Vic Kaufman
was the Clerk of the Board of Directors of William Penn House in 1987 when I
was hired to be the Interim Executive Director (a nine-month appointment). At the time, neither he, the rest of the
Board, nor I knew what was ahead of us.
A few weeks
before my hiring there was a blow-up among the staff at William Penn House,
with the prior Executive Director firing the House Manager. Several interns, recently hired for a
one-year term, quit over the dispute, and ultimately, the Board decided to
relieve the Executive Director of his duties.
In short, it was a big mess.
My interview
was on a Friday evening, Vic called the next day to offer the position to me,
and on Monday I showed up for work. My
staff consisted of two interns, one of whom was appointed Interim House
Manager, and a janitor.
My second day
on the job featured a visit from a city construction inspector. Just as I was coming on board at William Penn
House, the D.C. government was cracking down on unlicensed “bed and breakfast”
establishments. A neighbor, likely
fearing an under-performing property value potential, squealed to the boys
downtown. So, we were netted in their
big effort to clean up matters, enhancing safety and city revenues.
Of course, I
explained to the inspector what we were all about, that we offered seminar
programs and lodging to visiting groups, that the money paid to WPH for the programs
and accommodations really was “donations,” etc., etc., etc. While cordial, he was unmoved. We would have to get a Certificate of
Occupancy issued by the city. “OK,” I
said, “how do we do that?” thinking I would fill out a form, pay a fee and that
would be that.
It turned out
the inspector was thinking of something slightly more involved. He would look over the building, cite
“corrections” that were necessary to meet safety codes, and send out the
electrical, plumbing and fire inspectors, as well. I took a deep breath. “OK. We can get through this.”
When I called
Vic to tell him what was happening, he was stunned. Vic was a Ph.D. who worked for the National
Bureau of Standards as a spectroscopist (look THAT up in your Funk and
Wagnalls!). He was Jewish by birth, and
came to the Friends during the Vietnam era.
He was very active in Friends organizations for many years, including as
treasurer of the Friends Committee on National Legislation (the oldest
religious lobby on Capitol Hill), various volunteer roles with the American
Friends Service Committee, and a variety of activities within his local Friends
Meeting, in particular, a prison ministry.
In later years he looked after the personal finances of a few folks who
needed that type of assistance.
Vic was
around 60 years old at the time I met him.
Not a tall or big person, he had a dark complexion, steel gray hair,
long sideburns and a receding hairline.
His voice was gravelly and sometimes loud. He was very direct, very intelligent, had a
nice sense of humor, and despite an occasionally gruff manner, he was very caring. I had the impression some felt he was
difficult to deal with, but I came to see him as persistent, dedicated,
confident, and capable of doing just about anything. It wasn’t too long after I got to know him
that I found a place for Vic on my list of All-Time Favorite People.
The
pursuit of a Certificate of Occupancy was challenging, to say the least, since
William Penn House did not fit any of the zoning classifications identified by
the D.C. government. I spent a lot of
time with lawyers, engineers, architects, construction contractors, and
officials from a variety of D.C. government offices.
At
one point, the whole process ground to a halt because the different government offices
could not agree on how we were to proceed.
Of course, our program was dead in the water, which dried up our revenue
stream.
Finally,
I contacted Mayor Marion Barry, explained who we were, what we stood for, what
was happening with the crowd from various offices within his administration,
and asked him to intervene. Within a
couple of days, the wheels on the ponderous, rusty machine began to turn once
again. I was amazed by how bureaucrats
who didn’t seem to have a clue suddenly snapped to. But then, I already knew the secret of Marion
Barry’s political longevity. Despite his
personal difficulties and demons, he took care of the people. And in this case, we were part of “the
people.”
Vic
and the Board offered tremendous support, and finally, after two-and-a-half
years we completed the renovations necessary for the Certificate of
Occupancy. Of course, we had to raise
and borrow money from Friends across the continent along the way. Vic chipped in with a couple of loans, and he
actually converted one of the loans to a donation because he knew we were up
against it, in terms of paying it back.
Meanwhile,
my nine-month interim period came and went, just sort of dissolving somewhere
along the way, and I ended up staying at William Penn House for nine years.
After
my departure I kept in touch with Vic, who left the William Penn House Board a
few years earlier. At one point, his wife,
Vena, was diagnosed with cancer and valiantly suffered for a while before her
passing. A couple of times I went to
their house to offer personal encouragement and support.
Following Vena’s death, I got together with Vic every few months for
lunch and to catch up. More than once I
introduced Vic to people I knew, and when I explained our connection he always
said something to the effect of, “I fired Greg’s predecessor.”
At one of our lunches, Vic, a
longtime smoker, broke the news that he had lung cancer. I shouldn’t have been surprised, given his
history of smoking and his age, but it still was stunning to hear. He picked up on my distress, and assured me
he was handling it well, that he had lived a long life filled with many
blessings, accomplishments and happiness.
“I have no regrets.” Typical Vic: direct, analytical, strong, and
realistic. He wanted no sympathy, and
while I was concerned, I gave him space.
I checked up on him by telephone and
heard about treatments or hospitalizations.
Finally, one day I called, and when his adult daughter answered the
telephone, I asked to speak with Vic.
“Who is this?” I told her and
reminded her of my relationship to him.
There was a pause, and I instantly knew:
“Dad passed away yesterday.”
Vic’s
memorial service was held a month or so later at the Friends meeting house he
attended, a large gathering of people expressing many tributes and giving
support to his four children and their families. It was difficult to imagine he was gone.
Vic surely
was someone I always will remember with great fondness and gratitude.
