Table of Contents
Two years ago, reporting on 1999, I said that we had experienced both the worst absolute and relative performance in our history. I added that “relative results are what concern us,” a viewpoint I’ve had since forming my first investment partnership on May 5, 1956. Meeting with my seven founding limited partners that evening, I gave them a short paper titled “The Ground Rules” that included this sentence: “Whether we do a good job or a poor job is to be measured against the general experience in securities.” We initially used the Dow Jones Industrials as our benchmark, but shifted to the S&P 500 when that index became widely used. Our comparative record since 1965 is chronicled on the facing page; last year Berkshire’s advantage was 5.7 percentage points.
Some people disagree with our focus on relative figures, arguing that “you can’t eat relative performance.” But if you expect—as Charlie Munger, Berkshire’s Vice Chairman, and I do—that owning the S&P 500 will produce reasonably satisfactory results over time, it follows that, for long-term investors, gaining small advantages annually over that index must prove rewarding. Just as you can eat well throughout the year if you own a profitable, but highly seasonal, business such as See’s (which loses considerable money during the summer months) so, too, can you regularly feast on investment returns that beat the averages, however variable the absolute numbers may be.
Another of my 1956 Ground Rules remains applicable: “I cannot promise results to partners.” But Charlie and I can promise that your economic result from Berkshire will parallel ours during the period of your ownership: We will not take cash compensation, restricted stock or option grants that would make our results superior to yours.
Additionally, I will keep well over 99% of my net worth in Berkshire. My wife and I have never sold a share nor do we intend to. Charlie and I are disgusted by the situation, so common in the last few years, in which shareholders have suffered billions in losses while the CEOs, promoters, and other higher-ups who fathered these disasters have walked away with extraordinary wealth. Indeed, many of these people were urging investors to buy shares while concurrently dumping their own, sometimes using methods that hid their actions. To their shame, these business leaders view shareholders as patsies, not partners.
Additionally, all of our purchases last year were for cash, which means our shareholders became owners of these additional businesses without relinquishing any interest in the fine companies they already owned. We will continue to follow our familiar formula, striving to increase the value of the excellent businesses we have, adding new businesses of similar quality, and issuing shares only grudgingly.
In addition to bolt-on acquisitions, our managers continually look for ways to grow internally. In that regard, here’s a postscript to a story I told you two years ago about R.C. Willey’s move to Boise. As you may remember, Bill Child, R.C. Willey’s chairman, wanted to extend his home-furnishings operation beyond Utah, a state in which his company does more than $300 million of business (up, it should be noted, from $250,000 when Bill took over 48 years ago). The company achieved this dominant position, moreover, with a “closed on Sunday” policy that defied conventional retailing wisdom. I was skeptical that this policy could succeed in Boise or, for that matter, anyplace outside of Utah. After all, Sunday is the day many consumers most like to shop.
Bill then insisted on something extraordinary: He would invest $11 million of his own money to build the Boise store and would sell it to Berkshire at cost (without interest!) if the venture succeeded. If it failed, Bill would keep the store and eat the loss on its disposal. As I told you in the 1999 annual report, the store immediately became a huge success—and it has since grown.
Shortly after the Boise opening, Bill suggested we try Las Vegas, and this time I was even more skeptical. How could we do business in a metropolis of that size and be closed on Sundays, a day that all of our competitors would be exploiting? Buoyed by the Boise experience, however, we proceeded to locate in Henderson, a mushrooming city adjacent to Las Vegas.
The result: This store outsells all others in the R.C. Willey chain, doing a volume of business that far exceeds the volume of any competitor and that is twice what I had anticipated. I cut the ribbon at the grand opening in October—this was after a “soft” opening and a few weeks of exceptional sales—and, just as I did at Boise, I suggested to the crowd that the new store was my idea.
It didn’t work. Today, when I pontificate about retailing, Berkshire people just say, “What does Bill think?” (I’m going to draw the line, however, if he suggests that we also close on Saturdays.)
Principles of Insurance Underwriting
When property/casualty companies are judged by their cost of float, very few stack up as satisfactory businesses. And interestingly—unlike the situation prevailing in many other industries—neither size nor brand name determines an insurer’s profitability. Indeed, many of the biggest and best-known companies regularly deliver mediocre results. What counts in this business is underwriting discipline. The winners are those that unfailingly stick to three key principles:
- They accept only those risks that they are able to properly evaluate (staying within their circle of competence) and that, after they have evaluated all relevant factors including remote loss scenarios, carry the expectancy of profit. These insurers ignore market-share considerations and are sanguine about losing business to competitors that are offering foolish prices or policy conditions.
- They limit the business they accept in a manner that guarantees they will suffer no aggregation of losses from a single event or from related events that will threaten their solvency. They ceaselessly search for possible correlation among seemingly-unrelated risks.
- They avoid business involving moral risk: No matter what the rate, trying to write good contracts with bad people doesn’t work. While most policyholders and clients are honorable and ethical, doing business with the few exceptions is usually expensive, sometimes extraordinarily so.
Just as is the case in investing, insurers produce outstanding long-term results primarily by avoiding dumb decisions, rather than by making brilliant ones.
