A Small Contribution: Memoirs of a Social Worker

By Morris R. Heney

“What is a great man who has made his mark upon history? Every time, if we think far enough, he is a man who has looked through the confusion of the moment and has seen the moral issue involved; he is a man who has refused to have his sense of justice distorted; he has listened to his conscience until conscience becomes a trumpet call to like-minded men so that they gather about him, and together, with mutual purpose and mutual aid, they make a new period in history” (

Jane Addams,

1860–1935).

This is a quote from Jane Addams, the great American settlement activist, reformer, public administrator, and author who was born in 1860 in Cedarville, Illinois, and died in 1935 in Chicago, Illinois. She is without a doubt one of the most important leaders in the history of social work. Her twenty years at Hull House are a testimony of her service to those segments of our population that were in dire need for assistance.

Social workers all over our land are carrying her torch in the search of truth and knowledge. We feel most honored to be the heirs of this great tradition of service. We as a nation are beginning to value the importance of trained social workers to intervene following a crisis.

A Small Contribution: Memoirs of a Social Worker is both an inspiration and a tool for those men and women in the trenches, heirs of the legacy of the founders of the social work profession.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662444388

Book preview

Fire, Thunder, and Tears

Our meeting started as always at 8:00 am with an overview of what each section was working on by the deputy commissioner. Eventually, each section head gave a verbal report along with supportive statistical data of their accomplishments.

Being on the eighteenth floor, I had this habit of looking out the window at the massive structure of the World Trade Center buildings. The sun shining on the windows gave them a silver sheen. They weren’t the prettiest of buildings, they were majestic. I could just make out the top of the antenna as the building seemed to dwarf where I was located. It was my turn to present, and the large clock on the wall just beyond the seat of the deputy commissioner read slightly past nine. She began questioning about some of the data I had handed out, and then in a flash, our world changed. A huge explosion along with a fireball erupted from the World Trade Center along with a mammoth fireball. A gaping hole appeared in the side of one of the buildings.

I turned to one of my colleagues and said, What the hell was that?

Someone came running in and shouted that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. No one could fathom what was going on. We stared at the burning structure in disbelief. A radio was turned on, and the commentator indicated that a plane had hit the building. While watching the black smoke bellow from the building, another explosion from the second tower exploded. I again said, What the hell. As we watched the wounded structures fight for life, we turned on the radio and heard the radio commentator confirm that two jet planes had struck the buildings. Remembering my early days at the Floyd Bennet Field Naval Air Station that jet fuel burned at extremely high temperatures, I remarked that those buildings are in deep trouble. My wife called, wanting to know if I was okay. How many times during that day did loved ones speak to one another professing their love for one another never to be seen or heard of again?

After a while, it was reported that several of my staff on a lower floor were in distress, and I proceeded down to where they were located to comfort them. Then it happened, I felt a rumble. It was like an old air conditioner compressor had kicked on. I thought to myself, There are no air conditioner units on this floor. One of the staff, a tall lanky caseworker came running out, heading for the exit shouting that one of the World Trade Center buildings had collapsed. I hated him for the panic he caused and only increasing the stress of the staff who already could not cope with what was befalling us.

We were all asked to evacuate to the building basement. In the basement, there were approximately twenty steps leading up to some metal doors and small windows just above the doors leading to the street. One could see the sun shining through the windows of the doors. Then there was another rumble, and it seemed as if we were going through an eclipse of the sun as darkness fell on the windows for what seemed to be an extended period of time. Sometimes, it seems that what happened on September 11, 2001, is a dream, and other times it is difficult to shake the feelings of despair.

I still remember a woman, I think her name was Denise. She had come running into the building, panting that she had just came from the eighty-fifth floor of one of the towers. She seemed to be in a daze and breathing quite heavily. I remembered not to let a person going into shock fall asleep. I kept speaking to her, asking about her family. She said that she had an eleven-year-old son. When I thought that she was stable enough, I searched for a doctor and found one who had just arrived from Beekman Downtown Hospital. He examined Denise and said that she was stable and would be okay. Eventually, Denise got up to leave and said that she wanted to buy me dinner. I remarked, A frank from the vendor on the corner would be just fine. I never saw Denise again.

A short time later, we evacuated the basement for the street. There was a layer of dust, easily an inch deep everywhere we looked. An exodus of humanity walked toward the Brooklyn Bridge. As we made our way over the walkway of the bridge, a jet fighter flew overhead, and we all ducked in fear of another plane attack. Once over the bridge, I observed rescue personnel handing out bottles of water. As we separated to go our own ways, the feeling of loneliness and isolation took hold of me. I eventually met someone I knew and walked many streets with her just happy not to be alone.

I arrived home and immediately put on the television. The devastating scene was played repeatedly. I didn’t remember sleeping that night. I just remember being glued to the TV. Early in the morning, I received a telephone call from a colleague stating that the commissioner was requesting anyone with a state social work license to report to the Children’s Center on First Avenue and Twenty-Eighth Street in Manhattan. The Children’s Center was going to be used as the depository for the families of the missing persons from the towers.

