Many Happy Returns
When President Kennedy challenged citizens to ask not what their country could do for them, but what they could do for their country, tens of thousands of young idealists rushed out to join the Peace Corps.
Not Bob Wenzel.
He rushed out to join the Internal Revenue Service.
“I was an accounting major and in 1963, I had to ask myself where I could make the greatest contribution. I looked at the mission of the IRS and I knew that’s where I belonged,” he says.
Thirty-three years later, Wenzel is director of one of the busiest and certainly the cheeriest IRS centers in the nation.
From the Extraction Room to the Document Perfection Branch, it’s tax collection with a smile.
“People assume those who work in the IRS are a certain type. As you see,” says Wenzel with a wink, “we are full of surprises.”
Indeed. Here, at the center that collects a heart-stopping $200 billion in annual tax revenues from the Laguna Niguel, Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Jose and Honolulu districts, there are all sorts of surprises. Not the least of which is the merry mood.
Despite the agency’s reputation for grumpiness and its ability to instill unspeakable panic in the most upstanding citizen, the army of men and women working behind the scenes to open, sort, scan and settle the vast majority of our accounts with Uncle Sam don’t match our fears. One reason is that few of the workers here ever come into contact with the public, leaving that task to the auditors and collections agents in the field.
And now, as they kick off their busiest and most taxing season, the 6,000 service center workers--about half of them seasonal--don’t have to be reminded that the less taxpayers hear from them the happier they are.
The moon is finishing its frosty arc across the sky when a tractor trailer full of U.S. mail pulls up outside Eileen Jones’ mail processing room. With a professional snap of the wrist, she checks the time on her Mickey Mouse watch: “0400 hours. Hmm. A bit ahead of schedule.”
Not a problem, decides Jones, who has worked here 20 years. “Just gives us a jump-start on the day.”
By 0530, her high-speed mail room has opened and sorted some 30,000 pieces of mail, the average morning delivery for this peak season. With as many as half of all returns arriving on April 15, the number of such daily deliveries rises exponentially as the deadline approaches.
“This supersonic sorting machine is the reason we can go so fast--though it’s up to us employees to stay out of its way,” says Jones, who once got her finger caught briefly in the spinning apparatus.
“My finger just went round and round--and me with it--until we got the machine shut down. Now that’s one of my No. 1 rules: Keep both hands in sight at all times.”
Although much of the tax return processing operation is highly mechanized, accidents are rare, says the center’s public affairs officer, Martha Rodriguez. “That is a tribute to the staff, to how carefully we all approach every aspect of our responsibility--not only to ourselves, but to the tax-paying public.”
The feelings of the “tax-paying public,” also known here as “the customer,” are of constant and urgent concern at Bob Wenzel’s IRS center.
“Our mission truly is to serve,” he says fervently. “And when our work is attacked, we all feel badly.”
Like back in 1990 when a disgruntled “customer” catapulted a series of exploding rockets at the center from outside its heavily guarded perimeter.
“Yes,” says Rodriguez with a sigh. “Even though no one was hurt, we were awfully distressed by that. It was even more frightening last year when our colleagues in Oklahoma City were bombed. That we are not universally admired is something you never forget.”
Anti-government violence and tax protests may be an unhappy fact of life for workers here, but that doesn’t alter “the mission.”
The mission, as Wenzel sees it, is “to collect the money that makes the government run. And it is to bring in the right amount. No more. No less.”
So if they have a bit of fun along the way, well, all the better.
Rita Duenas is having quite a lot of fun. Her job is to sit at a Burroughs S1000 computer, encode the checks taxpayers send in and drop them into a slot for direct deposit to the government bank.
Her workstation is decorated with photos of her fiance, a tube of Fresh Ginger Revlon lipstick, a fuzzy blue bear and a miniature American flag.
These totems, Duenas believes, enhance her productivity. Surely, something does.
On a good day, she processes as many as 4,000 checks--about 500 every hour.
