holidays 2023

 Dear Everyone,

I hope this note finds you as well as possible. For some, this year has given my circle and me reason to celebrate: New jobs and promotions. Pregnancies and births. Romance and weddings. Travel. Connection. I have enjoyed some deepening connections with longtime and newer friends and travel to various places, often primarily to see them: Berlin. Boston. Chicago. Copenhagen. Culpeper. Denver. Portland, OR. Savannah. Seattle. Many trips to NYC to visit friends and family, and my annual trip to Lubec, ME for Summer Keys.

Unfortunately, this year has also given people in my circle reason to grieve: Physical and emotional health problems. Fractured relationships with partners, parents, and children. Job losses and career frustration.

And losses. So many losses. For a while, about every week a friend’s parent or elderly relative was passing. A dear friend’s mother just passed away a few weeks ago. A colleague lost his brother last week. And some loved ones, such as spouses and siblings, lost much too soon.

In my broader community of Washington, DC, to date over 250 homicides, a third more than last year (more on that, below). And in the larger world, violence just inciting more violence. My thoughts with all who are grieving.

As most (if not all) of you know, I lost my own sister, Emily Hoffenberg, this past January. It was also too soon: She was fifty-eight. For the first time in my life, I became all too acquainted with the lonely and strange journey of grief that the loss of such a close relative begins.

One friend noted, soon after Emily passed, that my sister was now in a better place. My friend was right. Emily had been a troubled soul from when she was young. Naturally pretty, she struggled with her weight from an early age, descended from stout women on both sides of the family. She had difficulty getting along with peers, and, while no one likes getting teased, she held grudges against those who had teased or mistreated her far beyond what seemed merited. She was not interested in school. She had volatile relationships with boyfriends which usually ended with drama.

As she got older, she developed behaviors consistent with obsessive-compulsive disorder: Vacuuming the carpet to a pulp; taking multi-hour showers; and engaging in other bizarre rituals to manage her anxiety. Into adulthood she continued having trouble getting along with others and worked only for a few years after barely graduating college. She spent the better part of her adult life indulging her compulsions and watching TV.

My mother, her husband, and I all tried to caution her about the impact of her behavior. Unfortunately, she would not listen and had a defiant, perversely libertarian attitude towards her rituals and lack of employment. I can still hear her defenses: “Why should I change just because society says I should?” “You’re my younger brother: Don’t lecture me.”

Years of multi-hour showers, and who knows what other behavior, had worn away at Emily’s skin, and left her vulnerable to infection. And given her excessive tendency towards doing things her way, she usually waited till the last minute to seek medical care. After Emily developed skin rashes covering much of her body in October 2022 (not the first time in her life), two doctors told her she needed to go to the emergency room. She refused until the pain became intolerable.

After that, Emily spent the few months left of her life between stints at home, bedridden, and trips to the emergency room and hospitalization. Her body, after years of self-abuse, began to shut down. She became unable to walk and her throat closed to the point she couldn’t swallow food. Doctors were preparing to insert a balloon in her esophagus the days before she passed at Long Island Jewish Hospital, with her husband and sister-in-law by her side, on January 18, 2023. I take some comfort in that I had been able to take my parents to visit my sister, one last time, a few days prior. It was the last time we saw her alive, and the four of us were together.

In her last few months, Emily acknowledged the damage she had done to herself, yet even then, it was not around getting the mental health care she long had needed. Alas she talked about needing “try harder” to stop her compulsive behavior. Unfortunately, she never got the chance.

My mother (still here in mind, if not in body), my brother-in-law, and I are left with some guilt. (My father, not so much: I’ll save him for a future holiday letter.) My mother took Emily to counseling when she was younger, yet Emily was not engaged, and it was ineffective. My sister carried that skepticism of counseling into adulthood.

In hindsight, I could have sought guardianship, yet even that outcome was uncertain, especially as she was married, and her husband, even with his own illnesses and limitations, had rights over me. At best, she would have ended up institutionalized, medicated against her will, a quality of life different yet not higher than the one she achieved left to her own devices.

