At the annual ICMA conference, I attended a round table discussion of city/county manager contracts. When the subject of vehicle allowances came up, my colleagues were surprised that I had deliberately omitted this provision from my recent agreements. I also declined to use a county vehicle. I chose to use my personal vehicle (what we called a "POV" in my military days). During my seven-year tenure, I also did not submit a single reimbursement request for mileage.
I doubtlessly logged thousand of miles on County business. So why decline a vehicle allowance or reimbursement? I have two basic reasons: One philosophical and one practical.
As a believer in "lead by example," I want to err on the side of not taking advantage of my position. Refusing any allowance or reimbursement kept me firmly on the moral high ground. This set a good example for not only the senior management team, but for all employees.
On a practical matter, I avoided the paperwork associated with mileage. My time is better spent on more "value-added" tasks. It's also one less avenue of citizen criticism. Driving a city or county vehicle is just putting a target on a manager's back. Better to have a vehicle available for fleet use than one for the personal convenience of the CAO.
My philosophy stand in stark contrast to the recent travel-related escapades of some federal officials. For example, FEMA Administrator Brock Long apparently racked up $150,000 worth of personal travel on the public dime (according to the Office of the Inspector General). This extravagant spending occurred over a period of months, not years. I won't bother repeating the details in the report (as reported by the Washington Post), but it's a laundry list of wholesale abuse of government-funded travel.
On a positive note, Long has been ordered to repay the $150,000 to the federal government. On a not-so-positive note, he hasn't been fired.
Abuse of government-funded travel is theft. It's abusing the taxpayer and--like all ethically suspect behaviors--it has a corrosive effect on an organization.
Thursday, September 27, 2018
Sunday, September 23, 2018
Personal: Sabbatical Week 2
As I'm writing, the Ravens and Broncos are playing in the rain. The Ravens came to Baltimore the same year I did: 1996. Twenty-two years (and two Lombardi trophies later), the Ravens are an immutable part of Charm City. And in an ironic twist, I'm still here--albeit temporarily. Baltimore is hosting the International City/County Managers' Association (ICMA) conference. I'll be attending over the next two days.
A week ago, we were settling into our campsite at Mt. Desert Island, Maine. During our stay in Maine, we traveled north to Lubec, the easternmost town in the continental United States. Our route to Laramie will cause us to miss the northernmost point in Minnesota, but we shouldn't have any trouble finding our way to the far west of Point Cape Alva, Washington.
I have a photo of Becky at the geographical center of North American (in eastern Montana). The center of CONUS is in Lebanon, Kansas. I suppose that makes us geography geeks... or people who like odd roadside attractions.
Back to Maine, we had a great time and the weather was perfect. We gamely tried the local specialty of lobster. Becky is a native Marylander and I tend to agree with her: Blue crabs are the better culinary crustacean. Crab cakes (better yet, rockfish with crab imperial) and freshly-picked silver queen corn are a better plate, at least for my money.
Rural Maine was charming; urban Maine, not so much. Both at the campsite and in our rambling, we found few people willing to make simple eye contact and impart a traditional "Hello" or "Good Morning." This stands in stark contrast to other regions. And let's side aside, for the sake of discussion, the vast legion of humans who wander aimlessly looking at cell phones, utterly oblivious to anything (or anyone) in the immediate vicinity. Doing a quick shopping run to Target today, I watched three phone watchers nearly collide, only to take different tracks. We were once mightily impressed with robots that could navigate obstacles. We seem to have created people with the same sensory ability and motor skills.
A week ago, we were settling into our campsite at Mt. Desert Island, Maine. During our stay in Maine, we traveled north to Lubec, the easternmost town in the continental United States. Our route to Laramie will cause us to miss the northernmost point in Minnesota, but we shouldn't have any trouble finding our way to the far west of Point Cape Alva, Washington.
I have a photo of Becky at the geographical center of North American (in eastern Montana). The center of CONUS is in Lebanon, Kansas. I suppose that makes us geography geeks... or people who like odd roadside attractions.
