When I graduated with a master’s degree in social work from Western Reserve, I didn’t have to look for a job, jobs came looking for me. It was just after the war, and professionals in all fields were in short supply. The two jobs I was most interested in were at Cleveland State Hospital, then the only psychiatric hospital serving Greater Cleveland, and Bellefaire, the Jewish children’s home.
Ray Fisher, the chief social worker at the state hospital, was a sweet guy and well respected in the field. He invited me to come and look over the place and have lunch. Cleveland State Hospital was an ancient institution, and I did not expect a model facility. It was pretty awful, but lunch was fine: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, salad, etc. I complimented the food. Ray said: The patients get the same except for the chicken. I couldn’t believe my ears. When I got home I called Fritz Mayer at Bellefaire and took that job.
Fritz was the resident director of Bellefaire, an institution that started out as an orphanage after the Civil War and morphed into a treatment residence for neglected, abused and mainly disturbed children. I was hired as group work director.
FRITZ MAYER & BELLEFAIRE
Fritz was a leader in the field of child welfare. He was a Jewish refugee who had spent some time in a concentration camp, but at a time when Hitler was just as happy to deport Jews as to incinerate them. He was a spontaneous, creative man whose love of children shone from his homely face as he spoke with them, often embracing them. He was a wonderful teacher, training the cottage parents who lived and worked with the children. We became lifelong friends. He was my mentor in my profession and in my life.
Bellefaire was like Fritz’s family. The psychologists, social workers and teachers were highly trained and committed professionals, with years of experience. The cottage parents, who lived with the kids and supervised their daily living, were what today we might charitably call paraprofessionals. But they made up in warmth that they lacked in formal education, and they had Fritz to guide them.
My three and one-half years at Bellefaire were a whole new education in social work and in building a child care team. I left when I was seven months pregnant, knowing I would be a success in my field but that I could never be the kind of innovator Fritz Mayer was.
HANK TANAKA & HILL HOUSE
I worked for Hank Tanaka for seventeen years, two years at psychiatric institute and fifteen years at Hill House. Tanaka had been in a Japanese relocation camp during the war and with other nisei had been resettled in Cleveland. Like me he was a graduate of the school of applied social sciences of Western Reserve University and his wife Sachie had been in my graduating class. Hank was either a year ahead or a year behind.
At Hill House, Hank headed a new kind of program, social rehabilitation for discharged psychiatric patients, and I was his first hire, eager to be part of this pioneering agency. In the fifteen years I was part of Hill House the agency grew from a staff of three and a clientele of one to a staff of about 30, several hundred clients a year, and a national reputation. For most of that time Hank and I were not only colleagues but also friends. He was a great boss. Together we structured the program so that every professional staff member could initiate a new program by writing a proposal which defined its goals and methods and submitting it to the staff for questions and evaluation. It was a great place to work so what happened?
I think that Hank was a great group worker and that he loved the face-to-face contact with our members. But as Hill House grew his job became more and more administrative he had to deal with the union, the county board, the state and federal regulations, budgeting, strategic planning, and bureaucratic bullshit. He hated that and he was no good at it. He was unhappy on his job, and he became ill-tempered. He snapped at people and he began to make bad de-
cisions. The workers began to turn to me, to trust me,to ask me to intervene when he became impos-sible. Without meaning to, I became a threat to him.
One day he called a "directors" meeting. I was not invited. I was the group work director and the housing director, but I was not invited. I was so shocked and upset I couldn't sleep all night. Norm said: "Either you get it straightened out or you quit." I went to Hank and asked him what was the matter. Was it something personal or professional I had done? He absolutely stonewalled—he wouldn't say yes and he wouldn't say no.
After half an hour it was clear what I had to do. I told Norm I was going to resign, but I would give myself six months to find another job. I decided I had to tell my two best friends on the job, Jackie and Carol, so that they would understand what was going on No one else was to know about it, and I was not asking them to do anything about it. But they said, "It's a women's issue. Eighty per cent of the staff is female, and he has removed the only female voice in the leadership."
The most remarkable thing happened. They called a meeting next lunch hour of every woman employee at Hill House, from the housekeeper and cook to the professional supervisors and head bookkeeper. Every one of them came. They voted unanimously to tell Hank that unless he reversed that decision, he would be faced with a serious job action. He caved. I was back in. Three months later I found the job of my dreams and gave Hank six weeks notice.