. "But we're sitting there," Daniel recalls, "and he says to us, like he actually means it, 'I truly believe that our rating will prove accurate.' And Steve shoots up in his chair and asks, 'What did you just say?' as if the guy had just uttered the most preposterous statement in the history of finance. He repeated it. And Eisman just laughed at him."

"With all due respect, sir," Daniel told the C.E.O. deferentially as they left the meeting, "you're delusional."
This wasn't Fitch or even S&P. This was Moody's, the aristocrats of the rating business, 20 percent owned by Warren Buffett. And the company's C.E.O. was being told he was either a fool or a crook by one Vincent Daniel, from Queens.

A full nine months earlier, Daniel and ­Moses had flown to Orlando for an industry conference. It had a grand title—the American Securitization Forum—but it was essentially a trade show for the ­subprime-mortgage business: the people who originated subprime mortgages, the Wall Street firms that packaged and sold subprime mortgages, the fund managers who invested in nothing but subprime-mortgage-backed bonds, the agencies that rated subprime-­mortgage bonds, the lawyers who did whatever the lawyers did. Daniel and Moses thought they were paying a courtesy call on a cottage industry, but the cottage had become a castle. "There were like 6,000 people there," Daniel says. "There were so many people being fed by this industry. The entire fixed-income department of each brokerage firm is built on this. Everyone there was the long side of the trade. The wrong side of the trade. And then there was us. That's when the picture really started to become clearer, and we started to get more cynical, if that was possible. We went back home and said to Steve, 'You gotta see this.' "

Eisman, Daniel, and Moses then flew out to Las Vegas for an even bigger subprime conference. By now, Eisman knew everything he needed to know about the quality of the loans being made. He still didn't fully understand how the apparatus worked, but he knew that Wall Street had built a doomsday machine. He was at once opportunistic and outraged.

Their first stop was a speech given by the C.E.O. of Option One, the mortgage originator owned by H&R Block. When the guy got to the part of his speech about Option One's subprime-loan portfolio, he claimed to be expecting a modest default rate of 5 percent. Eisman raised his hand. Moses and Daniel sank into their chairs. "It wasn't a Q&A," says Moses. "The guy was giving a speech. He sees Steve's hand and says, 'Yes?'"

  "Would you say that 5 percent is a probability or a possibility?" Eisman asked.

A probability, said the C.E.O., and he continued his speech.

Eisman had his hand up in the air again, waving it around. Oh, no, Moses thought. "The one thing Steve always says," Daniel explains, "is you must assume they are lying to you. They will always lie to you." Moses and Daniel both knew what Eisman thought of these subprime lenders but didn't see the need for him to express it here in this manner. For Eisman wasn't raising his hand to ask a question. He had his thumb and index finger in a big circle. He was using his fingers to speak on his behalf. Zero! they said.

 "Yes?" the C.E.O. said, obviously irritated. "Is that another question?"

"No," said Eisman. "It's a zero. There is zero probability that your default rate will be 5 percent." The losses on subprime loans would be much, much greater. Before the guy could reply, Eisman's cell phone rang. Instead of shutting it off, Eisman reached into his pocket and answered it. "Excuse me," he said, standing up. "But I need to take this call." And with that, he walked out.

Eisman's willingness to be abrasive in order to get to the heart of the matter was obvious to all; what was harder to see was his credulity: He actually wanted to believe in the system. As quick as he was to cry bullshit when he saw it, he was still shocked by bad behavior. That night in Vegas, he was seated at dinner beside a really nice guy who invested in mortgage C.D.O.'s—collateralized debt obligations. By then, Eisman thought he knew what he needed to know about C.D.O.'s. He didn't, it turned out.

Later, when I sit down with Eisman, the very first thing he wants to explain is the importance of the mezzanine C.D.O. What you notice first about Eisman is his lips. He holds them pursed, waiting to speak. The second thing you notice is his short, light hair, cropped in a manner that suggests he cut it himself while thinking about something else. "You have to understand this," he says. "This was the engine of doom." Then he draws a picture of several towers of debt. The first tower is made of the original subprime loans that had been piled together. At the top of this tower is the AAA tranche, just below it the AA tranche, and so on down to the riskiest, the BBB tranche—the bonds Eisman had shorted. But Wall Street had used these BBB tranches—the worst of the worst—to build yet another tower of bonds: a "particularly egregious" C.D.O. The reason they did this was that the rating agencies, presented with the pile of bonds backed by dubious loans, would pronounce most of them AAA. These bonds could then be sold to investors—pension funds, insurance companies—who were allowed to invest only in highly rated securities. "I cannot fucking believe this is allowed—I must have said that a thousand times in the past two years," Eisman says.

His dinner companion in Las Vegas ran a fund of about $15 billion and managed C.D.O.'s backed by the BBB tranche of a mortgage bond, or as Eisman puts it, "the equivalent of three levels of dog shit lower than the original bonds."

FrontPoint had spent a lot of time digging around in the dog shit and knew that the default rates were already sufficient to wipe out this guy's entire portfolio. "God, you must be having a hard time," Eisman told his dinner companion.

"No," the guy said, "I've sold everything out."

After taking a fee, he passed them on to other investors. His job was to be the C.D.O. "expert," but he actually didn't spend any time at all thinking about what was in the C.D.O.'s. "He managed the C.D.O.'s," says Eisman, "but managed what? I was just appalled. People would pay up to have someone manage their C.D.O.'s—as if this moron was helping you. I thought, You prick, you don't give a fuck about the investors in this thing."

 Whatever rising anger Eisman felt was offset by the man's genial disposition. Not only did he not mind that Eisman took a dim view of his C.D.O.'s; he saw it as a basis for friendship. "Then he said something that blew my mind," Eisman tells me. "He says, 'I love guys like you who short my market. Without you, I don't have anything to buy.' "

That's when Eisman finally got it. Here he'd been making these side bets with Goldman Sachs and Deutsche Bank on the fate of the BBB tranche without fully understanding why those firms were so eager to make the bets. Now he saw. There weren't enough Americans with shitty credit taking out loans to satisfy investors' appetite for the end product. The firms used Eisman's bet to synthesize more of them. Here, then, was the difference between fantasy finance and fantasy football: When a fantasy player drafts Peyton Manning, he doesn't create a second Peyton Manning to inflate the league's stats. But when Eisman bought a credit-default swap, he enabled Deutsche Bank to create another bond identical in every respect but one to the original. The only difference was that there was no actual homebuyer or borrower. The only assets backing the bonds were the side bets Eisman and others made with firms like Goldman Sachs. Eisman, in effect, was paying to Goldman the interest on a subprime mortgage. In fact, there was no mortgage at all. "They weren't satisfied getting lots of unqualified borrowers to borrow money to buy a house they couldn't afford," Eisman says. "They were creating them out of whole cloth. One hundred times over! That's why the losses are so much greater than the loans. But that's when I realized they needed us to keep the machine running. I was like, This is allowed?"

This particular dinner was hosted by Deutsche Bank, whose head trader, Greg Lippman, was the fellow who had introduced Eisman to the subprime bond market. Eisman went and found Lippman, pointed back to his own dinner companion, and said, "I want to short him." Lippman thought he was joking; he wasn't. "Greg, I want to short his paper," Eisman repeated. "Sight unseen."

Eisman started out running a $60 million equity fund but was now short around $600 million of various ­subprime-related securities. In the spring of 2007, the market strengthened. But, says Eisman, "credit quality always gets better in March and April. And the reason it always gets better in March and April is that people get their tax refunds. You would think people in the securitization world would know this. We just thought that was moronic."