“Loss Development” and Insurance Accounting
Bad terminology is the enemy of good thinking. When companies or investment professionals use terms such as “EBITDA” and “pro forma,” they want you to unthinkingly accept concepts that are dangerously flawed. (In golf, my score is frequently below par on a pro forma basis: I have firm plans to “restructure” my putting stroke and therefore only count the swings I take before reaching the green.)
In insurance reporting, “loss development” is a widely used term—and one that is seriously misleading. First, a definition: Loss reserves at an insurer are not funds tucked away for a rainy day, but rather a liability account. If properly calculated, the liability states the amount that an insurer will have to pay for all losses (including associated costs) that have occurred prior to the reporting date but have not yet been paid. When calculating the reserve, the insurer will have been notified of many of the losses it is destined to pay, but others will not yet have been reported to it. These losses are called IBNR, for incurred but not reported. Indeed, in some cases (involving, say, product liability or embezzlement) the insured itself will not yet be aware that a loss has occurred.
It’s clearly difficult for an insurer to put a figure on the ultimate cost of all such reported and unreported events. But the ability to do so with reasonable accuracy is vital. Otherwise the insurer’s managers won’t know what its actual loss costs are and how these compare to the premiums being charged. GEICO got into huge trouble in the early 1970s because for several years it severely underreserved, and therefore believed its product (insurance protection) was costing considerably less than was truly the case. Consequently, the company sailed blissfully along, underpricing its product and selling more and more policies at ever-larger losses.
When it becomes evident that reserves at past reporting dates understated the liability that truly existed at the time, companies speak of “loss development.” In the year discovered, these shortfalls penalize reported earnings because the “catch-up” costs from prior years must be added to current-year costs when results are calculated. This is what happened at General Re in 2001: a staggering $800 million of loss costs that actually occurred in earlier years, but that were not then recorded, were belatedly recognized last year and charged against current earnings. The mistake was an honest one, I can assure you of that. Nevertheless, for several years, this underreserving caused us to believe that our costs were much lower than they truly were, an error that contributed to woefully inadequate pricing. Additionally, the overstated profit figures led us to pay substantial incentive compensation that we should not have and to incur income taxes far earlier than was necessary.
We recommend scrapping the term “loss development” and its equally ugly twin, “reserve strengthening.” (Can you imagine an insurer, upon finding its reserves excessive, describing the reduction that follows as “reserve weakening”?) “Loss development” suggests to investors that some natural, uncontrollable event has occurred in the current year, and “reserve strengthening” implies that adequate amounts have been further buttressed. The truth, however, is that management made an error in estimation that in turn produced an error in the earnings previously reported. The losses didn’t “develop”—they were there all along. What developed was management’s understanding of the losses (or, in the instances of chicanery, management’s willingness to finally fess up).
During 2001, we were somewhat more active than usual in “junk” bonds. These are not, we should emphasize, suitable investments for the general public, because too often these securities live up to their name. We have never purchased a newly-issued junk bond, which is the only kind most investors are urged to buy. When losses occur in this field, furthermore, they are often disastrous: Many issues end up at a small fraction of their original offering price and some become entirely worthless.
Despite these dangers, we periodically find a few—a very few—junk securities that are interesting to us. And, so far, our 50-year experience in distressed debt has proven rewarding. In our 1984 annual report, we described our purchases of Washington Public Power System bonds when that issuer fell into disrepute. We’ve also, over the years, stepped into other apparent calamities such as Chrysler Financial, Texaco and RJR Nabisco—all of which returned to grace. Still, if we stay active in junk bonds, you can expect us to have losses from time to time.
Occasionally, a purchase of distressed bonds leads us into something bigger. Early in the Fruit of the Loom bankruptcy, we purchased the company’s public and bank debt at about 50% of face value. This was an unusual bankruptcy in that interest payments on senior debt were continued without interruption, which meant we earned about a 15% current return. Our holdings grew to 10% of Fruit’s senior debt, which will probably end up returning us about 70% of face value. Through this investment, we indirectly reduced our purchase price for the whole company by a small amount.
In late 2000, we began purchasing the obligations of FINOVA Group, a troubled finance company, and that, too, led to our making a major transaction. FINOVA then had about $11 billion of debt outstanding, of which we purchased 13% at about two-thirds of face value. We expected the company to go into bankruptcy, but believed that liquidation of its assets would produce a payoff for creditors that would be well above our cost. As default loomed in early 2001, we joined forces with Leucadia National Corporation to present the company with a prepackaged plan for bankruptcy.
The plan as subsequently modified (and I’m simplifying here) provided that creditors would be paid 70% of face value (along with full interest) and that they would receive a newly-issued 7½% note for the 30% of their claims not satisfied by cash. To fund FINOVA’s 70% distribution, Leucadia and Berkshire formed a jointly-owned entity—mellifluently christened Berkadia—that borrowed $5.6 billion through FleetBoston and, in turn, re-lent this sum to FINOVA, concurrently obtaining a priority claim on its assets. Berkshire guaranteed 90% of the Berkadia borrowing and also has a secondary guarantee on the 10% for which Leucadia has primary responsibility. (Did I mention that I am simplifying?).
