A Journey of a Woman in an Uncivil Service

By Jacquelyn Gilchrist

This is a story of a young woman who went out on her own to make a life for herself. She was away from family and friends to start her career.

On this journey, she found that people disliked her for the very things that she was taught growing up. It was not something that was looked upon at work or in personal relationships as a good thing. The world seemed so different from anything she thought it would be. And hard work was looked down upon.

The struggle to keep her head above water and remain the person she was, caused tremendous hardship, but she continued to be the confident person she was, and with a motto of, “I know who I am, where I came from, and where I am going”.

Integrity remained her best feat.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 11, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796072686

Book preview

Chapter One

It was about 12:15 p.m. on a very quiet, peaceful day. The sun was shining, the temperature was in the high eighties, and not a cloud in the sky. Yet after thirty years of working for someone, I did not work for anyone. I did not intend to work for anyone and could not believe I did not have to work for anyone. I was retired.

My mind went back to the phone call I received on a December day, asking me to report to work. My dream came true. A government position. I was very much so looking forward to a career as a government employee in Washington, DC, and was smiling from ear to ear.

I had gone on an interview and returned home to pack for a two-week vacation. I was going to spend Christmas and New Year with my family and was very excited to do so.

The car was packed, and I was doing a last check of the house when the phone rang. I was on cloud nine when I found out I had been selected for a position in the federal government. Not only was I stunned but I was also elated when I was told, Have a great holiday, and report to work on January 3 after vacation.

This was the best day ever. I was showing all thirty-two of my teeth and could not wait to tell the family.

Returning to Washington, DC, and reporting to work was not only exciting but also very interesting. There was so much to learn and so much to see—the government buildings, the people, the training for my position—which I never, in my wildest dreams, could have believed. I was now an employee of the Department of the Treasury. It was a very exciting time for me.

I was sitting in a room with government paychecks for the most important person in the world: the president of the United States of America. I learned how paychecks were distributed, how they were delivered from building to building, and where they were printed. It was a very exciting place to be, and I found it very easy to get up in the morning, go to work, and return home as a very happy person.

As time went on, I began to notice that the assistant supervisor was pregnant. The section chief, Madeline, was not happy about it. The look on her face was one of disgust. Being the person she was (very talkative), her business was all over the office.

It did not take long to realize that the problem was that she had one child at home and was pregnant with another and was unmarried. Whose business was that?

A very outgoing, friendly person, she stated that she did not believe that the concern for her condition was at the top of everyone’s agenda. There were several women in the office with children but were not supervisors. She asked me if I had any children, and I said no. After that conversation, I became a pariah. The temperature in the office changed quickly. After some time, she left our office as assistant supervisor. I was never told why, but she disappeared like the sun going down in the evening.

Three months later, I had been promoted and was doing quite well in my position when I was approached by a young lady in the office and was told that I was the office pat. No one gets a promotion that soon. Something is up, she said. Looking at her directly, I explained to her that coming into the office with the administrative background and the education I had, it was not unusual to apply and receive a position for which no one else in the office qualified. I said Good day and removed myself from her sight. Needless to say, things were never the same. It was not long before the office relocated, and the seating arrangement and people changed.

Later, the office relocated to a government building two miles from where we were. The space we were in was not as secure as this government building. Things were changing. It took us away from the spotlight, but it gave me an opportunity I never thought possible. I was given a parking space in a parking lot where government employees could park at a reasonable rate. I was very happy to drive my VW to work. It was sitting too long, and this worked perfectly. I had two blocks to walk to the building. Also, the office layout was quite nice, and the work became more interesting as time went on. I was a happy camper despite the comments about my clothes and the way I dressed and talked.

How does someone on your salary dress like that? a coworker asked.

Well, if you spent a couple of hours in the evening on the sewing machine, I am sure you could come up with something, I said with a smile. I walked away.

The next day, she stated she should have known something because the dresses were so plain. She tried to bring me down, but it did not work. The look she gave me and the continuous attitude told me everything I needed to know. The workplace began to change, with not only employees but also supervision.

There was a receptionist area where messengers from other departments picked up the boxes that Mr. Jones packed. It was incredible how government paychecks were carried through the streets of Washington, DC, in cars by messengers, including the paycheck for the president of the United States. It was a daily routine.

There were two receptionists behind a glass enclosure, which had the messengers sign for the totally wrapped boxes. One receptionist was white, and the other was black. It was quite strange because other than the two chiefs and their assistants, she was the only white employee in the office. She was a very petite woman with white hair and had twenty-eight years of service.

Before the office relocated and I was still riding the bus, the white receptionist questioned me as to why I caught the same bus as her and where I lived. Come to behold, she lived in the 5100 block, and I lived in the 5300 block of the same street.

That building has always been a gem, she said. Are you the only black who lives there?

No, there is one on each floor, I replied and then walked away.

I could not believe some of the things that people felt comfortable saying to me. The prejudice that I experienced came after I started my work career. People just felt they could say anything.