Back to Maine, we had a great time and the weather was perfect. We gamely tried the local specialty of lobster. Becky is a native Marylander and I tend to agree with her: Blue crabs are the better culinary crustacean. Crab cakes (better yet, rockfish with crab imperial) and freshly-picked silver queen corn are a better plate, at least for my money.
Rural Maine was charming; urban Maine, not so much. Both at the campsite and in our rambling, we found few people willing to make simple eye contact and impart a traditional "Hello" or "Good Morning." This stands in stark contrast to other regions. And let's side aside, for the sake of discussion, the vast legion of humans who wander aimlessly looking at cell phones, utterly oblivious to anything (or anyone) in the immediate vicinity. Doing a quick shopping run to Target today, I watched three phone watchers nearly collide, only to take different tracks. We were once mightily impressed with robots that could navigate obstacles. We seem to have created people with the same sensory ability and motor skills.
Friday, September 14, 2018
Personal: Sabbatical Week 1
I left my position as the County Administrator for Caroline County when my contract ended (September 9). I'll talk more about my (our) decision to take a sabbatical in another post, but wanted to describe some of the highlights of our first week.
Because our home sold a bit earlier than expected, we needed a short-term rental. This simultaneously made the moving process easier and harder. Our initial thought was to go with an AirBnB for the month, but the price and distance were daunting. Becky tracked down a landlord willing to to a one-month rental. I'll fast forward through the painful process of emptying our home of seven years, compressing all of our worldly possessions into a 10x20 storage locker, a 16' utility trailer, and a Nissan Titan pickup..., and, of course, the odds and ends necessary to exist in our short-term rental fondly nicknamed, "The Estate."
My final few weeks of work were highly compressed between tying up the loose ends of projects, saying my goodbyes to friends and colleagues, and getting ready to "break camp" from The Estate. Naturally, our final weekend in Maryland was rainy. This wasn't a mist, drizzle, or light sprinkler. It was somewhere between shower and rolling down the window at the Dunkin Donuts drive through to get a bucket of water to the face.
Our last meal in Caroline County was brunch at Turnbridge Point. Turnbridge has served some of the consistently best meals I've eaten. Chef Steve turns out wonderful pastries, but he and Rob close the B&B occasionally to host a brunch. The tickets sell like a classic rock band's farewell tour. The theme for our September 9 brunch was fittingly, "Maryland." Unfortunately, we had to have everything packed and ready for the road.
Despite delays due to selling Becky's Mini Countryman and the process of getting new cell phones, we managed to get everything done. We were on the road for our first "post-Caroline" stop, Emmaus, Pennsylvania. Our daughter, son-in-law, and three grandchildren live in Emmaus. Naturally, the rain continued, perfect for yard work and corral repairs.
A good definition of a bad day is one where stepping on a nail in a corral full of horse manure isn't the worst thing to happen. No, the worst thing to happen that day was having the water heater burst and dewatering a basement with a shop vac while standing in my socks (and a Band-Aid).
We extended our stay a day to help the kids. To make our schedule, we headed north landing in Vestal, New York for the evening. The accommodations in Vestal were fine, save our finding the one hotel in the northeast still charging for Wi-Fi. While that was an inconvenience, it was considerably better than our experience the following night in Montpelier, Vermont. Without naming any names, our room in Montpelier smelled like damp hopelessness. The only thing missing from the door was crime scene tape.
As I write, we've stumbled to Bangor, Maine. It's a quick stop here before heading to a campground on Mt. Desert Island. I'm almost nervous to say anything because today has been nice. The rain stopped. We went to the top of Mt. Washington and enjoyed some remarkable views. And thus far, nothing is wrong with the hotel. Perhaps if I save this post very quietly and close my laptop, the Fates will grant us a reprieve for a night?
Ken
Because our home sold a bit earlier than expected, we needed a short-term rental. This simultaneously made the moving process easier and harder. Our initial thought was to go with an AirBnB for the month, but the price and distance were daunting. Becky tracked down a landlord willing to to a one-month rental. I'll fast forward through the painful process of emptying our home of seven years, compressing all of our worldly possessions into a 10x20 storage locker, a 16' utility trailer, and a Nissan Titan pickup..., and, of course, the odds and ends necessary to exist in our short-term rental fondly nicknamed, "The Estate."
