Post #1719: A brief note on the 1980s Savings and Loan Crisis, or why sometimes It’s (not) a Wonderful Life.

 

FSLIC.  Raise your hand if you are old enough to recall what that stands for.

Briefly, FDIC : Bank :: FSLIC : Savings and Loan

You have to interpret the second  “:” as “was to”, not “is to”.  The Congress formally declared the Federal Savings and Loan Insurance Corporation (FSLIC) dead in 1989, after a decade-long illness.  It was beyond bankrupt at the time.  Its functions were subsumed into the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC).

I mention this bit of economic history because of the recent failure of the Silicon Valley Bank.  That seems to have been driven by the same factor that drove the majority of S&Ls into bankruptcy in the 1980s.

Briefly, they borrowed short and lent long.  Short, as in short-term.   The money they took in — borrowed from their depositors — could be withdrawn at any time.  Long, as in long-term.  They apparently bought a lot of U.S. Treasury bonds. Which, although liquid enough at any given time, are still long-term loans to the U.S. Treasury.  (And a fundamentally odd thing for a bank to invest in, when you get right down to it.  It’s as if they couldn’t be bothered to find something with a better rate of return.)

In any case, as with any fixed-return asset, the price of those bonds drops as interest rates rise.  Owning a lot of fixed-return long-term securities, in an era of rising rates, is a recipe for bank failure.  (Or, as in the case of the 1980s, S&L failure.)  As I shall explain below.

And, after more than a decade of more-or-less zero inflation and below-zero real interest rates, I have to wonder how many more banks are now lurking out there, in our current environment of rising interest rates, waiting to fail from that same root cause.

If you just want to see a professional write-up of the S&L crisis — minus the dirt — this piece by the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis is about as good as it gets.


Skipping the details, how does the FDIC operate?

U.S. banking regulation has a lot of generally-unrecognized quirks.  Many of these derive from the fact that States were in the business of chartering banks long before the Federal government got in on that.  States never relinquished that right.  As a consequence, what appears to consumers today as a more-or-less monolithic industry is actually a mix of a institutions following different rules and regulations.

The practical consequence of this is that almost anything you say about bank regulation and deposit insurance will have some exception, somewhere.  In Virginia, it appears that all state-chartered banks are in fact FDIC insured, meaning that they are subject to Federal regulation.   But you can find states that allow some commercial banks to have no deposit insurance (e.g., CT), to (typically) states that operate bank insurance funds secondary to the FDIC, insuring deposit amounts in excess of the $250,000 FDIC limit (e.g, MA).  You can also find entire categories of bank-like institutions that only exist under state charters (read the CT reference above to get the gist of that).

The FDIC insures most bank deposits in the U.S., so it’s worth a paragraph or two to explain the finances of that.  (The FDIC reference page is here, the corresponding Credit Union reference page is here.).

The FDIC gives every bank a risk rating (termed CAMELS), based on factors such as capital adequacy and the riskiness of their underlying assets.  This risk rating seems to be a pretty good predictor of which classes of banks are at higher risk of failure.

Source:  Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, Staff Studies. Report No. 2020-01. A History of Risk-Based Premiums at the FDIC, January 2020.

The FDIC charges banks a quarterly insurance premium based on the amount of insured deposits and the riskiness of the bank. As you can see, a large and risky bank might easily pay 10 times the insurance premium of a small bank with low apparent default risk.

Source:  https://www.fdic.gov/deposit/insurance/assessments/proposed.html

In normal times, best I can tell, on average, covered institutions pay insurance premiums equal to about 0.12 cents per dollar of deposits.   Effectively, that’s what you pay, in order to have your deposits insured.  The bank just makes that transaction on your behalf.  But the FDIC can add a temporary surcharge if the amount in the insurance fund gets too low.

The target value for the deposit insurance fund is 2% of the value of all of the covered assets (Source:  FDIC).  Which doesn’t sound like a lot, but the FDIC is a “full faith and credit” entity, meaning that the Federal government has to step in and make good on those insured deposits even if the insurance fund itself has been depleted.

