AND EVEN WITCHCRAFT
The case had everything— from charges and countercharges of whistle-blower retaliation to secret video-tapes, pornography and even witchcraft.
And last week, the year-long sad saga of the disgruntled social worker versus Monroe County appears to have reached its controversial conclusion. After a three-month-long paid vacation, courtesy of county taxpayers, Carl Johanson has given up his job.
It all began in late July 2000, when the social worker with the county's Social Services and Public Welfare departments, complaining of his frustration with his superiors and the bureaucracy at the department, sent copies to the media of a memorandum that described the plight of an 80-year-old homeless woman.
Johanson, a gay man, had worked for the county and its welfare recipients since 1995, and he said he'd grown increasingly upset that people were slipping through the cracks.
He apparently had also been wearing out his welcome with his boss, Louis Latorre, his former college roommate. Latorre is quick to point out that he roomed with Johanson in college "before he was gay."
But it was last year when knowledge of Johanson's tiff with his boss and co-workers began to filter up to the higher levels of county government. That was when he wrote the memo to Latorre's boss asking him to circumvent the public-housing application for the homeless octogenarian, Audrey Jackson.
Two weeks after writing the memo, Johanson spotted Jackson about to be arrested by Key West police. A nearby business had complained that her months-long perch on the sidewalk was hurting his business.
Police later said they were trying to persuade her to let them take her to a homeless shelter. Johanson, who knew Jackson suffers from diabetes and other illnesses, arranged to have her taken to the Lower Keys Medical Center on Stock Island.
After two weeks and still no action by his superiors, Johanson said he felt driven to inform the media, precipitating a firestorm of protest from the public, which objected to the lack of a response to the homeless woman's needs.
The county initially stonewalled media requests, citing any response as a breach of client confidentiality. But the outcry internally against Johanson was palpable.
A week after Johanson had leaked his memo to the media, on Aug. 9, a county hearing officer had opined that Johanson violated county "policies and procedures by using his official position for private gain, by releasing information of a confidential nature and by insubordination to his superiors."
Johanson cried foul, saying the county was just trying to demonize him. However, a search of his personnel files did reveal several cases in which clients accused him of boorish behavior or his superiors said he was not properly doing his job. On the other hand, his files also contained several letters of commendation from members of the public praising the man.
Johanson said he received seven written reprimands from county officials since he first contacted the media. He claimed they were written to puff up the county's case in an upcoming administrative "predetermination hearing." He said he was "sick and tired of the harassment and abuse of power" coming from his department, claiming he was being victimized for being a whistle blower.
Police Lt. Frank Sauer and Officer Robert Winterbottom said they would speak on Johanson's behalf. They were the two officers who had taken the homeless woman into custody and had transported her to the hospital.
The hearings, usually held at the county's appropriately-named "chapel building," continued for several months, becoming increasingly acrimonious as both media and the public turned out.
County administrator Jim Roberts, who had earlier handed the controversy off to his minions, finally got involved. He denied any retaliation against Johanson. "This guy's not the hero you (the media) have been portraying him," he said.
The chapel hearings became opportunities for county critics to show up and yell at the hearing officer. Finally, Roberts closed the door on the media during one of the tape-recorded hearings, stating that it was done to protect the identity of witnesses against Johanson. "And we had a lot of witnesses," Roberts said.
Meanwhile, things were turning increasing grim at the office for Johanson. Johanson said a county employee started following him into gay bars as if to document his homosexuality. A county official later confirmed not only that, but Johanson tried to turn the tables on the employee by video-taping the employee going into pornography shops.
And then, during one of the private, recorded hearings, Johanson, growing increasingly upset at a witness' attack on his job performance, allegedly blurted out: "You're just saying those things because you're a witch!"
The shocked panel, wondering where this accusation came from, turned sympathetically toward the aggrieved party, who then responded to everyone's surprise: "Well, that's my religion!"
Roberts said the working relationship between Johanson and his colleagues had deteriorated so badly that they had no choice finally, but to suspend-with-pay the $30,000-a-year-plus employee.
"Normally, we would have just had the employee continue to work while the administrative process continued," Roberts said last week. "But the workplace was getting worse and worse and we could not have legally suspended him without pay."
The suspension followed three nonconsecutive days of hearings. "The administrative procedure in our rules says that before you can impose any discipline greater than a letter of reprimand, you have to have a predetermination hearing, with witnesses," he added.
He said because of the volatility of Johanson's charges and countercharges, the need to hold the hearing and the time needed to consider the evidence and write the decision, it's taken almost a year.
Last month, Roberts said that what he called a "last-chance, non-negotiable offer" was made to Johanson, that he could keep his benefits and almost the same pay if he would be willing to leave social services and work in the county's transportation department.
He had 30 days to appeal through the county's career-service board, but that time has expired. Career service attorney Merrill "Cathead" Sands, an acquaintance of Johanson's, confirmed Wednesday he has heard nothing.
Last week, Johanson had made his decision, telling Roberts that at the advice of his attorney, he would not be accepting the county's offer. The county administrator said Johanson is history.