There is a spread of about two percentage points between what Berkadia pays on its borrowing and what it receives from FINOVA, with this spread flowing 90% to Berkshire and 10% to Leucadia. As I write this, each loan has been paid down to $3.9 billion.
As part of the bankruptcy plan, which was approved on August 10, 2001, Berkshire also agreed to offer 70% of face value for up to $500 million principal amount of the $3.25 billion of new 7½% bonds that were issued by FINOVA. (Of these, we had already received $426.8 million in principal amount because of our 13% ownership of the original debt.) Our offer, which was to run until September 26, 2001, could be withdrawn under a variety of conditions, one of which became operative if the New York Stock Exchange closed during the offering period. When that indeed occurred in the week of September 11th, we promptly terminated the offer.
Many of FINOVA’s loans involve aircraft assets whose values were significantly diminished by the events of September 11th. Other receivables held by the company also were imperiled by the economic consequences of the attack that day. FINOVA’s prospects, therefore, are not as good as when we made our proposal to the bankruptcy court. Nevertheless we feel that overall the transaction will prove satisfactory for Berkshire. Leucadia has day-to-day operating responsibility for FINOVA, and we have long been impressed with the business acumen and managerial talent of its key executives.
It’s déjà vu time again: In early 1965, when the investment partnership I ran took control of Berkshire, that company had its main banking relationships with First National Bank of Boston and a large New York City bank. Previously, I had done no business with either.
Fast forward to 1969, when I wanted Berkshire to buy the Illinois National Bank and Trust of Rockford. We needed $10 million, and I contacted both banks. There was no response from New York. However, two representatives of the Boston bank immediately came to Omaha. They told me they would supply the money for our purchase and that we would work out the details later.
For the next three decades, we borrowed almost nothing from banks. (Debt is a four-letter word around Berkshire.) Then, in February, when we were structuring the FINOVA transaction, I again called Boston, where First National had morphed into FleetBoston. Chad Gifford, the company’s president, responded just as Bill Brown and Ira Stepanian had back in 1969—”you’ve got the money and we’ll work out the details later.”
And that’s just what happened. FleetBoston syndicated a loan for $6 billion (as it turned out, we didn’t need $400 million of it), and it was quickly oversubscribed by 17 banks throughout the world. Sooooo . . . if you ever need $6 billion, just give Chad a call—assuming, that is, your credit is AAA.
Charitable Contributions
Berkshire follows a highly unusual policy in respect to charitable contributions—but it’s one that Charlie and I believe is both rational and fair to owners.
First, we let our operating subsidiaries make their own charitable decisions, requesting only that the owners/managers who once ran these as independent companies make all donations to their personal charities from their own funds, instead of using company money. When our managers are using company funds, we trust them to make gifts in a manner that delivers commensurate tangible or intangible benefits to the operations they manage. Last year contributions from Berkshire subsidiaries totaled $19.2 million.
At the parent company level, we make no contributions except those designated by shareholders. We do not match contributions made by directors or employees, nor do we give to the favorite charities of the Buffetts or the Mungers. However, prior to our purchasing them, a few of our subsidiaries had employee-match programs and we feel fine about their continuing them: It’s not our style to tamper with successful business cultures.
To implement our owners’ charitable desires, each year we notify registered holders of A shares (A’s represent 86.6% of our equity capital) of a per-share amount that they can instruct us to contribute to as many as three charities. Shareholders name the charity; Berkshire writes the check. Any organization that qualifies under the Internal Revenue Code can be designated by shareholders. Last year Berkshire made contributions of $16.7 million at the direction of 5,700 shareholders, who named 3,550 charities as recipients. Since we started this program, our shareholders’ gifts have totaled $181 million.
Most public corporations eschew gifts to religious institutions. These, however, are favorite charities of our shareholders, who last year named 437 churches and synagogues to receive gifts. Additionally, 790 schools were recipients. A few of our larger shareholders, including Charlie and me, designate their personal foundations to get gifts, so that those entities can, in turn, disburse their funds widely.
I get a few letters every week criticizing Berkshire for contributing to Planned Parenthood. These letters are usually prompted by an organization that wishes to see boycotts of Berkshire products. The letters are invariably polite and sincere, but their writers are unaware of a key point: It’s not Berkshire, but rather its owners who are making charitable decisions—and these owners are about as diverse in their opinions as you can imagine. For example, they are probably on both sides of the abortion issue in roughly the same proportion as the American population. We’ll follow their instructions, whether they designate Planned Parenthood or Metro Right to Life, just as long as the charity possesses 501©(3) status. It’s as if we paid a dividend, which the shareholder then donated. Our form of disbursement, however, is more tax-efficient.
In neither the purchase of goods nor the hiring of personnel, do we ever consider the religious views, the gender, the race or the sexual orientation of the persons we are dealing with. It would not only be wrong to do so, it would be idiotic. We need all of the talent we can find, and we have learned that able and trustworthy managers, employees and suppliers come from a very wide spectrum of humanity.
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