(Oddly enough, while banks and S&Ls are insured by the FDIC, Federally-chartered credit unions are not.  They are insured by a different “full faith and credit” entity, the National Credit Union Share Insurance Fund, and are supervised by the National Credit Union Administration.)

That “designated reserve ratio” was 1.25% of assets before the near-death of our banking system in 2008-2009.  I went over this years ago, in Post #341.  Since the demise of the FSLIC in the 1980s, we’ve only had one episode where, arguably, the FDIC’s Deposit Insurance Fund was subject to significant strain.

The graph below, courtesy of the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation (FDIC), show the surge in bank failures that occurred in 2008 and 2009.  In 2008, despite significant intervention by the Federal Reserve to try to stabilize the financial system, banks with assets amounting to more than a third of a trillion dollars failed.

Accordingly, the balance in the FDIC’s Deposit Insurance Fund ran negative during that wave of bank failures.  Near as I can recall, this got absolutely no press coverage at the time.  Plausibly, the FDIC kept fairly quiet about it, and at the same time the FDIC avoided a cash-flow issue by requiring banks to make their next three years insurance premium payments, up front, to keep the money flowing.  (That, from detailed reporting in the Journal of Accountancy.)

Source:  FDIC

Unsurprisingly, after that, they upped the target from 1.25% to 2% of covered assets.

In short, the FDIC’s Deposit Insurance Fund was stress-tested in that episode, came up a bit short, and, accordingly, has been required to run a bit more conservatively ever since.  Acknowledging that if things really go south, the full faith and credit of the U.S. government stands behind them.

Unlike the S&Ls, discussed below, the proximate cause for those bank failures was the collapse of the sub-prime mortgage bubble, leading to a sharp downward adjustment in US housing prices, of a sort that had not been seen in the US for generations.  The blue line below (from the Saint Louis Federal Reserve) shows an index of U.S. housing prices.  The hump, peaking around 2006, is “the housing bubble”.  The  red line, for reference, is the US Consumer Price Index.  The graph runs from 1975 at the left, the 2019 at the right.  The gray bars are recessions.

Basically, a lot of banks made what in retrospect were a lot of really bad loans, based on ludicrously inflated real estate prices.  Based, in turn, on what in hindsight was clearly a speculative bubble in real estate, driven by exceptionally easy credit, even for high-risk properties.

Finally, the billion-dollar question:  How much does the FDIC lose when it shuts down a bank?  Obviously, that varies, but after staring at a few tables in various sources, a good guess is about 8% of the assets of the bank.  So if the Silicon Valley Bank is typical, and has $200B – $250B in assets, the Deposit Insurance Fund can expect to take a hit of about $20B.  Far below the current balance of around $120B in that fund.


The 1980s S&L crisis and the death of the FSLIC.

Source:  An Examination of the Banking Crises of the 1980s and Early 1990s,

The first thing to grasp is that S&Ls are not the same as banks.  Back in the day, they were a distinct class of depository institutions with their own separate regulators and insurance fund.  For purposes of this discussion, these were institutions that, by law, offered savings accounts to small depositors and used that money primarily to fund home mortgages. In their heyday, half the home mortgages in the U.S. were funded by S&Ls.

Note that I said “savings accounts” above.  Not checking accounts.  The radical notion of allowing S&Ls to offer checking accounts (NOW accounts) did not occur until 1980, with the Congress’s first attempt to quash the S&L crisis.

The interesting historical difference between a savings account and a checking account is that you couldn’t demand to withdraw your money held in a savings account.  These days, all vestiges of restrictions in withdrawal from savings accounts have disappeared (reference).  But there was a time when S&Ls could say, sure, you can have your money — sometime.

In fact, I have both a checking and a savings account at my local credit union.  If you bother to read the fine print in the account agreement, I find the following disclosure:

" The Credit Union reserves the right to delay the availability of funds deposited to accounts that are not transaction accounts for periods longer than those disclosed in this policy."