He was already short the stocks of mortgage originators and the homebuilders. Now he took short positions in the rating agencies—"they were making 10 times more rating C.D.O.'s than they were rating G.M. bonds, and it was all going to end"—and, finally, the biggest Wall Street firms because of their exposure to C.D.O.'s. He wasn't allowed to short Morgan Stanley because it owned a stake in his fund. But he shorted UBS, Lehman Brothers, and a few others. Not long after that, FrontPoint had a visit from Sanford C. Bernstein's Brad Hintz, a prominent analyst who covered Wall Street firms. Hintz wanted to know what Eisman was up to. "We just shorted Merrill Lynch," Eisman told him.

"Why?" asked Hintz.

"We have a simple thesis," Eisman explained. "There is going to be a calamity, and whenever there is a calamity, Merrill is there." When it came time to bankrupt Orange County with bad advice, Merrill was there. When the internet went bust, Merrill was there. Way back in the 1980s, when the first bond trader was let off his leash and lost hundreds of millions of dollars, Merrill was there to take the hit. That was Eisman's logic—the logic of Wall Street's pecking order. Goldman Sachs was the big kid who ran the games in this neighborhood. Merrill Lynch was the little fat kid assigned the least pleasant roles, just happy to be a part of things. The game, as Eisman saw it, was Crack the Whip. He assumed Merrill Lynch had taken its assigned place at the end of the chain.

There was only one thing that bothered Eisman, and it continued to trouble him as late as May 2007. "The thing we couldn't figure out is: It's so obvious. Why hasn't everyone else figured out that the machine is done?" Eisman had long subscribed to Grant's Interest Rate Observer, a newsletter famous in Wall Street circles and obscure outside them. Jim Grant, its editor, had been prophesying doom ever since the great debt cycle began, in the mid-1980s. In late 2006, he decided to investigate these things called C.D.O.'s. Or rather, he had asked his young assistant, Dan Gertner, a chemical engineer with an M.B.A., to see if he could understand them. Gertner went off with the documents that purported to explain C.D.O.'s to potential investors and for several days sweated and groaned and heaved and suffered. "Then he came back," says Grant, "and said, 'I can't figure this thing out.' And I said, 'I think we have our story.' "

 Eisman read Grant's piece as independent confirmation of what he knew in his bones about the C.D.O.'s he had shorted. "When I read it, I thought, Oh my God. This is like owning a gold mine. When I read that, I was the only guy in the equity world who almost had an orgasm."

On July 19, 2007, the same day that Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke told the U.S. Senate that he anticipated as much as $100 billion in losses in the subprime-mortgage market, FrontPoint did something unusual: It hosted its own conference call. It had had calls with its tiny population of investors, but this time FrontPoint opened it up. Steve Eisman had become a poorly kept secret. Five hundred people called in to hear what he had to say, and another 500 logged on afterward to listen to a recording of it. He explained the strange alchemy of the C.D.O. and said that he expected losses of up to $300 billion from this sliver of the market alone. To evaluate the situation, he urged his audience to "just throw your model in the garbage can. The models are all backward-looking.

The models don't have any idea of what this world has become…. For the first time in their lives, people in the asset-backed-securitization world are actually having to think." He explained that the rating agencies were morally bankrupt and living in fear of becoming actually bankrupt. "The rating agencies are scared to death," he said. "They're scared to death about doing nothing because they'll look like fools if they do nothing."

On September 18, 2008, Danny Moses came to work as usual at 6:30 a.m. Earlier that week, Lehman Brothers had filed for bankruptcy. The day before, the Dow had fallen 449 points to its lowest level in four years. Overnight, European governments announced a ban on short-selling, but that served as faint warning for what happened next.

At the market opening in the U.S., everything—every financial asset—went into free fall. "All hell was breaking loose in a way I had never seen in my career," Moses says. FrontPoint was net short the market, so this total collapse should have given Moses pleasure. He might have been forgiven if he stood up and cheered. After all, he'd been betting for two years that this sort of thing could happen, and now it was, more dramatically than he had ever imagined. Instead, he felt this terrifying shudder run through him. He had maybe 100 trades on, and he worked hard to keep a handle on them all. "I spent my morning trying to control all this energy and all this information," he says, "and I lost control. I looked at the screens. I was staring into the abyss. The end. I felt this shooting pain in my head. I don't get headaches. At first, I thought I was having an aneurysm."

Moses stood up, wobbled, then turned to Daniel and said, "I gotta leave. Get out of here. Now." Daniel thought about calling an ambulance but instead took Moses out for a walk.

Outside it was gorgeous, the blue sky reaching down through the tall buildings and warming the soul. Eisman was at a Goldman Sachs conference for hedge fund managers, raising capital. Moses and Daniel got him on the phone, and he left the conference and met them on the steps of St. Patrick's Cathedral. "We just sat there," Moses says. "Watching the people pass."

This was what they had been waiting for: total collapse. "The investment-banking industry is fucked," Eisman had told me a few weeks earlier. "These guys are only beginning to understand how fucked they are. It's like being a Scholastic, prior to Newton. Newton comes along, and one morning you wake up: 'Holy shit, I'm wrong!' " Now Lehman Brothers had vanished, Merrill had surrendered, and Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley were just a week away from ceasing to be investment banks. The investment banks were not just fucked; they were extinct.

Not so for hedge fund managers who had seen it coming. "As we sat there, we were weirdly calm," Moses says. "We felt insulated from the whole market reality. It was an out-of-body experience. We just sat and watched the people pass and talked about what might happen next. How many of these people were going to lose their jobs. Who was going to rent these buildings after all the Wall Street firms collapsed." Eisman was appalled. "Look," he said. "I'm short. I don't want the country to go into a depression. I just want it to fucking deleverage." He had tried a thousand times in a thousand ways to explain how screwed up the business was, and no one wanted to hear it. "That Wall Street has gone down because of this is justice," he says. "They fucked people. They built a castle to rip people off. Not once in all these years have I come across a person inside a big Wall Street firm who was having a crisis of conscience."

Truth to tell, there wasn't a whole lot of hand-wringing inside FrontPoint either. The only one among them who wrestled a bit with his conscience was Daniel. "Vinny, being from Queens, needs to see the dark side of everything," Eisman says. To which Daniel replies, "The way we thought about it was, 'By shorting this market we're creating the liquidity to keep the market going.' "

"It was like feeding the monster," Eisman says of the market for subprime bonds. "We fed the monster until it blew up."

About the time they were sitting on the steps of the midtown cathedral, I sat in a booth in a restaurant on the East Side, waiting for John Gutfreund to arrive for lunch, and wondered, among other things, why any restaurant would seat side by side two men without the slightest interest in touching each other.

There was an umbilical cord running from the belly of the exploded beast back to the financial 1980s. A friend of mine created the first mortgage derivative in 1986, a year after we left the Salomon Brothers trading program. ("The problem isn't the tools," he likes to say. "It's who is using the tools. Derivatives are like guns.")

