Marriner Eccles and the Chips that Stop Spinning

I was twenty-nine years old when I first met that old man. People called him Marriner Eccles. I did not know him as the former Chairman of the Federal Reserve; that night, he merely appeared to be an old man sitting alone in a corner of a casino, gazing at a poker table that had yet to begin.

‘Are you playing?’ I asked. He smiled, ‘Not anymore.’ ‘Then why come?’ I countered. He said, ‘I came to watch people count money.’ I laughed. ‘Everyone here is gambling.’ He shook his analysing head, ‘No, they are learning.’

I thought he was in the wrong place. A man who once guarded the financial system of a nation ought to be in a library, a lecture hall, or perhaps behind a wooden desk covered in economic reports, not in front of a casino entrance. He stood for quite some time before entering, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His gaze was not on the building, but on the people passing him by. As we entered the casino, the sound was like the ocean: the clinking of chips, laughter, the cheers of people when cards were revealed, a waiter carrying drinks, and a man embracing his friend after a large win.

In another corner, someone stared blankly at a table, as if they had just lost something that could never be bought back. I observed all of this merely as entertainment, but Eccles observed it like a doctor checking a patient’s pulse. He did not look at the cards, nor the faces of the players. His eyes followed only one thing: the chips! Where they moved, how fast they moved, and to whom they finally stopped. I began to feel uneasy. ‘Mr. Eccles, what exactly are you looking for?’

He did not answer immediately. A dealer had just opened a new table; eight seats were slowly being filled. In front of each player, a stack of chips of equal height was placed. The old man smiled.

‘This is the easiest way to explain macroeconomics.’ I frowned, ‘Economics? Isn’t this just a game?’ He turned to me. For the first time that night, I saw a very calm look in his eyes. ‘Your biggest mistake, young man, is that they look at numbers too often.’ He paused. The sound of chips clashing filled the room, then he continued softly, ‘What determines the fate of a nation is not how much money it possesses, but how that money moves from one hand to another.’

A dealer began distributing cards. Eccles pulled his chair in slowly. ‘Look, tonight, I want to show you how a recession is born.’ Behind them, a young man, no more than twenty-five, kissed his wife’s forehead before sitting at the poker table. He opened his wallet, taking out the savings he had brought that night. His wife smiled, held his hand, and whispered softly, ‘Come home before it gets too late.’ The young man nodded with a smile. Both of them still believed that tonight was merely a game.

The dealer distributed the chips: eight people, eight stacks, all equal in height. They smiled at one another; no one was rich yet, and no one was poor. Eccles watched the table for a long time. ‘Look closely, the economy is always born like this.’

I nodded, ‘Fair.’ He gave a thin smile, ‘No, merely balanced.’ And the game began. The chips started to move, one by one. No one objected to losing a round, because they knew there would be another. ‘As long as people still dare to lose a little,’ Eccles said, ‘they will continue to dare to play.’

I began to notice that it was not the cards moving, but the chips. And the faster the chips changed hands, the more alive the table became. A waiter refilled a cold coffee cup; his first tip of the night was just a small chip. He smiled, ‘Many tables are alive tonight.’ In the kitchen, the chef began lighting the stoves; outside the casino, the taxi driver waited for his next passenger; none of them held cards. Yet, their lives depended on the game that had just begun.

An hour passed, and the table was no longer balanced. On one side, the chips began to tower. On the other, some players began counting their remaining chips before placing their next bet. I pointed to a player who had won big. ‘The game is becoming unfair.’ Eccles shook his head, ‘Not yet. As long as those chips are still circulating, this table is alive.’

Indeed, the winning players continued to bet. The losers still dared to fight back. The chips continued to move. Laughter could still be heard; the casino was still bustling. Then, a player lost his final chip; he gave an awkward smile and turned to the player next to him. ‘Can I borrow a little?’ The player laughed, ‘Of course, you will surely be back tomorrow.’

Eccles looked at me. ‘This is where the economy changes, into hope,’ he said. I did not understand. He took a single chip from the table. ‘Look closely. This chip was just born; a moment ago, it did not exist, and now everyone considers it real.’ I remained silent, and Eccles said, ‘That is credit.’