Translation:  If they are having a problem, they have the right to prevent me from withdrawing money from my savings account.  Even now.  Even in 2023.  These days, with both savings and checking paying close to zero interest, this hardly matters.  I might as well keep the entire balance in checking.  But this is a holdover from the days of bank runs and interest-bearing savings accounts.  You got paid interest for your deposit, but the quid pro quo is that in the event of a bank run, you were stuck.  For other specialized types of saving accounts — Holiday Club, Christmas Club — the restrictions are more explicit, and typically involve penalties for excessive or early withdrawals.

And that’s by design.  With clauses such as that, the bank needs to keep fewer “reserves”, that is, less cash-on-hand and other liquid assets, to satisfy regulatory requirements.  This lets it put a higher fraction of deposits to work earning interest, and so (in theory) should lead to better economic performance.

In short, prior to 1970, say, S&Ls were a backwater of American banking.  They could only offer savings-type accounts, and they were highly restricted in the types of assets they could invest in.  The maximum interest they could pay on deposits was set by law.  By and large, they were community lending institutions that issued mortgages, and little else.

Then along came the economic turmoil of the 1970s and 1980s.  Let me summarize the situation — borrowed short and lent long — in one graph.

The key to understanding why the S&Ls were trapped by rising interest rates is to understand that as interest rates go up, the value of fixed-income securities goes down.  Among which are fixed-rate mortgages. When the prime rate is 4%, a mortgage paying 6% is an attractive investment.  When the prime rate hits 21.5%, not so much.  If you want to sell a 6% mortgage in that environment, you’re going to have to sell it at a deep, deep discount.

And so, as rates rose, two things happened.  The value of S&L’s existing mortgage fell, so that if they had to sell them, they’d take a loss.  And, separately, they began to lose deposits, and (once rates were deregulated) then had to pay higher interest to keep those deposits. Higher than what they were earning on their portfolios of mortgages.

They were trapped.  If they liquidated their mortgages to pay off depositors, they took a loss.  If they raised interest rates enough to keep their depositors, they took a loss.  There was no way out.

Congress then spent the better part of a decade trying to do anything other than liquidate the bankrupt S&Ls.  They loosened restrictions on S&Ls.  They loosened them some more.  They basically urged S&LS to take ever-more-risky bets in the hope that they would somehow earn themselves out of the hole they were in.

In short, the Congress turned what had been a backwater of American banking was turned into America’s biggest casino.  All in the hopes that the S&Ls could earn enough to make up from the losses incurred by borrowing short and lending long in an era of rising interest rates.

From the original chart, it looks like a lot of S&Ls lasted until the end of the 1980s, but that’s an illusion.  Regulators turned a blind eye to the fact that many of those S&Ls were technical bankrupt, because they didn’t have enough money in the FSLIC to liquidate them.  At the time, the term was “zombie” S&Ls. Technically, dead, yet still functioning.  Meanwhile, the industry kept falling deeper and deeper into the hole.

After a few well-publicized scandals, the Congress finally threw in the towel circa 1989.  About a third of S&Ls were declared insolvent and were liquidated.  The FSLIC was bailed out by abolishing it and transferring the liabilities to the FDIC.  I assume the taxpayers in general made up for those cumulative losses, but I haven’t bothered to look up the details of that final FSLIC transaction.

I’m sure there was plenty of malfeasance along the way.  And some pre-existing regulations got in the way.  But the basic story — the reason a third of the industry went bankrupt — is far more mundane.  A combination of

  • Lending long (e.g., 30-year fixed mortgages).
  • Borrowing short (e.g., checking deposits, savings deposits, CDs).
  • Rising interest rates.

That’s just bad news, no matter who the actors are.  Maybe they have adequate capital and current earnings to keep going.  Maybe not.


And now?  Of toilet paper and bank runs, or bank runs were the original flash mobs.

Much like the 1970s/1980s, we’re now in an era of rising interest rates, following a prolonged period of low interest rates and low inflation.

