The Beginning of the End, part 3

After that fated in-service, we all made our way back up to our respective units to resume our staff meetings. Echoing in all our heads were Mr. Brayhill's final words, "Typical group home bullshit," which made us realize that neither the group homes nor their employees were anywhere near the Administration's top priorities.

As we settled into our seats, our unit's House Supervisor, Yolanda said, "So, someone from the Administration is supposed to come up and join us to help us talk about our feelings regarding the cuts in benefits. I think it's Pete Post who's coming to join us."

Gus said, "Talk about our feelings? What does that mean? Does that mean we get any say in the budget cuts?"

"No, said Yolanda. "All that's a done deal."

"Is anything we say gonna make any difference at all in the decision making process?"

"No."

"Then can we tell him to kiss our black asses and get the hell outta here? I mean, we got important work to do and he wants to come up here and waste our time talking bout, 'Oh you gotta talk about your feelings.' What the fuck for, they don't give a shit anyway."

"Well, you can tell him to kiss your ass if you want, that's what everyone's thinking anyway."

Pete Post was walking down the path to our unit. Pete Post is now in charge of hiring and training new staff. He's a youngish guy, about 26. His typical work outfit, and this day was no different, is this: a blue or purple longsleeve button down shirt with a purple, squared off, knit cotton tie from the early 80's, tight black jeans hiked up above his navel and revealing his black socks, and black Converse lowtops. Ever since he started doing the Clinical Director, Janette Stankin, his ass and his waistline has been expanding. (Janette is known for her wonderful cheesecakes, and from the looks of things, Pete has indulged in more than a few.) Still, Pete wears the same pants as he did 5 years ago, so as his waist expands, his pants get tighter and higher. He is, in fact, working on his own male cameltoe. He can be seen during the lunch hour walking up and down our expansive driveway either talking or singing to himself, eyes barely open, with a half grin on his face. He has a way of talking to people which at once confuses them and also places him on the technical crew of his high school drama department, the kind of guy who probably repeated Monty Python skits ad nauseum in a bad British accent. In other words, Pete Post is a top-tier dweeb. He sat down with us and began.

"May I assume that there is a general feeling of negativity, which although understandable, and yet in my opinion possible to overcome, is pervasive, something to which the present company all subscribe?" He had is elbows on the table, tapping his fingertips together in a show of thoughtfulness.

Gus turned to me. "The fuck he say?"

Now I suppose one of the things that makes me a good counselor is my ability to understand many different forms of communication. I'm able to easily relate to many different types of people, from the MIT computer nerd to the hardened ghetto dweller.

I said, "He's asking if everybody thinks the Administration is fucking us over."

"Tell him we said, 'Hell yes.'"

Pete went on. "These current changes are indeed lamentable, however, there are other program adjustments to which we can look forward in a positive light. I am referring to my own personal philosophy that the last thing our charges need is for us to repeat the abusive patterns to which they may account their tenure here. I, and a few other administrators are excited at the prospect of creating a program in which we no longer put hands on the kids unless it is an absolute necessity. Imagine the increased amount of respect the children would ascribe to us under such a program adjustment."

Yolanda was irritated. "Pete, you been talking about that for a year now, don't no one agree with you and I'll be damned if anyone in this room agrees with you now. If you want to make some positive changes, you should think about how you gonna recruit some staff members who are gonna stay long enough to learn the job and earn the kids' trust. I don't know where you be pickin up these new staff, but some don't even speak English well enough to talk to the kids, some don't seem to be trained to know when it's time to put hands on. That's one of the reasons staff be getting hurt on the job. Sometimes I think you be telling new staff to never put hands on, and putting us veteran staff in danger when you know some new staff not gonna help you out when things get physical."

Pete said, "My usual mantra regarding that kind of statement bears repeating, I think. And that is: I am always open to suggestions and ideas when it comes to recruiting new staff."

I felt compelled to add my two cents. "Dude, do you ever go to those college job fairs? I'm sure you could find some competent psychology majors who could help us out. I live right near the University. I could totally help out and post some flyers or whatever."

I thought I saw Pete's goofy grin turn into an almost wry smile. "Thank you Stokie, I'm glad you said that. There is a job fair going on this Thursday at the University. Of course I would be happy to accept your help and invite you to put your money where your mouth is and accompany me there. If memory serves, this will not interfere with your work schedule."

I looked around the table. Everyone was nodding and grinning at me, knowing I had opened my big mouth once again.

Gus turned to me again, "Now what?"

