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You might expect a book about inventions that shaped the modern economy to begin with the invention of computers, the internet, or perhaps some important but obscure financial software you can’t begin to understand. Instead, bestselling author Tim Harford, a senior columnist at the Financial Times whose previous works include The Undercover Economist, begins with the plow.

Yes, the plow. And for good reason. According to Harford, not only did the plow create the underpinnings of civilization, different types of plows led to different types of civilizations which reshaped social structures, family life and economic and political systems.

From this beginning, Harford effortlessly leaps across time and continents to show readers various inventions in a new light, revealing unexpected insights into 21st-century society. Harford notes, “Inventions shape our lives in unpredictable ways—and while they’re solving a problem for someone, they’re often creating a problem for someone else.”

Some of the inventions Harford highlights are what you might expect to find: the bank, double-entry bookkeeping and the iPhone being among them. And then, of course, for anyone old enough to remember The Graduate, there’s plastic.

But other inventions may be less known, including the Billy Bookcase (a cheaper bookcase), M-Pesa (more than 20 million Kenyans use it to move money by mobile phones) and the Haber-Bosch process (which uses nitrogen from the air to make ammonia, which can then be used to make fertilizer).

Tim Harford ends his fantastically enlightening book by talking about an invention that has improved our lives “almost beyond our ability to measure.” I’ll give you a hint: if you’re reading this review after dark, you’re probably using one somewhere in your house.

You might expect a book about inventions that shaped the modern economy to begin with the invention of computers, the internet, or perhaps some important but obscure financial software you can’t begin to understand. Instead, bestselling author Tim Harford, a senior columnist at the Financial Times whose previous works include The Undercover Economist, begins with the plow.

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Ready yourself for emotional whiplash as Ghost of the Innocent Man: A True Story of Trial and Redemption, Benjamin Rachlin’s account of a man wrongly convicted of rape, seesaws from scenes of judicial haste, incompetence and indifference to episodes of sublime compassion and legal professionalism. In 1987 near Hickory, North Carolina, a 69-year-old, white widow answered a knock at her door. A black man she didn’t recognize rushed in and raped her twice before leisurely helping himself to some fruit from her kitchen and walking away. Through police negligence and mishandling of evidence, 41-year-old Willie Grimes was convicted of the crime and sentenced to life plus nine years. Although the victim identified Grimes as her attacker, her identification was contradictory, and there were no physical markers linking him to the crime.

But just when the reader is prepared to write off North Carolina as a legal snake pit, Rachlin shifts his narrative to a group of lawyers, law professors, judges and prosecutors who, on their own time, form a committee aimed at making trials fairer and freeing the innocent. They are led by Christine Mumma, who put herself through law school and has the instincts and resourcefulness of a street fighter. Together they create the Innocence Inquiry Commission, which is eventually recognized and funded by the state.

Grimes remained in various state prisons for 24 years, refusing to confess to the crime even though doing so would have led to his early release. Rachlin recounts in heartbreaking detail the physical and psychological agonies Grimes suffered before finding a measure of relief in becoming a Jehovah’s Witness. Finally, with Mumma acting as his attorney, Grimes was exonerated of all charges. Rachlin fits the North Carolina reforms into the national thrust to free the wrongly convicted, especially with the advent of DNA testing.

 

This article was originally published in the August 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Ready yourself for emotional whiplash as Ghost of the Innocent Man: A True Story of Trial and Redemption, Benjamin Rachlin’s account of a man wrongly convicted of rape.

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Herbert Weinstein was a charmer whose two adult children called him "Mr. Zen" because of his easygoing ways. They and everyone else who knew him were flabbergasted when, in 1991, during an argument, the 65-year-old retired advertising salesman strangled his second wife then threw her body out the window of their 12th-story Manhattan apartment in an attempt to make her death appear a suicide.

Weinstein's legal defense made history when his lawyer claimed that a benign brain cyst had caused him to go temporarily insane and commit the murder. As Kevin Davis explains in The Brain Defense: Murder in Manhattan and the Dawn of Neuroscience in America's Courtrooms, this was the first U.S. case in which a judge ruled that PET scan (positron-emission tomography) images could be shown to a jury determining a verdict.