Public information about of the failure of the Silicon Valley Bank sounded like the S&L crisis all over again.  Sure, if you look hard enough, you can find some combination of malfeasance and incompetence.  But from what I’ve read, the main problem is that they tied up much of their capital in long-term Treasuries.  Borrowed short, lent long.  Which, in the era of stable and low interest rates that existed from 2008 to circa 2022, was just fine.  But in an era of rising rates, was a form of economic suicide.

As long as their depositor base remained stable, that wasn’t necessarily a problem.  As long as they could earn enough to stay in business, they didn’t have to realize the losses on those long-term bonds.

But as soon as somebody suggested that withdrawing your money might be prudent, it was game over.  That rapid withdrawal of funds forces them to sell off assets to pay back their depositors.  And if the bulk of your assets are now far under water — well, you’re bankrupt in short order.

Are there more of these in the pipeline?  Now way for the public to know.  But I wouldn’t be surprised. And, I wouldn’t be worried either.  If you look at the numbers, banks fail all the time.

The problem here isn’t with the regulators.  Having learned some hard lessons from the foot-dragging of the S&L crisis, our regulatory authorities don’t screw around when a bank is in deep trouble.  They come down like a ton of bricks.  That’s not because they’ll somehow salvage more value out of the bank if they do that.

The problem is that — let’s face it — people are idiots.  Bank regulators act decisively to quash any general run on the banks.  The same mentality that gave us months of toilet paper shortages during the pandemic will give us bank runs. 

Now, deposit insurance should have put an end to that.  But in the era of constant internet disinformation, you know there’s somebody out there, right now, trying to start a bank run just to see if they can do it.  Maybe a foreign government.  Maybe just a home-grown jerk.  It doesn’t really matter.  Not to mention that you don’t even have to get up out of your chair to move your money out of a bank.

My take on it is that for the Feds to come out and say, hey, you’re covered, no matter what the size of the deposit?  I don’t necessarily think that was good policy.  I don’t think it was bad policy.  I think it was probably the only policy that would work, in this circumstance.

Because now deposit insurance isn’t just facing traditional human stupidity.  It’s facing stupidity, as amplified by social media and the internet.  Bank runs were the flash mobs of their day.  My guess is that bank regulators have to work faster and harder now, to stop those, than they have for the past half-century.  So far, they seem up to the task.  Let’s hope it stays that way.

 

Post G23-008: Simple geometry of sun and shade, or, keep your gnomon pointing north.

 

This post is about making sure my new garden beds don’t end up in the shadow of my back porch, during the summer.  Based on the length of the shadows today, in late winter.  And, ultimately, based simply on the height of the porch roof.

To cut to the chase:  If you use Excel, and the NOAA sun-angle calculator, you can accurately predict the length of a shadow, for any date and time, anywhere on earth, via this formula:

Shadow length = obstruction height * cotangent (solar elevation angle in degrees * π / 180)

The π / 180 is there because Excel wants to see angles expressed in radians.  If you’re using a calculator that accepts angles in degrees, omit that.

 

Continue reading Post G23-008: Simple geometry of sun and shade, or, keep your gnomon pointing north.

Post #1716: COP out. Does it ever get cold enough, in Virginia, to make gas heat cheaper to run than a modern heat pump?

In Post #1706, I determined that, for heating my home here in Virginia, it was far cheaper to run my heat pumps than to run my natural gas furnace.  That’s based on costs of $1.70 per therm of natural gas, and $0.12 per kilowatt-hour (KWH) of electricity.  Like so: Continue reading Post #1716: COP out. Does it ever get cold enough, in Virginia, to make gas heat cheaper to run than a modern heat pump?

G23-006: The sunniest spot in a shady yard? Part 1, geometry.

 

This is the first of two posts on finding the sunniest spot in a yard that has shade trees on either side.  This one uses geometry.  The next one will use time-lapse photography on a sunny day.

With any luck, both approaches will tell me the same thing.

If your yard is bordered by shade trees, locate the beds so that due south (180 degrees) splits the compass bearing from your bed to each line of trees.  This gives a surprising-looking result for my back yard.  It’s not at all what you’d naively think, just looking at the trees and the yard.

