Chapter 7

After the sandwiches were served, and as things at the big table quieted down, Chet said to me, “This is your idea, so I’ll let you introduce it to everyone.”

I took one more bite of the delicious bacon, lettuce, tomato, and mayo sandwich, and held up an index finger to the group while I finished chewing, swallowing, and sipping from the fresh-squeezed, sweet but perfectly tart lemonade.

“Okay, it’s like this,” I began. “Chet and I were trying to figure out what we’d have to do to prevent Community Mental Health from being -- essentially -- sold to MH Unlimited and keep it under the County, when it dawned on me that there was a good deal of absurdity in that effort.” At that point, I was gesturing with my hands like I was revealing some mysterious object to them. “We were doing our damnedest to keep Community Mental Health under the thumb of Burt Rauch, the very guy who was trying to, if not destroy it, at least cripple it. I realized that was a pretty absurd scenario.”

I took another sip of the lemonade, then picked up my thread. “I mean, I’ll grant that MH Unlimited is not really a viable alternative, but it struck me that delivering Mental Health back into Burt’s clutches seemed somehow to be jumping out of the fire only to land back in the frying pan.

“Then I flashed briefly on the idea that we had used a few days ago, when we hoodwinked Burt and MHU into thinking that Developing Abilities was interested in bidding on Community Mental Health. At that point, I began to wonder if maybe we should actually consider contracting Community Mental Health services with Developing Abilities.

“Then a further thought crossed my mind: What if we took the entire County Health Service, all of the service teams, and incorporated it as a non-profit organization, possibly in association with Developing Abilities.”

Terry asked, “Even Public Health?”

“Sure, why not? I admit it bucks tradition, but some counties contract out some of their Public Health services. Why not all of them?”

“Okay, I guess,” she said. “It’s just something I never even thought about.”

Chet said, “That’s why we’re here, to think about a really monumental and crucial idea. And, I have to say, there is no right or wrong decision, nor do we all have to decide the same thing, nor are we expecting to decide it today. You’ll probably want to talk to your teams about it, in any case. As an overall consideration, we may argue about the idea, but no one gets to dictate another team’s final decision.”

I added, “Just ask your folks to keep the idea under their hat. If possible, we’d like to not have to deal with Burt until we’ve made a decision.”

Terry asked, “Is this something we have to decide today?”

“No,” Chet said. “And maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. I was thinking we might explore the idea in general, just as a concept, which is why we invited Missus Deveaux and Mister Winstead. Has everyone met them?”

Greta said, “I’ve never met Mister Winstead, but I know he’s the business manager or whatever they call his job over at Developing Abilities.”

Chet said, “Maybe we should have started with this, but let’s do a quick round of self-introductions. I’m Chet Weaver, the Administrator of the Coldwater County Heath and Human Services.”

“I’m Gary Mazur, the Clinical Director.”

“I’m Greta Mazur, Team Manager for Community Mental Health.”

“Liz Garrison, Manager of the Administrative Services Team.”

“I’m your hostess, Louise Plummer, and I’m a substitute elementary school teacher.” I was mildly surprised to find that Louise, unnoticed, had sat down with us. “My husband, Tate, is the Sheriff and is running for reelection. Please vote for him.” Then she smiled primly at us.

Everyone grinned at her. I chuckled and Margaret said, “As always, you present a wonderful meal, Louise. Thank you.”

Chet added our thanks, then said, “Terry?”

“What? Oh. I’m Terry Sloan, Public Health Team Manager.”

“I’m Juanita Bradley. I’m team manager of the recently renamed Behavioral Health Services, formerly known as Substance Abuse Rehabilitation.”

Lydia gave a casual salute, “Lydia Grossman. I haven’t mentioned this to you, yet, Margaret, but we’re probably going to change our team’s name, too. It will be the Cognitive Health Service.”

Deveaux, nodding, said, “I like that. I like the change to Behavioral Health, too. The names feel more affirmative.” Then she looked at the forty something, somewhat balding man next to her. “Ben?”

He nodded. “I’m Ben Winstead and I’m the Chief Financial Officer for Developing Abilities, Incorporated.”

