I learned Jeanie died on September 1st this year. She was in a hospital nursing facility in Seattle. I don’t think it was COVID-19 related. I met her in 1983 when I was hired at the Human Rights Commission. She was the personnel officer. The Commission was small for a state agency with 50-60 employees statewide and 16-18 in Olympia.
Jeanie was the only personnel officer for the Commission. She ensured all our paperwork was completed and entered in the various state systems. As a new employee, I had my share of questions. She was warm and friendly with an office just down the hall from my desk. I didn’t know much about personnel in those days. I had seldom interacted with the personnel officers in my previous large agency. I remember our first significant interaction.
Jeanie had told me she was waiting for my personnel file to come from the Department of Labor and Industries. I kept tabs on its anticipated arrival. I had a secret reason for caring. To Jeanie, I claimed curiosity. This was my first state career agency move. The trouble was that when I first started with the state, I was in a period of living as David on my way to changing my gender. However after working for the state for eight months, I changed my mind. I legally changed my name back to the gender and name of my birth, Joceile. The beginning paperwork as well as several evaluations in my file were under David. I didn’t know how Jeanie would respond to seeing this.
Finally, she told me the file had arrived the day before. It is in my nature to try to get ahead of issues but I didn’t speak to her before she had the file in hand. When she had a few minutes, I walked into her office and closed the door.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“When I was hired by the state, ah, I was hired under a different name.”
“Oh, I haven’t even looked at the file yet.”
“Okay. If you do sometime, I was hired as David Moore. It’s the name that shows up in the beginning of my file... You see, I was born a woman, Joceile, but thought I would be happier as a male... I wasn’t so I changed back.”
Jeanie was watching me carefully. “As I said, I really haven’t read it yet.” She said this with a perfectly straight face.
“I just wanted you to know in case you saw that. I wanted you to know what happened. If you have questions, I’m happy to answer them.”
“No, I don’t have any questions. I appreciate you telling me.”
“Sure. Thanks for listening.” I turned partly and began opening the door.
“By the way, you have really good evaluations,” she added. In that moment, I knew she had read the file and wasn’t going to allow the information to affect her. It wasn’t clear to me whether her mentioning my evaluations was unintentional or if it was how she wanted to let me know she was okay with knowing about me. I know now it was most definitely intentional. For all her issues, Jeanie was unfailingly kind and supportive to those she identified as working to overcome adversity for which I was grateful. There were many other times when she showed up on my behalf. She felt like a protective angel.
The rules for half time employees stipulated we not be given retirement service credit unless we worked 90 hours per month minimum. As a salaried half time employee, I worked 84 hours per month. I had to relinquish my retirement benefits when I left full time status several years earlier. In my first few years with the Commission, it was Jeanie who learned the rules had changed allowing me to not only become eligible for retirement service credit but have an opportunity to reinstate those I’d lost.
Jeanie wrote a letter to state personnel and made phone calls to retirement services. It was a six month project. I was ecstatic at the opportunity to collect service credits once again and recoup the lost credits. I remember reading a letter Jeanie wrote on my behalf. She wrote, “Not only is Joceile thrilled to rejoin state retirement, she is very excited to repurchase the service credits she lost.” Somehow, that has stuck with me all these years. It was a masterful way to say she knew I was in it for the long haul.
I had to reimburse retirement services within five years of withdrawing my money. Jeanie arranged it so I could make four payments instead of one lump sum over a 24 month period. I remember the day when she took the last check and congratulated me. It felt like we were team members facing a difficult task and triumphing over a prickly foe. I felt lucky to be on her team. In each of my four jobs after high school, personnel officers had helped me directly. I was beginning to see the value of personnel work.
There were other employees I watched her care for. Employees with troubles but committed to doing their jobs well. Jeanie went to bat for us. When a young man, Matt “Slim” Moon, was hired on a temporary basis and did a good job with our computer system, Jeanie was there angling and cajoling management to make him permanent. She knew her way around the state system like few others. She had worked for the Department of Personnel earlier in her career. She knew everyone in Personnel by name and wouldn’t hesitate to call in a favor or pester them into submission.
When I told Matt she had passed, he said, “When she became my advocate, she made my whole career possible. I would have never have started my company if I didn’t have the income and self confidence she made possible. Simply that by 20 years old I had an income I had not expected to reach in my lifetime...I was raised very poor....So I kept living like a poor person and used the money to start a business.” He founded the independent record label Kill Rock Stars in 1991.
I responded, “And now many people know that business and recognize you as someone who’s done good things for music.”
“Yes. Through Riot Grrrl, we exposed a lot of young people to feminist ideas and self acceptance and empowerment.” I’m sure Jeanie was proud of him.