Garden bed location 1:  Wrong.

I started gardening seriously during the pandemic.  Temporary raised beds were made from recycled campaign yard signs and bamboo.  I placed those in seemingly-reasonable locations in my back yard. In part, they were filling in low spots on the lawn.  But it seemed like they were located so as to get the best sun.

I’m now getting around to putting in something more permanent.  This time, I’m not going to wing it, but instead want to know what spot in my back yard gets the most sunlight.

It’s not obvious.  I have tall trees on either edge of my yard.  And, interestingly enough, what appears to be the obvious solution — locate the garden beds in the middle of the yard, away from both tree lines — isn’t even close to being right.

So, eyeball a couple of birds’-eye views of my back yard, and see if you think I put the beds in roughly the right place:

Looks pretty good, doesn’t it?  You might even say that the location doesn’t much matter, because you’re going to get the same number of hours of sunlight almost anywhere in that back yard, regardless.  What’s shaded in the morning will be sunny in the afternoon, and vice-versa.

Problem is, an hour of sun is not an hour of sun.  Sunlight is much stronger around solar noon, and is weaker the farther you are from noon.  And, because the sun is due south at noon (in the Northern hemisphere), you have to know which direction is south, in order to judge what part of the yard gets the most solar energy.

Source:  Curtonics.com

You need to figure out the locations in your yard that place due south directly between those lines of trees.  Those locations get the greatest amount of high-intensity, near-noon sunlight.

To cut to the chase, you need to calculate where your potential garden site is, relative to the obstructing trees, and to due south.  The sunniest locations in the yard will have these two properties.

  • Due south (180 degrees) bisects the angle from your location to each side of obstructing trees.  E.g., find a spot where the bearing to one set of trees is 150 degrees (180 – 30), and the bearing to the other set of trees is 210 degrees (180 + 30).  That is, you get equal hours of morning and afternoon sun.
  • The angle from your location, to the obstructing trees, is as wide as possible.  For example, the location with a 60 degree spread above will get more total sunlight than a location with a 40 degree spread.   That is, you get as many total hours of sun as possible.

So now, take a look at my back yard, oriented so that south is directly down.  Do you want to change your prior answer?  By the look of the shadows, this is about 11 AM solar time.  Note that the left edge of the yard is already in sunlight.

 


Skirting a couple of pitfalls.

Let me take a brief break to mention a couple of pitfalls that can mess up your attempts to locate your garden in the sunniest spot on the yard.

Daylight savings time.  Man I hate having to get up at 2 AM to turn all the clocks forward, as required by law.  But the upshot is that solar noon occurs around 1 PM during daylight savings time.  For example, on the hourly insolation graph above, peak insolation occurs around 13:00, or 1 PM.  That’s not a mistake, that’s just daylight savings time.  So if it’s summer, and you look to see where the shadows fall at noon, you’re screwing up.  Because noon, daylight savings time, is actually 11 AM solar time.

Above:  Compass set up for 10 degrees west magnetic declination

Magnetic declination.  Declination is the extent to which magnetic north — where the compass needle points — deviates from true north.  Because of magnetic declination, you can’t simply use the raw readings from a standard magnetic compass in order to locate your garden in the right spot.

If you have a compass made for use on land, and it’s anything but the most basic compass, chances are you can adjust the compass to account for declination.

You can find the magnetic declination for your locality at the US Geological Survey, among other places. Currently, magnetic declination at Vienna VA is about 10 degrees west.  That means that the compass needle actually points to a heading of about 350 degrees, not 360 degrees (true north).  That’s about 2.5 degrees further west than when I was a kid in the 1970s.

Magnetic declination is one of those incredibly simple topics that always manages to get an incredibly opaque explanation.  But as long as you have a compass that can be set to account for your local declination, it’s really simple.  The picture above shows a compass set up for 10 degrees west declination.  Despite the fuzziness of the photo, I think it’s obvious that the compass body has been offset 10 degrees relative to the degree ring.  When the needle points to 350 degrees (10 degrees west of true north), 360 or 0 on the degree ring shows you true north.