When I published my book, the 1980s were supposed to be ending. I received a lot of undeserved credit for my timing. The social disruption caused by the collapse of the savings-and-loan industry and the rise of hostile takeovers and leveraged buyouts had given way to a brief period of recriminations. Just as most students at Ohio State read Liar's Poker as a manual, most TV and radio interviewers regarded me as a whistleblower. (The big exception was Geraldo Rivera. He put me on a show called "People Who Succeed Too Early in Life" along with some child actors who'd gone on to become drug addicts.) Anti-Wall Street feeling ran high—high enough for Rudy Giuliani to float a political career on it—but the result felt more like a witch hunt than an honest reappraisal of the financial order. The public lynchings of Gutfreund and junk-bond king Michael Milken were excuses not to deal with the disturbing forces underpinning their rise. Ditto the cleaning up of Wall Street's trading culture. The surface rippled, but down below, in the depths, the bonus pool remained undisturbed. Wall Street firms would soon be frowning upon profanity, firing traders for so much as glancing at a stripper, and forcing male employees to treat women almost as equals. Lehman Brothers circa 2008 more closely resembled a normal corporation with solid American values than did any Wall Street firm circa 1985.

 The changes were camouflage. They helped distract outsiders from the truly profane event: the growing misalignment of interests between the people who trafficked in financial risk and the wider culture.

I'd not seen Gutfreund since I quit Wall Street. I'd met him, nervously, a couple of times on the trading floor. A few months before I left, my bosses asked me to explain to Gutfreund what at the time seemed like exotic trades in derivatives I'd done with a European hedge fund. I tried. He claimed not to be smart enough to understand any of it, and I assumed that was how a Wall Street C.E.O. showed he was the boss, by rising above the details. There was no reason for him to remember any of these encounters, and he didn't: When my book came out and became a public-relations nuisance to him, he told reporters we'd never met.

Over the years, I'd heard bits and pieces about Gutfreund. I knew that after he'd been forced to resign from Salomon Brothers he'd fallen on harder times. I heard later that a few years ago he'd sat on a panel about Wall Street at Columbia Business School. When his turn came to speak, he advised students to find something more meaningful to do with their lives. As he began to describe his career, he broke down and wept.

When I emailed him to invite him to lunch, he could not have been more polite or more gracious. That attitude persisted as he was escorted to the table, made chitchat with the owner, and ordered his food. He'd lost a half-step and was more deliberate in his movements, but otherwise he was completely recognizable. The same veneer of denatured courtliness masked the same animal need to see the world as it was, rather than as it should be.

We spent 20 minutes or so determining that our presence at the same lunch table was not going to cause the earth to explode. We discovered we had a mutual acquaintance in New Orleans. We agreed that the Wall Street C.E.O. had no real ability to keep track of the frantic innovation occurring inside his firm. ("I didn't understand all the product lines, and they don't either," he said.) We agreed, further, that the chief of the Wall Street investment bank had little control over his subordinates. ("They're buttering you up and then doing whatever the fuck they want to do.") He thought the cause of the financial crisis was "simple. Greed on both sides—greed of investors and the greed of the bankers." I thought it was more complicated. Greed on Wall Street was a given—almost an obligation. The problem was the system of incentives that channeled the greed.

But I didn't argue with him. For just as you revert to being about nine years old when you visit your parents, you revert to total subordination when you are in the presence of your former C.E.O. John Gutfreund was still the King of Wall Street, and I was still a geek. He spoke in declarative statements; I spoke in questions.

But as he spoke, my eyes kept drifting to his hands. His alarmingly thick and meaty hands. They weren't the hands of a soft Wall Street banker but of a boxer. I looked up. The boxer was smiling—though it was less a smile than a placeholder expression. And he was saying, very deliberately, "Your…fucking…book."

I smiled back, though it wasn't quite a smile.

"Your fucking book destroyed my career, and it made yours," he said.

I didn't think of it that way and said so, sort of.

"Why did you ask me to lunch?" he asked, though pleasantly. He was genuinely curious.

You can't really tell someone that you asked him to lunch to let him know that you don't think of him as evil. Nor can you tell him that you asked him to lunch because you thought that you could trace the biggest financial crisis in the history of the world back to a decision he had made. John Gutfreund did violence to the Wall Street social order—and got himself dubbed the King of Wall Street—when he turned Salomon Brothers from a private partnership into Wall Street's first public corporation. He ignored the outrage of Salomon's retired partners. ("I was disgusted by his materialism," William Salomon, the son of the firm's founder, who had made Gutfreund C.E.O. only after he'd promised never to sell the firm, had told me.) He lifted a giant middle finger at the moral disapproval of his fellow Wall Street C.E.O.'s. And he seized the day. He and the other partners not only made a quick killing; they transferred the ultimate financial risk from themselves to their shareholders. It didn't, in the end, make a great deal of sense for the shareholders. (A share of Salomon Brothers purchased when I arrived on the trading floor, in 1986, at a then market price of $42, would be worth 2.26 shares of Citigroup today—market value: $27.) But it made fantastic sense for the investment bankers.

From that moment, though, the Wall Street firm became a black box. The shareholders who financed the risks had no real understanding of what the risk takers were doing, and as the risk-taking grew ever more complex, their understanding diminished. The moment Salomon Brothers demonstrated the potential gains to be had by the investment bank as public corporation, the psychological foundations of Wall Street shifted from trust to blind faith.

No investment bank owned by its employees would have levered itself 35 to 1 or bought and held $50 billion in mezzanine C.D.O.'s. I doubt any partnership would have sought to game the rating agencies or leap into bed with loan sharks or even allow mezzanine C.D.O.'s to be sold to its customers. The hoped-for short-term gain would not have justified the long-term hit.

No partnership, for that matter, would have hired me or anyone remotely like me. Was there ever any correlation between the ability to get in and out of Princeton and a talent for taking financial risk?

Now I asked Gutfreund about his biggest decision. "Yes," he said. "They—the heads of the other Wall Street firms—all said what an awful thing it was to go public and how could you do such a thing. But when the temptation arose, they all gave in to it." He agreed that the main effect of turning a partnership into a corporation was to transfer the financial risk to the shareholders. "When things go wrong, it's their problem," he said—and obviously not theirs alone. When a Wall Street investment bank screwed up badly enough, its risks became the problem of the U.S. government. "It's laissez-faire until you get in deep shit," he said, with a half chuckle. He was out of the game.

It was now all someone else's fault.

He watched me curiously as I scribbled down his words. "What's this for?" he asked.

I told him I thought it might be worth revisiting the world I'd described in Liar's Poker, now that it was finally dying. Maybe bring out a 20th-anniversary edition.

"That's nauseating," he said.

Hard as it was for him to enjoy my company, it was harder for me not to enjoy his. He was still tough, as straight and blunt as a butcher. He'd helped create a monster, but he still had in him a lot of the old Wall Street, where people said things like "A man's word is his bond." On that Wall Street, people didn't walk out of their firms and cause trouble for their former bosses by writing books about them. "No," he said, "I think we can agree about this: Your fucking book destroyed my career, and it made yours." With that, the former king of a former Wall Street lifted the plate that held his appetizer and asked sweetly, "Would you like a deviled egg?"

Until that moment, I hadn't paid much attention to what he'd been eating. Now I saw he'd ordered the best thing in the house, this gorgeous frothy confection of an earlier age. Who ever dreamed up the deviled egg? Who knew that a simple egg could be made so complicated and yet so appealing? I reached over and took one. Something for nothing. It never loses its charm. 

i added a SCREENSHOT : http://img46.imageshack.us/my.php?image=geca5.jpg

 

 

I wrote in early October that Mebane Faber had done a study indicating that equities could see positive returns in November and December because of the horrible month that stocks saw in September. Faber followed up with a further study entitled What happens after two bad months that point to median gains of 7% for the rest of the year if history were to be any guide. VIX and more came to a similar conclusion on market direction by comparing the current period in the US to Japan:

2002 7-8 months
1991 3-4 months
1987 1 ½ months
1982 6 months
1974 3 months

Recession to bottom out in the Spring?
This market analysis is consistent with a study from Bespoke indicating that the recession would likely bottom out in the Spring:

 

 

The shape of the yield curve is also pointing to a growth revival in 2009. Now, some may say that all these financial problems are going to create an incredible drag on the economy and the US is not likely to emerge from recession any time soon. However, the historical evidence shows that while recessions induced by financial stress tend to be deeper, they don't seem to any longer.

