by Tom Corbett
“Policies were moving away from cash transfers to issues involving family integrity and independence,” I intoned solemnly. “This represents a return to the Kennedy call for social workers to solve the growing welfare crisis in the early 1960s.” That was okay, but then I got carried up in the moment and let my rhetoric go just a bit. I went on to assert that the days where economists dominating poverty policy were past. They had failed and now it was our turn. Social Work would take its rightful place at the table once again. Of course, I had forgotten that Bobbi, a dyed in the wool economist, was waiting to make a few remarks of her own. When I caught her out of the corner of my eye, she was looking at me as if I had totally lost my mind. Once again, I was getting her “look.” When it was her turn, she said something about an unemployed associate director needing work. There were no takers!
I never did much with social work or social workers. I never attended their conferences or networked to any degree. I stayed with the policy and poverty groups. But I did take my basic message about an expanded role for social work in welfare reform on the road. At one point, I spoke to another influential social work group of academics…the Midwest deans of Social Work schools. I did believe, starting as early as Learnfare and really picking up with the passage of PRWORA, that the social work profession might play a bigger role in this new face of social assistance that was emerging. What had been strictly welfare agencies were increasingly focused on all kinds of family-stability and family-functioning issues as they tried to move clients toward self-sufficiency and independence. Which discipline should know more about these issues than social work? What interventions should be applied to these issues other than those perfected by social workers?
In two talks to the Midwest deans, one in Madison and one at the University of Chicago, I gave my pitch. I also tried again during an invited talk at the School of Social Work at Case Western. But the magic never took. People were polite enough but there was undercurrent of resistance. The overriding narrative was that welfare reform simply was evil, that any cooperation toward making it better might be construed as a form of implicit endorsement. A deeper message might well have been a continued reluctance to engage the poorest segments of society. The profession had always struggled for respect. It was harder to get that respect if you were dealing with those considered basket cases by the broader society. If true, I understood the impulses that motivated their concerns. It was still a bit sad though.
Another benefit of being at IRP was the continuous flow of visitors and speakers that came through the Institute. Virtually everyone who was anyone came by at one point or another. But I found the foreign visitors more interesting, in part because I was less likely to run into them during my typical round of conferences and workshops and other poverty events. There were too many to mention individually but a common theme among them struck me. First, they often wondered when IRP affiliates would sit around and just chat, or brainstorm, or exchange ideas. Brainstorm, that must be a personal vice peculiar to foreign universities. It struck me that no one had time to properly take care of their personal hygiene never mind sitting around chatting. Apparently, our foreign peers find the time. I could only wish we did. Culturally, I do belong in Europe.
A favorite story of mine came from a casual one-on-one I had with a visiting economist from Poland. Being of Polish extraction myself (on my mother’s side), I was curious about his background, and how Poland had emerged from Soviet domination. So, one day I asked him about that. It turned out that he had been in the thick of things as the Solidarity movement unfolded, the first act in the final fall of Communism. He was a prominent member of a group of academic dissidents who were in support of the Solidarity labor movement. He knew he was under surveillance and worried each day that his freedom would come to a swift end.
One day, he was alone making copies of some statement that would be distributed later by members of the movement. If I recall correctly, he mentioned using a mimeograph machine, remember those? In any case, he heard the outside door burst open and the heavy boots of the police rushing up the stairs. There was no mistaking the sound, his time had come. They burst in and pointed their guns at him. He wondered at that moment if he might be executed on the spot. Rather, they took him off to be “interrogated.” He felt certain he would either rot in prison or perhaps even “disappear” in a more final way. To his surprise, he was released not long after.
Later, he learned that his fellow academics got in touch with those lawyers who were part of the movement when his detention became known. These were difficult times and his plight was very uncertain. It turned out that Polish lawyers had formed a labor union of sorts as part of the Solidarity movement. They banded together to surround the building where he was being kept and interrogated. If he “disappeared” it would not be in silence nor without witnesses. As an organized force, they put such pressure on the government that his continued incarceration might prove too inconvenient. He was released.
“Lawyers!” I exclaimed in disbelief. “My wife has a law degree and I know a bunch of them in this country. You mean they helped without being paid? I am positive they would first demand a hefty retainer here.” Despite my effort to lighten the mood, I knew I was talking to a brave man who tested his beliefs and convictions in a far more compelling way than I would ever be required to do. I felt humbled.
Then there was the story of Luke Geohegan. I was asked one day if I would be a mentor for a Harkness fellow who was interested in social policy. The Harkness fellow program sent mid and early-career professionals to the States for educational and relationship-building purposes. This was a request that had come through the School of Social Work as I recall. He and his family would spend six months at the university. Sure, there was always room to squeeze in one more task. When the time came I was supposed to fly to Pittsburgh for an event where all the new Harkness fellows were to meet their mentors. I was so slammed at the time I begged off, which did not help my guilt level that always was at a high level. One late Friday afternoon, there was knock on my office door and there stood a dark-haired young man with a broad smile and a decidedly British accent. It took a second and then it hit me…oh, my mentee!