The sunniest spots in my back yard are directly next to the trees.

I can now take Google Earth, and start drawing in the angles between various backyard locations, and the ends of the lines of shading trees at the sides of the yard.  It’s a little crude, but the conclusion is inescapable.  I put the temporary beds too close to the middle of the yard.  For the most solar energy possible, they ought to be almost under the trees at the side of the yard.  Like so:

Which, to be honest, I would not have guessed, just eyeballing it.

Over the coming weekend, I’ll set up a stop-motion camera to film my back yard for one sunny day.  With that, I should be able to validate that the area that gets the most solar energy is the one outlined.  And I should be able to determine just how much energy I lose if I move away from that optimum spot.

Post G23-005: Wacky weather? No, just seems that way.

 

With last night’s frost, and this afternoon’s snowstorm, I’m trying to think back to the last time we had an 80 degree (F) day. 

Oh, yeah — day before yesterday.

Which got me to asking whether this most-recent temperature swing was unusual.  At Dulles Airport, they went from a high of 80F on Thursday afternoon, to a low of 27F on Friday night.   Or just over 50F swing over the course of two days.

As it turns out, that’s perfectly normal.  Below I’ve plotted the biggest two-day temperature swing, by year, at Dulles, through 2022.

Source:  Analysis of NOAA data, downloaded via https://www.ncdc.noaa.gov/cdo-web/

As you can plainly see, at least one event of this size seems to happen more-or-less every year.  The upshot is that in this part of the country, going from shorts one day to winter coat the next (or vice-versa) does not count as a particularly unusual weather event.

Post #1714: Ah, crap, another 80 MPG trip.

 

I am presently recovering from a severe shoulder sprain.

It was self-inflicted, the result of patting myself on the back too hard.

The problem starts with my wife’s Prius Prime.  It has more-than-met our expectations in every respect.  In particular, as-driven, it typically exceeds the EPA mileage rating, either on gas or electricity.

Lately, I’ve been trying a few techniques to try to squeeze some extra gas mileage out of the car.  Just some around-town trips, driving it to try to keep the gas engine in its most efficient zone.  Which, per Post #1711,  boiled down to fast starts on gasoline, followed by coasting on electricity.  Below, that’s an attempt to stay on the top of the green efficiency “hill”, followed by keeping the gas engine off while driving in the aqua “EV carve out” zone.  (The labels on the contour lines are “efficiency”, the percent of the energy in the gasoline that is convert to motion.)

Results were encouraging.  A couple of test trials showed mid-70-MPG for a series of trips and test runs, entirely on gasoline (using no grid electricity).  Given that the car has an EPA rating of 55 MPG for city driving, I figured I was doing something right.

But at some point, it dawned on me that

  1. the current EPA mileage test is based on the typical U.S. driver (i.e., somebody who drives like a bat out of hell, whenever possible), and
  2. I have no idea what my “typical” city mileage is, because I almost never drive the car, around town, on gasoline.

In short, I made a classic mistake of trying to do an experiment without a control.  I had no baseline to which I could compare my results.  I literally didn’t know what mileage the car would get if I wasn’t fooling around with the accelerator pedal.

I decided to find out.  Yesterday we took a trip out to my sister-in-law’s and back.  About 15 miles, mostly on 35 MPH suburban roads, rolling hills, no traffic to speak of.  Gas only.  Didn’t need the AC or the heat.  Relatively few stop lights.  Driving normally.  (But acknowledging that I’m a light-footed driver by nature, and that monitoring the car via a Scangauge 3 has done nothing but increase that tendency.)

In short, reasonably close to ideal conditions for a trip.

Results:  The odometer clicked over to 80 MPG for the trip, just as we were returning to our driveway.

I am reminded of the following medical advice:  If untreated, the common cold will last a week.  But with proper medical attention, you can expect a full recovery in just seven days.

Thus it would appear, for urban hypermiling in a Prius Prime.  As-driven, 80 MPG, for my suburban area.  No fancy footwork required.

