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Milton Friedman, a Nobel Laureate in economics who
died at age 94 last week, was one lucky man. That is how he saw
himself, according to the memoir he published with his wife and
collaborator, Rose, "Two Lucky People." But it wasn't really luck that
made the diminutive Friedman (he stood 5 feet 2 inches tall) into a
giant.
Friedman
was the most influential economist of the last half of the 20th
century. His ideas influenced presidents and prime ministers,
transformed monetary policy in the United States and informed ordinary
Americans' understanding of the free market.
I met
Milton Friedman 16 years ago when I was asked to moderate a reprise of
his popular TV series, "Free to Choose." We began shooting the new
discussion series to accompany "Free to Choose" in 1990 under the
direction of Bob Chitester, who had also produced the original series a
decade earlier.
Since I had
never met Dr. Friedman, I was invited to tea at the Friedmans' San
Francisco apartment in advance of the first day's filming. I was
staying a short distance away, so Rose Friedman suggested I walk rather
than take a taxi, noting casually that there was a "little hill" to
climb on the route from my hotel.
I arrived
at the apartment huffing and puffing from the walk up the steepest hill
I'd ever climbed outside the Rockies. Both Milton and Rose Friedman
apparently hiked the hill on a daily basis when they were in the city,
despite being nearly 80 years old at the time, while I could barely
survive a single trip at half their age. They were vigorous in body and
mind, as I was to discover in delightful discussions over the next
week.
Unlike many
famous and influential people I've met, Milton Friedman was more
interested in learning about his guest than in talking about himself.
He wanted to know how I had come to abandon liberalism, since he knew I
had worked for a legendary union president, the American Federation of
Teachers' Al Shanker, whom he had debated on the original "Free to
Choose" series. I explained that foreign policy had driven me from the
Democratic Party but that I had also come to favor more conservative
economic policies.
"I have to
write a check every quarter to pay my taxes because I'm self-employed,"
I said. "If more Americans had to do that instead of having the money
automatically deducted from their paychecks, people would quit thinking
of taxes as the government's money rather than their own. We'd have a
huge tax revolt," I asserted.
Suddenly I
heard Rose's voice from the kitchen. "See, I told you what mischief you
were causing," she hollered, as Milton broke into a deep-throated
laugh.
"The
withholding tax was my fault," he explained. Apparently, as a young
economist working for the Treasury Department, Friedman helped design
the federal withholding tax. It was not a totally indefensible act
though, he said. "Without it, we would not have had a steady flow of
money into the Treasury to fight World War II."
Rose seemed
affectionately unconvinced. The moment captured what I observed over
the course of our conversations: an incredible relationship between two
brilliant, strong-willed persons. Theirs was a true collaboration built
on deep mutual respect and love.
Milton
Friedman may be best remembered for his theory that money supply and
interest rates are more important in contributing to a healthy economy
than government fiscal policy. At the time he began writing about
monetary policy, the theories of British economist John Maynard Keynes,
who believed government spending could stimulate the economy, were
widely accepted.
But it was
Friedman's championing of the free market — along with his ability to
translate complicated economic theories into plain English and
communicate them to a broad audience — that made him such a formidable
public figure. He was, above all, a great teacher. The world is a
poorer place with his passing.
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