“And I’m Margaret Deveaux, the Chief Executive Officer of the not-for-profit corporation, Developing Abilities, Incorporated. We provide a wide range of education, training, and support services to individuals who are dealing with, uh, unusual or alternate constructs in their learning abilities.” She looked at us with a wry expression and a head shake as she finished, then went on, with restrained vehemence.

“Every year, it seems, my explanation for what we do becomes more convoluted as we strive to become ever more stringently politically correct. The problem, in essence, is that the PC adherents require that we describe even the most debilitating conditions as some form of alternate normality, exceptional conditions that are redefined as the ‘unusual usual’. Their purpose seems to be to make sure no one’s feelings are hurt, no matter life’s realities.”

Silence reigned, as this was a notable departure from Margaret’s customary poised and measured demeanor.

Finally, Louise asked, “Margaret, are you okay? Can I get you something. Ibuprofen? Some scotch?”

With a sheepish smile, Margaret wearily shook her head. “No, thank you, Louise. I apologize to all of you. Perhaps you’ve seen the news item about the young man with an IQ of fifty-three whom the state of Texas intends to execute for murder. As it happens, I’m personally familiar with that young man from an internship in graduate school. They might as well be executing a five year old. I’m afraid the situation has been wearing on me.” She sighed heavily and was looking down at the table.

Then she raised her head, adding, “Please don’t think that I meant to say anything negative about the name changes to your service teams. I really do like the new approach, pitching everything as a health service. And the descriptive titles -- Behavioral and Cognitive -- seem, at least to me, more inclusive and accurate, and certainly less stigmatizing, so, no, I wasn’t referring to that, at all. That fits well with the mental health and public health theme. I really do like it.”

Chet said, “We were led into our name changes by a bit of PC pressure, but it turned out to make more sense: that was the trend to refer to substance abuse rehab programs as behavioral health services. After we made that change, then Lydia immediately suggested we try to find something more fitting than Developmental Disabilities Habilitation. So we bounced some ideas around and came up with Cognitive Health. It seemed more inviting and not so focused on the deficits.”

Lydia said, “Yeah, I’ve always been a bit envious of the name of your program, Developing Abilities. It always struck me as a great name to pull out of the standard concept of developmental disabilities. But now, with the notion of cognitive health, I feel more in tune with that type of approach.”

Chet said, “Well, let’s get back to the topic that Gary introduced, the possibility of taking the health services private and maybe associating it with Developing Abilities.” He turned to me. “Did you have anything to add, Gary?”

“Just this: I’m not saying that it’s something we ought to do, nor how it might be done. All I’m saying is that I think it’s an idea that we should consider very seriously.”

“Okay, good,” Chet said. “How about this? Let’s look at this from the top down, look at the big picture. So, answer this: does anyone, at first blush, think that taking the Health Services private is something we absolutely shouldn’t do, shouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, no matter how we arrange it? And I include Margaret, Ben, and Louise in that question.”

We all looked around, but no one said anything or gave any other indication.

“Then let’s switch it up. By a show of hands, who thinks this might be a better way of doing things, just in and of itself, without considering, for the moment, whether we can make a relatively smooth transition? In fact, for purposes of addressing just my question, let’s assume we can make a smooth transition. I don’t mean a completely unchallenging transition, just one that we can manage without damaging ourselves and our services. Who would be interested, then?”

I put my hand up, as did Greta, Lydia, Liz, and Nita, as did Louise. Terry raised her hand, though with less certainty. Margaret and Ben made no motion.

Chet asked them, “What about you two?”

“We weren’t sure our opinions were valid in that one,” Margaret replied.

“Sure they are. We’re just ball-parkin’ here, not signing contracts. You two probably know more about the private side than we do, so your opinions count.”

She said, “Okay, then,” and they both raised their hands.

Chet looked at Terry. “I realize you’re not certain if it’s a good idea, Terry. That’s okay. At least we know you’re considering the possibility.”

“It’s actually more than that,” she said. “I like the idea, it’s just that ... I feel like a first-time ice skater, and I’m afraid to let go of the wall.”

Greta said, “You’re not the only one. This feels like jumping off the high board.”

“Same here,” Nita added.