For investors trying to time the market bottom, Northern Trust put out a study that showed the S&P 500 generally bottomed out 2-5 months before the actual economic bottom. If we were to accept Bepsoke's forecast of a recessionary bottom in the Spring, then this would also suggest a market bottom in early 2009.

Base case: The market bottoms in early 2009
In summary, the technical and economic analysis both point to the same conclusion. The market is likely to rally for a couple of months into year-end. Then expect a decline and re-test of the October lows in the January-April timeframe and that test would mark the bottom of this bear market. At that point, I would be getting ready and orienting my portfolio to take advantage of a Phoenix effect.

The greatest risk to this forecast is that the world's financial system is extremely fragile and future events are highly dependent on policy response. Given that the US is facing an election and we will likely not see the economic team until early next year, anything can happen.

 

 

As a follow up to my previous post on Altman Z score, investors who use solvency analysis to avoid bankrupt companies should beware of the effects of an economic recovery. The other side of the coin of solvency analysis is the Phoenix effect.

When the economy comes out of recession, shares of near-bankrupt companies see eye-popping returns as they rise Phoenix-like from the ashes of near insolvency. Examples include Chrysler moving from $2 to over $30 in the 1982-3 recovery; Magna International from under $2 to over $80 in 1991-2; and Akamai Technologies from under $2 to over $18 in 2003-4.

Buying shares of near bankrupt companies is a dangerous but exciting game. To be successful, an investor needs to identify the Phoenix candidates and correctly time the turn in the market. The rewards are can be big. Buying a basket Phoenix stocks can yield returns of 100-200% over a 12-18 month period.


Phoenix is partly a small cap effect
The Phoenix effect can be characterized partly as a small cap effect. The chart below shows the relative returns of the small cap Russell 1000 relative to the large cap S&P 500. I indexed the start value of 100, at dates representing stock market lows coinciding with economic slowdowns since 1980. On average, the Russell 1000 outperformed the S&P 500 by about 17% one year after the market low. The initial upward thrust in the market has always been marked by large cap outperformance.

Interestingly, the recent March 2008 low was characterized by small cap outperformance which leads me to conclude that this rally is just a bear market rally and the March low was probably not THE BOTTOM in this bear.







Looking for Phoenix candidates
Phoenix candidates are not just small cap stocks, but shares of companies that are at risk of insolvency and benefit from the tremendous positive operating leverage from an improving economy and high financial leverage which put them at risk of bankruptcy. The obvious quantitative way of finding Phoenix candidates is to screen the market for shares of companies that are at risk of insolvency. However, there is a simpler heuristic: low-priced stocks.

Stock price is a factor that's not in most equity quants' factor lists. However, it is a deceptively simple way of screening for Phoenix recovery candidates. I remember that Jeff deGraaf, who was at Lehman Brothers at the time, reported in late 2003 that the return spread between the lowest and highest decile of stock price was about 70% - an astounding return to a factor for less than one year.

I roughly confirmed these results by running a backtest using the current components of the Russell 1000. Had you bought the lowest decile by stock price in December 2002 and held them for a year, the median outperformance compared to the top decile was about 110%. This simple study has problems, mainly in the form of a survivorship bias. The use of a median return instead of an average return does mitigate some of the survivorship bias issues. Nevertheless, it does illustrate the magnitude of the effect. Using a long-only approach, this study over the 2003 and previous recovery period suggest that a basket of Phoenix stocks has the potential to rise by a factor of between 2 and 3 over a 12-18 month period.


Phoenix candidate = low stock price + dramatic fall + insider activity
Just buying low priced stocks gets you partly there but we should eliminate stocks that have always traded at low prices. Phoenix candidates are stocks that have taken a pounding, or stocks that have fallen dramatically (70-90%) from the 52-week high. This is a likely indication that it is at risk of insolvency.

These companies are on the verge of Chapter 11 so buying their shares is highly risky. To mitigate downside risk of possible bankruptcy, add an additional insider activity screen. Ideally I would like to see recent insider buying in Phoenix candidates, which indicates that the fundamentals may be turning. At the very least, I would like to see the lack of insider selling, a sign that the worst is may over for the company under consideration.


Timing: Be patient, the Phoenix will rise
Right now, the weight of the evidence suggests that the turn has not occurred yet. I am preparing a list of Phoenix candidates for my portfolio but waiting for signals of a bottom before buying. In a future post I will write about how I would time the buy decision of these stocks.

 

 

If you are looking for very cheap stocks, you may want to look for stocks that are selling below cash per share. What this means is if you take all the cash a company has and divide it by the number of shares, you get the cash per share. There are actually over 60 stocks out there, discovered by WallStreetNewsNetwork.com, which are trading below that cash amount.

The following are a list of 11 stocks, all with market caps over $400 million, that are trading way below cash per share, therefore, with a Price to Cash per Share [PCS] ratio of way below 1. Keep in mind that many of these are foreign companies, many have high debt, and many are in struggling industries. Financials are based on several sources, but should be investigated before investing in any of these stocks.

Mitsubishi UFJ (MTU) is a financial services and banking company based in Tokyo, Japan. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.208 , with a PE ratio of 11.7 .

Gov Bank of Ireland (IRE) is an Irish banking and other financial services firm. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.218 , with a PE ratio of 0.95 and a PEG of 0.09 .

Banco Santander (STD) is a commercial and private bank based in Madrid, Spain. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.233 , with a PE ratio of 5.15 and a PEG of 0.36 .

Allied Irish Banks Plc (AIB) is an Irish based banking, investment banking, and asset management company. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.248 , with a PE ratio of 1.56 and a PEG of 0.1 .

Genworth Financial (GNW) is a provider of various types of insurance, including life insurance, long term care insurance, Medicare supplement insurance, and mortgage insurance. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.298 , with a PE ratio of 3.93 and a PEG of 0.2 .

Liberty Media Capital (LCAPA) is a provider of video programming through cable, satellite, telephone, and the Internet. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.355 , with a PE ratio of 2.41 .

Banco Bilbao (BBV) is a Bilbao, Spain based bank. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.356 , with a PE ratio of 5.17 and a PEG of 0.36 .

Yazhou Coal Mining (YZC) is a Chinese based coal mining company. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.385 , with a PE ratio of 0.41 and a PEG of 0.35 .

Sadia S.A. (SDA) is a Brazil based manufacturer and marketer of processed products, poultry, and pork. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.491, with a PE ratio of 1.08 .

Discover Financial Svcs (DFS) is an Illinois based credit card company. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.517 , with a PE ratio of 12.25 and a PEG of 1.01 .

Health Net Inc (HNT) is a provider of managed health care services and health plans. The stock has a price to cash per share ratio of 0.604 , with a PE ratio of 27.38 and a PEG of 0.38 .

You can download an Excel database spreadsheet list of over 60 stocks trading below cash per share at WallStreetNewsNetwork.com. Please note that many of the stocks on that list are very low cap and therefore very speculative.

