The Geography of My Career, Part One

Since sharing my twentieth anniversary working for the Department of Veterans Affairs, last week, a number of people have asked about my career; where I lived, what I’ve done, why I’m always seemingly on the move?  I will share my career which, as you will see, is a mix of hard work, gypsy blood, false bravado masking low self-esteem, an unending search for self-development, a smattering of delusion, and a heaping portion of God’s grace. 

When I applied for my first VA job (in Biloxi, Mississippi), I wasn’t entirely sure what the VA even was.  The Dad was a veteran, but he had never gone to the VA for anything.  We hadn’t owned a home until I was in college, and I know he didn’t use a VHA loan to buy it.  I just knew I needed a temporary job to earn enough money to go back and finish the final semester of my master’s degree at Ole Miss and head off into my intended career in Student Services at a university.  I was meant to be the best Dean of Students in history, in my opinion, so this was merely a pit stop in that particular race.

In June of 1999, I applied as a clerk in the Insurance Billing department, armed with my Business Minor from MUW.  Unsurprisingly I was not selected for that position, but the manager of that department, Rebecca (Becky) Gustin, saw something she liked in my resume and recommended me to the Chief of Human Resources for a vacancy he had.  I received a phone call asking if I would like to work in HR for the VA.  I accepted immediately and prepared for my interview that next week.  

I arrived bright and early and walked into HR.  There I met two women, Elaine Cooper and Nita Gross, who would be pivotal in my life for the next four years.  I called them my Mamas  They asked if I needed assistance.  I told them I thought I was there to interview for a position, but wasn’t completely sure.  Elaine said, “Well, we were told that a new young man was joining our office.  Have a seat.  If they come in to take you to your interview, then you’ll know.  If they come in and give you paperwork to fill out, just fill it out and hush.”  A few minutes later a woman came into the office, handed me a stack of papers and told me to fill them out.  I looked over to Ms. Elaine and she put her finger to her lips to shush me and gestured that I should start filling everything out.  Apparently, I wasn’t going to have to interview.  

I spent the next 90 days trying to do a great job but also trying to figure out how to stay at the VA.  I loved my co-workers and the mission of the VA.  I liked helping people who helped people, with the added bonus of working for a ‘company’ that wouldn’t go out of business.  It’s the government, I thought, if they run out of money, they can just print more, right?

When it was time to return to school, I wasn’t in position to move to Oxford.  I told them of my degree and that I was within a semester of finishing my masters and Diane Sicuro (another of my Mamas) offered me a spot in a program called the Student Career Experience Program (SCEP).  Cindy Jackson (another of my Mamas, noted I had a bachelor’s degree and when they placed me in the SCEP program, I got my first promotion from a GS-4 to a GS-5).  I contacted the school and was told that I could transfer up to two classes from another school and still earn my MA from Ole Miss.  I registered for one class at the University of Southern Mississippi’s Gulf Coast class and registered for my last class at Ole Miss, working virtually, under the direction of the head of my department. 

The only problem was I had no car to get to class.  God took care of that as we discovered Ms. Nita lived right behind the campus and drove me to class every Wednesday night.  After class I would eat dinner and do my homework, waiting for my brother and his wife to pick me up after church.  All of this while I was also working 30 hours a week as an Assistant Manager at the McDonald’s outside the west gate of Keesler Air Force Base, where my brother was stationed.  People who say they don’t have time for things, make me chuckle.  You find time for the things that are important to you, he said from atop his unsteady soapbox.

I worked very hard to become indispensable as I had decided I wanted to stay.  Once I finished my program, I had the opportunity to be converted to a regular employee, but they had to make their decision within 120 days of my graduation.  I was nervous as things seemed to be stalled with my new boss who hadn’t known me very long.  The gentleman who hired me had left for a job at Toyota and I had a new Chief (which is what we call a department head in the VA) who was a lady, which is my preference.  I’d rather work with women than men.  I don’t know if it’s the effect or graduating from a predominately female college, but I find that women usually make better collaborators.

I know it wasn’t, but it felt like they waited until the 119^th day to make their decision.  In April of 1999, I became a permanent employee of the Department of Veterans Affairs, working as a Clerk in the Processing and Records section of Human Resources.  After about six months, I was moved to the Recruitment and Staffing section working with Diane Sicuro who I thought was just about the fanciest federal employee I had ever met.  To really date myself, one of my first tasks was to make flyers and assure applicants that the brand new USAJobs website was a legitimate recruiting platform and their resume wouldn’t just disappear into the ether.

I think God wanted me to really appreciate the opportunity I had been given because for the next year I had to tell people like me (non-veterans) every day and tell most of them that they weren’t eligible to even apply for a position.  SCEP is one of very few avenues for non-clinical non-veterans to get into the VA.

Not too long after this, I met a woman who would have the most profound impact of my career, outside of my own mother; Jackie Collins, not the author.  Jackie was the Chief of Prosthetics, a native of Arkansas and a veteran.  She was also loud and funny and generous.  She had requested someone to help her during a time when we were preparing for our triennial inspection from the Joint Commission.  My new supervisor, The Great Speckled Bird (GSB) didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t a veteran; at the time, the only male employee in HR who wasn’t.  He was clear that he didn’t think I should be allowed to work at the VA.  When I pointed out there were numerous women in HR who weren’t veterans, he countered that women were not important for him to form an opinion about their military service.  He was that guy.    