I said, "I'm going to a job fair with Pete Post."

Gus just chuckled and shook his head.

Two days later, there I was sitting at a booth with Pete Post at the University's job fair. The administration had hired a professional photographer a couple of years ago so that we could have nice pictures of our kids looking appropriately cute and needy in a display for recruiting purposes. We had those photos displayed along with a big banner with the organizations name on it. There were a lot of students there looking for jobs and I felt really hopeful and upbeat about our chances.

As each student walked by our booth, Pete Post would be tapping his fingers together in his display of thoughtfulness and say, "Greetings, for what are you seeking?"

I sat and watched as each student would furrow their brows and keep walking. Still, each time someone walked up to us Pete would repeat, "Greetings, for what are you seeking?"

"Greetings, for what are you seeking?"

I thought, 'Jesus Christ, no fucking wonder.' Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. I said to Pete, "Dude, is that what you always say to people? You know, not everyone talks like that."

A student walked up. I said, "Hi, do you like working with kids? You might enjoy finding out about our program, here's our brochure, blah, blah, blah..."

Pete said to me, "This is an activity to which you seem well-suited."

"Yeah, well I'm also well-suited to having a few beers when this is over."

"Agreed. I would second that prospect and would enjoy sharing the experience with you."

"Dude, I didn't say you were coming with me. Now repeat after me, 'Hi, do you like working with kids?'"

The Beginning of the End, part 2

I've always said that in this environment there is one thing that is completely predictable: the unpredictable outrageousness of the kids. If there is one thing you can rely on, it's
the variability of insanity. Anyone who has worked in this type of group home for any length of time can tell you that there will be at least one crazy event a day. You just accept it.

That said, the things that are less acceptable are the varying reactions and behavior modification strategies of the staff. Even less acceptable is the incompetence of the therapists who try to work out their own issues by projecting them onto their clients. However, the most unacceptable reality we as group home counselors face is the absolute, uncompromising lack of support by the administration.

Every month the administration hosts an "in-service." That is, the administration is credited money from the involved counties for holding an in-service. Whether or not an in-service is actually held every month seems to be dependent on whether anyone in the administration is actually prepared to present one. They usually occur about once every 3 months, give or take.

An in-service is basically a training meeting meant to keep the counselors, house supervisors and therapists up to date on issues such as behavior mod, medications, issues and trends in the psychology world. One of my favorites was when a nutritionist was invited to talk about healthy eating habits and we were treated to donuts and punch as refreshments. Talk about being unclear on the concept! Donuts and punch are provided at pretty much every in-service.

One of the nice things about the in-services is that the responsibility of taking care of the kids falls on the school staff. No matter what the circumstances, the school staff is expected to handle anything that comes up. It is the one time when the group home counselors will not be relied upon to handle the problems that come up at school, which is usually the case.

From the very beginning of this particular in-service, you could tell something was different. For one, all of the upper management administrators were there, and they all had very concerned looks on their faces. Not only that, as we filled the second floor conference room which overlooks the newly renovated arboretum and fountain, everyone noticed the head honcho himself, Ryan Brayhill, front and center, preparing to speak. I had never actually seen or met Mr. Brayhill,I had only seen his picture in our newsletter, usually dressed in his suit and tie. His conspicuous absence was generally interpreted as an indifference to the lowly group home counselors and their concerns. Here, he was dressed in jeans and a leather bomber jacket, obviously dressing down to more easily relate with us lower-category workers. This must be bad news.

The presentation was carefully staged. Ricky Kingsley, the head of the Recreation Department stepped up to speak. I had known Ricky from way back, when he started off as a group home counselor, like me. In fact, everyone knows him pretty well, he is very personable and well-liked due mainly to the fact that he could relate to us because he actually was one of us. It was a good plan, if not an obvious one, to have him start off this meeting to help us ease in to whatever the difficult news would be.

He began, "I just want everyone to know that the decisions that have been made in the last several meetings were very difficult and we have had nothing but your well-being as counselors and as people in mind." I know how hard it is to do your job and I totally sympathize with your concerns, but I'm afraid we have had to make some tough choices due to budget cuts. If anyone wants to talk about it after the meeting, I'll be available and open to any of your thoughts. With that, I'd like to introduce Ryan Brayhill, who is the CEO of the organization. Mr. Brayhill?"

"Oh, great," I thought. I was sure he was going to announce a reduction in the food budget, or how we couldn't afford outings anymore, or some such ridiculous decision.