The way my sister thought and behaved, I couldn’t have as close a relationship with her as I would have liked. Yet we spoke on the phone a few times a month, and my parents and I would visit with her and her husband when I was in Queens. Childlike, she mostly wanted to talk about movies and our favorite animals. I miss those conversations, and the prospect of a sibling, however troubled, for company in old age.

I am continually appreciative of the support I received right after my sister passed: The phone calls. The texts. The donations. The shiva visits, both in New York and in Washington, DC. The food -- SO much food, and the food sent to my parents’ home, especially appreciated. My mother and I sent thank you notes to all who we could, yet I wanted to acknowledge this kindness again.

Still, outside my friend circle, part of my own, undeclared journey has been finding myself in professional and social milieu with people who largely come from more affluent and less troubled families than mine, and who could not relate to my situation. I remember, once over a meal at Cornell, a friend asked, “Why didn’t your sister go to Cornell?” I didn’t imbue her with bad intentions, and frankly don’t remember how I responded. Yet the question left me feeling embarrassed.

Years later, at lunch one day at the Census Bureau, the subject of families arose. A young woman in my lunch group asked about my sister, and this time I remember I was more forthcoming about her condition. My colleague paused, uncomfortably, and changed the subject to the song playing in the cafeteria.

Over the years, I came to see that my own sister was not an “appropriate” topic of conversation with people I did not know well. Indeed, many of my well-educated research-oriented colleagues at Census would only come across someone like my sister and her husband in a row in a public use data file, which they might be analyzing using the latest techniques for a conference presentation or journal article.

As one colleague observed, many (not all, but many) people with advanced social science degrees look at life "through a window." For them, research is not intended to solve the plight of poor or otherwise marginalized people; rather, the data of troubled people mainly serve as fodder to advance their careers.

On the one hand, I can't begrudge others their lived experiences. On the other hand, I can't help but wonder if many of our larger social problems -- those which, in theory, our various academic institutions teach students how to address, and which governments and other helping institutions hire these students to solve -- remain unfixed, among other reasons, because the people we've hired to solve them don't have actual experience in the lives of the people they are supposed to help. And, even when these professionals do create policies and programs, in the design they may be overestimating the resources and capabilities of the people of interest, projecting their own resources, capabilities, and aspirations onto the target population. As I learned from my sister, not everyone wants or is able to work.

Living and working in the nation’s capital, I don’t have to look far to see this obtuseness. Earlier this fall, the Justice Department organized a conference celebrating "Fifty Years of the National Crime Victimization Survey" just as Washington, DC was experiencing the highest level of homicides in two decades and more than twice as many carjackings as last year, often committed by teens. This summer my neighbors and I were afraid to leave our homes. Later this fall, Census organized a two-day conference on “Advancing Research on Race, Ethnicity, and Inequality”, as if we haven’t been studying these subjects for decades, with, at best, a mixed record on improvement. Just more admiring problems, looking at the world through that safe analytic window.

I came to realize I’m so sensitive to this because I went into public service to solve problems, not merely to study them, especially coming from a family with such pressing needs. My concern with those in need is not removed or merely academic. And as I am squarely middle aged, it's disenheartening to see yet another generation mired in social problems which only seem to promote another generation of research. I get equally weary of conflicts, like those in the Middle East, which never seem to get resolved. People hating and killing each other because of what someone wrote on stone tablets centuries ago.

I found myself wading in this sort of futility for much of the year, yet having given myself the time to stew has helped me recently be more open to light. A blog by Bill Gates remind of our progress and innovations to reduce carbon emissions, among other achievements.

On a smaller, yet no less important scale, a former colleague has helped open a sanctuary for abused and neglected animals. It won’t bring back the megafauna which I wish we humans hadn’t killed off – I imagine a giddy world with woolly mammoths and glyptodons roaming the streets of Manhattan or the Champs-Élysées -- or reverse more recent species extinction. Yet it's something, and it's refreshing to see an effort not mired in analysis paralysis.

And I think of the dedication of the nurses and staff who helped my sister in her final months. The last time I saw her alive, a few days before she died, her hospital bedstand was covered in napkins and cups filled with water to the brim. She was bedridden, barely sentient, with IV tubes in both arms. Yet at least the staff had given her what she wanted, however bizarre it might seem to others, to relieve her anxiety.