Post #1713: Norfolk Southern Accident History

 

As we all know by now, the cause for the recent Ohio train derailment was traced to an overheated, failed wheel bearing, per the National Transportation Safety Board.

Sounds like a random equipment failure that, in this case, had some bad consequences.

But isn’t that just part of a much larger pattern of neglect, leading to an ever-increasing rate of train derailments?

No.  And that’s easy to say, because, of course the Feds track this.  Of course you can access it.  You just need to bother to look.

From the Federal Railroad Administration, Office of Safety Analysis, Ten-year query form.  Data for 2022 are preliminary through November.

Norfolk Southern’s rate of derailments has been more-or-less the same over the past two decades.  Same for accidents involving hazardous materials.

Obviously, facts cannot possibly compete with the angertainment-fest that has become our national news reporting.  As evidenced by the comments sections on newspaper articles.

But on the off chance that you might have been wondering about this, the answer is no.  For Norfolk Southern, the rate of accidents of this type is about what it has been for the past twenty years.

Post #1712: The Balkanization of EV battery recycling

 

Background:  I can’t get rid of the damned thing.

My wife and I have been believers in electrically-powered transport for some time now.

In 2008, we bought an aftermarket battery pack to convert my wife’s 2005 Prius into a plug-in hybrid electric vehicle.  At the time, the manufacturer (A123 systems) assured us that the battery pack would be fully recyclable, and that they had partnered with Toxco, Inc. to guarantee that.

To be honest, that retrofit never worked very well.  It wasn’t the battery’s fault.  The main limitation was that a Prius of that generation wasn’t really built to function as an electric vehicle.  That placed a lot of limitations in driving in all-electric (“EV”) mode.  Gasoline savings were modest, at best.

Fast-forward to 2012.  A123 had gone bankrupt.  Toxco was no longer in the battery recycling business.  We had a problem with the charger on that battery pack, and decided to have it fixed, in large part because, at that time, there was no way to get rid of the damned thing.  Far less hassle to fix it and keep using it.

At that time, the word was that infrastructure for EV battery recycling was just around the corner.  But from a practical perspective, here in Virginia, we couldn’t find someone to take that off our hands and recycle it.

Fast forward to 2018, and the original nickel-metal-hydride traction battery in that Prius died.  We thought about scrapping the car at that point (177K miles), but everything else was fine, we dreaded the thought of buying a new car.  So we we paid to have the dealer install a new Toyota nickel-metal-hydride (NiMH) traction battery.  (Toyota recycles the dead NiMH batteries recovered through their dealerships.)   But, in part, the decision to keep the car was driven by that A123 battery pack.  We looked around for recyclers, but there was still no way to get rid of the damned thing.

Apparently, EV battery recycling was still just around the corner.

Jump to 2023.  It now looks like that 15-year-old A123 pack has finally given up the ghost.  It will no longer charge.  And at this point, we have no interest in trying to get it fixed, even if we could.  Any money spent on that would be better invested in getting a new purpose-built PHEV, such as a Prius Prime.

I’m sure you’ve guessed the punchline.   I just looked around for recyclers, and yet again, there is even still no way to get rid of the damned thing.

Now, that’s not 100% true.  There’s an on-line ad for a company that, if I give them all my information, might be willing to offer me a quote on how much they’ll charge to recycle my particular battery.  There might be a shop as close as North Carolina that might take it, if I could prepare it properly.  I haven’t bothered to inquire.  My wife’s going to call the dealer who installed it originally, after this three-day weekend, and see if they’ll remove it and dispose of it for us.  (Last time we asked, that wasn’t an option.)

My point is there’s no place within, say, 200 miles, that I can just call up, make and appointment, and drop off the battery for recycling.  It’s all either a custom, one-off service, or requires crating and shipping the battery, or required driving at least hundreds of miles, round-trip, if I can find a place that will take it.