The case is compelling, and Davis eloquently chronicles the many personal, medical, and legal details involved. A jury found Weinstein guilty; he served 14 years in prison before being released on parole in 2006 and dying in 2009.

The Brain Defense examines a variety of additional legal cases in which neuroscience has played a role, including those committed by veterans suffering from PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and TBI (traumatic brain injury), and athletes suffering from concussions and TBI. One mystifying crime involved a New Jersey man who in 2012 hit his head and fell into a brief coma for six hours, then awakened feeling unsteady, tired, and paranoid. Five days later in the middle of the night he inexplicably beat his wife, his 24-year-old daughter and himself with a 5-pound metal dumbbell, sending all three to intensive care. In this case, the defendant was found not guilty by reason of insanity, given psychiatric treatment and welcomed home by his family.

Davis interviews a variety of experts who work at the increasingly common intersection of neuroscience and law, including a Florida defense attorney who asks every one of his clients to undergo a brain scan. Davis notes that while brain science can sometimes be misused, it can be vital in deciding how to handle juvenile defenders, whose brains aren't fully formed, and in redefining "society's concepts of guilt and punishment." While neuroscience can't currently determine a person's thoughts or intent when a crime is committed, it can be extraordinarily useful in reducing incarceration rates and improving rehabilitation.

As one federal judge says, "The worst thing that can happen with neuroscience is that it gets into the courtroom before it's ready. There is a communication barrier between lawyers and scientists. We need to learn to speak the same language."

Herbert Weinstein was a charmer whose two adult children called him "Mr. Zen" because of his easygoing ways. They and everyone else who knew him were flabbergasted when, in 1991, during an argument, the 65-year-old retired advertising salesman strangled his second wife then threw her body out the window of their 12th-story Manhattan apartment in an attempt to make her death appear a suicide.

Imagine that you’re 19 years old and you’ve been offered $100,000 to drop out of college and build the tech start-up of your dreams. For the 20 students who win a Thiel Fellowship each year, with funding and mentoring provided by PayPal founder and venture capitalist Peter Thiel, this is reality. In Valley of the Gods, Wall Street Journal reporter Alexandra Wolfe (daughter of writer Tom Wolfe) profiles several members of the 2011 class of Thiel fellows, among them John Burnham, who aims to mine asteroids for platinum and gold; Laura Deming, who’s focused on extending human longevity; and Paul Gu, who wants to create a new method for loaning money. 

Wolfe follows this first class of Thiel fellows from the time when they’re still finalists, waiting to learn if they’ve won an award and undecided as to whether to put off college. She highlights their living spaces (like the communal house depicted in The Social Network, where Mark Zuckerberg and friends lived and worked before Facebook was the world’s highest-valued company), their social lives and their work struggles. Launching a successful tech start-up is incredibly difficult, even with a good idea, an unusual level of intelligence and monetary support, and Wolfe conveys the young entrepreneurs’ ups and downs well.

These stories are interspersed with a more general profile of Silicon Valley, its history, its connection to Stanford University and its oddities, like Cougar Night at the Rosewood Hotel, where “older” women hit on young techies. These asides make for fascinating reading, but they take us away from the Thiel Fellows and their struggles, so we care less about them than we otherwise might have. Still, readers seeking an inside view of this high-tech mecca will certainly find it in Valley of the Gods.

 

This article was originally published in the January 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Imagine that you’re 19 years old and you’ve been offered $100,000 to drop out of college and build the tech start-up of your dreams. For the 20 students who win a Thiel Fellowship each year, with funding and mentoring provided by PayPal founder and venture capitalist Peter Thiel, this is reality.

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Tracy Kidder has guided a legion of readers along many a wondrous journey, and they’ll be eager to join his latest trip in A Truck Full of Money, a portrait of entrepreneur Paul English, who in 2012 sold Kayak—the online travel company he cofounded—to Priceline for $1.8 billion. It’s a timely, fascinating successor to Kidder’s 1982 Pulitzer Prize winner, The Soul of a New Machine, about an engineering team at Data General racing to create a 32-bit supercomputer.

The digitial world has changed dramatically in the three decades since, and Kidder has chosen a compelling, enigmatic subject to examine this new era. A Truck Full of Money is not only an intriguing account of one computer whiz’s rise (and occasional falls), but an in-depth look at the inner workings of the tech startup world.