When I am feeling at my worst about the state of the world, I try to remember all the people who are working very hard to make the world a better place, even if not always succeeding. Things would probably be worse if it weren’t for them. As George Eliot wrote at the end of Middlemarch, "That things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.”

Here's to a 2024 with less loss.

Love,

Rich

holidays 2022

Dear everyone,

I hope this letter finds you well, or at least managing. We return to life that resembles life pre-COVID19 (even as we’re still in a pandemic), yet with sighting the more-than-occasional mask-wearer, the grief of loved ones lost, and the processing of the trauma we collectively experienced.

This year, like many recent ones, several friends lost parents or other loved ones, human or otherwise. My thoughts are with you.

I learned of the passing of two of my college mentors: Patti Papapietro, a student advisor who succumbed to pancreatic cancer several years ago; and an economics professor, Dr. Lois Gosse, who passed earlier this year. I think of them often and the wisdom from which I continue to draw.

Yet, I am surrounded by fertility, too: My boss became a dad second time around, and my employee is expecting. Various friends became parents and others are expecting, too. And other friends hope to become parents, despite challenges. I hope they all find parenting as rewarding as they expect.

On the other end of the life cycle, this past May my father turned ninety, and my mother, nearly eighty-six, keeps on, her nonsmall cell lung cancer nodule growing, yet thankfully, at a slow pace. I am relieved they are so relatively robust at their advanced ages.

My sister, chronically unwell mentally and physically, took an especially bad turn this year, needing hospitalization and awaiting rehabilitation. She’s had skin disease and cannot walk because she’s been bedridden so long. I have not shared this difficulty with many, until now. People have their own mishegoss and sharing such news can lead to anxiety for the recipient, activating their urge to fix. It’s especially hard because my sister has always been resistant to treatment, which is why her own situation is so dire now. It’s in Gd’s hands now.

More broadly, it was a year of reconnection after two years of isolation: I attended conferences where I reconnected with colleagues from current and former employers. I helped organize, with the help of my galpal Khairah and a heavy lift from the alumni association, the 35^th reunion for my graduating class from the Bronx High School of Science. It was a joyous event, a high point of the year. Towards the end of the evening, we all burst into dance spontaneously, perhaps drawing from energy pent-up after all that time physically distanced. I feel blessed to have so many friends from that time long ago who I consider academic brothers and sisters.

It was a year of travel: San Francisco. Puerto Rico. Chicago. Cabo San Lucas. Lubec, ME. Two trips to Denver, a city overflowing with pornstaches (blech). Los Angeles. And several trips to NYC.

I travel so much to connect with friends in other cities. Yet when I return to my adoptive city, Washington, DC, my social life is often challenging to keep robust in an ambitious, overprogrammed, too-often-transactional, and transient environment.

This feeling of alienation was on my mind when I wrote last year’s note, too, in preparing for this one: “I’ve committed, in what I hope is a healthy way, in the coming year to observing and listening more, reaching out less, and seeing what the universe brings to me. I’ll do my share and see if others contribute theirs.”

This year, I tried to do that. In turn, the universe handed me a lot of need. Friends, or their significant others, in pain, with sickness and injury, reeling from difficult or ruptured relationships, straining to support troubled children. Work dissatisfaction. Colleagues and subordinates craving attention and support. People in my neighborhood begging for money or attention, in the shadows of new, luxury high-rise apartment buildings, amidst a nationwide housing shortage. Recently children have been occasionally tapping on some of my condominium building windows, seeking attention I guess, further aggravating residents already besieged with maintenance and repair needs.

Pema Chodron, the Buddhist nun, noted the world needs people who can pay attention to the pain of others since it is too easy to shut down. Yet, for those of us who refuse to shut down, who don’t stick our figurative fingers in our ears and who want to experience life in its totality, it can be exhausting. We have to find ways to be able to absorb all that hurt and take care of ourselves. I have not been so good at that. For 2023, I commit myself to more consistent meditation and journaling, and I’ve just restarted counseling.