When Jackie asked HR for someone to help, GSB generously volunteered me, saying, “Take Dustin, we won’t miss him.”  GSB thought he was hurting me, but God was in control of the situation.  Jackie and I immediately bonded while we got the files for the Home Oxygen program in order. 

Prosthetic and Sensory Aids within the VA means something much broader than in the private sector.  Of course, Prosthetics means artificial limbs, but this department provides everything that a veteran would use in the home from shoes, eyeglasses and wheelchairs to artificial hips and knees, pacemakers and computers.  It includes items of daily living such as reachers, long-handled mirrors for diabetics to check their feet for cuts or sores, blood pressure monitors, shower chairs and back, knee and wrist braces.  For the wheelchairs (manual and power) we also provide lifts to carry them inside or outside of a vehicle and ramps to get you into your house.  We will also adapt a vehicle you own or helping you purchase an already adapted vehicle through the Veterans Benefits side of the VA, if you need it.  We provide oxygen for your home, CPAPs for sleep apnea and ventilators for other respiratory issues, and iPhones and iPads to those with visual or cognitive impairments who use them to communicate.  We provide wheelchairs that can be operated by hand, a finger, someone’s breath, even eye-movements, depending on the need.  These items are provided free of charge with no co-pays to any veteran.

I didn’t know then that Prosthetic and Sensory Aids, would be where I would spend the next fourteen years.  I stepped into my role as Administrative Officer (AO), which was a GS-7/9 position and it was supervisory.  I hadn’t been a supervisor in the government, so I used my supervisory experience at McDonald’s to meet that requirement.  Part-time supervision for two years is equivalent to one year of fulltime supervision.  God knew I needed that experience when I had no clue.  He provided the opportunity and the nudge, which gave me a chance to develop my skills.  I wasn’t thinking this job was anything other than a way to earn extra money and be able to customize my Big Mac using fried chicken or quarter pounder patties, if I was so inclined.  Full disclosure:  I was inclined, fairly regularly. 

The interview panel referred me to Jackie as one of the finalists and she chose me as her AO, which is something like an office manager.   She trained me on everything she knew, holding back nothing in the way of program specifics as well as mentoring on how to be a great leader and collaborator.  My low self-esteem caused me to be harsh with my staff as I felt meeting our metrics was more important than their happiness.  I was desperate to be successful in a job that, at my core, I wasn’t sure I deserved, so I had to be the best, to prove that I deserved it.  Jackie was the one who told me to “stop being a jerk” when I started using my father as a role model for dealing with staff.  He had always been a supervisor and told me that you’re not supposed to care if your staff like you, but ‘running a crew’ building oil derricks and supervising federal employees in an office setting are just the tiniest bit different.  Jackie got right to the point.  She told me, over cherry root beers from the Sonic, “You don’t need to focus on whether or not your staff like you, but you should be concerned that they respect you enough to listen to you.  You’re kind of an ass, Dustin Terryll.”  Message received. 

Around that same time, I applied for a local leadership program and was told by a member of the interview panel, they felt I didn’t have leadership potential.  I was hurt by that but decided I did, in fact, have potential and I just needed to work harder to prove them wrong.  At the same time, I resigned from McDonald’s as Prosthetics began taking over my spare time.  The department in Biloxi was in terrible shape and Jackie had been brought in to fix it.  We started working 10-12 hours a day, sometimes six days a week to get it where it needed to be, hiring the right people, training them and making sure they had the support and tools they needed to succeed. 

Jackie demonstrated servant leadership every day.  She inspired loyalty in her staff and the veterans loved her.  She was kind but firm; she expected a lot but would work right along side you, cheering you on and feeding you just like a Southern Mama does.  From Jackie I learned the value of having fun while working hard and showing appreciation to staff in small ways; something as simple as bringing in donuts or organizing a potluck lunch for team building. 

After two years working together and learning everything I could (including how to be less obnoxious), Jackie felt I was ready to run my own service and pushed me to apply as a Chief of Prosthetics, but somewhere small, so I could dip my toe into the water before taking a big plunge.  When I thought about where I wanted to live, it just so happened to be at a cook-out on Labor Day weekend in Biloxi which feels like you are roughly six inches from the equator.  “I would love to live some place where I wouldn’t sweat,” I said to myself and my cook-out companions.  Someone laughed and said, “Alaska is about the only place you wouldn’t sweat Dusty.”  I logged onto USAJobs.com and found most of the Chief jobs were GS-12s; as a GS-9, I wasn’t eligible to apply.  I needed a GS-11, but those are few and far between.  I kept checking, however, and one day, lo and behold there was a vacancy for a GS-9/11 Chief of Prosthetics in Anchorage, Alaska.  Sometimes when God shuts a door, he turns on an air conditioner, y’all.