Born in 1963, English was the sixth of seven children in a Boston-area working-class family. After becoming fascinated with computers at Boston Latin School, English successfully wrote a program to steal his teacher’s password and used it to access more programming commands. After graduating near the bottom of his class, his high SAT scores entitled him to free tuition at University of Massachusetts Boston, where he enrolled with thoughts of becoming a jazz musician. Programming provided his pathway to success, however, and along the way he discovered an innate talent for recruiting and managing the cream of the coding crop, ultimately creating a fiercely loyal inner circle that has followed him from venture to venture. 

Just like the dot-com world, English’s life has included precipitous peaks and valleys, sometimes ignited by bipolar disorder. At one point in the mid-1990s, after leaving a company, he spent months in his attic creating a website for Xiangqi (Chinese Chess), programming “his way out of depression.” Never one to sit on his laurels, English is his own constantly churning idea factory, whether he’s creating a company, seeking ways to help the homeless in Boston or to further education in Haiti. (Kidder first met English when he was writing Mountains Beyond Mountains, an account of Dr. Paul Farmer’s charitable work in Haiti and elsewhere.)

Kidder’s highly readable account is as mesmerizing as the generous genius he depicts. English is both beguiling and passionately creative—planning an office space that transforms into a cutting-edge night club or showing up in his Tesla as an Uber driver while conducting research for his new travel company, Lola. 

A Truck Full of Money is a wild, ultimately fulfilling ride from a master storyteller.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Read our interview with Paul English about A Truck Full of Money.

This article was originally published in the October 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Tracy Kidder has guided a legion of readers along many a wondrous journey, and they’ll be eager to join his latest trip in A Truck Full of Money, a portrait of entrepreneur Paul English, who in 2012 sold Kayak—the online travel company he cofounded—to Priceline for $1.8 billion.
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That they're different as day and night is unarguable, but the first two women appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court elevated one another, and the status of women in this country, immeasurably through their combined efforts. Sisters In Law: How Sandra Day O'Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg Went to the Supreme Court and Changed the World profiles O'Connor and Ginsburg, their struggles for acceptance in a field designed to exclude them and the cases they worked on that had the greatest impact.

Author Linda Hirshman (Victory: The Triumphant Gay Revolution) keeps the life stories brief—O'Connor's Western upbringing and the can-do work ethic it instilled contrasts with Ginsburg's Brooklyn Jewish intellectual background, but both found their calling in the law and had to fight for the chance to practice. O'Connor "worked for no salary in order to get a law job at all at the outset of her career." Ginsburg's prim appearance lay at odds with her insistence, radical to many, that women were people in need of equal opportunities, not "protection" that ensconced them in lower-paying jobs or denied them agency over their own bodies. Her long background with the ACLU could have put her at odds with O’Connor, but the two needed one another enough to navigate their differences gracefully. Before sharing the bench, they watched one another's careers closely—one of O'Connor's first written opinions relied so heavily on Ginsburg's prior work, Martin Ginsburg jokingly asked his wife if she'd written it.

The book’s tales of sexism in the legal profession are infuriating (wet T-shirt contest in the office, anyone?), which makes every victory for women that much sweeter. If the details of individual cases are a bit hard for lay readers to follow, it's worth the effort to watch how opinions build upon one another, sometimes only to be undercut by subsequent rulings. Sisters In Law honors a unique pair of women—a Reagan appointee and the "Notorious RBG"—and their effect on our lives, which continues to this day.

That they're different as day and night is unarguable, but the first two women appointed to the U.S. Supreme Court elevated one another, and the status of women in this country, immeasurably through their combined efforts. Sisters In Law: How Sandra Day O'Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsburg Went to the Supreme Court and Changed the World profiles O'Connor and Ginsburg, their struggles for acceptance in a field designed to exclude them and the cases they worked on that had the greatest impact.
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Ever dreamed of owning your own business? Paul Downs has been living that dream for nearly three decades and has the battle scars to prove it. After sharing his experiences on the New York Times “You’re the Boss” blog, he decided to narrow his focus, documenting a year in the life of his small woodworking company in a book. Boss Life: Surviving My Own Small Business may inspire you, but it will also have you asking hard questions before you hang out a shingle somewhere.