My final few weeks of work were highly compressed between tying up the loose ends of projects, saying my goodbyes to friends and colleagues, and getting ready to "break camp" from The Estate. Naturally, our final weekend in Maryland was rainy. This wasn't a mist, drizzle, or light sprinkler. It was somewhere between shower and rolling down the window at the Dunkin Donuts drive through to get a bucket of water to the face.
Our last meal in Caroline County was brunch at Turnbridge Point. Turnbridge has served some of the consistently best meals I've eaten. Chef Steve turns out wonderful pastries, but he and Rob close the B&B occasionally to host a brunch. The tickets sell like a classic rock band's farewell tour. The theme for our September 9 brunch was fittingly, "Maryland." Unfortunately, we had to have everything packed and ready for the road.
Despite delays due to selling Becky's Mini Countryman and the process of getting new cell phones, we managed to get everything done. We were on the road for our first "post-Caroline" stop, Emmaus, Pennsylvania. Our daughter, son-in-law, and three grandchildren live in Emmaus. Naturally, the rain continued, perfect for yard work and corral repairs.
A good definition of a bad day is one where stepping on a nail in a corral full of horse manure isn't the worst thing to happen. No, the worst thing to happen that day was having the water heater burst and dewatering a basement with a shop vac while standing in my socks (and a Band-Aid).
We extended our stay a day to help the kids. To make our schedule, we headed north landing in Vestal, New York for the evening. The accommodations in Vestal were fine, save our finding the one hotel in the northeast still charging for Wi-Fi. While that was an inconvenience, it was considerably better than our experience the following night in Montpelier, Vermont. Without naming any names, our room in Montpelier smelled like damp hopelessness. The only thing missing from the door was crime scene tape.
As I write, we've stumbled to Bangor, Maine. It's a quick stop here before heading to a campground on Mt. Desert Island. I'm almost nervous to say anything because today has been nice. The rain stopped. We went to the top of Mt. Washington and enjoyed some remarkable views. And thus far, nothing is wrong with the hotel. Perhaps if I save this post very quietly and close my laptop, the Fates will grant us a reprieve for a night?
Ken
Wednesday, September 5, 2018
My farewell email to staff
All,
Just over seven years ago, I accepted the position as county administrator. My wife and I wanted to be closer to aging family members on the Shore. I also saw Caroline as an opportunity to work shoulder-to-shoulder with some remarkable people. Personally and professionally, my time here has been incredibly rewarding.
It still puzzles me that not everyone recognizes how special Caroline County is, not only as a place but as an organization. I have worked in the public, private, and nonprofit sectors; organizations as small as our family logging business in Montana and as large as the U.S. Navy. What happens here doesn’t happen everywhere. During my tenure, senior managers have passed on pay increases to give more to well-deserving people on their teams. They’ve declined bonuses, refused reimbursement of expenses, and relinquished valuable contract provisions voluntarily. I won’t name names to avoid embarrassing (or forgetting) anyone, but it has been inspiring for me to work with such dedicated and selfless leaders.
There is no greater evidence of Caroline’s unique culture than the budget process. I realize not every employee agrees with “The Caroline Way.” Some folks think it’s the job of the top person to “bring home the bacon” to a department or agency. That’s the prevailing approach in many cities and counties. It’s easy to recognize those places because they often have contentious budget hearings that can run past midnight. The squabbling usually spills into the local paper. In a zero-sum budget process where there are winners and losers but the one group consistently getting the short end of the stick is the taxpaying public. Not here.
In Caroline, every department head and allied agency chief is a community leader first. You won’t hear these folks asking, “What’s in it for me (or my department)?” Instead, they ask, “How we can work together to solve the tough challenges we face?” They advocate for a person and agency across the table. They trust the process and one another. This collaborative culture is Caroline’s best competitive advantage.