Over the next six months, my wife and I became good friends with Luke and his wife, Charis. Like all Brits, it seems, he came across as intelligent with a very droll wit and an easy manner. He did not quite look British, and it did turn out that his mother was from India. Like most foreign visitors, he was rather shocked at how undeveloped our safety net was and how negative the typical American was to the plight of the disadvantaged. He visited social agencies while here and attended my policy class which he complained was scheduled at an ungodly hour of the morning. I did make it to the wrap-up session for the fellows in Texas where he and I made remarks to the larger group.
We stayed in touch after his return. He later became a member of the clergy in the Church of England and assumed several high positions in various service agencies. I took note that he became the warden, head person, of Toynbee Hall, the prototype for settlement houses in the nineteenth century that later spread across the U.S. He suggested Mary and I spend some time there but, to my regret, we never made that work. During his tenure as warden, Prime Minister Tony Blair used Toynbee Hall as a venue to make a speech announcing a war on child poverty in the U.K. We continued to see each other when he visited Hull House in Chicago or when we got over to the U.K. One of his children now works for the royal family but I forget in what capacity. This was a connection I have always treasured.
While IRP provided me with a marvelous sheltered workshop through which to ply my craft, there are two areas in which I may have made some small contribution to the institution. When I arrived at IRP, there was no relationship with the state of Wisconsin. IRP might well have been located near Salumbar, India (my old Peace Corps site) as far as Wisconsin State government was concerned. The Welfare Reform Study group that Mary Ann Cook roped me into in 1977 proved the first substantive oppo
rtunity for IRP affiliates to become involved in Wisconsin issues. Out of that flowed the extensive child support work, the involvement with the legislature in developing the Work Experience and Job Training pilot program, a survey project called the Wisconsin Basic Needs Study, an evaluation of a pilot State health insurance concept, and extensive work with the development of the State’s first one-stop agency in Kenosha. By the mid-1980s, more than a few affiliates were involved with the state and there were several IRP-Wisconsin contracts.
Everything was looking up until the election of Tommy Thompson as governor. Relations quickly soured after that. This did not interfere much with my work, or that of Mike Wiseman, with the various county agencies we were helping. These locals were rather perplexed about the whole situation, wondering aloud why the governor hated us so much since we were helping locals implement parts of his agenda. Good relations with locals continued despite a visible increase in tensions with the state powers as the Thompson administration settled in. The state had agreed in principle to financially support the continued work of Mike Wiseman and myself in Kenosha County. Suddenly, however, I was having all kinds of trouble getting a signed contract out of them.
I knew that Mike was getting nervous and so I called my state contacts one Friday afternoon to get a status update. State officials were still raising nitpicky issues but, considering the overall tone, I remained confident we would be all right in the end. I had never failed before. Still, I thought it best to let Mike know what was going on and called over to the LaFollette Institute of Public Affairs which was located right across the street. I tried to sound upbeat as I told him of the most recent delay. There was silence on the line. “Come over,” he finally commanded icily. By this time, I knew Mike’s temperament and thought, This is not good.
I slowly, very slowly, walked across Observatory Drive, so named for the former observatory that yet adorns the highest point on campus. I think Mike was already on the third page of a scorching letter to the secretary of Health and Family Services, Tim Cullen. He was a former Democratic legislator that Tommy lured from the State Senate either in the spirit of bi-partisanship or to take one more Senate seat from the Democratic side of the ledger. Both theories were circulating at the time. Mike said that as soon as he finished his written tirade we were going up to the other end of State Street and sit in the Secretary’s office until he agreed to see us.
Oh, no, I said to myself. I had visions of what would happen. Mike would storm in and demand to be seen. Secretary Cullen, not nearly as impressed with the credentials of any academic as the academics in question were of their own, would probably call security and have us thrown out on our behinds. This probably would result in a severe case of brain damage for me, always a concern. It took me the rest of the afternoon to convince him to wait until Monday morning, by which time he had cooled down. Fortunately, my minimal optimism proved correct and I soon managed to pry a contract out of them.
Relations clearly were on a downward spiral though. The breaking point would come with Irv Garfinkel’s effort to pilot the child support Assured Benefit (AB) guarantee. The governor had appointed Jim Meier to head the key division through which we would have to work if the AB pilot programs were to be tested as planned. As mentioned earlier, this was Garfinkel’s pet dream and everything was set to go. We had federal waivers, Foundation help, state legislative support, and two counties willing to try it. One of the counties was Dane, where Madison is situated and where Carol Lobes, a good friend of mine, headed the human services agency. Child Support, in addition, was a special interest of Tom Loftus, Democratic leader in the assembly and the most likely gubernatorial opponent for Tommy in the next election. Jim obviously knew of his boss’s feelings and, as a former County Child Support attorney, also had set ideas about any kind of assured child support benefit. He thought the concept a big pile of doggie doo-doo.