When Downs started woodworking in 1986, he worked alone making furniture. Over the years, he took on employees and developed a specialty in crafting boardroom tables, but he rarely noticed how these changes affected his company. Downs extols the strong, silent temperament common to woodworkers, but it takes ages for him to realize that a shop full of rugged individualists needs cohesive leadership or the end product will suffer. A fancy table ends up being made with mismatched types of wood because every person in the chain of command assumed the previous one had signed off on what turned out to be, in essence, a typo; nobody bothered to ask. 

Downs is straightforward and brutally honest about others’ shortcomings as well as his own. His humility about the ways he failed and the nail-biting number crunching that keeps him up at night should be a caution to others. From the outside, a business making more than a million dollars a year seems like a success; in truth, that’s rarely the case. Downs often declined his own salary to ensure that his employees took home a fair wage. One year his income averaged only $3.79 per hour. 

Small business owners and those who dream of joining them need to read Boss Life. Anyone who has a boss can learn a lot here, too. It’s not always as rosy on the other side of the counter as we may suspect, and the view from this angle can help an employee become an asset with a little extra effort. There’s every reason to follow a dream you’re passionate about, but do so with your eyes open; Boss Life can help.

 

This article was originally published in the August 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Ever dreamed of owning your own business? Paul Downs has been living that dream for nearly three decades and has the battle scars to prove it. After sharing his experiences on the New York Times “You’re the Boss” blog, he decided to narrow his focus, documenting a year in the life of his small woodworking company in a book. Boss Life: Surviving My Own Small Business may inspire you, but it will also have you asking hard questions before you hang out a shingle somewhere.
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Despite being a vast topic, economics seems at the simplest level to be about connecting buyers and sellers. But what about exchanges where money's not involved? From life-or-death matters like organ donation to finding Junior a spot in that prestigious preschool, "matching markets," where both sides must choose each other, are also an economic force.

In Who Gets What—And Why: The New Economics of Matchmaking and Market Design, Stanford professor and Nobel laureate Alvin E. Roth is plainly passionate about his subject matter. Thankfully he's also adept at translating the big concepts here into lay language. Much of his work has focused on kidney transplants and expanding the available pool of donor organs. When someone offers a kidney to a patient in need, if they turn out to be incompatible, the story can end abruptly with no transplant performed. As Roth has demonstrated, kidney "exchanges," where willing donors extend the offer to anyone who's a good match, can result in kidneys being paid forward many times over, improving the outcomes for numerous patients.

This model can affect school choice, sports team playoffs, even something as mundane as the judgment calls made when choosing a parking space. Understanding how these matches work can hopefully lead us to choose well without too much equivocation, whether we're bidding in an eBay auction or applying for a job. 

Roth's goal for the book is to bring awareness of economic forces to our attention, but also to point out that they're amazing, much as the natural world becomes more seductive the closer you look. At first glance the ideas in Who Gets What—and Why can seem tangled, but tease them apart a bit and you'll find Roth has met his goal. This is heady science that will change your view of the world around you.

Despite being a vast topic, economics seems at the simplest level to be about connecting buyers and sellers. But what about exchanges where money's not involved? From life-or-death matters like organ donation to finding Junior a spot in that prestigious preschool, "matching markets," where both sides must choose each other, are also an economic force.
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Remember the Beanie Babies? Peanut (a blue elephant), Lovie (a little lamb) and Cubbie (a Chicago bear) are just three of the beanbag animals highlighted in Zac Bissonnette’s strange, compelling book on the 1990s fad. Behind the Beanies was the meticulous, ambitious Ty Warner, a bizarre combination of wolf of Wall Street and master elf of Santa’s toy factory.

Warner comes vividly to life in The Great Beanie Baby Bubble through stories from his sister, two ex-girlfriends and dozens of former coworkers. Obsessed with the appearance of his plush cats, Warner plucked hairs around their eyes before trade shows so they could gaze at guests more persuasively. In fact, it was Warner’s obsession with detail that led to the strategy of “retiring” certain Beanies. As Warner tinkered with designs, changing a color from royal blue to light blue (as in Peanut’s case), Beanie collectors went into a frenzy to achieve a complete set. Readers will meet these collectors, from the first Chicago moms who made a killing, to the late arrivals, like a retired soap opera star who blew his children’s college fund on Beanie Babies.

