My #metoo moment, thirty years on

Seeing all the controversy over the current Supreme Court nomination, and following current events in general, a story from my past keeps cropping up in my memory.

The year was 1986, and I was a 29 year old claims representative for the Social Security Administration, having relocated back to Arizona and a suburban Phoenix office the year before.  The biggest part of my job then was taking and processing claims for retirement, survivors and disability benefits and interviewing claimants for them.  

One spring day, I was assigned a disability interview as part of our normal rotation.  I hated disability claims;  they were (and still are) time consuming and involved a lot of paperwork assisting claimants with recording their medical sources and other information necessary for medical specialists to review their claims in order to determine whether they met the pretty stringent requirements to be awarded such benefits.  So my reaction was a self-directed grimace and determination to get it over as quickly as possible.

When I called the claimant’s name in the office’s reception area, I was surprised to see a beautiful woman answer me.  About my age, professionally dressed, with the “girl next door” kind of looks that had always drawn me.  Inwardly, I thought that at least this would be a pleasant interview, if only from a visual aspect.  (Bear in mind I was a young man, with the normal amount of testosterone flowing.)

I escorted the young woman to my desk and screened her with the basics, taking her application, verifying identity, copying her birth certificate, and the preliminaries involved in a claims interview.  Then the “meat” of the interview, recording information about her disabling condition. 

When I asked her what her disability was, she reluctantly stated “depression”.  I then asked her if this was a long term issue, or recently brought about by some event or trauma.  And that’s when this became an interview that would change my attitude about a lot of things forever.

With her lips quivering, she stated that she had been assaulted.  As there were no obvious signs of physical injury, for some reason my mind went to a dark place.  Nervously, I asked her in a quiet voice: “Please understand that I have to ask this, as it’s my job.  But was this a sexual assault?”

I’ve rarely seen anyone try and succeed at controlling herself better than this woman. In a low, quivering voice, she said “yes”.  The tears were coming close, and I didn’t know how to handle what might come next.  (Truth to tell, I’m not good at handling a woman who’s crying, before or after this.). I vacillated between hugging her like a brother would or grabbing a box of Kleenex.  Tough situation.

I decided to let the moment pass and asked her if she’d like some water or something.  She recovered and told me her story.

She had been a flight attendant (in those days, a stewardess) for a major airline, United or American, I don’t remember which.  She had been raped in the cockpit of a plane by the pilot and first officer.  She had a lawsuit against the airline pending, and was on company disability.  The requirements of the company’s policy included filing for Social Security disability. Hence, she was here at my desk.  

I’ll admit, I’d lived a pretty sheltered life.  Loving parents in a good marriage, middle class existence, average social/dating life, nothing special or dramatic.  Rape wasn’t part of my world.  I’d never known a victim, perpetrator, or any hints of either.  So this was way out of my orbit.  Bottom line was that even as a fairly skilled interviewer, I needed to handle this as delicately and professionally as I could.

Claims representatives with Social Security are trained not to get personally involved in their cases.  Contrary to some perceptions, the job is not that of a social worker.  It balances administering the nation’s largest income security program with providing efficient, courteous and compassionate help to everyone who walks through the door.  But we all have cases that touch us a bit more and where we exert a little extra effort.  Like it or not, I now had one.

I excused myself for a moment and went to my supervisor’s desk.  I knew this interview would run pretty long if I handled it correctly, and thought I’d head off any flak I might get from management.  But once I explained the situation,  she immediately said, “Take all the time you need.  She deserves it.”  

Back to my desk.  My claimant had composed herself, and smiled, thanking me for my patience.  (Really? MY patience?). Continuing with the interview, I asked some more or less standard questions about how the crime and resulting disability had affected her and prevented her ability to go back to work or seek other employment.  

In the process, I realized just how this assault had affected her life.  She was in regular therapy, was afraid to date anyone, and couldn’t trust men no matter how hard she tried.  She was afraid that she would never be able to “connect” with a guy in another relationship. Never having been married, she had always hoped to meet the right guy, marry, have kids, the whole bit.  But she was now in a place where she wondered if that was ever going to be possible.  

As I recorded her statements and made my observations, also a part of the claims process, my mind kept wandering.  I internally felt emotions ranging from intense sympathy to absolute rage.  What kind of man could do something like this?  What kind of sickness would drive someone to ruin another person’s life, violating her this way?  And even more, how could two men commit this horrible act with neither stopping the other?  

I spent two and a half hours with that interview, one of thousands I took during my twenty years in that job.  But I can count on one hand the cases that stay with me to this day, and that one is at the top.  

As the time went on, I could feel a sense of calm come over her.  Somewhere in the back of my mind was a subconscious need to make her feel comfortable and safe.  Maybe to show her that not all men were like the animals who had attacked her.  I don’t know. I just wanted to help.

When we concluded, I was emotionally and mentally drained.  She was too, but probably to a lesser degree. After all, she had had to tell this story before.  Her bravery and ability to overcome the vulnerability that had overwhelmed her since she had been violated was impressive. It is something I think of to this day when I hear the accounts of women and men who are coming forward to tell their stories, even after years of silence.

As she got ready to leave, I did something I rarely did back then. I gave her my private phone extension, which was usually reserved for family members, personal business, or internal SSA use, and told her to call me anytime if she had questions or wanted to check on the progress of her claim.  And then I told her something I’d never said to any woman, before or since.  

“For the first time in my life, I’m ashamed to have been born a male.”  

And I meant it.

We shook hands, she thanked me for my help, and left.  I never saw her again.  

                                                          *****

My claimant’s story had a fairly happy ending, at least as far my job was concerned.  She had taken me up on my offer a couple of times after the claim was filed to check up on how her case was progressing.  Like all disability claims, hers took a long time to get through all the medical evaluations, reviews, and red tape typical of these claims.  She was denied benefits at the initial level, but appealed and won.  

I last heard from her about a year later, when she told me she had won her appeal.  She also had the happy news that the airline had settled her lawsuit out of court.  (Can you imagine the news coverage of such a case?  In 1986? Obviously a pretty smart legal team.) She sounded upbeat, a whole lot better than when we had met.  

Part of me wanted to pursue a social relationship with this woman, ask her out for coffee or something.  Not that she’d necessarily be attracted to a mutt like me, but she had touched me in a way I never had before, and I had so admired her from the beginning.  But I quickly extinguished the idea.  Both for professional reasons and out of innate shyness, as well as a desire not to seem like I was “using” my role to pursue something.  So that was that.

Life went on.  My career progressed and a few years later I moved on to become a manager for SSA offices.  At one point I was in charge of public relations for my district, and became a liaison for other social agencies including abused women’s shelters.  That, and in my personal life over the years when I met and befriended a few women who were survivors of abuse, truly opened my eyes about this terrible issue.  But it will always come back to that beautiful, wounded young woman who needed help in 1986.

There are those who say no man can ever truly “get” the pain of abuse so many women suffer.  They may be right.  Unless you’ve lived it, you probably can’t completely understand.  But you can acknowledge that it exists, that it’s pervasive, and fight it every way you can.  And every day act like the man you aspire to be.

I don’t even remember her name.  But I hope life worked out well for her.  As my supervisor said, she really did deserve it.