Q1 2020 Texas CEO Magazine

Feature
Did you know when you were small that you wanted to be a
Texas Ranger? No, I didn’t. I’ll tell you that I didn’t have a real
long career with the Texas Rangers. I only did 11 years. I don’t
think anybody’s ever made it to chief that quick, but things
happen quickly within our division. I was a police officer in Corpus
Christi for ten years before I came to DPS, where I was later
promoted into the Criminal Intelligence Division. I completed my
graduate degree and was promoted into the Rangers in 2001.
Before the governor asked me to be the commissioner of
the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services, I
thought being the chief of the Texas Rangers would be the
pinnacle of my career. But this whole new family [DFPS] that
I took on for the last three years really captured my heart.
It’s two different worlds. The Rangers are completely apolitical.
They do a lot of public corruption work and investigate mostly
high felony crimes. Public corruption cases are a huge part
of their daily work and are often referred to the Rangers by a
district attorney or a law enforcement agency head. Those cases
are sensitive and sometimes controversial and, understandably,
should not be investigated by the local law enforcement agency.
On any given month, we’re also working 40 to 60 homicides
around the state. But this latest job [with DFPS], I went from
overseeing a $22 million Ranger budget and a $20 million
border budget to an almost $3 billion budget. A large increase
in personnel too. DFPS has 12,250 employees while the Rangers
now have 150. There really aren’t that many Rangers. When
I came on to the Rangers, there were a little over 100.
Wow. That’s not many for a big state like Texas. That is true!
But I had to learn how to deal with politics in the new job
at DFPS. Something that I didn’t have to do in my previous
position. Lawmakers would either be hugging each other
from both sides of the aisle or arguing. It was tough and that
is a big understatement. I met with lawmakers on a regular
basis. A lot of them were fantastic to work with. Many I
consider personal friends. Obviously, I didn’t see eye to eye
with all of them, and likewise they didn’t with me at times.
But I don’t think I left that capitol with any enemies. We all
respected each other. They too have a very tough job.
It was difficult to see our caseworkers get pounded on a daily
basis, when they’re doing the best job they can with very
limited resources and funding. If a legislator would start
yelling at me in a hearing, I would think, “Well, I’m going to
yell back too. I may be an appointed commissioner but I’m a
citizen of this state too.” Fortunately, I had nothing to lose—I
didn’t apply for the job. So, I thought, “Well, I’m going to
yell back. Fire me! I don’t care. I’ll go home right now.”
I was mindful of not crossing the line too far and knew
I had to maintain a professional demeanor for my
employees. It wasn’t about me. It was about them and to
this day, I say they have the hardest, most thankless job in
government service. I’m proud to have been their leader for
those three years. They have saved so many children and
elderly people from abuse, neglect, and exploitation.
What were some of the first challenges you faced when you
took on the commissioner job at DFPS? One of the things I
asked the governor was, “Will you allow me to build my own
executive team?” He said, “Absolutely.” There was no influence
from above. There was no “Hey, you need to do this or that
or consider this person or that person.” We were allowed to
develop sound policy that was proven, develop an effective,
dedicated executive team, and challenge the status quo.
The generals underneath the executives were a different challenge.
About half of them were engaged, and the other half were like,
“We’ve seen cowboys ride in here, but eventually they ride off
into the sunset. We’ll watch this guy ride off into the sunset
like the rest.” That attitude did not sit good with me at all.
When I called all the field leaders in for a face-to-face meeting,
I could tell which ones despised me even being there. And I
understand that. Here’s a guy coming into their world who
doesn’t even have an inkling of knowledge about child welfare
or adult protection services. I respected that wholeheartedly.
I’m not a caseworker. I’m not a social worker. I was a cop
and I didn’t want them to think I was arrogant and not
respectful of what they do. But I do know public administration
and I have a solid understanding of human behavior.
One of the things I noticed was that there was a lot of complacency
in upper and middle management—middle management being
the hub of a successful agency. They weren’t the ones getting
yelled at by the lawmakers, so they saw no need for change.
How did you handle that situation? I said, “Accountability
is big to me, and no more are we going to blame the
caseworkers when you, as their supervisors, oversee the cases
yourself.” We’re supposed to be leaders and mentors, not
just people filling leadership roles. Two different things.
Boy, did that change the agency immediately. I picked up six
new enthusiastic regional directors, and the other six would
not return. Those six great new leaders were like, “Put me in,
coach. I’ve been sitting on the bench waiting for this.” Some
people still saw me as an outsider, but I wasn’t the enemy. “We’re
going to be bold,” I told them. No more status quo. “We’re going
to change, and we are going to change big.” Surprisingly, the
changes we made proved to turn the ship in a big way. DFPS is
like a huge aircraft carrier—you can’t turn it on a dime. But it
turned, and it turned in the right direction. It still needs lots of
improvements, as any agency does, but it turned for the better
because of its dedicated employees and a new direction.
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