When the market was rising, everyone—from Ty employees to shop owners to consumers—was exhilarated. The company had one of the first direct-to-consumer websites, which would announce upcoming retirees via a Beanie character who spoke in rhyme from the “Ty Nursery.” The secondary market went wild on a new website called eBay. But once the market bubble began to break, it broke hard. Bissonnette’s research into the history of speculative markets helpfully situates the Beanie phenomenon in a larger framework. The story is a Greek tragedy served with a brutal twist of American capitalism.

RELATED CONTENT: Read a Q&A with author Zac Bissonnette.

This article was originally published in the March 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Remember the Beanie Babies? Peanut (a blue elephant), Lovie (a little lamb) and Cubbie (a Chicago bear) are just three of the beanbag animals highlighted in Zac Bissonnette’s strange, compelling book on the 1990s fad. Behind the Beanies was the meticulous, ambitious Ty Warner, a bizarre combination of wolf of Wall Street and master elf of Santa’s toy factory.
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Bryan Stevenson was fresh out of Harvard Law School when he embraced—first in Georgia, then in Alabama—the mission of defending death row inmates and others facing undeserved or disproportionate prison sentences. An African American from a poor family in Delaware, Stevenson accepts as a starting point the maxim, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”

In Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, he builds his case against the flaws of America’s judicial system by clustering his observations around the case of Walter McMillian, a black man who first drew community ire by having an affair with a married white woman. Subsequently, a drug dealer who associated with the same woman, in an attempt to lessen his own jail time, told authorities that McMillian had killed a local college girl. The dealer’s ever-changing testimony was transparently false from the outset, but eager to close the case, the authorities arrested McMillian for murder, a jury with only one black member convicted him and a judge sentenced him to death. In succeeding chapters, Stevenson describes his struggles to exonerate McMillian.

His primary adversaries are deep-seated racism, tough-on-crime politicians, ambitious prosecutors, by-the-book judges, incompetent for-hire “expert” witnesses, a Supreme Court more interested in judicial expediency than actual justice, the rise of the victims’ rights movement (which recognizes only the initial victims of crimes), the burgeoning private prison lobby and the “good Germans” among us who piously avert our eyes as we go about our daily business.

Although Stevenson writes in a calm, deliberate style, there are passages here so harrowing and outrage-provoking that sensitive readers may need to set the book aside periodically until they can clear their minds of the foul images it conjures up. Anyone animated by a modicum of fairness will recognize Just Mercy as a de facto call to arms.

 

This article was originally published in the November 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Bryan Stevenson was fresh out of Harvard Law School when he embraced—first in Georgia, then in Alabama—the mission of defending death row inmates and others facing undeserved or disproportionate prison sentences. An African American from a poor family in Delaware, Stevenson accepts as a starting point the maxim, “Each of us is more than the worst thing we’ve ever done.”
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Global and ravenous, modern capitalism has turned American citizens into mere consumers, people who are focused principally on their own gratification and essentially indifferent to the needs of the larger society. This, in a nutshell, is Paul Roberts’ thesis in The Impulse Society.

He contends that when capitalism in the U.S. was driven by manufacturing, and most buying and selling of goods took place within national borders, economic growth benefited everyone. Not so these days, he argues, when manufacturing has fled, borders are porous to both labor and capital and the financial sector dictates the rules of the game. That game, it turns out, is finding ways to maximize profits for the few by squeezing and manipulating the many.

At first it appears that Roberts is blaming the victims for their social insularity—for turning away from community and immersing themselves in technological gadgetry, for overextending themselves financially and for shirking political engagement. But he goes on to show that these are all the inevitable consequences of a system that values profit above all else. If we act on impulse instead of reflection, it’s because there is more profit to be made from impulse. The system lures, nudges or bludgeons us into buying things we don’t need and often can’t afford. And via its extension of easy, pay-later credit, the system allows us to find immediate delight in our own economic enslavement.