Liz said, “It wasn’t that many years ago when Community Mental Health, Developmental Disabilities, and the substance abuse programs were in precisely the opposite situation, independent agencies that were about to be swallowed by the County. It was a done deal by the time I switched over, but I know everyone was pretty nervous about that one, too.” In fact, the DD case management services had been provided by an agency not unlike MH Unlimited, but it had been a legitimate non-profit that had to shut down as a result of the same Wall Street banking debacle that had done in the other local programs.

“Let’s face it,” I said, “life is about change and change almost always feels risky. That’s just how it is for human beings. We don’t like feeling uncertain or in possible jeopardy. Nonetheless, things change all the time. We just never get used to it.”

Chet said, “Let’s talk about this in more concrete terms, see of we can’t get a handle on things. For purposes of the discussion, we’ll assume we’re going to separate from the county, and let’s see what sort of actual problems we’d face.

“For a baseline, we’ll assume that we will continue to occupy our current facilities, but that the county’s budget support will become an in-kind contribution that relieves us of having to pay rent.” An “in-kind” contribution is one in which, instead of contributing cash toward your operating budget, the contributor provides you with some service, facilities, supplies or other materiel support necessary to your operation. What Chet was suggesting, as we’d discussed earlier, was that the county would provide office space in lieu of the cash that was in our current budget and which we returned to them as rent. “So,” he said, “with that in mind, what are your thoughts?”

“Health insurance,” Liz said. “That’s the big one that’s worried me since Gary first mentioned this. We are charged by the County against our payroll, but the health insurance premiums are going to be hard to beat, or even equal, for the coverage we have, if we go it on our own.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but I knew that health insurance coverage and costs could be a bear to wrestle with and that the County’s plan was pretty good.

I looked at Margaret. “What do you guys do?”

Margaret looked at Ben and said, “You want to take this?”

“Sure,” he said. “Liz is right. Health insurance is a big deal. And the County employee coverage is pretty sweet. You’ve got pretty tight out-of-pocket limits and it includes eye exams and corrective lenses every two years. It’s that quality of coverage that’s going to be hard to duplicate.

“The other coverage problem will be malpractice insurance. With the county, you have some liability limits because of the qualified immunity law. You’ll lose that as a private corporation. Admittedly, most non-profit service agencies aren’t a big risk-management liability in relative terms, but you’ll still be paying a premium that you don’t have now.”

“So what do you do?” I asked.

“We purchase our all of our insurance, including health, through our membership in the Public Services NPO Credit Union. And, for the price, I think our health coverage is even better than the County’s. For one thing, we have coverage for an annual dental exam, including X-rays and up to two fillings, for a co-pay that is limited to fifty dollars, if you need the two fillings. For just the exam, cleaning, and x-rays, the co-pay is fifteen dollars, and our monthly family premium is only six dollars more than the County’s.

“Our eye-care coverage is the same as the County’s, which purchases its insurance through the state-wide League of Counties. But I think the Credit Union’s policy is more closely managed, which helps keep the premiums under control. The League of Counties contracts out its management, while the Credit Union keeps it in-house.

“The only thing is, in order for an agency to qualify for participation, more than half the employees must be credit union members and have minimum one hundred dollar accounts.”

The discussion ranged over these types of questions and concerns for the next half hour.

Finally, Greta asked, “What about us joining up with you guys? I could see it being not just more economical, but it would present a more formidable political stance, too.”

Looking from Greta to Margaret, Chet interjected, “Before you answer that, Margaret, I think we need to acknowledge that, when it comes to political, uh, wherewithal (In my mind, I knew Chet had found a more polite way to say “influence.”), you have it all over us. Our political footprint is based mostly of the number of our staff and the size of our operating budget. You, on the other hand, have personal and professional contacts who know you and respect your opinion. Still, even though that scale would balance heavily in your favor, combining forces would not, I think, detract from that, and likely increase your influence, especially in Coldwater County itself.”

“True enough,” Margaret acknowledged. “But I’d also add the advanced degrees, professional status, and income levels of the staff, including the skill set and payroll for the administrative support personnel are basically an undervalued political determinant.”