Attending a black high school, college, and church all my life, I never experienced this kind of prejudice. Little did people know, living a middle-class lifestyle and having white folk in the family, not to mention those passing as white, I just never realized when I started to experience racism.

I had been in the office for almost a year. Thanksgiving was just around the corner, and I had not taken any time off since becoming an employee on January 3. I went home on weekends and was ready for work on Monday morning. Because Thanksgiving was on Thursday, I asked to take a day off or vacation on Friday. This would have given me four days at home with my family. I was ecstatic.

When I was hired during orientation, I was told that all employees received four hours of sick leave each pay period. This never changed. However, for annual leave (vacation time), each employee received four hours every pay period for four years, then six hours each pay period until their fifteenth year. Then they received eight hours of annual leave each pay period until retirement. Also, you could save as much sick leave as you wished, but you could only save 240 hours of annual leave. Everything thereafter, you had to use that year.

When I asked my supervisor for the Friday after Thanksgiving, she told me no. Her reason was because another employee in the office, Mr. Jones, an employee of twenty-eight years, needed to take time off to be home.

Later that day, Mr. Jones came to me and asked if I wanted the day after Thanksgiving off. I said, Yes, but Madeline, the section chief, said I could not have it because you needed to spend time with your family. Mr. Jones said that he did not need the day off and that if I wanted it, I could have it. All I am going to do is sit around the house all day anyway, he said.

Mr. Jones’s job was to box up items and paychecks given to him for delivery by messengers to deliver to other government buildings. Mr. Jones was a very nice person and wanted me to be home with my family for Thanksgiving. But it was not to be. Madeline was adamant and told Mr. Jones that he had to take the day off. And he did.

It did not stop me, however. I caught the Greyhound bus home on Wednesday night at five o’clock and returned to Washington, DC, on Thanksgiving night on the 9:00 p.m. bus. I enjoyed my Thanksgiving even though it was short. Madeline could not put a damper on it, even if she had wanted to. But little did I know, all hell was going to break loose.

On Friday morning, my assistant chief came past my desk. Mr. Paggartti was a nice, friendly man and a very well-dressed Italian gentleman. He looked as if he had stepped out of a bandbox every day. I remembered his cuff links and white shirts, not to mention his polished shoes. You could hear him coming a mile away. The floors were tiled, and he must have had taps on the heels because they clicked. He was a tall, thin man who smiled all the time.

Why didn’t you go home for Thanksgiving, Jackie? he asked.

I did, Mr. Paggartti, I said. I was unable to take today off for a long weekend, so I took the bus to Philadelphia on Wednesday evening and returned on Thursday night.

He looked at me and asked why. After telling him that Madeline felt Mr. Jones needed to spend time with his family and only one of us could be off, I did the next best thing and took the bus home.

Mr. Paggartti gave me a smile and walked away. I thought the matter was over, until about two hours later, Madeline walked out of Mr. Boston’s office.

Mr. Boston was the division chief. Mr. Paggartti was his assistant. Mr. Boston was a very calm man and a retired army sergeant, who had a very quiet, passive way about him. He was a friendly guy with a do-right attitude.

When Madeline walked out of Mr. Boston’s office, she walked toward me, and with a very harsh voice, she told me, Jackie, come into this office. She stood at the entrance to Mr. Boston’s office, so I could not walk any further. Mr. Boston was standing in his office, and his secretary was sitting at her desk.

Madeline began bellowing at me about how sneaky and untrusting I was. And all the time, she was being told by Mr. Boston that she was wrong. Madeline continued her tirade with very derogatory remarks. Mr. Boston continued to tell her she was wrong and that she should stop. When she did, he told me I could leave, and I went back to my desk. Mr. Boston closed his door, and after about fifteen minutes, Madeline came out of his office and walked past my desk to hers. It was about twenty-five feet away.

Every day after that was quiet. Not a word from Madeline, Mr. Paggartti, Mr. Boston, or his secretary. Whatever was said in Mr. Boston’s office was never mentioned. I never heard another word about it.

Being at work was uncomfortable for a while, but I knew that Mr. Boston and Mr. Paggartti had my back. Somehow, Madeline managed to control herself and give me assignments and supervise her employees without another outburst.

About three months later, I was informed of another promotion and was offered a position in another office. I was elated. The mere thought of moving forward with my career was a blessing, not to mention the change in environment.

The office in which I worked had some very unusual people. Mr. Jones had been there twenty-eight years and had never received a promotion. Mr. Kelly, who was from North Carolina, suffered from gout and worked for thirty years and retired as a GS-3. There was another, Mr. Cook, who was a very impressive gentleman and had been in this office his entire career. All of them retired while I was there. The federal government was changing. And I saw it all. Mr. Cook impressed me from day 1. He told me a story that was unusual, to say the least.

Old enough to be my father, Mr. Cook was an educated man, a graduate of Howard University. He had a lot of wisdom.

You have a lot of class, young lady. I can tell you came from a good family, he said. You will go far. Things are changing, you know.

