You’re Fired!

How Losing My Job Started Me Down the Trail

It’s funny how life has a way of throwing curveballs just when you think you’re finally on track. Looking back, getting fired from my first job in DC had very little to do with me. It was more like a well-placed shove from the universe, and that shove, oddly enough, sent me straight into the orbit of Mark Sanford. He plays almost no role in this part of the story, but he was waiting at the next stop.

Making My Path

In the fall of 1996, I was wrapping up my second year with Citizens Against Government Waste. I had built a decent network of contacts on and off the Hill. My first boss, Joe Winkelmann, showed me how DC really works. He taught me the art of networking, the etiquette of the Hill, and how to spot who actually knew what they were doing. Thanks to that foundation, I dug deep into the appropriations process and legislative monitoring and developed my policy chops.

That year, I worked on the 1996 Farm Bill, where we came close to eliminating some of the worst subsidy programs, like sugar and peanuts. Close, but not close enough.

During an interview with a newspaper in Washington State, I let a line slip that I intended to be off the record. Instead, it ended up in the article. "The bottom line of the Farm Bill is we just got screwed." Not the most polished quote, but not wrong either.

My new boss didn’t think it was funny. She took it straight to the President, Tom Schatz. Tom shrugged it off. "Peter once called members of Congress 'little shits,' so it’s not our worst quote." Tom was right. And the quote was accurate. The taxpayers did get screwed.

I didn’t appreciate being thrown under the bus, but I appreciated that Tom didn’t take it too seriously. Looking back, my time at CAGW taught me a lot. But it also taught me that DC loyalty is like a lease agreement—month-to-month and never really secure. Let’s take a step back in time.

Losing Peter Grace

On the morning of April 19, 1995, J. Peter Grace passed away at the age of 81. Peter was the chairman of the Grace Commission and the co-founder of Citizens Against Government Waste. He was also a force of nature.

On any other day, his death would have been prominent news. But later that day, Timothy McVeigh parked a moving truck full of fertilizer in front of the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. The explosion killed 168 people and injured more than 700. It was the deadliest act of domestic terrorism in American history.

Joe and I had a lunch scheduled on the Hill to celebrate my birthday. By the time we returned to the office, everyone was glued to the TV. Nothing got done that day. It was surreal. It felt like the whole country had taken a collective gut punch.

Double Secret Probation

Not long after Peter’s passing, we got hit with a lawsuit. The details aren’t important, other than to say that it turned the office into a loyalty test. People began disappearing one by one. Some quit. Some were told to leave. I figured I was too low on the food chain to worry about it. I kept my head down and focused on my work.

Then one day, Joe told me he was leaving. That was his last day. He pulled me aside and told me to keep working hard, and I’d be fine. He was wrong. And I think he knew it.

My big mistake came when I took a phone call from an attorney. He had heard I had witnessed something relevant to the case. I agreed to meet with him. He wrote up an affidavit and asked me to sign it. Thinking I was doing the right thing, I signed it.

When I got back to the office, I gave a copy to leadership. The next day, I was on what can only be described as double secret probation. There was no paperwork. Just restrictions. Basically, I couldn’t get coffee without permission. It didn’t last long, since my supervisor usually left early. I kept doing my job, not realizing I was already out the door.

People were still leaving. The writing was on the wall. I just hadn’t read it yet.

You’re Fired, er, Reorganized

Eventually, the lawsuit got settled. Non-disclosure agreements locked everything up. I never signed one, so here we are. I suspect the settlement wasn’t cheap. That meant budgets needed trimming.

One morning, I got called into the CFO’s office. Sitting there with him were the President and the Vice President of Development. They explained we were going through a reorganization. That meant positions were being eliminated or consolidated. Including mine.

"So we’re going to let you go, with two weeks’ notice. You don’t have to report to the office. We’re sorry to see you go."

I feel like this would have gone better.

I don’t remember much after that.

My wife was eight months pregnant. Our second child was due in two weeks. I was the only one working. My salary and insurance just vanished. I went numb.

I stumbled outside to smoke a cigarette and get my head straight. That’s when Vicki, our grassroots director, came outside crying. "I just got fired," she said.

"Me too," I replied.

We talked for half an hour, just trying to make sense of it. When I was done, I went back upstairs.

Taking the Fight Back

I walked into the CFO’s office. I told him we had a problem.

We got the same three people back together. I told them this looked like retaliation. And it wasn’t a great look to fire an expecting father who had done nothing wrong. I asked for a month’s salary and health insurance through the end of the year. If I found a job sooner, they were off the hook.

The CFO didn’t love my tone, but the others agreed. I also told them I’d be coming to the office to job hunt until I found something. It turns out that helps.

Before I move on, I should note that on my last day in the office, we had a “going away” party complete with a big cookie. And when my son was born, someone sent my wife flowers. So, no hard feelings.

The Real Heroes

The first call went to David John, Sanford’s legislative director. He had been around the Hill for years and knew retirement issues better than anyone. Sanford’s biggest legislative agenda was reforming Social Security, and David was the brains behind the bill. He’s still working those issues today.

When I told him what happened, he said something I never forgot: "Scott, it’s happened to a lot of good people in Washington, including me. It’s not the end, it’s the beginning of something else. You’re a smart guy, and if I can help, just call me."

My next call was to Jill Lancelot, a veteran lobbyist who had just co-founded another taxpayer group. She was the perfect mix of righteous indignation and optimism. "Let me work on this and I’ll call you back."

Not even an hour later, David called back. "Can you send me your resume? We just promoted someone to Legislative Assistant. If you’re available, though, I think you should be on our team."

A short time later, Jill called back. "Would you be willing to consult on a writing project? We’ll match your salary, and you can work from our office. That way, you can help us and look for your next gig." They had an office in Eastern Market, not far from the Capitol.

I hadn’t even told my wife I got fired yet, and I already had two paths forward.

Joe Winkelmann had told me to keep networking, working hard, and it would pay off. He wasn’t wrong. The business phrase for it is "dig your well before you're thirsty," but that book wouldn’t be published for another seven months at the time I lost my job.

So, on the day I got fired, two people saved me. One gave me my dignity back. The other gave me a shot. I don’t think I can ever thank them properly. But I’ve tried to be that person for others, because of them. If I’ve ever helped you through a crisis, now you know who to thank.

The Trail Begins

Six weeks after I got fired, I started my new job in Mark Sanford’s office. We were crammed into an 850-square-foot space on the second floor of Longworth. I would spend the next six years working in three different offices with two members of Congress on the second floor of the Longworth House Office Building.

The official photo of Sanford’s first time in Congress.

It was my first day. I walked in and nearly bumped into Sanford.

"Congressman Sanford, I’m Scott English. This is my first day."

"It’s Mark. Glad to have you. I can’t wait to see what you can do."

He had no idea how right he was.