Sounding annoyed, Greta said, “Okay, okay, I didn’t mean that we could sway elections or push bills through the legislature. I just meant that, as a general rule, we’d be stronger as a single agency than as two, somewhat competitive programs.”

Chet jumped in again. “Competitive? How do you see that? We don’t go after the same fund sources.”

Margaret said, “To a large degree, you’re both right. But, while we don’t have the same sources in the state budget, when we go to the County for matching funds, we’re going to look like competitors. It would be the same with public fund-raising campaigns.”

“Alright, okay. I see what you mean.” Then he looked at his watch. “We need to be getting back to the ranch, boys and girls. We’ll pick this up again at Management Team on Thursday.”

Greta complained, “Margaret hasn’t answered my question.”

“I’m not prepared to answer it, Greta. There are important issues that would need to be resolved before it would even be feasible.”

Greta, nor known for her patience, gave Margaret a sour look.

Chet said, “Louise, thank you for your kind hospitality,” and he stood up and picked up his plate and glass.

At that signal, we all stood and began gathering our plates and glasses. Louise said, “Oh, just leave all that.”

Chet replied, “We will. We’ll leave it in the sink.”

Margaret said, “Chet, there are a couple important administrative questions you need to think about. You, too, Gary. Could you hang around for a couple minutes?”

Chet looked at me and I nodded. He turned to Margaret and said, “Sure.”

I nudged him and said, “Stack your plate on mine and give me the glasses.” Ben did the same for Margaret and, while they sat back down, Ben and I took the dishes to the sink.

At the sink, I asked, “Do you know what she’s thinking about?”

“She hasn’t told me, but at least one thing is rather obvious. If our programs were to merge, we’d be top-heavy with brass -- talented people, but some of it purely ornamental.”

Shit, I thought, he’s exactly right. Too many cooks for the number of soup pots. Fuck.

As we walked back to the table, I heard Chet saying, “You’d make better use of Gary than of me.” I stopped behind him and put my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me and said, “Margaret was explaining that she pretty much fills both of our roles at Developing Abilities herself and that we’d add too much admin-level staff if we joined up. I’m not desperate to work. I’ve got my Navy pension and you ride heard on that bunch better than I ever could.”

“Maybe so, but it’s because you catch all the shit coming down the chute and let the gang do the work they were hired to do. You’re excellent in that role. If I had to do it, I’d be facing assault charges before the week was out. Besides, I have two women to support me.”

Margaret said, “Alright, enough of the Mutual Admiration Society. Both of you are excellent in your roles. But, at best, we could only take one of you on board a combined agency.”

“I could go back to clinical services. I’m great in community support and in crisis services,” I protested.

“True enough,” Margaret said. “But I’m stronger in administrative skills and you’re better than me in clinical management. Much as it would pain me to make the choice between the two of you, I’d rather have you, Gary, just for the strength of the internal structure. I can take care of the shit chute and the less vulgar admin roles.”

“She’s right, Gary,” Chet said. “You’ve got a fine appreciation of what it’s like in the trenches and you know that it isn’t your job to tell them how do the work, but to facilitate what they already know how to do.”

I dropped into a chair and looked forlornly from Chet to Margaret. “This isn’t how I visualized it when I came up with the idea.”

“Man plans and the gods laugh,” Margaret said.

“What about Liz Garrison? Who manages your office now?” I asked.

“That would be me,” Ben replied. “But, if this came about, I wouldn’t have time for it, so I, for one, wouldn’t mind if Liz took over that part of my job.”

Chet stood up. “Thanks, Margaret. You too, Ben. C’mon, Gary. We’ve got lots to think about.”

I’d told Greta I’d ride with Chet.

I slid into the passenger seat and buckled up. I looked at him, as he negotiated Tate and Louise’s driveway. “Chet, I never envisioned that this might cost one of us our job. What I wanted was to keep things pretty much exactly the same, and to see if Margaret wanted to link up with us that way.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t want to do it any other way.” I was whining. Or whingeing, as the Brits call it. “First off, I don’t want to get stuck with any of the admin crap that you’re responsible for. Secondly, you’re too good a boss not to want to work for you, no matter what we’d be doing. So we need another plan.”