On the plus side, I’m in no hurry.  A fully-discharged lithium-ion battery isn’t a fire hazard.  I’ve checked several sources on that, and that’s the overwhelming consensus.  A completely discharged lithium-ion battery is just dead weight, not a death trap.  You definitely don’t want to try to recharge one and power it up, once it has been over-discharged, as it can easily form internal short-circuits in an over-discharged state.  That can lead to a big problem in a short amount of time.  (And chargers in general will not allow you to try to charge a lithium-ion battery with excessively low starting voltage, for exactly this reason.)  But as long as you don’t do anything stupid — don’t bypass the charger, don’t puncture it, don’t roast it — it’ll remain intert.

On the minus side, it looks like the U.S. EV battery recycling industry is in no hurry, either.  I sure don’t perceive a lot of forward motion since the last time I looked at this.  Worse, what seems to be happening is that the industry is going to get split up along manufacturer lines.  Tesla will recycle Tesla batteries, Toyota will recycle Toyota batteries.  And if you fall into the cracks — with some off-brand battery — there will still be no way to get rid of the damned thing.


My impressions of the EV battery recycling market

I’ve been tracking this market for more than a decade now.  With the personal stake described above.  I thought I might take a minute to offer my observations.  In an unscientific way, without citation as to source.

First, it doesn’t pay to recycle these.  At least, not yet.  That was surely true a decade ago, and my reading of is that it’s still true.  So you’ll see people talk about the tons of materials saved, for ongoing operations.  But I don’t think you’ll hear anybody say what a cash cow lithium battery recycling is.

Second, EV battery recyclers start up and fail at an astonishing rate.  Near as I can tell, none of the companies involved in it, when I looked back in 2012, are still in that business.  I just looked up a current list of companies that cooperate with GM dealers for EV battery recycling, and all the names were new to me.  This “churning” of the industry has been fairly widely noted by industry observers.

Third, we’re still just around that damned corner.  The Biden infrastructure bill appears to have about a third of a billion dollars earmarked for development of EV battery recycling (source).

But surely you realize what that means.  See “First” above.  The fact that the Feds have to subsidize EV battery recycling is pretty much proof that it just doesn’t pay to recycle these big lithium-ion EV batteries.  At least not yet.

Finally, car markers are developing their own captive recyclers, for their own batteries.  Tesla has its own systems.  GM has contracts with a limited number of vendors, plausibly to serve GM dealerships.  Toyota has its own system, for batteries recovered by its dealerships.

That last move makes perfect sense.  Because recycling is a net cost, and yet a significant consumer concern, manufacturers are pledging to take care of their batteries, if they are recycled via their dealers.  But, so far, I’m not seeing any generic recycling capability for (say) any hybrid or EV showing up at a junkyard.  Let alone for my oddball A123 batteries.

Per this article, it currently costs Tesla more than $4 per pound to recycle its lithium-ion batteries.  At that cost, you can see why they might be willing to deal with their own, but they’re sure not going to take anybody else’s batteries for recycling.  It’s not clear that other processes — with less complete recycling of all the materials — are as costly as Tesla’s.  As of 2021, at least one company was in the business of simply warehousing used EV batteries on behalf of vehicle manufacturers, handing batteries replaced under warranty.   The theory is that right now, it’s cheaper to store them and hope for lower recycling costs down the road (reference).

I’m sure that big junkyards and scrap yards have some way of dealing with these, at some cost.  Surely plenty of the (e.g.) Generation 3 Toyota Prius hybrids with lithium-ion batteries have now been scrapped.  I don’t know if they can recycle via Toyota’s internal system, or if … well, I just don’t know.


Conclusion

All I know, at present, is that if I can recycle that totally dead 5 KWH A123 lithium-ion battery pack, it’s going to be either a hassle or a major expense or both.  As long as I can get it recycled, I will.

But, the fact is, until that 2005 Prius actually dies, I won’t have to face up to it.

And, in a nutshell, that characterizes the American market for lithium-ion EV battery recycling.

I’ve decided just to let that dead battery be, and let the 2005 Prius continue to haul around that 300 extra pounds of dead weight.

Because, as we all know, readily-available EV battery recycling is just around the corner.