College of Arts and Sciences
Alumni
Portland Magazine
October 25, 2019
When the American people called the White House, this alum picked up the phone.
by Nathan R. Sherfinski '05
The woman on the other end of the phone was crying.
“Ma’am, I can’t make out what you’re saying,” I said. “Can you slow down?”
“I think I’m going to lose my home,” she said in a barely audible voice. “I’ve already lost my job.”
Seated at a small desk facing a wall, I closed my eyes. “I’m so sorry; that must be incredibly stressful and scary. I am so glad that you called today.” I proceeded to describe to the caller various federal programs that may be able to assist her with her housing situation and relevant information to ensure that she was in good standing to continue receiving unemployment benefits while she looked for work. I read off the contact information for the appropriate agencies handling these matters; I had the caller read them back to me to be certain that she had them down correctly.
“Thank you,” she said. “People are struggling, and he needs to know that.” She blew her nose.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be sure that your sentiments are passed along to the president,” I told her. We said good-bye to one another, and I captured the substance of the call in a data platform. My headset was already buzzing with another call. I put my eyeglasses on the desk, leaned back, and answered it saying, “Hello, you’ve reached the White House Comment Line.”
DURING THE SUMMER of 2010, I was one of the team of people who answered the president’s phones. I answered what is still known as the White House Comment Line. At the time, President Barack Obama received more than 2,500 calls per day. He also received 100,000 emails, 9,000 paper letters, and 1,000 faxes per day. The Office of Presidential Correspondence (OPC) was comprised of a team of about 50 staffers, 35 interns, and hundreds of volunteers charged with the task of fielding and tracking this communication with the president. We were there to help the sitting president hear from the people he had been elected to represent. It was my job to listen closely.
I had practiced the art of listening as a social work graduate student and had done a few years of direct practice social work with homeless families and adjudicated youth. I was only 28 years old—and I still did not own a dress suit—but I felt up to the task. Through my training, I had learned about the power of reflective listening as a means to connect with someone. It worked. In addition to my professional training, I brought my personal perspective to work. I am legally blind and have spent most of my life listening closely.
By the end of that summer, a manual that I authored would guide the way in which every operator on the White House Comment Line answered, listened, and responded to the thousands of daily calls. I later learned that the manual was the model for other departments around OPC, and I feel proud of this small contribution to the administration and the way in which it strived to connect with people across the country.
HISTORIANS OFTEN REMARK that presidents can be insulated from the pulse of the country and are at risk of being in a “bubble.” Every president, or public official for that matter, must endeavor to remain connected to the constituents she or he serves. When George Washington was president, mail arrived on horseback, and there were said to be just a handful of letters per delivery, all of which he responded to personally. By the time William McKinley was president in the late 1800s, he received about one hundred letters per day and found reason to establish a formal office at the White House, now known as OPC. Under FDR, letters were coming in by the hundreds of thousands, as he shepherded the country through the Great Depression. In 1993, President Bill Clinton went live with the first-ever public email address. President Richard Nixon reportedly did not like reading negative letters from the public, yet he had the foresight to realize that the White House switchboard was overwhelmed with callers, so he invited teams of volunteers to assist with the load. He may not have listened to the calls himself, but he knew the importance of institutional listening. It was a decision that remained part of the White House for decades into my time in OPC, where I worked side-by-side with people who had answered phones for administrations past and present.
In President Obama’s case, he read ten letters a day from people across the country that were seen to capture the state, tone, and heartbeat of people across America at that day in time. OPC was the eyes, ears, and voice of the administration. It handled and responded to all manner of communications from phone calls to handwritten letters from schoolchildren inquiring about what kind of vegetables were in First Lady Michelle Obama’s garden. It also covered every issue across the policy portfolio from domestic to foreign affairs and everything in between.
DURING MY SUMMER WITH OPC, I had the privilege of listening to America. President Barack Obama had been in office for hardly eighteen months. The economy was still finding its footing, the British Petroleum oil spill was dominating the news, the war in Iraq was not yet formally concluded, and the war in Afghanistan persisted. The unemployment rate was 9.5 percent, two-and-a-half times what it is today. There were approximately 100,000 US troops in Afghanistan, some ten to twenty times more than today. The Affordable Care Act had only been law for about three months.
I heard from thousands of people from across the country. My job was to pick up the phone and listen. Here’s some of what I heard:
Some called and cried. Some called to wish the president a happy birthday. Some called to express anger about a specific policy. Some called and expressed just anger at the system. Some heard the president’s speech and heard one thing. Some heard that same speech and heard another thing. Some called to inquire about a greeting card from the president on the occasion of a new grandchild. Some called and yelled. Some called and spoke so softly. Some called and talked about how they disliked their job. Some called and said they were retired from a fulfilling career. Some called and said they had two jobs. Some called and said they lost their job. Some called and said they were worried no one would hire them. Some spoke with an accent. Some said they lived in a big city. Some said they lived in a small town. Some called and asked my name. Some called and asked about the president’s dog. Some called and spoke of a lost family member who served in the armed forces. Some called and laughed. Some called and forgot what they were going to say. Some called and sounded exhausted. Some called and sounded really energetic. Some called and really liked the president. Some called and wished the country had a different president. Everyone who called really cared about America.
OUR COUNTRY IS SO VAST, and my world is oftentimes so small in comparison. For that summer, my world was made much bigger by the voices from across America. I spent a few moments with thousands of people. It taught me to stop, listen, and really try to hear people when they speak, for their words may mask the depth of their feelings. They may express anger but be feeling pain so frightening that they do not know what else to do but yell at someone on the phone.
I sometimes wonder what happened to the people with whom I spoke. Did that man from Alaska finally find a job? Did that woman from Colorado stay in her home? Did that grandfather from Arkansas receive that greeting card? Does he still have it? Did that retired teacher from Ohio find part-time work to help support her grandchildren? Did that military veteran sort out her health benefits? Did that man from Louisiana relocate to be closer to his daughter? Did that elderly woman from California pass away? I will never know what happened to the people with whom I shared a few minutes. They also will never truly know how much they have influenced my life.
I will never see their faces or, most likely, hear their voices ever again. Yet, they taught me about the human struggle to tackle life; the joy in telling a stranger they had a new grandchild in the family; and the anxiety, fear, and despair they felt about how they or their families would survive. Ultimately, they taught me about the bravery it takes to reach out to another person and the courage to believe that someone just might listen to them. And how, if you stop and really listen, people will let you in on what matters to them. In my case, I did my best to listen on behalf of their president.
NATHAN R. SHERFINSKI ’05 works in city government in Brooklyn, NY. He holds graduate degrees in public administration and social work from Columbia University.
University of Portland
5000 N. Willamette Blvd.,
Portland, Oregon 97203-5798
503.943.8000
This website uses cookies to track information for analytics purposes. You can view the full University of Portland privacy policy for more information.