“I might have another plan. But we need to decide some things, first.”

“Like what?”

“Like, if push came to shove, could you work for Margaret?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Would you find it onerous to work for Margaret Deveaux in roughly the same type of job you have now.”

“Probably not. I’ve never thought about it. I pictured you as being a buffer between me and her.”

“Then without me as a buffer.”

In fact, Margaret Deveaux had a reputation for running a smart, hospitable outfit. Lydia Grossman had nothing but good to say about her. It’s why we went to her in the first place, when we were trying to manipulate Burt and MHU.

“I suppose, but it wouldn’t be my preference.”

“Don’t want a woman boss?”

“That’s not it. I’ve had women bosses before, even Greta, for a while. It’s six of one, half dozen of another. It’s just that, right now, doing what we’re doing, I like working with you.”

“Yeah, I got that part. That’s the reality, but it’s not what we’re talking about. Just try to keep up. So, you wouldn’t mind working for Margaret?”

“If everything I’ve heard is true, it sounds like she’d be a good boss. She certainly runs a good program, and we’ve never hired anyone away from her, though she’s hired a couple from us. Her folks seem happy.”

“Good then,” he said.

“Good then? The hell that’s supposed to mean? What kind of plan do you have in mind?”

He smiled thinly as we drove into the parking lot. “A plan where everybody gets what they want.” Then, after he parked the car, he turned to me and said, “I think our best bet is with Margaret. She’s smart, she’s honest, she knows the score, and she knows how to deal with people.” He paused, then said, “Plus, I think she’s looking for something more challenging; she’s pretty much taken her programs as far as they can go, for a rural county.” He paused again, this time nodding. Then he sort of pointed at me and said, “So I want you to put together a budget, just a straight-line projection from where we are in the new fiscal year. Include both of us in it. Work with Liz, because it will be admin services where we’ll be weak, so that will have to be beefed up.” He paused again, then said, “Those were darn good BLTs.”

“She mixes onion powder into the mayo,” I said.

I set the platter of milk-braised fried chicken on the table and sat down with Emily and Greta. Greta took up the bowl of mashed potatoes while I offered to serve the chicken pieces to them myself.

“That all came out of nowhere, didn’t it?” Emily asked. “This morning, no one was even contemplating that idea, and now you’re working up budget proposals. What happened?”

“Bright boy, here,” Greta replied, hooking a thumb toward me. “He decided that a third, much more complex solution had to be added to the mix.”

“You don’t like the idea?” I asked her.

“Of course I like the idea. Most of your ideas are good ideas. But if I quit complaining about them, how would you know that I still loved you?”

“Oh, let me count the ways,” I said, licking my lips and rubbing my hands together.

“Seriously, though,” Emily said, not wanting to get side-tracked, “this is a freakin’ big idea to come up as a wild hair, and to have the entire Center get into a turmoil over it.”

“But you can’t deny it makes sense,” I countered.

“No, no, I’m not saying that. Do you think its realistic, though? After all, they couldn’t manage mental health and substance abuse as separate agencies, before, not when the big banks and brokers had their little ‘oopsie.’ That’s how the county ended up inheriting the three non-profits.”

“Yeah, but on the other hand, I’m not sure Community Mental Health can survive with Burt’s off-and-on fire sale. The way I figure, it’s one thing to just argue against it with the commissioners, but it’s another thing entirely to offer them an alternate plan.”

Greta said, “But what about what Margaret said there, right at the end, that it would be top-heavy with managers. Did she mean you or Chet?”

I sighed and took a bite of the potatoes and milk gravy before answering. “She said, from her perspective, she could see me being of more value than Chet.”

Emily said, “Well that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

I looked at her, shaking my head. “No, it isn’t. Chet’s the one who’s seen us through this past crazy year. He’s the one who’s set things up so that it’s possible to consider a move like this. He’ll be the one who can talk the commissioners into it.”

“So what’ll you do?” Emily asked.

“I don’t know.”

“How does Chet feel about it?”

“That’s the thing. He doesn’t seem all that bothered by it.”

(Tuesday, June 23)

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 24

My phone was playing the double beep of an in-house call as I unlocked my office door the next morning.

