Alan Greenspan, and the Cookies After Lunch

Alan Greenspan died at his home in Washington. He was 100.

I met him once, properly. I was thirty, a young banker brought to lunch at the Metropolitan Club by someone who actually mattered, and seated — through no merit of my own — near the most consequential economist alive. I have spent the years since forgetting almost everything that was said about money that afternoon. What I have never forgotten is the cookies.

When the plates were cleared, Greenspan explained, with the patience of a man who had explained far more complicated things to far less attentive rooms, that one did not leave the table after lunch at the Metropolitan Club without having a chocolate chip cookie. It was not optional. It was tradition, and tradition, in his telling, was a form of respect — for the room, for the people who came before you in it, for the ordinary civilities that hold a place together when no one is watching.

That was the lesson. The man who could move global markets with a single syllable spent the back half of a lunch making sure a kid he would almost certainly never see again didn’t miss the cookies. The brilliance was real — you felt it the way you feel weather — but the thing that stayed with me was the graciousness, scaled all the way down to the person directly in front of him. I have met a great many powerful people since. Most of them never learned that part.

A few years later, the federal budget did something I had been taught was theoretically possible and practically mythological. It balanced, then ran a surplus, then did it again. I was still young enough to find it astonishing, almost magical. I watched a column of numbers walk down to zero and keep going, and a fair share of the credit sat with the man who had shown me, with great seriousness, which cookie to take at the club.

History will argue about the rest — the exuberance he called irrational, the deregulation, the crisis that arrived the year after he left, and rearranged how everyone remembers him. Let the economists have it. They will be at it for decades, in the deliberately fogged dialect he invented to keep them busy.

I’ll keep the smaller thing.

I never had lunch with him again.

I have never once skipped the cookie.

-James Bell