 

 

 

 

 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eusebius

Remarks by Governor Ben S. Bernanke At the H. Parker Willis Lecture in Economic Policy, Washington and Lee University, Lexington, Virginia March 2, 2004 Money, Gold, and the Great Depression

I am pleased to be able to present the H. Parker Willis Lecture in Economic Policy here at Washington and Lee University. As you may know, Willis was an important figure in the early history of my current employer, the Federal Reserve System. While he was a professor at Washington and Lee, Willis advised Senator Carter Glass of Virginia, one of the key legislators involved in the founding of the Federal Reserve. Willis also served on the National Monetary Commission, which recommended the creation of the Federal Reserve, and he went on to become the research director at the Federal Reserve from 1918 to 1922. At the Federal Reserve, Willis pushed for the development of new and better economic statistics, facing the resistance of those who took the view that too many facts only confuse the issue. Willis was also the first editor of the Federal Reserve Bulletin, the official publication of the Fed, which in Willis's time as well as today provides a wealth of economic statistics. As an illustration of the intellectual atmosphere in Washington at the time he served, Willis reported that when the first copy of the Bulletin was presented to the Secretary of the Treasury, the esteemed Secretary replied, "This Government ain't going into the newspaper business." Like Parker Willis, I was a professor myself before coming to the Federal Reserve Board. One topic of particular interest to me as a researcher was the performance of the Federal Reserve in its early days, particularly the part played by the young U.S. central bank in the Great Depression of the 1930s.1 In honor of Willis's important contribution to the design and creation of the Federal Reserve, I will speak today about the role of the Federal Reserve and of monetary factors more generally in the origin and propagation of the Great Depression. Let me offer two caveats before I begin: First, as I mentioned, H. Parker Willis resigned from the Fed in 1922, to take a post at Columbia University; thus, he is not implicated in any of the mistakes that the Federal Reserve made in the late 1920s and early 1930s. Second, the views I will express today are my own and are not necessarily those of my colleagues in the Federal Reserve System. The number of people with personal memory of the Great Depression is fast shrinking with the years, and to most of us the Depression is conveyed by grainy, black-and-white images of men in hats and long coats standing in bread lines. However, although the Depression was long ago--October this year will mark the seventy-fifth anniversary of the famous 1929 stock market crash--its influence is still very much with us. In particular, the experience of the Depression helped forge a consensus that the government bears the important responsibility of trying to stabilize the economy and the financial system, as well as of assisting people affected by economic downturns. Dozens of our most important government agencies and programs, ranging from social security (to assist the elderly and disabled) to federal deposit insurance (to eliminate banking panics) to the Securities and Exchange Commission (to regulate financial activities) were created in the 1930s, each a legacy of the Depression. The impact that the experience of the Depression has had on views about the role of the government in the economy is easily understood when we recall the sheer magnitude of that economic downturn. During the major contraction phase of the Depression, between 1929 and 1933, real output in the United States fell nearly 30 percent. During the same period, according to retrospective studies, the unemployment rate rose from about 3 percent to nearly 25 percent, and many of those lucky enough to have a job were able to work only part-time. For comparison, between 1973 and 1975, in what was perhaps the most severe U.S. recession of the World War II era, real output fell 3.4 percent and the unemployment rate rose from about 4 percent to about 9 percent. Other features of the 1929-33 decline included a sharp deflation--prices fell at a rate of nearly 10 percent per year during the early 1930s--as well as a plummeting stock market, widespread bank failures, and a rash of defaults and bankruptcies by businesses and households. The economy improved after Franklin D. Roosevelt's inauguration in March 1933, but unemployment remained in the double digits for the rest of the decade, full recovery arriving only with the advent of World War II. Moreover, as I will discuss later, the Depression was international in scope, affecting most countries around the world not only the United States. What caused the Depression? This question is a difficult one, but answering it is important if we are to draw the right lessons from the experience for economic policy. Solving the puzzle of the Depression is also crucial to the field of economics itself because of the light the solution would shed on our basic understanding of how the economy works. During the Depression years and for many decades afterward, economists disagreed sharply on the sources of the economic and financial collapse of the 1930s. In contrast, during the past twenty years or so economic historians have come to a broad consensus about the causes of the Depression. A widening of the geographic focus of Depression research deserves much of the credit for this breakthrough. Before the 1980s, research on the causes of the Depression had considered primarily the experience of the United States. This attention to the U.S. case was appropriate to some degree, as the U.S. economy was then, as it is today, the world's largest; the decline in output and employment in the United States during the 1930s was especially severe; and many economists have argued that, to an important extent, the worldwide Depression began in the United States, spreading from here to other countries (Romer, 1993). However, in much the same way that a medical researcher cannot reliably infer the causes of an illness by studying one patient, diagnosing the causes of the Depression is easier when we have more patients (in this case, more national economies) to study. To explain the current consensus on the causes of the Depression, I will first describe the debate as it existed before 1980, and then discuss how the recent focus on international aspects of the Depression and the comparative analysis of the experiences of different countries have helped to resolve that debate. I have already mentioned the sharp deflation of the price level that occurred during the contraction phase of the Depression, by far the most severe episode of deflation experienced in the United States before or since. Deflation, like inflation, tends to be closely linked to changes in the national money supply, defined as the sum of currency and bank deposits outstanding, and such was the case in the Depression. Like real output and prices, the U.S. money supply fell about one-third between 1929 and 1933, rising in subsequent years as output and prices rose. While the fact that money, prices, and output all declined rapidly in the early years of the Depression is undeniable, the interpretation of that fact has been the subject of much controversy. Indeed, historically, much of the debate on the causes of the Great Depression has centered on the role of monetary factors, including both monetary policy and other influences on the national money supply, such as the condition of the banking system. Views have changed over time. During the Depression itself, and in several decades following, most economists argued that monetary factors were not an important cause of the Depression. For example, many observers pointed to the fact that nominal interest rates were close to zero during much of the Depression, concluding that monetary policy had been about as easy as possible yet had produced no tangible benefits to the economy. The attempt to use monetary policy to extricate an economy from a deep depression was often compared to "pushing on a string." During the first decades after the Depression, most economists looked to developments on the real side of the economy for explanations, rather than to monetary factors. Some argued, for example, that overinvestment and overbuilding had taken place during the ebullient 1920s, leading to a crash when the returns on those investments proved to be less than expected. Another once-popular theory was that a chronic problem of "under-consumption"--the inability of households to purchase enough goods and services to utilize the economy's productive capacity--had precipitated the slump. However, in 1963, Milton Friedman and Anna J. Schwartz transformed the debate about the Great Depression. That year saw the publication of their now-classic book, A Monetary History of the United States, 1867-1960. The Monetary History, the name by which the book is instantly recognized by any macroeconomist, examined in great detail the relationship between changes in the national money stock--whether determined by conscious policy or by more impersonal forces such as changes in the banking system--and changes in national income and prices. The broader objective of the book was to understand how monetary forces had influenced the U.S. economy over a nearly a century. In the process of pursuing this general objective, however, Friedman and Schwartz offered important new evidence and arguments about the role of monetary factors in the Great Depression. In contradiction to the prevalent view of the time, that money and monetary policy played at most a purely passive role in the Depression, Friedman and Schwartz argued that "the [economic] contraction is in fact a tragic testimonial to the importance of monetary forces" (Friedman and Schwartz, 1963, p. 300). To support their view that monetary forces caused the Great Depression, Friedman and Schwartz revisited the historical