by Tom Corbett
Since I am such a sensitive guy, I laughed. “John, welcome to my world…the wonderful world of welfare reform. Personally, I go by one rule. When no one, absolutely no one, agrees with me, then I suspect I am approaching truth. Stay with this topic, and I guarantee you will have a short Christmas list. No one will like you. Hell, not even my wife gives me a card these days!”
Oddly enough, John did stay with it. He pulled me back into the legislative world one more time. He reached out to a Republican, Steve Foti, and a Milwaukee Democrat, Rosemary Potter. It was never totally clear to me what he wanted to accomplish, but I think he had a feeling that there might be some middle road path to welfare reform as opposed to the partisan sniping that was emerging. I did not see any future in this, but I am sympathetic to those trying to breach the barricades in the welfare wars. So, I stayed with it until John left the legislature to become mayor of Kenosha.
Besides, they were a fun group to be with. I recall the first time John introduced me to Representative Potter. I misunderstood something in the conversation and said, “So I understand you are a Republican.” “No,” she responded indignantly, which I should have guessed since she was way too young and attractive to be a Republican. But I recovered in my own way. “Oh, now I remember what John said. He told me you think like a Republican.” Then I ducked as she threw her purse at him.
We all went to D.C. I introduced them to the folk I knew at HHS, we met with the Wisconsin Congressional delegation; and we bounced around many ideas. In the end, nothing really happened but I had some more fun. A few years down the road, when he was leaving the legislature to assume the position of mayor of Kenosha, there was a party for him and the other legislators who were retiring. It was held in the Capitol with many lobbyists and press in attendance.
I went to give John my best. It turns out that another of those attacks on the university faculty had been in the press that very day. In fact, the attacks were based on a study that my future colleague, Jennifer Noyes, had just completed as a staff member of the Legislative Audit Bureau. This was many years before I would meet her, of course. Now, oddly enough, she is an associate dean in the very academic institution she once criticized so harshly. Funny how life goes. In any case, her audit fueled the conventional press narrative about faculty being overpaid and spending no time in the classroom teaching.
Being me, I could not leave this alone and asked John why he hadn’t mentioned the news article. He suddenly became very animated, and started yelling the words “university professor, university professor!” while pointing in my direction as if he expected the whole room to pounce upon me. As people started to turn and stare, my mind flashed back to my other near-death experiences in life where I faced angry mobs. Let me assure you, even welfare recipients were viewed with far more favor than university faculty among our state representatives at that time. But John really did like me, and the feeling was mutual. That, at least, is the story I am sticking with. In any case, I was sorry to see him go.
Back to the 1986 gubernatorial election! Remember that! It was Tommy Thompson versus Anthony Earl. The welfare issue was a defining issue of the campaign. In the end, Thompson won. Clearly, the state would be taking a new direction. In the aftermath of voting day, no one really knew what that direction would be. Irv realized that his dream of an Assured Child Support benefit had been dealt a blow, but he would not quit. My dream of a robust and collaborative relationship between IRP and the state of Wisconsin would soon diminish, but that was not clear at that moment.
What was certain is the welfare wars were entering a new era. The battles would be more intensely fought. The sides would be more clearly drawn. The fields of conflict would be in Washington and in states across the country as policy devolution became a stronger and stronger call. The outcomes of future skirmishes would be more consequential for all involved. The coming wars, in the end, would change how we treat the poor and the vulnerable in this country.
Yet another counter in my policy candy store started with a call from U.S. Senator Moynihan’s office. The senator, at the request of Senator Kohl from Wisconsin, was calling a special hearing on the Wisconsin Learnfare program. Would I be willing to testify? Being the decisive guy that I am, I immediately responded with a firm, “I’ll get back to you on that.” Learnfare was one of the first of Governor Tommy Thompson’s welfare reforms that would catapult him to the forefront of the national debate on what to do with the widely despised AFDC program. The concept was simple. The school attendance of children and youth would be monitored. If attendance did not meet certain standards set by the welfare department, such a failure would be construed as poor parenting which, after all, was the primary job of a welfare mother. Failure to comply would result in a sanction or a lowering of the AFDC benefit until the situation was rectified and the attendance standard was met.
Opponents, mostly of the liberal persuasion, were outraged. Parents would be punished for the actions of ungovernable children. Intra-family power relationships would drift from the adult to the child. Sanctions would make it even harder for these families to cope, and so on. The real concern, in my mind, is that Learnfare would be the first chink in the concept of cash welfare as an entitlement. That might not be bad but only if it were introduced with care and not under the simplistic economic notion that a modest economic penalty, by itself, would work miracles. By this time, I had disabused myself of the view that all manner of ills might be rectified solely with the proper economic incentives. Homo Econimicus existed, of course, but not in the simplified, stick-figure way that economists viewed the world.
Basically, the existing social contract was that if you met income, asset, and family composition requirements, you got a check. In some cases, a work expectation was imposed but the seriousness of such requirements was questionable. This new Thompson innovation would introduce a new behavioral requirement as a condition of getting the full benefit. It would introduce a new “social contract” notion into the relationship between government and clients, one that went beyond the mere constructs of need and an expectation of work effort. You would have to behave properly to get the help you needed, a principle argued forcefully by Larry Mead in his book Beyond Entitlement.