A political realist, Roberts doesn’t go so far as to counsel a revolt against capitalism. He does suggest a series of palliative measures—moderation of political rhetoric, re-imposition of banking regulations, acts of individual community-building—but they sound more like wistful wishes than practical plans. Ultimately, he fails to confront the paramount question of how national actions can hope to stem—much less turn back—the rapacious global phenomenon he has so skillfully anatomized.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Global and ravenous, modern capitalism has turned American citizens into mere consumers, people who are focused principally on their own gratification and essentially indifferent to the needs of the larger society. This, in a nutshell, is Paul Roberts’ thesis in The Impulse Society.
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Biz Stone is cocky. Charming. A self-described genius. In Things a Little Bird Told Me: Confessions of the Creative Mind, he offers readers a glimpse of how he got that way. If his name doesn’t ring a bell, consider that the “little bird” he’s referencing is the Twitter logo—he’s the co-founder of the site, and the reason we now think in 140-character phrases.

The stories here are funny and insightful. In school, Biz couldn’t hold down a job and keep up with homework, so he established a “no homework” policy—and convinced his teachers to go along with it! When Twitter’s success earned him an appearance on “The Colbert Report,” a gift card in the show’s swag bag led to amazing things. Each of these yarns has a point for would-be entrepreneurs, encouraging creativity, collaboration and making your own opportunities rather than waiting for them to appear.

Stone is generous in his assessments of others and almost never snarky, so his story of meeting with Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg stands out. Neither Stone nor Twitter co-founder Evan Williams wanted to be acquired by Facebook, so they tossed out an obscenely high value for their company, then bailed when they found themselves stranded in an unmoving cafeteria line. (They were later offered the amount they’d requested, but still turned it down.) Stone is social to his core, so Zuckerberg’s notoriously flat affect—he’s described here as pointing to some people and saying, “These are some people working”—was clearly not a love connection in the making.

If you have big ideas, or a sense that you could have big ideas if only (fill in the blank), Things a Little Bird Told Me can help you fill in that blank and bring your personal genius to the masses. It’s a wise and generous book, and also a lot of fun.

 

Heather Seggel reads too much and writes all about it in Northern California.

Biz Stone is cocky. Charming. A self-described genius. In Things a Little Bird Told Me: Confessions of the Creative Mind, he offers readers a glimpse of how he got that way. If his name doesn’t ring a bell, consider that the “little bird” he’s referencing is the Twitter logo—he’s the co-founder of the site, and the reason we now think in 140-character phrases.

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In While America Aged, business and finance writer Roger Lowenstein skillfully chronicles the evolution of the pension crisis in three very different entities – General Motors, New York City and San Diego – and then offers solutions. Lowenstein (Buffet: The Making of an American Capitalist) depicts the pension crises like entertaining historical fiction with lessons in history, business and human nature.

The history of GM’s pension situation can be traced to the late 1940s. The timing was right for union pensions; in 1949 GM had record profits and a union contract expiring in 1950. With swelling market demand the company couldn’t afford a strike, so it agreed to a landmark deal, including a pension funded by the company. Successive strike-averting concessions made to the union during GM’s boom years resulted in more generous pensions as well as 100-percent paid healthcare. But in the mid- to late 1960s, auto profits slowed and imports eroded GM’s sales. Since then, U.S. auto sales have slumped and rising costs have squeezed profits – just as the promised pensions came due. GM had to pay $55 billion into worker pension plans from 1991 to 2006; meanwhile the company paid only $13 billion in dividends to shareholders.

Lowenstein offers suggestions on making retirees’ incomes more secure. In the private sector, Lowenstein feels pensions went awry because unions pushed benefits too high while global business competition grew, and life spans increased. Now fewer companies have pensions and instead offer 401(k)s, and Lowenstein suggests that government require 401(k) sponsors to offer annuities to employees as they retire so an income stream is assured. Municipalities and states across the country are virtually insolvent because they are hundred of billions of dollars behind in pension payments. Lowenstein therefore recommends that the federal government require that every dollar of pension benefits is funded as the benefit accrues. As While America Aged underscores, the days of promise now, pay later, are over.

Ellen R. Marsden writes from Mason, Ohio.

In While America Aged, business and finance writer Roger Lowenstein skillfully chronicles the evolution of the pension crisis in three very different entities – General Motors, New York City and San Diego – and then offers solutions. Lowenstein (Buffet: The Making of an American Capitalist) depicts the pension crises like entertaining historical fiction with lessons […]

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