record and identified a series of errors--errors of both commission and omission--made by the Federal Reserve in the late 1920s and early 1930s. According to Friedman and Schwartz, each of these policy mistakes led to an undesirable tightening of monetary policy, as reflected in sharp declines in the money supply. Drawing on their historical evidence about the effects of money on the economy, Friedman and Schwartz argued that the declines in the money stock generated by Fed actions--or inactions--could account for the drops in prices and output that subsequently occurred.2 Friedman and Schwartz emphasized at least four major errors by U.S. monetary policymakers. The Fed's first grave mistake, in their view, was the tightening of monetary policy that began in the spring of 1928 and continued until the stock market crash of October 1929 (see Hamilton, 1987, or Bernanke, 2002a, for further discussion). This tightening of monetary policy in 1928 did not seem particularly justified by the macroeconomic environment: The economy was only just emerging from a recession, commodity prices were declining sharply, and there was little hint of inflation. Why then did the Federal Reserve raise interest rates in 1928? The principal reason was the Fed's ongoing concern about speculation on Wall Street. Fed policymakers drew a sharp distinction between "productive" (that is, good) and "speculative" (bad) uses of credit, and they were concerned that bank lending to brokers and investors was fueling a speculative wave in the stock market. When the Fed's attempts to persuade banks not to lend for speculative purposes proved ineffective, Fed officials decided to dissuade lending directly by raising the policy interest rate. The market crash of October 1929 showed, if anyone doubted it, that a concerted effort by the Fed can bring down stock prices. But the cost of this "victory" was very high. According to Friedman and Schwartz, the Fed's tight-money policies led to the onset of a recession in August 1929, according to the official dating by the National Bureau of Economic Research. The slowdown in economic activity, together with high interest rates, was in all likelihood the most important source of the stock market crash that followed in October. In other words, the market crash, rather than being the cause of the Depression, as popular legend has it, was in fact largely the result of an economic slowdown and the inappropriate monetary policies that preceded it. Of course, the stock market crash only worsened the economic situation, hurting consumer and business confidence and contributing to a still deeper downturn in 1930. The second monetary policy action identified by Friedman and Schwartz occurred in September and October of 1931. At the time, as I will discuss in more detail later, the United States and the great majority of other nations were on the gold standard, a system in which the value of each currency is expressed in terms of ounces of gold. Under the gold standard, central banks stood ready to maintain the fixed values of their currencies by offering to trade gold for money at the legally determined rate of exchange. The fact that, under the gold standard, the value of each currency was fixed in terms of gold implied that the rate of exchange between any two currencies within the gold standard system was likewise fixed. As with any system of fixed exchange rates, the gold standard was subject to speculative attack if investors doubted the ability of a country to maintain the value of its currency at the legally specified parity. In September 1931, following a period of financial upheaval in Europe that created concerns about British investments on the Continent, speculators attacked the British pound, presenting pounds to the Bank of England and demanding gold in return. Faced with the heavy demands of speculators for gold and a widespread loss of confidence in the pound, the Bank of England quickly depleted its gold reserves. Unable to continue supporting the pound at its official value, Great Britain was forced to leave the gold standard, allowing the pound to float freely, its value determined by market forces. With the collapse of the pound, speculators turned their attention to the U.S. dollar, which (given the economic difficulties the United States was experiencing in the fall of 1931) looked to many to be the next currency in line for devaluation. Central banks as well as private investors converted a substantial quantity of dollar assets to gold in September and October of 1931, reducing the Federal Reserve's gold reserves. The speculative attack on the dollar also helped to create a panic in the U.S. banking system. Fearing imminent devaluation of the dollar, many foreign and domestic depositors withdrew their funds from U.S. banks in order to convert them into gold or other assets. The worsening economic situation also made depositors increasingly distrustful of banks as a place to keep their savings. During this period, deposit insurance was virtually nonexistent, so that the failure of a bank might cause depositors to lose all or most of their savings. Thus, depositors who feared that a bank might fail rushed to withdraw their funds. Banking panics, if severe enough, could become self-confirming prophecies. During the 1930s, thousands of U.S. banks experienced runs by depositors and subsequently failed. Long-established central banking practice required that the Fed respond both to the speculative attack on the dollar and to the domestic banking panics. However, the Fed decided to ignore the plight of the banking system and to focus only on stopping the loss of gold reserves to protect the dollar. To stabilize the dollar, the Fed once again raised interest rates sharply, on the view that currency speculators would be less willing to liquidate dollar assets if they could earn a higher rate of return on them. The Fed's strategy worked, in that the attack on the dollar subsided and the U.S. commitment to the gold standard was successfully defended, at least for the moment. However, once again the Fed had chosen to tighten monetary policy despite the fact that macroeconomic conditions--including an accelerating decline in output, prices, and the money supply--seemed to demand policy ease. The third policy action highlighted by Friedman and Schwartz occurred in 1932. By the spring of that year, the Depression was well advanced, and Congress began to place considerable pressure on the Federal Reserve to ease monetary policy. The Board was quite reluctant to comply, but in response to the ongoing pressure the Board conducted open-market operations between April and June of 1932 designed to increase the national money supply and thus ease policy. These policy actions reduced interest rates on government bonds and corporate debt and appeared to arrest the decline in prices and economic activity. However, Fed officials remained ambivalent about their policy of monetary expansion. Some viewed the Depression as the necessary purging of financial excesses built up during the 1920s; in this view, slowing the economic collapse by easing monetary policy only delayed the inevitable adjustment. Other officials, noting among other indicators the very low level of nominal interest rates, concluded that monetary policy was in fact already quite easy and that no more should be done. These policymakers did not appear to appreciate that, even though nominal interest rates were very low, the ongoing deflation meant that the real cost of borrowing was very high because any loans would have to be repaid in dollars of much greater value (Meltzer, 2003). Thus monetary policy was not in fact easy at all, despite the very low level of nominal interest rates. In any event, Fed officials convinced themselves that the policy ease advocated by the Congress was not appropriate, and so when the Congress adjourned in July 1932, the Fed reversed the policy. By the latter part of the year, the economy had relapsed dramatically. The fourth and final policy mistake emphasized by Friedman and Schwartz was the Fed's ongoing neglect of problems in the U.S. banking sector. As I have already described, the banking sector faced enormous pressure during the early 1930s. As depositor fears about the health of banks grew, runs on banks became increasingly common. A series of banking panics spread across the country, often affecting all the banks in a major city or even an entire region of the country. Between December 1930 and March 1933, when President Roosevelt declared a "banking holiday" that shut down the entire U.S. banking system, about half of U.S. banks either closed or merged with other banks. Surviving banks, rather than expanding their deposits and loans to replace those of the banks lost to panics, retrenched sharply. The banking crisis had highly detrimental effects on the broader economy. Friedman and Schwartz emphasized the effects of bank failures on the money supply. Because bank deposits are a form of money, the closing of many banks greatly exacerbated the decline in the money supply. Moreover, afraid to leave their funds in banks, people hoarded cash, for example by burying their savings in coffee cans in the back yard. Hoarding effectively removed money from circulation, adding further to the deflationary pressures. Moreover, as I emphasized in early research of my own (Bernanke, 1983), the virtual shutting down of the U.S. banking system also deprived the economy of an important source of credit and other services normally provided by banks. The Federal Reserve had the power at least to ameliorate the problems of the banks. For example, the Fed could have been more aggressive in lending cash to banks (taking their loans and other investments as collateral), or it could have simply put more cash in circulation. Either action would have made it easier for banks to obtain the cash necessary to pay off depositors, which might have stopped bank runs before they resulted in bank closings and failures. Indeed, a central element of the Federal Reserve's original mission had been to provide just this