By Patricia Chadwick
Michael Lewis has just published another book—this one in collaboration with six other writers, each of whom is renowned as an author. The title: WHO IS GOVERNMENT? and the subtitle: The Untold Story of Public Service were intriguing. Devouring the book last weekend, I was inspired—each story was a morality tale in its own right. Each subject was a remarkable employee of the federal government who was hardly known to the world at large, but who through diligence, passion, intelligence, curiosity and sacrifice, brought immense value to the public.
A few of the stories include Michael Lewis’s, “The Canary,” about Chris Mark, the unlikely engineer. The son of a Princeton professor, he was a rebellious teenager who chose to eschew college and went to work as a coal miner in West Virginia in the mid-1970s. He eventually earned a Ph.D. and went to work for the federal government at the Bureau of Mines where he devised a “roof rating” system for long wall mines that became the global standard for safety and has saved the lives of countless of coal miners. Dave Eggers, a prolific writer, covers the story of Nancy Grace Roman and her career at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Born in 1925, she was the first woman at NASA, where, today, where thirty-one percent of its staff are women. She was known as “The Mother of the Hubble,” but preferred not to be singled out. The Nancy Grace Roman Space Telescope, with a panoramic field of vision one hundred times greater than the Hubble, will be launched in a few years.
Perhaps the most emotionally gratifying chapter is by Casey Cet, a staff writer at the New Yorker. Titled, “The Sentinel,” it is about Ronald Walters, who currently leads the National Cemetery Administration, a federal government agency that arranges a burial place for any veteran whose family requests a spot in a National Cemetery. I quote from the book, “Thanks to Walters’s efforts, 94 percent of American veterans live no further than 75 miles from a veterans’ cemetery.
“The Cyber Sleuth” is the story of Jarod Koopman of the IRS and is written by Geraldine Brooks, the author of the bestseller, Horse. Jarod’s passions are Brazilian jiu-jitsu and accounting. He turned an internship with the IRS in 2001 into a career there, where his sleuthing has led to the rescue of twenty-three children from rape and assault and the arrest of 370 pedophiles, and has in the past ten years returned more than $12 billion to victims of crime and to the Treasury.
A paragraph by Michael Lewis sums up the reason WHO IS GOVERNMENT? is such a gem. “Democratic government isn’t really designed to highlight the individual achievement of unelected officials. You never hear a word about who these people are or where they come from or why it ever occurred to them to bother. Nothing to change the picture in your head when you hear the word ‘bureaucrat.’ Nothing to arouse curiosity about them or lead you to ask what they do, or why they do it.”
At a moment in our American life when there appears to be disdain for the work of so many federal government employees, Who is Government? is a must read. By shedding light on the value of their work, the book is a reminder of the respect we owe to all public servants. A couple of factoids may also be enlightening. From a post-World War II high of 5.2% of the workforce in 1952, civilian jobs in the federal government have declined over the last seventy years to under 2% today with approximately three million federal employees. Given the fact that federal government spending has soared over that period, it’s fair to say that the productivity of the federal employee base has also soared.
On the last page of the book, there is an exhortation that reads: Has a federal employee inspired you or made a positive impact on your community, on our country, or on the world? Share that story with the Partnership for Public Service: yourstories@ourpublicservice.org. I’m sharing one of my own here.
It was eleven years ago. I had recently turned sixty-five and faced the fact that I was about to enter a new stage in life by becoming a social security recipient. I duly made an appointment at the local Social Security office to discuss my options. I don’t remember the date but the time had been specified for 2:15pm. The waiting room was packed, and I was grateful for the newspaper I brought. When my number was called, precisely at 2:15pm, I walked up to the appointed window. The white-haired lady behind the plexiglass knew more about me than I had expected—that I was married and that my husband had already been receiving Social Security for himself and our two children (by reason of his turning sixty-five before they had turned eighteen). She was solicitous about my financial needs, and I reassured her that I was still working and was happy to postpone receiving any payments for as long as was allowed. That was when her personality came to the fore. “Oh, Sweetheart,” she said, her voice part motherly and part teacherly. “There’s a wonderful plan just for you. You can collect half of your husband’s social security and not touch your own, which will earn eight percent compounded each year. Then when you reach seventy, your income will be far higher than if you start taking it out at sixty-six.” I quickly processed the arithmetic and wondered to myself, How on earth could Congress approve such a cockamamie scheme? No wonder the social security system is perpetually on the verge of bankruptcy. But who was I to argue with the good news lady? Her mastery of the subject was impressive and her grace in carrying out what I would have thought to be a desultory occupation was edifying. The memory of that meeting with the epitome of a gracious public servant has remained vivid in my mind. But for the life of me, I couldn’t remember her name. Most likely, she had not shared it with me, but how could I tell my story if I was unable to recall her name? So two days before this column went to press, I drove over to the social security office and signed in electronically. Within ten minutes I was facing a pleasant woman behind a plexiglass window and sharing with her my strange request. I told her about Michael Lewis’ book and how I wanted to add my modest experience to the list of federal employees whose work is appreciated. She understood and began searching the records until she found the date of my visit, but there was no employee name. “She was so vivacious,” I blurted out, “and so knowledgeable. And she called me ‘sweetheart’ and ‘honey’ and ‘darling’.” It was then that the woman’s eyes lit up and nodding her head, she smiled and said, “When you give that description, I know who it was—Mrs. Chavis.” “Has she retired?” I queried. “Yes.” “And may I have your name also?” “Ms. Rodriguez.” Mission accomplished. Thank you, Mrs. Chavis and Ms. Rodriguez for caring.