Nor did she hesitate to use the state bureaucracy to get what she wanted. When the state of Washington came out with a new license plate style, she determined that she wanted a certain number for her older Ford truck. She loved that truck. As a 1971, she wanted the new license with number AA 1971. To get this plate, she called someone in the Department of Licensing every week to ask where they were in issuing new license plates so she could be there just before that number was issued. It took months. By the time licensing got near that number, she and the licensing person were old friends. I’m sure they stuck that license in a drawer to ensure Jeanie got it which, of course, she did. Looking at that plate on her truck later, I wondered whether the effort was worth it.
There came a time when I could promote to the position of full fledged investigator. There was a caveat requiring a certain type of experience if I didn’t have a college degree. I had the experience and applied. Given that I had the experience but no degree, I technically qualified according to the job classification. When state personnel balked, Jeanie was quick to correct their misunderstanding of the technicality.
Later, there was a proposal to upgrade the minimum requirement of a college degree for all new entry level investigators. I believed this excluded a whole class of people like myself. Jeanie arranged for me to be interviewed by the classification specialist with Personnel. I felt strongly that people with my experience should be able to apply for the new investigator class without a college degree. The classification specialist was ancient and wicked smart. She asked me lots of questions and listened to my opinion. Finally, she said, “I believe you are really the exception to those without a college education. I don’t believe those without college could do the work at this level.” I was upgraded because I already had the position.
Due the reclassification, all future applicants for investigators must have a college degree regardless of experience. [To really get into the weeds on this, the reason the original standard included alternative experience such as community volunteer work was to minimize the negative impact on hiring minority and women investigators who might not have had college opportunities.] Jeanie didn’t have a college degree and understood my passion for not including this mandatory requirement. When she saw my distress, she patted me on the back and said, “You did your best. There’s nothing else you can do. You’ll have to let it go now.” It was a lesson in a long line of them.
We had a time at the Commission when I was excited. I loved the work I was doing. I felt confident in our leadership, my relation to the managers, and their vision of where we were going. The Commission’s mission was to identify discrimination and take action to stop it. It is a mission I supported whole heartedly. In Olympia, we enjoyed and learned from each other. We discussed cases of discrimination, fact patterns, and legal reasoning as to why a case could be proven, settled, or dismissed. Most of the work was in employment discrimination. What I learned was the foundation for the rest of my career in human resources. An incredible ten years went by pretty fast.
John was my district manager. At some point, John met Jeanie’s daughter. They hit it off and were ultimately married. John was my mentor. I learned so much from him. When he left, I was bereft. Although, it might have been easier on Jeanie and certainly on John.
After John, Mary was the interim district manager. Mary was a lesbian who transferred from the east side of the state. I was fond of her. Soon after, she moved out of the state for a career in nursing. This was followed by the Commission’s director being chosen by the governor to head a much larger agency, the Department of Licensing. Once she left, the exodus of my teammates began. We got a new director. The change in management style included a loss of purpose and cohesion. The executive assistant followed the director to Licensing. She went to Licensing’s personnel office.
At the same time, there was a move to save money and consolidate duties. Jeanie was laid off by the new director in violation of civil service rules when she was denied her seniority reversion rights. She also landed at personnel in Licensing. Ultimately, she was awarded $30,000 for the violation of her rights. She and her husband, Ron, bought a boat.
I experienced one loss of teammate after another. I persevered because of my commitment to the agency. The new director said to me, “Joceile, you care too much about your coworkers. It doesn’t affect your work. You’re not nosy. You don’t gossip. You just care too much.”
That was an extraordinary piece of feedback. How can a person care too much? I thought to myself, “Yes, sir. The problem is you don’t care enough.” I didn’t say it because he was the director. I also knew when he had first started as a temporary employee at the Commission he had benefited from my caring. As a director, he could disregard my caring as non-essential. In that moment, I knew the Commission I had loved and fought for was gone.
It was hard for me to let go of the dream of retiring one day from the Commission and making its mission my career. I also worked half time and knew it would be difficult to get another permanent half time job with the state at my current salary level. It was daunting. I put off confronting the dilemma.
I call that state of being so fed up with a place that you can’t go on being there “Hitting the Wall.” We all manifest hitting the wall differently. There are those that walk out and quit. There are those who’s medical constitution doesn’t allow them to return to the job any more. There are those with foresight who get very, very busy looking for, interviewing for, and finding a new job.
My friend, Lisa, quit her state service outright with the Commission on a Friday. Lisa had been with the state many years and would lose her seniority. Giving up her career violated my sensibilities. I decided to do something about it. I called Jeanie over the weekend, told her what was going on, and asked her to find a job for Lisa. By Monday, Lisa had a job at Licensing as an investigator. I was pleased for Lisa but really frustrated for myself. I thought, “Shit, I can get another person a job but I’m still here? This is screwed.”