type of assistance to the banking system. The Fed's failure to fulfill its mission was, again, largely the result of the economic theories held by the Federal Reserve leadership. Many Fed officials appeared to subscribe to the infamous "liquidationist" thesis of Treasury Secretary Andrew Mellon, who argued that weeding out "weak" banks was a harsh but necessary prerequisite to the recovery of the banking system. Moreover, most of the failing banks were relatively small and not members of the Federal Reserve System, making their fate of less interest to the policymakers. In the end, Fed officials decided not to intervene in the banking crisis, contributing once again to the precipitous fall in the money supply. Friedman and Schwartz discuss other episodes and policy actions as well, such as the Federal Reserve's misguided tightening of policy in 1937-38 which contributed to a new recession in those years. However, the four episodes I have described capture the gist of the Friedman and Schwartz argument that, for a variety of reasons, monetary policy was unnecessarily tight, both before the Depression began and during its most dramatic downward phase. As I have mentioned, Friedman and Schwartz had produced evidence from other historical periods that suggested that contractionary monetary policies can lead to declining prices and output. Friedman and Schwartz concluded therefore that they had found the smoking gun, evidence that much of the severity of the Great Depression could be attributed to monetary forces. Friedman and Schwartz's arguments were highly influential but not universally accepted. For several decades after the Monetary History was published, a debate raged about the importance of monetary factors in the Depression. Opponents made several objections to the Friedman and Schwartz thesis that are worth highlighting here. First, critics wondered whether the tightening of monetary policy during 1928 and 1929, though perhaps ill advised, was large enough to have led to such calamitous consequences.3 If the tightening of monetary policy before the stock market crash was not sufficient to account for the violence of the economic downturn, then other, possibly nonmonetary, factors may need to be considered as well. A second question is whether the large decline in the money supply seen during the 1930s was primarily a cause or an effect of falling output and prices. As we have seen, Friedman and Schwartz argued that the decline in the money supply was causal. Suppose, though, for the sake of argument, that the Depression was the result primarily of nonmonetary factors, such as overspending and overinvestment during the 1920s. As incomes and spending decline, people need less money to carry out daily transactions. In this scenario, critics pointed out, the Fed would be justified in allowing the money supply to fall, because it would only be accommodating a decline in the amount of money that people want to hold. The decline in the money supply in this case would be a response to, not a cause of, the decline in output and prices. To put the question simply, we know that both the economy and the money stock contracted rapidly during the early 1930s, but was the monetary dog wagging the economic tail, or vice versa? The focus of Friedman and Schwartz on the U.S. experience (by design, of course) raised other questions about their monetary explanation of the Depression. As I have mentioned, the Great Depression was a worldwide phenomenon, not confined to the United States. Indeed, some economies, such as that of Germany, began to decline before 1929. Although few countries escaped the Depression entirely, the severity of the episode varied widely across countries. The timing of recovery also varied considerably, with some countries beginning their recovery as early as 1931 or 1932, whereas others remained in the depths of depression as late as 1935 or 1936. How does Friedman and Schwartz's monetary thesis explain the worldwide nature of the onset of the Depression, and the differences in severity and timing observed in different countries? That is where the debate stood around 1980. About that time, however, economic historians began to broaden their focus, shifting from a heavy emphasis on events in the United States during the 1930s to an increased attention to developments around the world. Moreover, rather than studying countries individually, this new scholarship took a comparative approach, asking specifically why some countries fared better than others in the 1930s. As I will explain, this research uncovered an important role for international monetary forces, as well as domestic monetary policies, in explaining the Depression. Specifically, the new research found that a complete understanding of the Depression requires attention to the operation of the international gold standard, the international monetary system of the time.4 As I have already mentioned, the gold standard is a monetary system in which each participating country defines its monetary unit in terms of a certain amount of gold. The setting of each currency's value in terms of gold defines a system of fixed exchange rates, in which the relative value of (say) the U.S. dollar and the British pound are fixed at a rate determined by the relative gold content of each currency. To maintain the gold standard, central banks had to promise to exchange actual gold for their paper currencies at the legal rate. The gold standard appeared to be highly successful from about 1870 to the beginning of World War I in 1914. During the so-called "classical" gold standard period, international trade and capital flows expanded markedly, and central banks experienced relatively few problems ensuring that their currencies retained their legal value. The gold standard was suspended during World War I, however, because of disruptions to trade and international capital flows and because countries needed more financial flexibility to finance their war efforts. (The United States remained technically on the gold standard throughout the war, but with many restrictions.) After 1918, when the war ended, nations around the world made extensive efforts to reconstitute the gold standard, believing that it would be a key element in the return to normal functioning of the international economic system. Great Britain was among the first of the major countries to return to the gold standard, in 1925, and by 1929 the great majority of the world's nations had done so. Unlike the gold standard before World War I, however, the gold standard as reconstituted in the 1920s proved to be both unstable and destabilizing. Economic historians have identified a number of reasons why the reconstituted gold standard was so much less successful than its prewar counterpart. First, the war had left behind enormous economic destruction and dislocation. Major financial problems also remained, including both large government debts from the war and banking systems whose solvency had been deeply compromised by the war and by the periods of hyperinflation that followed in a number of countries. These underlying problems created stresses for the gold standard that had not existed to the same degree before the war. Second, the new system lacked effective international leadership. During the classical period, the Bank of England, in operation since 1694, provided sophisticated management of the international system, with the cooperation of other major central banks. This leadership helped the system adjust to imbalances and strains; for example, a consortium of central banks might lend gold to one of their number that was experiencing a shortage of reserves. After the war, with Great Britain economically and financially depleted and the United States in ascendance, leadership of the international system shifted by default to the Federal Reserve. Unfortunately, the fledgling Federal Reserve, with its decentralized structure and its inexperienced and domestically focused leadership, did not prove up to the task of managing the international gold standard, a task that lingering hatreds and disputes from the war would have made difficult for even the most-sophisticated institution. With the lack of effective international leadership, most central banks of the 1920s and 1930s devoted little effort to supporting the overall stability of the international system and focused instead on conditions within their own countries. Finally, the reconstituted gold standard lacked the credibility of its prewar counterpart. Before the war, the ideology of the gold standard was dominant, to the point that financial investors had no doubt that central banks would find a way to maintain the gold values of their currencies no matter what the circumstances. Because this conviction was so firm, speculators had little incentive to attack a major currency. After the war, in contrast, both economic views and the political balance of power had shifted in ways that reduced the influence of the gold standard ideology. For example, new labor-dominated political parties were skeptical about the utility of maintaining the gold standard if doing so increased unemployment. Ironically, reduced political and ideological support for the gold standard made it more difficult for central banks to maintain the gold values of their currencies, as speculators understood that the underlying commitment to adhere to the gold standard at all costs had been weakened significantly. Thus, speculative attacks became much more likely to succeed and hence more likely to occur. With an international focus, and with particular attention to the role of the gold standard in the world economy, scholars have now been able to answer the questions regarding the monetary interpretation of the Depression that I raised earlier. First, the existence of the gold standard helps to explain why the world economic decline was both deep and broadly international. Under the gold standard, the need to maintain a fixed exchange rate among currencies forces countries to adopt similar monetary policies. In particular, a central bank with limited