Let’s be honest, Caroline likely will remain among the poorer counties in Maryland. As I've said before, coming to Caroline for the money is like moving to Kansas for the surfing. But there are more ways than dollars to measure wealth. Whatever Caroline lacks in financial resources is more than offset by the people. In a word, by you.
I imagine everyone who works for the County could make more money somewhere else. Those of you who have stayed through the lean times aren’t here for the money. You’re here because you’ve chosen Caroline County as a place not only to work but to serve. Through your dedication and the leadership of the Commissioners and other allied agencies, the County has earned the trust and respect of the community. That support makes tough decisions (like last year’s income tax increase) possible. The ability to make those tough decisions is why Caroline County will eventually pull ahead of those other counties, you know, the ones with the expensive, waterfront estates. (I really am going to miss smack talking the other counties.)
A parting word of warning: The greatest challenge facing Caroline isn't unfunded mandates from the State of Maryland or another economic downturn. Together, we've survived tough times and come out stronger. No, the danger is forgetting who we are and how we've come to this point. The County isn't simply a place or an organization. Caroline truly is a way. It's a way of working, doing business, and living. It existed long before I arrived but for seven years, it has been our way.
It is my sincere hope it will remain yours for many years to come. Thank you and all my best.
Ken Decker
Just over seven years ago, I accepted the position as county administrator. My wife and I wanted to be closer to aging family members on the Shore. I also saw Caroline as an opportunity to work shoulder-to-shoulder with some remarkable people. Personally and professionally, my time here has been incredibly rewarding.
It still puzzles me that not everyone recognizes how special Caroline County is, not only as a place but as an organization. I have worked in the public, private, and nonprofit sectors; organizations as small as our family logging business in Montana and as large as the U.S. Navy. What happens here doesn’t happen everywhere. During my tenure, senior managers have passed on pay increases to give more to well-deserving people on their teams. They’ve declined bonuses, refused reimbursement of expenses, and relinquished valuable contract provisions voluntarily. I won’t name names to avoid embarrassing (or forgetting) anyone, but it has been inspiring for me to work with such dedicated and selfless leaders.
There is no greater evidence of Caroline’s unique culture than the budget process. I realize not every employee agrees with “The Caroline Way.” Some folks think it’s the job of the top person to “bring home the bacon” to a department or agency. That’s the prevailing approach in many cities and counties. It’s easy to recognize those places because they often have contentious budget hearings that can run past midnight. The squabbling usually spills into the local paper. In a zero-sum budget process where there are winners and losers but the one group consistently getting the short end of the stick is the taxpaying public. Not here.
In Caroline, every department head and allied agency chief is a community leader first. You won’t hear these folks asking, “What’s in it for me (or my department)?” Instead, they ask, “How we can work together to solve the tough challenges we face?” They advocate for a person and agency across the table. They trust the process and one another. This collaborative culture is Caroline’s best competitive advantage.
Let’s be honest, Caroline likely will remain among the poorer counties in Maryland. As I've said before, coming to Caroline for the money is like moving to Kansas for the surfing. But there are more ways than dollars to measure wealth. Whatever Caroline lacks in financial resources is more than offset by the people. In a word, by you.
I imagine everyone who works for the County could make more money somewhere else. Those of you who have stayed through the lean times aren’t here for the money. You’re here because you’ve chosen Caroline County as a place not only to work but to serve. Through your dedication and the leadership of the Commissioners and other allied agencies, the County has earned the trust and respect of the community. That support makes tough decisions (like last year’s income tax increase) possible. The ability to make those tough decisions is why Caroline County will eventually pull ahead of those other counties, you know, the ones with the expensive, waterfront estates. (I really am going to miss smack talking the other counties.)
A parting word of warning: The greatest challenge facing Caroline isn't unfunded mandates from the State of Maryland or another economic downturn. Together, we've survived tough times and come out stronger. No, the danger is forgetting who we are and how we've come to this point. The County isn't simply a place or an organization. Caroline truly is a way. It's a way of working, doing business, and living. It existed long before I arrived but for seven years, it has been our way.
It is my sincere hope it will remain yours for many years to come. Thank you and all my best.
Ken Decker
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)