“I was sent over here to handle the money. I love handling money! I love it!” squeals Duenas.
With responsibility for most of California and all of Hawaii, there is always money around to handle.
“Sometimes you look at a check, and you can’t believe people are paying that much in taxes,” says Duenas’ supervisor, Marsha Dominguez. “Even now, with the deadline two months away, we’ve had checks come in for $3 million, $5 million. Now, in the case of those checks, you can be sure we’ll walk it right through.”
Occasionally, the customer (who in this case is not always right) sends cash in with the tax return. When that happens, the first worker to spot the cash is obliged to jump up and call out, “I have cash here!” Those who stay seated do so at the risk of being prosecuted to the full extent of IRS regulations.
“Most of the men and women who come to work here--we’ll peak at about 6,000 this year--know the IRS has very high expectations of them,” says Rodriguez. “We owe it to the taxpaying public to be as efficient and reliable and trustworthy as we can be.”
And, she might add, as close-mouthed. Although the Fresno center processes more celebrity returns than any other in the nation, “mum” is absolutely the last word.
“Oh, my, yes, I have seen so many incredibly famous names on the returns over the years,” says veteran inspector Debbra Pendergrass. “How could I not be impressed? But that’s as far as it goes. I kind of say, ‘Wow!’ to myself and move on to the next return.”
All IRS employees are sworn to abide by a host of strict policies and rules “to uphold the integrity” of the revenue service. These include maintaining taxpayer confidentiality, even within the confines of the one-story 820,000-square-foot center, and keeping their own financial dealings clear of heavy debts, gambling losses, and, of course, delinquent taxes.
Over at the center’s proud “We Care About You!” customer service phone bank, Betty Richardt offers sympathy and advice to distressed callers with “accounts” (that is to say, big trouble).
“Good morning,” Richardt greets an early caller. “I’m Betty. How can I help?”
Richardt begged for this posting because she enjoys “the personal interaction.” Rarely is her upbeat style defeated by cranky callers. When it is, she remains the smooth professional.
“If I have to, um, disconnect a customer, I always let them know ahead of time. I have an awful lot of patience, so it really doesn’t happen very often,” says Richardt, who, like all IRS workers, took a federal oath of secrecy.
Only in the most extraordinary life-and-death situations is taxpayer confidentiality violated.
Generally, this happens only when a taxpayer is bent on some dangerous plan of action--such as murder or suicide.
Recently, one of the center’s “assisters” (as the phone folks like to call themselves) intervened to stop a “customer” from killing himself.
“One of the gals kept him talking on the phone while another gal dialed 911 and got the police out there pronto. Yep, we saved ‘im all right,” recalls one of the rescuers, “but it was mighty close.”
With employee sports leagues, potluck dinners, secret pals and holiday gift exchanges, most everybody in the sprawling Fresno center knows everybody else.
“We’re like a little city within a city. No, more like a little family within a big family. No, more like . . . well, we’re just real close, know what I mean?” explains mail room supervisor Jones.
Some families have two generations of IRS workers here, usually mother and daughter. Some employees met their mates here.
The IRS bowling league alley was the romantic venue for the match of Ken Ingle and wife Paulanna.
For more than 18 years, Ingle has been a mainstay in the Document Locator Numbering Unit. His job? To stamp numbers on the tops of documents. Many, many documents--the center will receive more than 11 million returns by April 15.
“In an hour--well, if they’re clean returns, meaning I don’t have to bother taking staples out or paper clips off--I’d say I knock out 1,000 an hour. I can only keep that pace up for a couple of hours at the most, you understand. Then I go down to 500 or so.”
Ingle says he loves his work. “Some people might say, well, he’s just a clerk and it’s true it is a rather boring job. But, you know, if I don’t do my job and put a number on these returns, you can’t find a thing. The system breaks down completely and, hey, that’s no good for the country, is it?
“We all got to do our part. Like we say around here, that’s the mission.”