We were each paired with a police officer who was to take information for a missing person’s report. Being social workers, we asked about family support and the need for counseling.

I had heard that one of the caterer’s in the restaurant, Windows on the World, was married to one of the director’s in our office. I said to myself, What do I do if I see her? I knew instantly the moment the commissioner escorted her up as the first person to be seen by the waiting staff of police and social workers.

I immediately rose and walked over to her and just said, Susan, come with me.

She kept saying over and over, What am I going to do?

I said, A second becomes a minute and a minute becomes an hour and an hour becomes a day. One foot in front of the other, and we go on. While I was telling her this, I was holding her, and I remember a police lieutenant asked the police officer I was assigned to work with what was I doing, and the police officer remarked that we knew one another.

The sense of being ultra-hyper during the day overcame me. I had not had that feeling since my father had died twenty-four years earlier. Family members were asked to have photos of their loved ones faxed to our office. We were stationed on the sixth floor in a large room with multiple desks and chairs stationed throughout the room. The fax machine was located on the first floor. I had no patience to wait for an elevator and did not remember how many times I ran up and down the stairs to receive documents from the fax machine. What struck me most was that many of the family members I spoke with could not comprehend the devastation of the tragedy that had befallen us. Some came in with smiles thinking that their loved ones would be found.

By the end of the day at about 8:00 pm, the sense of foreboding was overpowering. The deputy commissioner had come over to me, stating that a driver in a city van was going to drive us home. There was no other way at that time to get home as the city was on lockdown. My lips began to quiver, and my eyes welled with tears. I told her that I was not leaving until the last person was seen. She asked me to come out into the hallway with her. She remarked that I had to calm down. I smiled and said that I was okay; she just had that effect on me. I continue to relive and replay the scene in my head. I returned to the station where I had been working following my conversation with the deputy commissioner and worked for about another hour. Everyone who was working alongside of me waited for me to finish speaking with family members. The extreme tiredness finally hit me, and in an instant, I had this overwhelming feeling of being numb. I think all of us had the same feelings of not being able to do enough.

I could not sleep that night and kept watching the TV. The scene of the attacks on the towers was being played over and over again. I had known prior to leaving the Children’s Center that the interviewing of relatives was being moved to the Twenty-Fifth Street Armory. It was about 4:00 am, and I had been watching channel 2 coverage when an announcement was made that any person needing information about a loved one should report to the Children’s Center. I called channel 2 and told them that they have their information wrong as the new site for interviewing families was the Twenty-Fifth Street Armory. About twenty minutes later, there appeared a message on the screen that the site for information was the armory.

During the weeks that followed the tragedy, I found solace in knowing we were not alone. Traveling to work I saw police officers from all over the country wearing their state-issued uniforms helping direct traffic or just performing routine duties. My eyes weld up with tears seeing them.

Unbeknownst to me then, I would be feeling the effects of the 9/11 tragedy emotionally and physically for years to come.

The Dream

Being thirteen and echoing what profession I would pursue seems like a pipe dream to some. I still remember telling my mother that I wanted to be a social worker. Her first response was, Why do you want to do that? There is no money in it. My response, The money is not important.

I still feel that way today. My first introduction to social work as a young adolescent was watching George C. Scott playing the part of a social worker in a show titled East Side, West Side, the ongoing story of a community social worker who worked with gangs in an inner-city neighborhood. It is strange how things turn out in one’s life. I can picture the meandering river we call life with all its twists and turns leading us, not knowing what is beyond the next bend. My career choices throughout my life went from social work to lawyer to teacher and back to social work. The various transitions in my career choices had to have spanned a decade or more.

In college, my major was English literature with an emphasis on the Renaissance period. I also took education courses as I decided that I would teach. Upon graduation, I took the New York State test to be licensed to teach and just missed the passing grade. Being committed to teaching, I ended up taking a position as a substitute teacher and was able to work every day for a period of four months. I was let go after the first semester as new hires with teaching licenses were being introduced to the school. So much for my teaching career.

As I stated before, it is funny how life, like a river, flows. Desperate for work, I began applying to some major corporations. I found that I needed nineteen years of experience, but being in my early twenties was an impossibility. My next stop was the professional section of the New York State Division of Unemployment. Speaking with a counselor, I remember stating that I was interested in some form of human-relations work. The unemployment counselor referred me to the New York City Department of Social Services. I was hired as a caseworker on December 27, 1970. My career was about to begin!

The Beginning—Earning the Scars on My Back

First entering the main hall of the Department of Social Services, it was a large room with desks that lined the walls. There was a waiting area in the middle of the room with three to four rows of metal chairs. I must have seemed odd to most of the employees as I was the only one dressed in a suit. Sitting next to me was someone in a dirty sweatshirt. I began speaking with the person sitting next to me and was informed that it was easy to come and go from the casework position. The city is always looking to hire caseworkers. He remarked that this was the third time he would be working for the Department of Social Services.