gold reserves has no option but to raise its own interest rates when interest rates are being raised abroad; if it did not do so, it would quickly lose gold reserves as financial investors transferred their funds to countries where returns were higher. Hence, when the Federal Reserve raised interest rates in 1928 to fight stock market speculation, it inadvertently forced tightening of monetary policy in many other countries as well. This tightening abroad weakened the global economy, with effects that fed back to the U.S. economy and financial system. Other countries' policies also contributed to a global monetary tightening during 1928 and 1929. For example, after France returned to the gold standard in 1928, it built up its gold reserves significantly, at the expense of other countries. The outflows of gold to France forced other countries to reduce their money supplies and to raise interest rates. Speculative attacks on currencies also became frequent as the Depression worsened, leading central banks to raise interest rates, much like the Federal Reserve did in 1931. Leadership from the Federal Reserve might possibly have produced better international cooperation and a more appropriate set of monetary policies. However, in the absence of that leadership, the worldwide monetary contraction proceeded apace. The result was a global economic decline that reinforced the effects of tight monetary policies in individual countries. The transmission of monetary tightening through the gold standard also addresses the question of whether changes in the money supply helped cause the Depression or were simply a passive response to the declines in income and prices. Countries on the gold standard were often forced to contract their money supplies because of policy developments in other countries, not because of domestic events. The fact that these contractions in money supplies were invariably followed by declines in output and prices suggests that money was more a cause than an effect of the economic collapse in those countries. Perhaps the most fascinating discovery arising from researchers' broader international focus is that the extent to which a country adhered to the gold standard and the severity of its depression were closely linked. In particular, the longer that a country remained committed to gold, the deeper its depression and the later its recovery (Choudhri and Kochin, 1980; Eichengreen and Sachs, 1985). The willingness or ability of countries to remain on the gold standard despite the adverse developments of the 1930s varied quite a bit. A few countries did not join the gold standard system at all; these included Spain (which was embroiled in domestic political upheaval, eventually leading to civil war) and China (which used a silver monetary standard rather than a gold standard). A number of countries adopted the gold standard in the 1920s but left or were forced off gold relatively early, typically in 1931. Countries in this category included Great Britain, Japan, and several Scandinavian countries. Some countries, such as Italy and the United States, remained on the gold standard into 1932 or 1933. And a few diehards, notably the so-called gold bloc, led by France and including Poland, Belgium, and Switzerland, remained on gold into 1935 or 1936. If declines in the money supply induced by adherence to the gold standard were a principal reason for economic depression, then countries leaving gold earlier should have been able to avoid the worst of the Depression and begin an earlier process of recovery. The evidence strongly supports this implication. For example, Great Britain and Scandinavia, which left the gold standard in 1931, recovered much earlier than France and Belgium, which stubbornly remained on gold. As Friedman and Schwartz noted in their book, countries such as China--which used a silver standard rather than a gold standard--avoided the Depression almost entirely. The finding that the time at which a country left the gold standard is the key determinant of the severity of its depression and the timing of its recovery has been shown to hold for literally dozens of countries, including developing countries. This intriguing result not only provides additional evidence for the importance of monetary factors in the Depression, it also explains why the timing of recovery from the Depression differed across countries. The finding that leaving the gold standard was the key to recovery from the Great Depression was certainly confirmed by the U.S. experience. One of the first actions of President Roosevelt was to eliminate the constraint on U.S. monetary policy created by the gold standard, first by allowing the dollar to float and then by resetting its value at a significantly lower level. The new President also addressed another major source of monetary contraction, the ongoing banking crisis. Within days of his inauguration, Roosevelt declared a "bank holiday," shutting down all the banks in the country. Banks were allowed to reopen only when certified to be in sound financial condition. Roosevelt pursued other measures to stabilize the banking system as well, such as the creation of a deposit insurance program. With the gold standard constraint removed and the banking system stabilized, the money supply and the price level began to rise. Between Roosevelt's coming to power in 1933 and the recession of 1937-38, the economy grew strongly. I have only scratched the surface of the fascinating literature on the causes of the Great Depression, but it is time that I conclude. Economists have made a great deal of progress in understanding the Great Depression. Milton Friedman and Anna Schwartz deserve enormous credit for bringing the role of monetary factors to the fore in their Monetary History. However, expanding the research focus to include the experiences of a wide range of countries has both provided additional support for the role of monetary factors (including the international gold standard) and enriched our understanding of the causes of the Depression. Some important lessons emerge from the story. One lesson is that ideas are critical. The gold standard orthodoxy, the adherence of some Federal Reserve policymakers to the liquidationist thesis, and the incorrect view that low nominal interest rates necessarily signaled monetary ease, all led policymakers astray, with disastrous consequences. We should not underestimate the need for careful research and analysis in guiding policy. Another lesson is that central banks and other governmental agencies have an important responsibility to maintain financial stability. The banking crises of the 1930s, both in the United States and abroad, were a significant source of output declines, both through their effects on money supplies and on credit supplies. Finally, perhaps the most important lesson of all is that price stability should be a key objective of monetary policy. By allowing persistent declines in the money supply and in the price level, the Federal Reserve of the late 1920s and 1930s greatly destabilized the U.S. economy and, through the workings of the gold standard, the economies of many other nations as well. REFERENCES Bernanke, Ben (1983). "Nonmonetary Effects of the Financial Crisis in the Propagation of the Great Depression," American Economic Review, 73, (June) pp. 257-76. Bernanke, Ben (2000). Essays on the Great Depression. Princeton, N. J.: Princeton University Press. Bernanke, Ben (2002a). "Asset-Price 'Bubbles' and Monetary Policy," before the New York chapter of the National Association for Business Economics, New York, New York, October 15. Available at www.federalreserve.gov. Bernanke, Ben (2002b). "On Milton Friedman's Ninetieth Birthday," at the Conference to Honor Milton Friedman, University of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois, November 8. Available at www.federalreserve.gov. Choudhri, Ehsan, and Levis Kochin (1980). "The Exchange Rate and the International Transmission of Business Cycle Disturbances: Some Evidence from the Great Depression," Journal of Money, Credit, and Banking, 12, pp. 565-74. Eichengreen, Barry (1992). Golden Fetters: The Gold Standard and the Great Depression, 1919-1939. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Eichengreen, Barry (2002). "Still Fettered after All These Years," National Bureau of Economic Research working paper no. 9276 (October). Eichengreen, Barry, and Jeffrey Sachs (1985). "Exchange Rates and Economic Recovery in the 1930s," Journal of Economic History, 45, pp. 925-46. Friedman, Milton, and Anna J. Schwartz (1963). A Monetary History of the United States, 1867-1960. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press for NBER. Hamilton, James (1987). "Monetary Factors in the Great Depression," Journal of Monetary Economics, 34, pp. 145-69. Meltzer, Allan (2003). A History of the Federal Reserve, Volume I: 1913-1951. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Romer, Christina (1993). "The Nation in Depression," Journal of Economic Perspectives, 7 (Spring), pp. 19-40. Temin, Peter (1989). Lessons from the Great Depression. Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press. Footnotes 1. My professional articles on the Depression are collected in Bernanke (2000).  Return to text 2. Bernanke (2002b) gives a more detailed discussion of the evidence presented by Friedman and Schwartz.  Return to text 3. There was less debate about the period 1931-33, the most precipitous downward phase of the Depression, for which most economists were inclined to ascribe an important role to monetary factors.  Return to text 4. Critical early research included Choudhri and Kochin (1980) and Eichengreen and Sachs (1985). Eichengreen (1992, 2002) provides the most extensive analysis of the role of the gold standard in causing and propagating the Great Depression. Temin (1989) provides a readable account with a slightly different perspective.  Return to text

Today in Financial History

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Panic of 1907

Wall Street Crash of 1929

Black Monday (1987)

Stock market crash