The need I hear is just a kernel of the ongoing, larger pain in the world. Data, both quantitative and qualitative, speak to a mental health crisis borne from the dysfunction and indifference of contemporary society, and exacerbated by the pandemic.

It’s not all bad, yet there’s a lot of hurt these days: Ukraine, Russia, Iran. In America, mass shootings as commonplace as grocery shopping, and in places where we shop for groceries, too. The revoking of rights previously bestowed. Ongoing anti-Black racism and the resurgence of anti-Semitism. Unmerited hatred and discrimination towards so many groups, really. This past winter I started reading How to Stay Human in A F***ed Up World. For 2023, I need to finish that book, too.

Some developments this year give some short-term hope. Various components of the Inflation Reduction Act, if implemented effectively, could buy us some time to stave off the worst effects of climate change. A recent nuclear fusion breakthrough holds some long-term energy promise. And the American midterm elections revealed a large share of the electorate willing to fight for democracy.

Ultimately, whatever political or technological battles we win or lose, our human existence here is temporary. We are but visitors on an improbable and ridiculous journey on this orb, trying to make our ways, individually and collectively, as best we can.

In that vein, I am wishing you a safe and happy holiday season and a fulfilling 2023.

Love, Rich

holidays 2021

Dear friends,

I hope you are all as well as possible. The pandemic continues with variants using more Greek letters than fraternity row. And, for various reasons, despite the availability of vaccines, in the US more people died this year than last.

Closer to home, this year has been marred by losses. A former boss died of (breakthrough) COVID19; friends lost parents. A few weeks ago, a classmate from high school passed suddenly. I recorded Send in the Clowns to channel my grief. A few days later, Sondheim died. 

I know many friends my age struggle with taking care of aging loved ones, from parents to pets. Various friends struggle with relationships that have fallen apart, and rebuilding their networks after that; work challenges; and health issues, related to COVID19 or otherwise. My thoughts are with all of you, those whose struggles I know and those I don’t.

My parents, thankfully, are doing reasonably well. Last year, I reported Momma’s bleak prognosis per her non-small cell lung cancer. Yet this year her cancer seems to have stopped growing and she is in better health. My father marches onto ninety in body, if not in mind. His short-term memory is quite poor. All those researchers who report a positive attitude will lengthen your life, well, should stop smoking crack. 

I have been extremely grateful to all of you who have routinely asked about my parents’ wellbeing.

As for me, it’s been a year of meaningful work with supportive colleagues, adventurous travel, and reflection – reflection particularly about relationships. I’ve come to see that, for several reasons, I’ve tried too hard in certain friendships, and maintained other friendships merely out of habit. I’ve also been reflecting on times when I’ve alienated people by ignoring their cues, not listening attentively, or assuming their willingness to be candid matched mine.

There is a fine line between being true to oneself and needlessly adding hurt to situations. The Buddhist teacher Sylvia Boorstein has written you can communicate just about anything to anyone if you say it in the right way.

In that vein, I’ve committed, in what I hope is a healthy way, in the coming year to observing and listening more, reaching out less, and seeing what the universe brings to me. I’ll do my share and see if others contribute theirs.

And in that vein, I’ve committed to writing a shorter holiday letter than previous years. I succeeded! Perhaps that will create more space to hear from you.

I’ve appreciated various invites to join friends on trips to Kauai and Asheville, generous hosting in Cincinnati, and the chance to travel across the pond to Madrid and Lisbon to meet acquaintances old and new. It was good to spend a week in Lubec, ME, even if SummerKeys was not in session. (Hoping it will be next year!) Next year I have some physical travel planned yet will also be resuming an educational journey by taking linear algebra and differential equations. These classes help in understanding current statistical tools, from machine learning to differential privacy. Wish me luck!

Wishing you and your families all the best for 2022. Please drop me a line and let me know how you are doing.

Love,

Rich

holidays 2020

December 2020

Dear friends,

It’s been a rough year. Several friends lost parents to the coronavirus or other illnesses. Other friends contracted the virus, yet thankfully recovered. My thoughts are with all who have struggled with health or lost loved ones this year. My thoughts are also with those of you who have lost jobs, suffered pay cuts, or have otherwise struggled due to the pandemic.

