Reversal of Fortune

harlie Devine wished that he had taken the afternoon off as he had intended or, better, that he had retired last year as long planned, without acceding to his former boss' plea to take over a neglected backwater supply depot and transform it into a vital logistics center.

But wishing would not wipe away the year he had spent in unfamiliar and uncomfortable territory after what was to have been his last assignment--and a plum one at that. Nor would it wipe away what turned out to be the exhilarating experience of assembling a talented management team, recharging a demoralized workforce, and otherwise breathing new life into the renamed South Central Logistics Center. The revamped facility in Tennessee had already earned recognition for exceeding performance goals.

But most of all, wishing would not reverse the late Friday afternoon phone call from his boss, Bureau of Management Services Deputy Director Fenton Mole, who confided that the center had been placed on the agency's installation-consolidation list. Despite South Central's success, budget cuts dictated its absorption by the larger and more diversified logistics complex in Pennsylvania. Mole assured Devine that he had vigorously argued to preserve South Central, but he had the impression the decision was final and already had congressional input.

"You don't think the choice had anything to do with the fact that the President carried Pennsylvania last year and got wiped out here, do you? Or who's got two Republican Senators and who's got one?" Devine had said. Mole had ignored the thrust and said he just wanted to give Devine as much advance notice as possible, along with his condolences. "The list is embargoed until they show it around on Capitol Hill on Monday, but as I said, I think the key people up there know about it already," he said.

"I won't embarrass you by bringing up the agency strategic plan and the unique role for South Central that you pitched to me only a year ago, old friend," Devine sallied weakly.

"And I won't patronize you by reminding you that the strategic plan is a living document subject to continual adjustment," Mole said. "But don't think for one moment that I don't feel terrible about having contributed to your disappointment. I will do everything in my power to help you manage the transition--we'll have at least six months."

Devine slowly assessed his predicament. Following Mole's lead, Devine had persuaded two esteemed colleagues from the bureau and one from a Defense agency to interrupt their flourishing careers to help him make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. And together they had done it:

• A buildup in 120 days from 350 employees to more than 1,000, with an energetic nationwide recruitment campaign.
• An automated inventory and dispatching system that was the envy of the bureau, if not the entire agency.
• An agreement with the employee union with features such as group awards that led to rising productivity.

Of course, these were whitewater times for senior managers. Every agency was on notice that executive and legislative branch officials were looking for savings and efficiencies while providing a revenue stream for new priorities. And every year, each installation was required to justify its continued existence.

It couldn't have been more than a month since Mole had signed that report to Washington. How could anyone have read what South Central was doing and concluded that those things could be done just as well by the Pennsylvania bunch with help from a mere fraction of the workforce? Most of Devine's people wouldn't transfer because there wouldn't be enough jobs for all, and people with local and regional ties were unlikely to relocate. Most important perhaps, the hard-charging South Central professionals would probably turn up their noses at the prospect of joining the less progressive management up north.

Was there any wiggle room for a reversal of the consolidation decision? Devine believed that Mole had argued the case, but wouldn't the bureau director or even the Secretary consider an appeal in the case of an installation with such extraordinary performance of a new mission? Didn't he owe that to his team? And wouldn't congressional and industry supporters want to lobby to save the center? That would entail going out of channels and raised trickier questions.

What if none of that could help? How could he keep the department's decision from thoroughly demoralizing a workforce that deserved rewards for its achievements rather than termination? How could he galvanize his management team, especially the longtime associates he had personally recruited, to supervise a transition to oblivion? Could he even psyche himself up?

David Hornestay, a Washington-area consultant, served in government for more than 30 years, primarily in human resources and institutional management.