In general, people are not all that well versed in history. Most welfare managers at the time thought that AFDC had been created as a full-blown entitlement program in the 1930s. They believed that the reforms now emerging were the first to address the evil consequences of handing out unfettered cash. In fact, what characterized the first three decades of the program were a rather extensive set of behavioral requirements as a condition of receiving help that would make any of the new reformers drool with envy.
For example, there was the “fit home” concept. You had to be a good mother to get help. Your house had to be clean and neat, your children had to attend school on a regular basis, and your moral life had to be beyond reproach. To ensure the last standard, midnight raids were done in many jurisdictions to see if there was a man in the house, and to check on other suspected transgressions such as substance abuse or lack of minimal hygiene. It was only in the 1960s that activist courts and a revitalized federal bureaucracy turned AFDC into a real entitlement. One of my Doctoral Committee members, Law Professor Joel Handler, had written a stinging rebuke of the old system in his acclaimed book The Deserving Poor. Joel was a member of my Doctoral committee until he left for a position on the west coast. Before departing, he reemed me out that I was f#$%king up my life by not finishing up my dissertation. That was a common sentiment among my academic colleagues, but he employed more colorful language.
In any case, fast forward a full generation. The entitlement principle was now seen as the way welfare had always been. It was a principle, however, that now was vulnerable to attack by some and as something to be valiantly defended by others. Both sides on the entitlement issue dug in, arguing that their position reflected what the founders of the program wanted. To put it mildly, Learnfare was a hot button
issue. Well, just about everything about welfare was a hot button issue by this time. As I often told my students, most of whom probably gagged at yet another of Tom’s aphorisms for a better life, one generation’s solution is often the next generation’s scandal. Hey, I thought that was clever.
Now, I tend to step in horse manure whenever possible. So, I wrote a piece on Learnfare for the IRP publication Focus which has remarkably wide circulation in policy as well as academic circles. I suspected I was tiptoeing into a political minefield. So, I tried adding several co-authors to the piece, including names randomly selected from the phone book. I desperately wished to obscure my culpability. But that ruse did not work at all. Anticipating a negative reaction from the other side of State Street, I sent a pre-published draft to the responsible Wisconsin officials. One of them, Silvia Jackson, had overlapped with me in the Social Welfare Doctoral program. Though I had been around the track enough times by then to know better, even I was taken aback by the reaction.
I looked over the changes they wanted made. I think one suggested insertion was that “Learnfare is the most important public innovation since the introduction of Guttenberg’s moveable type printing press.” That caused me to pause for a moment. Okay, on a more serious note, I have found that politicians prefer that you take firm stands (in their favor of course) and demonstrate unwavering loyalty to them. They want to know if you are for them or against them so that they can categorize you accordingly. They despise the ambiguity too often evidenced by those disingenuous two-handed academic types who are always saying “but on the other hand.” President Truman once cried out in despair for a one-armed economist.
They found my “other hand” rather treasonous in this instance and asked for numerous substantive revisions, so many that I was forced to draw a line in the sand so to speak. I politely replied that I had to stand by my convictions, academic freedom and all that. Could it be that I had a backbone? Now, that is hard to believe. I did, however, offer them an opportunity to write a rebuttal piece, an offer which they accepted. I reworked their submission a bit to make it sound better, and we published the two pieces side by side. Thus, the call from Washington!
Upon hanging up the phone, I raced downstairs (well, I took the elevator) to the office of Charles “Chuck” Manski who was IRP director at the time. In truth, I never race anywhere and certainly never use the stairs. Chuck was a brilliant econometrician (most of them seemed brilliant to me) who now is at Northwestern. I admired his academic credentials a lot. He was not, however, the most approachable of men. He could be gruff and dismissive. I must admit, though, he always treated me very well. This might well have been because I was a social work type, and economists didn’t expect much from them in the first place. Besides, he liked my writing; he had praised the Learnfare piece with considerable relish.
Now that I think on it, I would get unexpected compliments from some of the more technical economists. Art Goldberger, perhaps the premier econometrician of that era at UW, called one of my pieces brilliant. Tom McCurdy from Stanford and the Hoover Institute introduced me once by saying he always looked for my pieces in Focus. Unlike much of his fellow economist’s work, he told the audience that he always learned something new from my work. This was undoubtedly an exercise in hyperbole, but nice to hear anyways. The iconic godfather of both IRP and the War-On-Poverty, UW economist Bob Lampman, ran to catch up with me one day as a I walked along the lake path next to the Social Science Building. I had just published one of my first solo pieces in an IRP publication. He waxed enthusiastically about it and encouraged me to keep writing. Unfortunately, that enthusiasm for my expressive talents never seemed to infect my Social Work colleagues.