My immediate family has also dealt with health issues. My sister and father have had various health concerns yet keep holding on. And Momma's radiation treatment last year may have slowed the growth of her lung cancer but did not kill it. Chemotherapy this year didn’t kill it, either, and she suffered debilitating side effects. Yet, after a bleak prognosis from her oncologist, and some new meds for her chronic lymphocytic leukemia, Momma is feeling better, at least for now, and is as feisty and interfering in my life as ever. Nothing like bad news to perk up my lineage. 😊

Treatment having failed, the lung cancer will eventually kill Momma, and she knows it, yet her equanimity is impressive. Not too long ago she sent me an email which read, “Today I am leading the book group at the synagogue. So-and-so was going to lead it, but she died, so now I am leading it.” The Buddha would be impressed, too.

I have been appreciative of my friends’ inquiries about Momma’s health throughout the year. I will miss her terribly when she is no longer in this life.

As for me, and as for many, my struggles this year were more internal: I have struggled with loneliness and depression, even more than usual. Thankfully, I am addicted to regular exercise, including yoga, which helps to mitigate. My piano and piano lessons over Zoom have been a source of comfort and growth. Next year I will investigate fostering a cat, since adopting a hippopotamus, while obviously preferable, alas, seems impractical. For now. 😉

And I don’t want the loneliness and depression to go away entirely. I can’t help but think the pandemic was nature’s wakeup call for us to pause and observe our current existence, and see where there is pain, personal or global, in need of remedy. Discomfort can spur us to act, and nothing aggravates me more than toxic positivity.

In the meantime, it’s been a year of impaired existence, constrained by masks and limited social interactions. We’re not making many new memories; we’re just trying to survive. It’s been a time of assessing the past versus working towards the future. I’ve found myself visiting places and things filled with memories: Ithaca, NY, and Cornell; extended stays in in New York City; my photos, journals, and yearbooks. Between these travels and double pigeon (yoga pose), I find memories -- good, bad, awkward, embarrassing – bubbling to the surface, all part of a journey backward. At least that is more interesting than the current mix of ennui and fear.

I re-read the editorial I wrote – with a heavy lift from my 9^th grade English teacher – for my junior high school yearbook. Borrowing from Francis Bacon, the theme was “Knowledge is power.” I noted how scientific discoveries had advanced civilization through the millennia. I was hopeful then.

I no longer think that statement is true. We have millions of books, thousands of journals and journal articles, sources of knowledge online and in print. We are drowning in knowledge. Yet none of that knowledge was able to prevent or stop this pandemic timely.

Bill Gates gave a TED talk in 2015 warning us about the risk of a pandemic, yet many were surprised when it arrived. The prior administration prepared a handbook for future administrations to use in case of a pandemic. Yet still, America failed in testing, in providing personal protective equipment, in tracing contacts, and ultimately in flattening the curve and controlling the spread.

I've come to see that while knowledge can lead to power, it is not equivalent. Knowledge must be applied effectively. Researchers have to work across disciplines, to make sure their findings are accessible to all those who need to hear them and become institutionalized. The elitism that permeates academia – and parts of government, by extension, which I’ve seen first-hand – only serves to alienate further those parts of the public that are already skeptical of experts.

Yet it is also incumbent on the public to be willing students, to stay informed and heed guidance. On an A train where a gently humorous sign showing right and wrong ways of wearing masks was posted, there were people on that same train wearing masks under their noses.

Of course, it doesn’t help when some of our leaders, for political gain, give mixed messages about proper behavior. While some direct their anger at opportunistic and craven elected officials – not unjustifiably -- I reserve most of mine for those who voted these cretins in.

So, at a time when we are overflowing with knowledge and technology, we have been anything but empowered during this crisis. Instead, we've gotten sick, watched loved ones get sick and die, seen faceless numbers in the news, how many infected, how many people died today, states in different shades of red on an online map. I feel especially badly for the health care and essential workers who have risked and lost their lives to sustain the rest of us. And the reports of people storming state capitols and attending large events without masks are disheartening.