We had a really nasty new district manager. She was not a team builder. She singled people out, subjecting them to her disapproval, and divided the team. Finally, I hit the wall. The conflict created a mental health catastrophe for me. I went on medical leave. I was lucky. After using my accrued paid leave, I was approved for shared leave donations. My current and former coworkers were generous. The former director donated two days at her pay rate which translated into two weeks of pay for me. Many other coworkers generously donated while I tried to get my self together.
As I recovered, I reached out to Jeanie to see if there was a job for me in Licensing. She wanted me to wait until I was fully recovered. She said she wasn’t sure about a job. After a couple months, a job in Licensing’s personnel opened and I applied. I was exceptionally qualified and enthusiast about the job. I was hired at the end of 1995.
Unfortunately, the personnel job was full time. I hoped being off work for several months would enable me to work full time. In a short time, I failed miserably due to my disability. I had to negotiate a reduced schedule. Initially, Jeanie was my supervisor. We worked through it.
I learned more about Jeanie. Many years before I met her, her family had a car accident. Without a seat belt, Jeanie went through the windshield. It required reconstruction of her face which was never the same. I’m sure she had pain. She had nasal issues. She had lost her sense of smell. I learned she smoked off the job but never on the job. I learned she had conflict with her daughter around abuse perpetrated by Ron. Because what I learned was from Jeanie, I never knew specific details. I just knew it was ugly. I didn’t understand that while she was working, she could fake being okay. I didn’t know how deceptive okay-ness could be.
Those of us who left the Commission worked valiantly to maintain our connection. We had regular get togethers to celebrate the richness of our love for each other. The get togethers included Jeanie and other former Commission employees now working at Licensing. It’s hard to hold lightening in a bottle or the spark of what made us great as a team. As time wore on, it became more difficult to get together. The spaces between gatherings were longer until we stopped meeting. Jobs and family demands change. We remember but we move on. We all age. Several of us have passed away.
When I told my friend and former coworker, Julie, about Jeanie’s passing, this was her remembrance:
“In 1996, I was living in Lewis County, this was the year of the big flood, one of them anyway. I spent several hours on the freeway trying to get home after work [to my young daughters] and made it as far as Grand Mound and was told, at 11 at night, I couldn’t go further. There were no motels with vacancies, I was approached by a truck driver to share his cabover and I was desperate for a place to go. I just showed up at Jeanie and Ron’s house and I remember Jeanie answered the door and I just started crying. She led me into the house and provided me a safe place. I ended up having to stay there for at least two nights since the flooding prevented my return home. I have never forgotten how Jeanie always, even during that time, made me feel like I was one of hers and she would always be by my side. She wasn’t perfect but I always knew how much she loved me.”
Jeanie was the operations manager in Licensing’s personnel. In her career development, she had learned to bend the rules but not break them to get the desired outcome. Unfortunately, there were times when the rules broke in her hands. I remember her telling me to hire a woman. She didn’t care how I did it. Just do it because management wanted this person hired.
We had civil service rules where applicants for state government must be on a register of qualified applicants available to the city where the job was. We had a glut of applicants available for Olympia. Olympia is the capital of the state. Most employees live near Olympia. We were required to hire in numerical order those available to Olympia to work in Olympia. However, the person I was instructed to hire was too low on the Olympia register to hire and couldn’t be reached. Based on Jeanie’s instructions, I hired her off the city of Forks register when I knew she was actually working in Olympia. I’m not proud of it but that’s how it got done.
When Judy retired as personnel director, Jeanie was put in the position temporarily. We went through several personnel directors that had other ultimate goals and didn’t stay long. Jeanie applied for the position. When she learned she wasn’t hired, she and Ron both retired. Ron retired from the City of Lacey.
I was scheduled to visit Ronnie’s mom in Florida with our daughter. As a present, my daughter filmed me in a shear cocktail dress formerly Ronnie’s mother’s. With this, I flaunted a feather boa from Ronnie’s Uncle Herman’s fashionable formal collection. Uncle Herman was a cross dresser with Broadway caliber costume maker friends in New York City. Wearing these clothes was unheard of for me. I filmed my goodbye so our coworkers could show it at her retirement party and laugh. Hopefully, everyone got a major shock.
Following Jeanie’s retirement, Jan was hired as the new personnel director. Jan was experienced and educated on best personnel practices. She had vision. She had a clear eyed look at personnel employees’ strengths and weaknesses. She was horrified at the rule breaking legacy Jeanie left. Jan quickly worked to get staff on board for the legally defensible way things should be done in personnel. It was a new period in my career. Despite Jan’s perspective and my respect for her, I was committed to staying in touch with Jeanie.
