Do the names Gramm-Rudman-Hollings mean anything to you? No, they were not a legendary baseball double play combination, nor were they a power rock trio from the U.K.
They were influential United States Senators – Phil Gramm (Texas), Warren Rudman (New Hampshire) and Fritz Hollings (South Carolina) – who sponsored the Balanced Budget and Emergency Deficit Control Act of 1985, known informally as the Gramm-Rudman-Hollings Act. Its purpose was to reduce the Federal budget deficit and to eventually produce a balanced budget. In December of that year, President Reagan signed the bill into law.
When fiscal belt tightening takes place, it is just a matter of time until individuals are impacted. That’s where yours truly enters the picture. In early 1986, reductions hit the Library of Congress. Sunday reading room service was eliminated, as were some of the evening hours of opening. At the same time a “reduction in force” was put into place. That’s a bureaucratic euphemism to refer to staff cutbacks.
I had not yet reached my third anniversary at the Library and was a reference librarian in the Serial and Government Publications Division. As a newer staff member, that left me vulnerable. Under the existing regulations and union agreement, length of service was a primary factor in determining who would be riffed. So, it was not a surprise when my division chief handed me a letter from personnel stating that my position was being abolished and that I was eligible to be placed in another position in the institution, although at a lower grade.
That was a body blow, but it could have been worse. Other staff members lost their jobs completely. Within a few weeks, I found myself in a librarian position within the Congressional Research Service, the arm of the Library that serves Congress directly. Although I was officially at a lower grade, I had pay retention for an extended period at my previous highest level. There was no change in pay, but my anxiety was at an all-time high. The persistent rumors were that this was just the first round of cuts, and I feared that the next wave would wash me out the door and into unemployment.
At the same time, Library users had formed a Books not Bombs movement to protest the cuts in service. These protests took the form of reading room sit-ins (sort of ironic) that led to a number of arrests. Months later, eight of them were found guilty in DC Superior Court of unlawful entry.
Unsure of my own future, I began to apply for librarian positions elsewhere. During that effort, I learned that the Central Intelligence Agency – yes, the CIA – was hiring librarians. Maybe working at an espionage agency would be my salvation. (Near-desperation leads one to unrealistic thinking.) I applied.
On the day of the interview, I took the Metro across the Potomac to Rosslyn, Virginia, and walked to the address that had been given to me. I was looking for an impressive building clearly marked “Central Intelligence Agency.” Silly me. What I found was an unmarked door with only the street number to indicate that I had made it to the appropriate location. I entered into a small, empty room with chairs, somewhat less inviting than your typical dentist’s waiting area. It had dim lighting, but there were some reading materials available. It was not a selection of recent issues of Time, Sports Illustrated and Reader’s Digest. Rather, the only items I saw related to micro photography – an element of intelligence work.
I was led to a utilitarian office where a gentleman who I took to be ex-military greeted me in a gruff manner. He resembled a 1950’s drill sergeant, complete with a crew cut. Then commenced the oddest interview of my life.
He had all of my application materials and knew that I was already a Federal employee. I truly don’t recall him asking any questions, although he must have posed some. What stays with me, though, were his concluding remarks. First, he gave me a folder that included standard human resources stuff about employment at the CIA. Then, he explained that the purpose of the Agency was to gather intelligence and to spy on other nations. He said that this initial interview was just the first of many steps to potentially being hired. Of course, he said, I would be subject to a battery of psychological tests. Finally, the pièce de resistance was unveiled.
“Now, young man, we are going to investigate your sexual history. Can I assume that you have no problems there?” he asked.
I had not anticipated that question and frankly was a little confused about what type of problems he meant. I mean, “problems” in that context could have various meanings.
Flummoxed, I answered, “No, no problems,” and tried not to show any hesitation.
As I rode home on the Metro, I quickly came to the conclusion that it would be better to be unemployed than to be a librarian for the CIA.
The next morning, I called the drill sergeant and told him that I was not interested in the position. His response was, “Please destroy the materials that I gave to you.”
A few months later, funding was restored to the Library, and I gladly transferred back to my previous position.
Oh, now it’s 34 years later, and I still have that CIA folder somewhere.