Thoughts While Chillin

THOUGHTS WHILE CHILLIN’

Autobiography of a Black Public Servant

By

Denise P. Meridith

Denise Meridith Consultants Inc

www.denisemeridithconsultants.com

Phoenix, AZ

Photographs by Denise Meridith

Cover Design by Sean Gillan, P&G Design

Printed by Sirivatana Interprint Public Co., Ltd

© 2006 Denise P. Meridith. Printed and bound in Thailand. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording , or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Denise Meridith Consultants Inc @ worldsbestconnector@gmail.com.

Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure the accuracy and completeness of information contained in this book, we assume no responsibility for errors, inaccuracies, omissions, offenses, cloudy memories, or any inconsistencies herein. Any slights of people, places or organizations are unintentional. Latest Edition 2018

Print ISBN: 9781791662325

Library of Congress Control Number: 2005905755

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Table of Contents

TITLE PAGE

PROLOGUE

THE ROCKWELL YEARS

EVEN THE TV’S WERE BLACK AND WHITE

THE HONEYMOON’S OVER

WHY NOT?

TO BE OR NOT TO BE…A VET

GETTING HIGH ABOVE CAYUGA’S WATERS

WE DON’T WANT ANY

GOING NATIVE

THE MYTH OF AFFIRMATIVE ACTION

MACHO MANIA

SEX AND THE BLM

THE CARROT AND THE JOYSTICK

CRAZY PEOPLE I HAVE KNOWN

A DEVIL OF A BLUE DRESS

GIRLS JUST WANT TO HAVE…

WESTWARD HO HO HO

BASKING IN THE VALLEY OF THE SUN

WHAT A [HALF] CENTURY!

EPILOGUE

DENISE MERIDITH VITAE

HURDLES WOMEN MUST HURTLE

DENISE MERIDITH

PROLOGUE

THE COMMON THEORY IS THAT

you learn everything you need to know in kindergarten. I discovered that I got an advanced degree in seventh grade. There I met one of my early mentors. My journalism teacher would not have been a person readily identified as inspiring. He was big and awkward looking with pale skin, large lips and a funny voice that earned him the nickname Donald Duck from the kids. But I admired him. He was intelligent and perceptive and had actually worked for a popular Long Island newspaper. He was also one of the first authority figures to believe in and nurture my talents. Leonard Hoenig taught me how to write a lead paragraph (who, what, where, when and how), which not only helped me in journalism, but gave me a process for assessing everything I do, including answering the questions about this autobiography.

This autobiography details the experiences of an African-American female public servant in a white male dominated field. While I have visited every state, except South Dakota, this book focuses on my life and career in six states and the District of Columbia and covers a half century of some of the greatest social changes in US history. I wrote this book to acknowledge and thank my friends and family for all their support and for my fellow African-Americans who have overcome the odds, young women embarking on non-traditional careers, the public which tends to diss rather than praise public employees, and to policy makers and employers who still underestimate the capabilities and overlook the accomplishments of women and minorities in the US. I apologize in advance to people (e.g. my innumerable friends) I did not mention and to those people, some of whom, unfortunately, are mentioned!

In 1985, as the ovation after my speech died down, I realized that a new era of land management had begun. Over three hundred women had gathered in Dallas, Texas, for a conference for women in natural resources management in 1985. The conference was one of the most emotionally fulfilling in which I had been involved, because until then, none of us participants, much less the natural resource agencies, realized that there were that many women employed in natural resources in the US.

Many of the participants went on to become agency state and regional directors, and, in one case, even the Director of the US Fish and Wildlife Service in Washington, DC. During the conference, there were hugs, tears, and groans as women of all ages shared stories about their experiences in these male-dominated Federal and state agencies. Then there was the laughter. What women still bring up to me all these years later is how my speech Hurdles Women Must Hurtle touched and stayed them, and in some cases, led to life-changing revelations. Throughout this book, I make references to those hurdles and how they impacted my life.

Another major influence in my life has been music. My father was a musician, so I grew up steeped in all types of music. My friends laugh when they get in my car because they do not know if they are going to hear a Frank Sinatra or Eminem or Garth Brooks CD. Music has even saved my life, pulling me through suicidal moments in my youth when I realized that even my strong force of will could not overcome the racial and gender obstacles to my chosen career path or save a self-destructive lover. Special thanks to Elton John for getting me through the ‘70’s!

Annually, I have always identified a theme song to symbolize my feelings pitomized during periods of my life.

Government lingo is comprised of acronyms (i.e., abbreviations). It is a foreign language to the public. For instance, I served as the ESO ESD, who supervised DMs in two FOs, who had responsibilities for preparing RMPs, EISs and WHMPs to enforce NEPA and the ESA. I even prepared a publication while I worked for BLM, which listed the 100 most commonly-used acronyms. While this book serves as a post script to my life, P.S. also stands for the Public Service career I loved so much.

I have often joked that at least I know I be able to sell this book to all the BLM employees and retirees, if only because people want to see if they are in it. But I hope it will give hope to a lot of other people and even inspire them to go into or stay in public service and make a difference.

THE ROCKWELL YEARS

Well I saw the thing comin’ out of the sky

It had the one long horn, one big eye.

I commenced to shakin’ and I said ooh-eee

It looks like a purple people eater to me.

Purple People Eater, Words and music by Sheb Wooley, 1958

I AM PROUD TO SAY

I was born in Brooklyn, home of the Dodgers, Rodney Dangerfield and egg creams. We lived in a Quonset hut, oddlooking temporary housing many GIs lived in after WWII. But my father, Glenarva, a Sergeant First Class in the Army, had grown up on a ranch in Houston and longed for wide-open spaces. So, when I was 10 months old, he, my mother Dorothy, my sister Rosa, and I moved to Queens, which was considered wilderness in the early 1950’s.

I often joke that I had a Norman Rockwell childhood. My father was a Renaissance man. He played in big bands and served twenty years in the Army band, playing all types of horns, the guitar and drums. He was a writer, regaling me, through letters, with tales of his journeys around the world in the service. He even played amateur tennis. My mother stayed at home during my childhood, but was a community activist, taking leadership roles in PTA, church and other neighborhood activities. My very attractive and popular sister was ten years older than me and responsible for my having two adolescences. I went through Elvis, poodle skirts and the bunny hop with her and her friends, before I had my own teenage fun with the Beatles and Rolling Stones.

My father literally built us a white picket fence. We had a large lot with a huge vegetable garden, outside brick barbeque grill, and a separate two-car garage. Milk, bread and soda were all delivered to the house and you could buy fresh fish and vegetables from the trucks that came through the neighborhood every week. Each week, my mother and I would take the five dollar bill my Dad sent home and take our little aluminum shopping cart to the A&P supermarket. Everything you needed was in walking distance since few people had cars or even knew how to drive. Exactly four brown bags of groceries would fit in the cart and the five dollars more than covered the cost.

My allowance was about a dollar a month and I was flush. I knew exactly when the new Superman comic books arrived every month. So on that day, I would be at the candy store with a quarter to buy one, along with a new pinkie ball and about five cents worth of candy (Tootsie Rolls, Bazooka Bubblegum, malt balls and Pez were my favorites).

Though we listened to Gunsmoke on the radio on Sunday afternoons while my mother cooked dinner, I was quickly addicted to that new invention called television. We had one of the 13 inch ones with a round screen in a huge wooden cabinet. I was a lot like the character on HBO’s Dream On television series in the ‘90’s; my home life often seemed like a television show. I watched Captain Kangaroo every morning, the Mickey Mouse Club and Bozo every afternoon, and cried through Lassie every Sunday night. As a Black kid in New York, I knew I