It is difficult to quantify how often this is happening. Yet, America is dubiously leading the world in COVID-19 cases and deaths, and has among the highest of cases per capita among nations. Clearly, America is handling this pandemic atrociously.

Many of us don't seem to learn from the past. There were battles over wearing masks 100 years ago during the 1918 flu pandemic. And here we are again. We have the same problems generation after generation, whether problems with governance or tolerance. It is disappointing.

Thankfully, we are on the cusp of receiving vaccines, a relatively small comfort amidst vast suffering. I am grateful for the applied wisdom and perseverance of our scientists. In the meantime, it will be a difficult winter ahead. In the long-term, we still need to deal with climate change. It is enheartening that President-elect Biden will be creating a cabinet-level position dedicated to climate change. I fear it will be too little, and way too late.

Wishing you and your families resilience and safety during the holidays and in the months to come. Feel free to drop me a note to let me know how you are doing, especially if it’s been a while.

Love,

Rich

PUF the magic survey

We have a PUF.

That is, the survey on which I work, the Rental Housing Finance Survey (www.census.gov/hhes/rhfs) has just completed the first draft of a public use file (PUF). That is, the file with the data we collected from respondents. Multifamily housing researchers are eager to analyze the data, see the current state of the multifamily rental industry, and also see how the multifamily housing industry and stock have changed over the past ten or so years, since the last federal survey of mulitfamily housing was conducted in 2001 (http://www.census.gov/housing/rfs/).

The PUF doesn't contain the raw data, though. The survey team edited the data for inconsistencies among responses, and we averaged the highest and lowest figures for selected survey data and applied other measures so as to make it difficult to identify any companies that might be outliers. It's a balance between giving the purest data to researchers and making sure that no individual respondent could be identified through the responses. Title 13 requires that any data collected by the Census Bureau be kept confidential.

In that vein decennial census records are only made publicly available seventy-two years after they are collected. Earlier this year I helped my parents find their 1940 census records.

This has been about the most challenging project on which I have ever worked. There were times I felt like giving up, even quitting my secure federal job. In the process I was as frustrated with my own limitations, if not more so, as with various staff with whom I worked. I have never worked on a project where I made so many mistakes, and so openly.

Just earlier in the week, for example, the programmers asked if the subject matter area (my area) had identified all the variables we needed to remove from the file until we were able to satisfy the disclosure avoidance requirements of the Census Bureau's Disclosure Review Board (DRB). I wrote to the team -- or at least the part of the team involved with survey processing -- that, yes, indeed, I had identified all the variables...only to have my boss and me identify two more variables that need to be removed. I know it was frustrating to the programmers.

This was one of various mistakes I made in a process that frayed nerves and tested working relationships. The process was messy. To me, it seemed needlessly so because it's not like this is the first time the Census Bureau has edited data or produced a public use file.

Unfortunately the area of the bureau in which I work does have standard editing processes and procedures. We were somewhat inventing on the fly, which seems unfortunate.

My boss has more experience with reviewing and editing data than I do. For seven years I had worked at an organization where I was a semi-advanced to advanced user of public use files, also known as public use microdata sets (PUMS). I knew the files and their contents well. That hadn't automatically translated to being a good data editor and producer. On the one hand, I am supportive of people who switch jobs, who bring alternate experiences to federal service. On the other, I am seeing how it really does help to have sometimes decades of experience working within government.

I hope to write at least one blog entry a month, versus just one a year, which has been my track record. As an Aries, I tend to stop and start projects. Big hopes, false starts. But now that the dust has settled, now that we've given a public use file to our sponsor, for the time being, my workload has gone back to semi-normal levels and I hope to write more. For now I find I'm better at writing about the survey process than actually doing it, and hope to change that, too. I am tweaking my individual development plan.

Life gets messy, years of accumulated hopes and dreams and plans crashing against more evolved relationships and heightened responsibilities.

The honeymoon is over

In truth, the honeymoon with my not-so-new employer has been over for quite some time. Initially I was pleased to see how, it seemed to me, the Census Bureau had made some progress in areas in which it had been weak since I worked there last. After nearly ten months back at the bureau, I've seen how some of the efforts to correct previous problems have created new ones.