In any case, I explained the situation to Chuck and concluded with, “I don’t think I should go. This can only be bad for the institute. The governor is already suspicious of us, and my big mouth could end all remaining contracts we have with the state.” Chuck leaned back and paused. “No,” he responded, “you go and testify. You have been asked by a United States senator to share your expertise, (I wondered at that moment if he realized whom he was talking with) and you have a public responsibility to do just that. You testify to what you believe without any reservation, and we will simply deal with any fallout that comes of it.” I stumbled out of his office with new respect for the man and the institution that was IRP. This was an example of academic courage, of Galileo standing up to the Catholic Church in defense of his helio-centric vision of our solar system, if only of course he had. I then realized that it would be my fanny at which the governor would aim, not his.
As it turned out, I flew out to D.C. on the same plane as did several Wisconsin officials. The state contingent included the secretary of the department running welfare along with Silvia Jackson, who oversaw the reform efforts; and an ex-Wisconsin legislator who was now a high-level Food Stamp official in the Bush administration. The last one caught me in the aisle and asked if I knew what happened to those who try to stand in the middle of the track when the train is bearing down. “Yup,” I responded, “I have a pretty good idea,” as visions of my bloody body parts scattered across the tracks floated through my head.
Somehow, I wound up sharing a cab with Silvia into D.C. I doubt it was coincidental since she lost no time before pumping me on what I was going to say the next morning. I responded with some nonsensical redundancy about saying what I was going to say. It sounded stupid even to me. Then she informed me that a representative from the governor’s office would be there and, without saying it outright, made it clear there could be dire consequences if I screwed up.
At that moment an obvious truth hit me with full force. It would not be me or any of my colleagues that would suffer if the state contracts were terminated. We would land on our feet somehow though, in truth, I had nowhere to land. It would be the lowly research assistants, the poorly paid data collectors, and other such folk who would lose their source of income. Better if it were me, I thought as I checked my expanding waistline. I could surely benefit from missing a few meals.
The hearing room was packed. Apparently, interest in a faraway state reform was surprisingly strong among the movers and shakers of Washington. I was lobbied up to the very last minute. Really, I thought, who cares what I say. My wife surely doesn’t while my dog only pays attention to me when he expects to be fed. I recall one liberal advocate coming up to me. “Well, Tom,” she said, “did you bring your balls with you today?” I was tempted to tell her they were permanently attached but I just smiled. Besides, I got the impression she would try to detach them herself if she thought I was about to wuss out. I was on a panel with two evaluators of Learnfare from the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee (UWM). They gave a cautious, but overall critical, statement of how things were going. The fact that UW-M was doing the evaluation, not IRP, is a story I will circle back to in a moment.
Usually I only rely on notes that guide me as I wing my way through talks and public remarks. I like spontaneity and responding to audiences, adjusting on the fly if I detect excess boredom or hostility. I really prepared for this one, however, carefully writing out what I intended to say. Besides, the prepared remarks would be included in the Congressional Record. l chose not to focus on the merits of the concept but rather on its design and implementation. Was that a cop-out…maybe? In truth, though, I did not embrace the hysterical opposition to the effort coming from the liberal community. I had long concluded that Learnfare was a return to the integration of cash assistance and services that had been broken apart in the late 1960s. If done right, it might bring needed help to struggling families and not merely hand them a check. In theory, at least, one might argue that the new social contract would address the causes of destitution ad not merely the symptoms. That possibility would only exist if it were designed and implemented with care.
My favorite Learnfare one-liner (I had a lot of one-liners in my career, a few of them were even worth sharing) was that it could well be the “full employment act fo
r social workers.” Mary Ann Cook, one of my favorite bureaucrats as you know by now, thought the line delicious and oft repeated it as did Reuben Snipper, an official at Health and Human Services with whom I became friendly during my stay in D.C. in the early 1990s.
That vision of the future, as I said, was conditional upon the administrative competence attached to the rollout. I testified that from my perspective, that required fidelity of implementation simply was not happening. I then went through the flaws I saw using a conceptual framework that I later used in teaching social work students the ins and outs of doing practical social policy work. In the absence of more conscientious management, I cautioned, the potential benefits of Learnfare might never be realized. Of course, the anticipated benefits might never materialize if the underlying theory was incorrect, but that is why we should carefully try it out in the first place.
When it was over, Sylvia approached me. “Those comments were very fair, Tom” she said, “we are meeting on the Child Support contract next week, and I think you will be pleased with the outcome.” I smiled weakly. The potentially at-risk staff and students would be spared but had I once again sold my soul to Satan to protect them and the institute? I did not think so, but it is a question that has haunted me since. I did check, however, and my balls were still attached.
Back to the Learnfare evaluation as promised! IRP had, in fact, bid on the evaluation contract. This reform, as most did, required waivers of some extant federal regulations. Typically, the feds would demand a rigorous evaluation in such cases since the purpose of waiving the rules back then was to determine if the new approach worked and deserved broader application. The IRP team was strong, being led by the aforementioned Chuck Manski and by Gary Sandefur, a Stanford trained sociologist who would eventually become the Dean of Letters and Sciences at Wisconsin.