I assumed we were dead in the water. Irv, though, was not likely to give up, so I played the good soldier. At first, the IRP-State relationship was not quite dead but obviously on life support, no real need quite yet to put a fork in the turkey to see if it were finally done. We were getting closer though. One day, I was asked to accompany Jim Meier, Mark Hoover (the State Department’s budget wizard), and a representative from the governor’s office to visit the federal regional office in Chicago. I don’t recall the details but there was an apparent dispute about how federal child support pass-through dollars might be used for the pilots.
My recollection is that they originally asked Sheldon Danziger to go as director of IRP. That was probably protocol given the rank of the state people. “No way,” said Sheldon, “Corbett, you go.” I always had this feeling of being expendable. We used a state car for the trip, but I ended up driving. Good idea, I thought, they are less likely to attack me physically if I am in control of the car, just out of self-preservation. I must say, though, the drive down was frosty, but absent any outright physical hostility. I couldn’t quite shake several scenes from the Godfather trilogy where the mobsters would take their intended victim for his last ride.
The meeting with the regional federal officials went as I expected…poorly. If you are trying something new, and IRP often pushed the envelope, you should never work with the regional federal officials. They will say no, since saying yes is more risk-taking and dangerous. They were particularly obnoxious on this day. I recall posing a hypothetical at one point and getting the response that they don’t deal with hypothetical situations. I called this version of federal behavior, which I had seen before, the Woody Woodpecker effect. When you posed a question, their heads would bob up and down into the federal regulations where they would always come up with some justification to turn you down. The up-and-down motion reminded me of the woodpecker attacking a tree. I must admit I did not run into this effect with the people I worked with in Washington. I suppose that is why they had regional offices, to do the nasty jobs and protect them from befuddled academics.
On the way back to Madison, the mood in the car had changed dramatically. They were so appalled by the rigid, bureaucratic demeanor of the feds that they suddenly saw me as an ally. The banter back and forth was now light and friendly. At one point, Jim Meier, who was seated next to me, said with a big smile, “Tom, I bet you have seen assholes like me come and go.” I paused for a moment, but my darn wit got the better of me once again. “No, Jim, not like you, you are the biggest one I have ever seen.” But I said it with a smile! A moment of regret was followed by relief as everyone in the car gave out with a hearty laugh. It was a moment of levity that was not to last long.
Tensions between Irv and Jim continued to escalate. At one point, Jim lost his temper and grabbed Irv’s tie, there was some concerns about physical conflict. Despite all the work that had gone into the pilots, there was no way to get around the hostility within state government. The concept would die a slow death. A few years later, Jim Meier was being considered for an appointed position that would require legislative assent and thus required a public hearing. Irv by then held a faculty position at Columbia University in New York. He flew back to Madison to testify personally that Jim was temperamentally unsuited for this appointment. Feelings ran deep.
All State-IRP contracts were to disappear except for the child support research and analysis work. That effort initially was launched under the agreement Sherwood Zink and I had negotiated years earlier. It was later revamped by Maria Cancian and Dan Meyer, who have headed that initiative for many years now. That child support work survived my Learnfare testimony before Moynihan’s sub-committee, the agonizing demise of the AB pilot initiative, and all the other hostilities associated with our atrocious relationship with the governor. I suspect it survived because the staff in the state child support bureaucracy wanted the work done. In addition, Maria and Dan probably were viewed as relatively apolitical while I was the son of Satan. More to the point, the two of them did not pop-up in the media all the time. Thank God the child support research survived
since it became the foundation for a deeper relationship when the cold war thawed some decade or so down the road.
When the thaw did come, it might have started with a series of small steps. Gerald Whitburn, the secretary of the key state bureaucracy, got in touch with me on several occasions. Once, he called me at home at 10:00 PM on a Friday night to talk about a book he had just finished. I thought his choice of literature rather strange for a Republican appointee. It was Francis Fox-Piven’s quite radical treatise on welfare as a sop to the poor to prevent the radical uprising society really needed. Another time he called to see if I would write an editorial on some child support topic. I was happy to oblige though I cannot recall if it ever was published. A third call was to have lunch with him at the Madison Club, an exclusive eatery where the downtown power brokers meet. The food was good but the discussion apparently forgettable since it is long gone from memory. Finally, he called to have a meeting on some other child support issues. I brought Dan Meyer with me since I was moving on to other issues (I still had the attention span of a gnat) while Dan, along with Maria Cancian, had already taken over the reins on all things child support. The secretary did have his idiosyncrasies. Though I explained the rationale for Dan’s presence, he acted as if Dan were not even in the room, physically positioning himself to exclude Dan from the conversation. It was awkward in the extreme.