The next day, I returned wearing dress slacks and a newly pressed shirt. As the days passed, I succumbed to the tribalism of wearing blue jeans, sweatshirt, and work boots (my uniform). On the second day at the employment section for the city, I was told to report to 213 Duffield Street, a DSS welfare center, and was assigned to a supervisor by the name of Moe. Staff in the building referred to the unit as Moe’s unit. Moe loved to play the horses, and between speaking with the caseworkers and discussing cases, Moe read the pages of the horse-racing sheets; he called it his bible. I was assigned a caseload of seventy-nine, had my little black loose leaf under my arm, and off to the field I went. I learned that I had two types of visits to conduct statutory visits, a visit made every month, and a recertification visit, which was conducted every three months. It really made little difference as we were visiting the same addresses each month. The difference between the two types of visits had to do with how they were coded on a computerized sheet for data entry.

One day, after conducting a visit and leaving a high-rise project in a city housing complex, I heard a thud behind me. Someone had dropped a hammer from one of the windows high up. I thought There but for the grace of God go I and kept walking; I never looked back!

During one of my many visits, I met a grandmother who was caring for her grandchildren. I would sit and talk with her for long periods of time when I had her on my schedule. One afternoon, returning from fieldwork, I saw the children of the grandmother sitting in the lobby of the office and questioned what they were doing there. I was informed that the police had arrested the grandmother for using and selling heroin. I learned a great deal from that experience and referred to it as receiving the first scars on my back. The metaphor represents the hard-learned life lessons one must go through to attain knowledge. In the situation involving the grandmother, I realized that all is not as it appears on face value. As the years passed, there would be many more scars to follow!

In looking back at that incident, I realized that I wanted to be friends with the grandmother instead of being friendly. I did not know it then though I crossed a professional boundary. Not knowing at the time what boundaries meant, as the years passed, I was in for quite an education.

The social worker must always be aware of the trap of crossing boundaries. While client’s cross boundaries multiple times, the social worker may not. Crossing boundaries by the social worker can be considered unprofessional and a violation of the NASW Code of Ethics.

Boundaries

The social work definition of boundaries: Boundaries are the limits that allow for a safe connection based on the client’s needs (Peterson 1992, 74).

It is important that social workers are mindful of boundaries. Within the framework of a social worker–client relationship, the crossing of boundaries by the social worker skews the relationship. The relationship between social worker and client is based on trust, and within that trust, there is a feeling of safety on the part of the client. When that trust is violated, so is the safety net that has been created.

What are some of the cues that would give us pause when a worker may be crossing boundaries?

Providing personal information, such as personal e-mail address, Facebook account, home address, communicating with a client via text messages, can all be construed as crossing boundaries. The social worker may inappropriately hug or touch a client. The worker may provide an inordinate amount of time with a particular client. The social worker may speak about the client, divulging sensitive information. The worker may provide money to the client as well as dress inappropriately when the client is present. Coworkers remark about the relationship of the worker-client relationship.

While some of the examples are extreme, we must be mindful of what it means to cross boundaries. We can avoid crossing boundaries by being aware of the danger signs. We should confer, during supervision, our feelings about a client in order to avoid a violation of boundaries.

Several of the danger signs (red flags) are providing extra attention to a particular client, making a client special, thereby encouraging dependency; personal sharing by the social worker; dual relationship with a client; working in a closed system/isolation; making up your own rules; seeing yourself as unique or above the rules as being unsupported or misunderstood; feeling of grandiosity as promising actions to the client without prior conferencing with superiors that you are the only one who can assist the client; lack of a proper job description or no knowledge of agency policies and procedures; and placing ideology before the client needs.

If we do cross a boundary, we leave ourselves vulnerable for the client to ask for special favors (sometimes not within our purview to grant). Social workers should be aware of the NASW Code of Ethics in order to avoid the pitfall of violating boundaries. Debriefing via supervision or professional counseling can also offer help in avoiding crossing boundaries. Knowing the danger signs and knowing ourselves also help to mitigate the crossing of boundaries. If we realize that we have crossed a boundary, we should make every effort to confront the issues via apologizing to the client for our indiscretion. If we find that we are consistently crossing boundaries with clients, then a career change may be our only option.

What does it mean when clients cross a boundary and how do we handle the interaction when that occurs?

Many clients, during the engagement phase of a social work–client relationship, try and change the dynamics of the relationship by asking personal questions of the social worker. It is important for the social worker to be aware of these questions and the consequences of answering inappropriately. Clients ask do you have any children or how many children do you have. They may ask how they can get in touch with the social worker in an emergency. In an effort to gain favor with the social worker, clients have been known to ask where the social worker lives. The seasoned social worker does not have to answer the client but rather turn the question around and reask the client the question, such as is it important to know how many children I have? Most agencies have emergency service telephone numbers, and that is the number that should be provided to the client. The social worker should never sound condescending or unconcerned. The social worker must remain professional at all times and not be intimidated by the client. The social worker can show empathy with the client by responding to their inquiries by stating this must be very difficult for you. The social worker also must be aware of