I smiled and said, Thank you, Mr. Cook. How long have you been here?

Mr. Cook asked me what time I went to lunch and if I would meet him in the lunchroom. I have a lot to tell you, he said. There is so much you need to know.

During lunch, Mr. Cook told me of injustice and cruelty beyond my wildest dreams. He had served thirty-three years in the federal government and was retiring that year, along with his wife. He never said where she worked. He retired before my last promotion in that office.

Mr. Cook stated that he was the only black man in his office when he began his career. He made a very high score on his government exam and was placed in the accounting section with white employees in a very nice position. In a very nice office with windows, his desk, however, was placed in a position with his face toward the wall. This was the most insulting, inhuman thing anyone could do. But Mr. Cook said he remained calm. He took it like a champ. He did excellent work, came to work on time, and made sure the other employees did not have anything to complain about. It was not pleasant, he said. But looking back, he felt that where he was at this time, ready to retire and having had the opportunity, he was fine.

Things have changed, he said. This is only the beginning. Hang in there. You will be fine. I can see you progressing already. Your position is higher than those going out after thirty years. You will do well. Keep your head up and your mind on work. You will do well.

Chapter Two

Not long after, I was approached by the administrative officer in Personnel and was offered the opportunity to apply for a position in another office. It involved a more structured work environment, and the office hours were great. I came in earlier and left earlier.

It was an office with a glass-enclosed area. Four of us worked in that area. We did accounting duties that oversaw government department’s responsibility for petty cash reports. It was not our responsibility to keep track of the money but to make sure the departments reported each month on what was spent and what was not spent. A report was sent to us and filed every two weeks.

There were certain areas of the report we had to check, and each report was filed with the previous report for that bureau and agency. It could get technical, and in most cases, it was a lot of paperwork and correspondence, addressing incorrect areas of the report. But before the two-week period was over, I had all my corrections and correspondence done and any other work matters, including filing, completed.

One young lady, much older than the others, was the team leader and had the responsibility of checking our work and correspondence to see that all reports were in order. Her name was Flossie. She was a chain-smoker, and that was not something that sat right with me. I had to get up and leave sometimes when she blew the smoke my way or came to my desk with a cigarette in her hand. It was difficult, but I succeeded.

Things were going well. When I looked up one day, a young lady in the outer office approached me and asked if she could ride to work with me. She lived two blocks down the street, and it was no trouble to pick her up at her door. It all ended in a discussion of insurance coverage.

Before long, she disappeared from the office after gossip ended her career. I couldn’t figure people out. Her thing was that I felt I was better than her because I wouldn’t let her visit my apartment. And just because I didn’t have children didn’t mean I was who I was perceived to be. Supervision somehow got involved, and she was history. I did not believe the way people would come and go. This was an excellent way to build a career, but some did not seem to care.

One day, a lady from my old work area, Mrs. Grant, explained to me just exactly what was going on among the employees and ended the whole conversation with If you don’t know jealousy when you see it, you have a long way to go. I was left in the lunchroom sitting by myself, watching her back as she left.

Work was going well, but I watched several people leave, and no one knew why. Rumors flew, but it was hard to believe that anyone would falsify, sign, or carry a government check that did not belong to them out of this building. Did their careers mean anything to them?

I was so elated that my government career was doing well. I did everything I could to do what was needed to succeed. I came in on time and left on time, and I kept my mouth shut and my ears open.

One day, I came into the office to find our team leader in tears. She was talking to a supervisor from another area. It seemed as though her husband was angry at her for not keeping a clean apartment. Her name was Flossie. I could only imagine what the apartment looked like. Flossie was not well-kept herself.

Flossie said her husband was a military man. He wanted her to scrub the kitchen floor every night after dinner. You need to get the residue off the floor, Flossie, she said. Also, a salad with dinner was forbidden. Every night, he had to have a wedge of lettuce, and it could not have any brown on it at all, according to her. He was a person who wanted control, and she was a nervous wreck all the time.

I did not understand the chain-smoking, the nervous laughter, the five outfits worn over and over again every week, and him not allowing her to shop. But now I did. She also said he told her after he married her that she was going to wish for her little apartment many a day, and she said he was right.

I felt sorry for the life problems that people were having, but I noticed that no one talked about parents, home, church, and the positive. All I heard about were cruel husbands, baby daddies who would not marry them, bills that were unpaid, and no way out. It was my desire to never get mixed up into this lifestyle and this kind of world. And believe me, I didn’t.

I was not married and did not marry for many years later, and I could always hear my father saying, Keep your hands in God’s hand. I was not perfect, but I did the best I could and always remembered home. And I remember that my father also said, Your business is yours, and your work is in an entirely different world. Keep them separate.

As time went by and my salary grew, I bought savings bonds and increased my savings allotment. I continued to sew and continued to dress as well as I could. I wore the pearls that Dad and Mom had given me for my sixteenth birthday and a little pair of pearl earrings every day. No one even noticed. At least they did not say anything. In those days, this was the style.