The announcement Monday seemed out in the stratosphere. Our former guv, who just this time last year jumped to the Environmental Protection Agency, is a techno geek and policy wonk. He is a Westerner who has positioned himself with President Bush as an expert in reducing air pollution and in cutting environmental deals that have generally given environmentalists migraines.
Isn't Leavitt more at ease dissecting parts-per-million than in carving out Medicaid reimbursements?
Oh, that's what you thought. That's what we all thought. Even our savvy national press corps had floated Leavitt as a possible leader for the Homeland Security Department, in the wake of Bernard Kerik's withdrawal.
To those who know Leavitt best, we were all way wrong.
"It's been hilarious to watch the classic media spin on the issue," says Vicki Varela, Leavitt's former deputy chief of staff and one of his closest advisers through two administrations. The first telephone call she got at home Monday was from a New York Times reporter who asked, "Why did they [the Bush administration] deceive us?"
But Varela, who has remained in steady contact with her former boss, says that "this has always been his path. This is where he spent a huge part of his time as governor. He led out with the [national] governors association on Social Security reform issues, on establishing the CHIP [children's health insurance plan] program in Utah and in all things domestic."
She isn't surprised that the rest of us are surprised. "Look at what happened when he went to EPA. The media jumped into this big group thing, saying it was not the right fit for him. . . . He is tactful and diplomatic much of the time, and people don't realize how independent-minded he can be."
Maybe so, but my institutional memory stretches back to early 1998, when I covered social services for this newspaper and the state was mired in an infamous class-action lawsuit, David C. v. Leavitt. The National Center for Youth Law in Oakland, Calif., filed the suit in 1993 on behalf of 17 children who had been horribly abused and neglected in Utah's foster care system. Lawmakers had been warned by child protection experts for years of the mess, and looked the other way.
Leavitt inherited the case in 1993, just weeks after beginning his first term. He certainly can't be blamed for it, but he can be questioned for the length of time it took to fix it.
And it still isn't fixed.
In 1994, the state settled the case, agreeing to overhaul foster care and to increase training and case oversight. The agreement was renegotiated in 1999. A federal judge has been monitoring the state's Division of Child and Family Services ever since and has until 2006 to determine if oversight can end. Under much improved DCFS leadership, the system is nearly in complete compliance with the settlement. But 10 years is one long time to wait, and progress has moved glacially. Nine of those plodding years were under Leavitt's watch, and U.S. senators who question him should press him for the why.
Leavitt's supporters say the man learned from David C., and in the end should be lauded for dramatically increasing budgets for child welfare and cutting worker caseloads from an average of 35 children to 15. "He always said 'If you want better results, make better investments.' And we have," says Robin Arnold-Williams, director of the state Department of Human Services.
Still, considering the man will oversee almost 20 percent of the federal budget - $500 billion for HHS compared with the $577 million under which Utah's human services system operates - he merits hard scrutiny. Varela vows he's up to it.
"Watch him get into an issue and watch his jawline as it sets," she says. "This job is made for him."
hmullen@sltrib.com