The bureau may have overreacted most strongly in the realms of security and data stewardship, an area which combines principles of privacy and confidentiality. Since data stewardship is such a complex and important issue, I'll just want to touch on the subject here and write a more detailed blog on the issue at some point. Briefly, over the past few years the bureau experienced a few high profile breaches of Title 13. Culturally it appears to have reacted in such a way that such data are treated more like a disease to be contained than a product to be used. In my main area of responsibility, creating a new rental housing survey, I've had to fight for procedures where we're allowed to share info, in the process of collecting data, among entities that already share such info routinely. Adherence to Title 13 appears, at least for now, to have trumped the purpose of collecting and distributing data, at least in the development of this new survey. It might be unwise to generalize to the whole bureau, but informal conversations with other Census veterans have confirmed my observations.

I've also seen how people with certain mindsets tend to replicate themselves as far as their hires, and that relative youth is no guarantee of an open mind. With this turn of the survey, alas, we don't have the same benefit of legacy experience that we enjoyed in previous similar efforts.

I visited my former employer today. I worked for a small trade association, the National Multi Housing Council, as the director of research for seven years. I got along famously with my boss (and still do), and knew while I worked there that the work environment was rarefied and exceptionally comfortable. I dealt with a personal crisis while I worked there (the subject of another blog, perhaps) but even at my nadir I recognized my situation was cushy. And I had become soft.

Working in a less civil, more combative environment as I do now, with employees with so many different viewpoints and agenda, I knew I was going to have to re-sharpen my claws. And so I am. And here I hope to educate, let off steam, and perhaps receive some feedback on my challenges.

seeds of change

During orientation I was warned I might have a few weeks of down time. Thankfully (or perhaps not so thankfully for this lazy sack), that down time did not materialize. Early last week a stakeholder in the survey I was hired to help create and manage decided to call a meeting of stakeholders to review the questionnaire. Never mind the deadline, given the survey timeline and tight budget, for offering comments on the questionnaire in time for pilot testing had passed two months prior. The experts in the meeting room, many of whom had never actually conducted a survey, were full of ideas about what we should be asking on the questionnaire. They asked for all sorts of questions, as they tend to do, ivory tower types who think that Americans are just waiting at home, twiddling their thumbs, eager to complete complex government surveys about their personal lives and finances. As someone who's had a foot in both worlds, both as a statistician at the Census Bureau and a researcher at a trade association, I feel like I understand both sides better than most. As a data user, I know how frustrating it is to be looking for data and finding it doesn't exist, or if it does exist, that it's packaged in such a hard-to-use format it might not exist at all.

So I spent my first full week at work trying to bridge the gap between the stakeholders who wanted all these questions and the worker bees at Census who were going to have to review and change the questionnaires. I relied primarily on my looks and charm yet by some miracle actually found that they sufficed. Still I hope such fire drills are not part of my routine.

In the process of managing this unexpected wrench, I became reacquainted with the Census Bureau. It had been more than seven years since I'd worked there last. The building is completely new -- the old, carcinogenic and otherwise toxic buildings have since been demolished. The promise of a new building was all that gave employees hope. The new building had some kinks and I know it disappointed many, although I find myself pleasantly surprised by the features and how conducive it is to working. I also had the chance to see how the bureau has made some progress on some key issues that challenged the agency -- stovepiping in survey development, lack of documentation, haphazard and unequal security measures, lack of quality control. The Demographic Surveys Division has created a checklist for those creating new surveys, to make sure that all new surveys have standard documentation and procedures.

The bureau is creating a new area that will be focusing on quality control. In several of the demographic surveys the bureau needed to re-release some of its data sets because errors were found after they were released. Unfortunately when budgets were tight, the Census Bureau didn't have the resources to have the statisticians themselves develop research topics wherein they could test drive the data. The truth is sometimes it is difficult to spot errors in data, whatever quality checks you perform, unless you actually embark on a research project and have to use the data to answer a research question.

As a lowly functionary, I used to complain occasionally to senior management about some of the issues I saw in the trenches. I didn't think they were paying attention. I'm glad to see that they were.