“Health Services, this is Gary.”

“Lunch today, eleven thirty, I’ll pick you up.” It was Tate.

“Okay, but I want a Whopper Junior.”

“We’ll see. No promises. And no whining. See you later.” And he hung up. What the hell was that all about? I guess I’d find out.

I spent the morning assembling budget material. Then I spent some time with Liz, trying to determine what the County provided that we’d have to do for ourselves. Come to find out, there was surprisingly little. Most of what Burt did for us was slapping a cover letter on our paperwork and stuffing it into an envelope for mailing, either to other county offices or to state agencies. Both from her experience in the administrator’s office and that in her current position, Liz was pretty much on top of everything that had to happen. The only problem was that she would need some help in doing all of it.

As 11:30 rolled around, I said to Liz, “I’ve got a lunch appointment. How ‘bout we pick this up after lunch?”

Looking puzzled, she said, “The message I received was that I was to join you for lunch at eleven thirty. Aren’t you expecting me to join you?”

“Tate called me. Is that who called you?”

“Yes, but he said it was your idea to invite me, and you wanted me to bring those emails we found.”

“I did, huh? Okay, this has gotten a little weirder than it started out. But whatever, let’s see what he wants, though I need to make a pit stop.”

“Me too,” she said. Meet you down at the entrance?”

“See you in a few.”

Right at 11:30, the two of us walked out the door into the parking lot to see a Sheriff’s Department Tahoe, not Tate’s usual musty old Crown Vic, with Tate at the wheel. We walked up and I opened the door and said to Liz, “Go ahead, ride in front. I’ll feel safer behind the cage.”

After I closed the door behind her, I got in the back and effectively locked myself in, because there weren’t any door openers on the inside. A steel mesh screen separated the back compartment, with clear acrylic across the upper half, shielding occupants of the front seat from liquids. The back seat itself was uncushioned plastic.

I asked, “Where’s your beater?”

“Jerry was training the new guy in the jail, so I borrowed this.”

Tate greeted Liz, then said to me, “Just hold your questions, Gary. We have to be there by noon. Liz, it’s going to be a drive-through lunch. What’s your pleasure?”

“Oh,” she shrugged. “I guess In-N-Out.”

“Gary? You want me to swing through Burger King?”

“Okay, now you’re scaring me, Tate. But no. One lunch line is enough. I’ll live with In-N-Out.”

Liz looked over her shoulder at me, through the screens. “You don’t like In-N-Out?”

“It’s okay, just not my favorite. But a better question is, ‘What the hell’s going on, Tate?’”

He reached up onto the dashboard and retrieved two folded sheets of heavy-stock paper with printed headings and handed them to Liz. She looked at them and I could see that they were some type of official form. As she read one, she held the other angled toward me. She partially turned toward me, and said, “These are subpoenas, for you and me to testify before a state grand jury.”

“Yeah,” Tate added. “Today, at Kingston, at fourteen hundred this afternoon. That OCI sergeant -- remember Zack Poitier? -- is sending a plane. We have to be at the airport at noon.” He glanced at Liz. “Did you bring those emails?”

She nodded, patting her purse. “Both printouts and on a flash drive.”

It took a couple seconds for my brain to re-engage the right gears. “What’s it about?” I asked.

“Your pal, Burt Rauch and his buddies.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Why? Did you think that they found out about your kiddie porn collection?”

“No, I was worried you were under investigation for fishing story perjury. When did this all start?”

“Your lawyer girlfriend threw you to the wolves and I reckon the Attorney General decided to wrap this one up before it gummed up the new fiscal year.”

“This is government work; nothing is supposed to move that fast.”

“What can I tell you? Maybe Poitier is sweet on your girlfriend, too. You might have a rival there.”

“Okay, okay, I hear your girlfriend references. For the record, I protest. She’s not my girlfriend.” Then I whined, “Please stop saying that or I’m gonna tell my Mommy.” I paused, then added, “Are you happy now?”

“Well, if you’re going to be a poor sport about it,” he retorted.

“I am.” Then I turned toward Liz. “Liz, could I see my subpoena, please? Maybe they misspelled my name or something.”