Through my years with the state, I have observed many methods when people retire. There are people who thrive, those that just manage, and those that fail. I considered Jeanie a person who failed. I called her every week. I soon learned that smoking was not the only thing she did when not working. She and Ron also drank. They went fishing on their boat. They had purchased a house in a development with a golf course. They played golf. They also got shit-faced drunk every day.
I quickly learned that I couldn’t call Jeanie after noon. If I did, she would become overly affectionate and tell me repeatedly how much she loved me. I made sure to call her on my way to work instead of after. Eventually, she and Ron got tired of fishing. Then when I called, she told me about cleaning the house. A person can only take so much information about vacuuming.
I knew she had very little contact with her daughter. What contact they had didn’t feel good to either of them. I fancied myself someone who could hang in there with Jeanie over the long haul. Since I couldn’t speak to my own mother without a conversation of total craziness, I fantasized that maybe someone like me would care for my mother the way I cared for Jeanie. I imagined maybe this was how these broken mother daughter relationships balanced out.
For three years, I called Jeanie every week or two. She never called me. If I went longer than two weeks, she’d say, “Why haven’t you called me? I was worried.”
I’d say, “Jeanie, the phone works both ways.” But, she never called. I got really bored with vacuuming reports. She couldn’t do anything out in the world away from Ron despite my encouragement. Occasionally, I visited her at her house. It was difficult to time it when Ron wasn’t there. When he was there, I’d watch him bring her drink after drink. She was effectively pickled. I recognized my father’s similar drinking behavior and was troubled by it.
Jeanie and Ron eventually decided to stop smoking. They cleaned and scrubbed the house. Jeanie was amazed at the gray that left the white walls in the house. They found other house projects. They rebuilt the deck. I came over and inspected. But, there was nothing I heard about that was just hers.
Their dog, “Fred” for Fredrika, passed away. Jeanie loved that dog. I brought mine to visit. She wanted another dog but reported Ron wouldn’t let her. I couldn’t convince her to challenge Ron on anything. Maybe, it wasn’t safe. I don’t know.
I’m sad to say after several more years of my calls getting more and more infrequent I gave up. I stopped calling. In my mind, my loyalty was found wanting. Annoyingly, she didn’t call me. She finally called me drunk one evening last year. An incident had happened at Licensing she wanted to know about. I wasn’t surprised this caused her to call. She had trouble tracking the conversation. She kept asking, “Why haven’t we talked?”
I said, “I was waiting for you to call.” I get terse when talking to a drunk person and don’t expect them to remember the conversation.
“That was all. You were waiting for me to call? I could have done that a long time ago.”
“I know, Jeanie.” We went a few more rounds about how I should know how much she loved me and why hadn’t we talked. I repeated I was waiting for her to call.
“Was that all? I could have done that a long time ago. You know how much I love you.”
“I know, Jeanie.” Finally, the circle dissipated. She said she loved me and admonished me to call. I told her I loved her and invited her to call me. Our phone call ended. That was the last time I talked to her.
This week, Ronnie read in the paper that Jeanie had passed away earlier this month in Seattle. A friend said, “I’m quite sure had we known we would not have been allowed to see her,” referring to COVID-19 rules. I’m both sad and relieved. Jeanie had a difficult life but a good heart. She always had kind words. She was proud of the resilience and successes of others. Her own resilience was hamstrung. She recovered from the terrible auto accident but didn’t seem to recover from the other more invisible tragedies of her life: abuse, alcoholism, and Ron.
Kindness was the only thing I could give her. I finally got tired of having the same conversation over and over. Since then, I’ve learned that’s what happens sometimes with my very old senior friends. Contact means tolerating the same repeated conversation. It’s still contact. Continuing to make the effort is an act of love. In a way, I feel like I failed her in this. However, I’m not sure there’s a rule book on contact with aging alcoholics.
Another friend said, “When I called her I always felt our conversations were filtered by Ron’s presence. Work was her safe place. She excelled there. She was so smart. Home was a different story. After she retired, I felt she never found that place again... She didn’t seem unhappy just resigned.”
I guess that expresses how I feel about Jeanie’s death. I’m not unhappy just resigned. I’m lucky in that I’ve had a rich work life helping others grow and continue to increase my mental health and enjoyment in my personal life. Though she assisted many, she couldn’t make this happen for herself.
Thank you for all the love you gave me, Jeanie. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it through. Everyone passes eventually. I’m sorry you were alone. I will always hold you in my heart.
L’Chaim.
Joceile
9/14/20
[Picture: A Commission Olympia staff reunion, circa 2001. I’m back row third from the right. Jeanie is next to me fourth from the right. Her daughter, grandson, and John are lower right. My daughter is back row second from the left.]