He stepped up, flanked by all the higher ups of the administration. "These are hard times for all the non-profits across the state and country. We are really at the mercy of the bureaucrats at the state capitol when it comes to our annual budget. Not only that, but being a non-profit, we rely on donations to a large extent, and they are drastically down. So I wanted to come down here myself to let you know the kinds of cuts we're making. It's painful to announce, but after a lot of deliberation, I think it's the right decision. What will be happening is that we are going to make an adjustment in your benefits package. From now on, we will be making cuts in your medical coverage; we will ask you to contribute to half of your coverage, and we will no longer be covering care for your dependents...blah, blah, blah."

I looked around the room. I thought about what these cuts would mean to the people here. Many of these counselors and House Supervisors have kids. I have two kids myself. The room was silent for a moment, everyone letting the news sink in. Then Yolanda, our House Supervisor, was the first to speak.

"So Mr. Brayhill, I want to make sure I'm understanding this right. What you're saying is, you expect us to take care of somebody else's kids, but you're not going to help us take care of our own kids. That's what you're saying, right?"

Mr. Brayhill looked annoyed. "No, that's not what I'm saying, I'm saying this whole process has been very difficult..."

"But not as difficult as it will be for us to get our kids coverage. Is it any wonder that staff turnover is so high? It's decisions like this that make staff want to find other jobs. I mean, I love working with these kids, but I won't be able to do it unless I can get coverage for my own."

Yolanda had made an excellent point, one I completely agreed with. I felt compelled to speak, as well.

"Mr. Brayhill, how can you come down here and tell us this stuff while, during the last month, we've sat and watched that nice new white fence go up around the horse stables? I mean, couldn't you have used that money to help us out? And what about the horses? Why would you choose to improve the lives of animals over the humans who actually do the work?"

Mr. Brayhill was turning red with frustration. "Hey! Let's get one thing straight. That fence was paid for by a private donor who specified that it go to the horses. I would have loved to use that money for you all..."

I interrupted, "Then it should be your job to explain to that donor that there are greater needs around here than a nice new fence for the horses when the front line staff who do all the work are suffering. Why didn't you tell the donor that, Mr. Brayhill?"

"I'm not going to stand up here and let some group home counselor tell me how to do my job. At least you should appreciate the fact that I'm telling you personally. I didn't have to do that, you know."

Sloppy Scott spoke up. "You know what I heard? I heard that we're the only ones who are getting cut like this. Is that true? Why aren't the administrative staff getting their fair share of the cuts?"

Apparently that was enough for Mr. Brayhill. He turned and yelled at Scott, "I think it's a fucking shame that you counselors keep getting injured on the job, which is costing us hundreds of thousands of dollars!"

The room was once again silent, most of our jaws had dropped at Brayhill's outburst. Just then, heavy, stomping, and sloshing footsteps could be heard on the steps. Then, a familiar sounding voice exclaiming, "Aw, fuck yeah! Donuts!" We all turned to look and saw Kyle, shirtless and soaking wet pounce on a donut box and pull out an eclair. He then turned and saw the room full of staff just as he was about to stuff the eclair into his mouth. He was momentarily stunned, but quickly composed himself.

"What's up, bitches? I'm fuckin' AWOL, now what?" He began to run around the room, expecting someone to chase him. No one moved. He stopped at the front of the room, next to Mr. Brayhill. He waved his soaking shirt in the air and pointed at various staff. "Fuck you, fuck you, oh yes, and fuck you, and especially fuck you..." He then held the eclair down at his crotch, squeezed out the custard and jammed the whole thing in his mouth. Still, not one counselor flinched or moved a muscle.

Janette Stankin, the Clinical Supervisor agitatedly said, "Well someone has to stop him!" and approached Kyle. Kyle ran out of the back door, out on to the veranda and disappeared down the breezeway. Janette ran after him, oblivious to the fact that no one else was participating in the chase.

At that moment, more footsteps on the stairs. Then, "Oh, shit, dude, there's donuts!" Two of the school staff walked into the room. Seeing that there was a meeting in progress one asked, "Oh! Yeah, we're looking for Kyle. He ran out of class and took a dip in the fountain."

Half the room pointed to the back door. "Thanks man, he's probably going back for another swim." The two left out of the back door and disappeared.

All eyes returned to Mr. Brayhill.

"Typical group home bullshit," he said as he turned and exited down the stairs.

I don't think any 15 minutes in the history of the organization did more to lower staff morale than that meeting.