Missouri Theatre executive director David White’s (left) resignation this month under a cloud of contractor disputes reminded me of former superintendent Phyllis Chase’s retirement last year from the Columbia Public Schools.
Both departures were the culmination of controversies that might have been avoided if a board of directors had mustered the courage to take charge and say “No.”
No, David: Given what we owe our contractors, Tony Bennett – unless he can sell out 1,200 seats at $100 a seat – is too expensive for our opening gala. No, Phyllis: Given budget shortfalls, we can’t afford $10 million in new expenses.
Many local organizations – from non-profits to government agencies – hire paid executives who answer to unpaid directors who tend to rubber stamp the executive for reasons that range from expedience to keeping the peace.
The result is almost always the same: long-term dysfunction that ultimately erupts in a high-profile departure and a storm of bad publicity.
Secrecy and Sunshine
Board dysfunction manifests in many ways. School board observer and Acorn Books owner Ken Green sees it in something as simple as a seating arrangement.
“The superintendent’s central position at the school board’s legislative table raises an important question: Is the school board a step up in the chain of command, in charge of the superintendent, or not?” Green asked in a recent editorial.
There were only three superintendents in the 50 years prior to 1993, but “six or seven” superintendents since then. Dysfunction manifests in executive turnover, as Missourian columnist George Kennedy noted in a January column about the search for Chase’s successor.
Kennedy laid the blame for at least three disastrous departures – Chase; Russell Mayo, who left after a similar no-confidence levy defeat; and Joel Denney, fired over allegations of on-the-job drinking and sexual harassment – at the doorstep of another common board dysfunction: secrecy.
“Secrecy is a bad idea,” Kennedy noted. “The unhappy outcomes I’ve recounted all began behind closed doors.”
Speak up, Shoot down
Executive turnover has long vexed the Central Missouri Humane Society, and insiders tell me that a paralyzing fear of confrontation is partly to blame for the society’s well-known financial problems.
For instance, “The board hasn’t had the guts to stand up and insist that government agencies pay their way when they use the shelter for animal control,” said a source close to CMHS. “Anyone who speaks up gets shot down. They’re too afraid to make waves.”
Getting shot down is partly what prompted board members Steve Tatlow and Alison Martin (my wife) to resign from the Boone County Family Resources (BCFR) all-volunteer board last year.
Financial and management irregularities – including an unusually large reserve fund and an unduly long term for board chairman Bob Bailey – churned up a perfect public relations storm that had Bailey literally yelling at dissident board members. “Who talked to the papers? Don’t talk to the papers!”
News accounts had Bailey and BCFR’s six-figure-salaried director Les Wagner telling Tatlow that his questions about their taxpayer-funded operation were “a waste of time.”
Fear of personal liability for board malfeasance drove Tatlow to the Missouri attorney general’s office, which sent a letter to BCFR on Oct. 11, 2007, that “expressed concern about the legality of the board’s operations and raised the possibility of a formal investigation,” the Columbia Missourian reported.
Speaking in Tatlow’s defense during one grueling board meeting, “Alison Martin said she felt uncomfortable with the board,” the Missourian reported. “I feel very intimidated, and it really bothers me,” Martin said.
Saying it was “vital that a board member ask critical questions,” Tatlow resigned rather than fight an effort to dismiss him.
Karl and the King
The most high-profile example of this volunteer board-paid staffer arrangement, the Columbia City Council, would have dissolved in disarray years ago if not for the iron-clad control of a nearly monarchical city manager.
The city manager doesn’t answer to the citizens, at least not directly, and with Columbia’s extraordinary growth over the past decade, council control is more critical than ever.
But council members are reluctant to take charge, and it’s no wonder why. Asking questions about a staff hiring process earned Third Ward councilman Karl Skala a threat of dismissal á la Steve Tatlow. “Not exactly what I expect from a democracy,” Skala quipped.
True to the prevailing form, council members’ hands are tied. They aren’t paid; they don’t have dedicated staff or office space; and, with the exception of retirees or the independently wealthy, they don’t have adequate time to scour the budget, answer staff arguments, or grill the city manager when he oversteps as Bill Watkins did during the Missouri State Historical Society’s disastrous foray into eminent domain.
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