Crusader, Interrupted

Probation Chief's Unorthodox Ways May Finally End His Turbulent Reign

BY TRACY IDELL HAMILTON

John Lum sits frustrated in his Los Osos living room, his lap covered in papers.

He sifts through them looking for answers: Copies of e-mails he’s sent to staff. Letters from California Youth Authority officials. Newspaper articles detailing his accomplishments, his battles. An anonymous letter, addressed to him, complaining about his leadership style. The e-mail he sent out to the entire staff, responding to his critic.

"Oh, here’s the second anonymous letter," he says, lifting up a fat packet of papers. "This came in August." The letter, addressed to the Board of Supervisors and the Grand Jury, demands that Lum be investigated.

Anyone reading the letter might agree. The four-page missive, with its sheaf of attachments, paints the Probation Chief as an autocrat who careens between anger and depression, who puts the safety of dangerous criminals before his staff, flagrantly defies county ordinances and departmental policy, and spends much of his time micromanaging particular cases–when he bothers coming in at all.

But that letter is not why Lum is home in exile, not officially. Two months after the letter was sent, 17 of his 138 employees filed a formal grievance. "Chief Lum has revealed to several Supervising Deputy Probation Officers that he suffers from depression," reads part of the grievance Lum has seen. "The safety of Probation staff and the community may be compromised if his judgment is impaired due to emotional instability."

The grievance led to County Administrator David Edge’s placing Lum on paid leave while the charges are investigated. This is the third county investigation to be launched against Lum. "It's time to settle these issues, the grievance, the anonymous letters, once and for all," Edge says.

Now the man who has turned the Probation Department on its ear with a new management style, more collaboration, and a progressive focus on juvenile justice sits idly at home, days stretching into weeks as he ponders his fate.

He is not hopeful. He knows he is a target, that many of his new policies, not to mention his touchy-feely management style, have rubbed some people the wrong way–and not just people within his department. Certain judges, law enforcement officers, even other department heads, would probably love to see Lum just go away. "Look, I'm not naive," he says, his eyes drifting out to the calming view of the ocean and the dunes from his living room window. "If they want to find something to get me out, they can."

A Crusader Gallops Into Town

John Lum is an agent of change in a conservative county.

Since taking over the SLO County Probation Department six years ago, he has been an aggressive advocate for transforming the department. A veteran of juvenile corrections from the East Coast to San Jose, but with little actual probation experience, Lum says he was brought in to turn around a dysfunctional department.

When the county’s Probation Department lost their last chief amid allegations of sexual harassment and other improprieties, rank-and-file staff demanded change. During the next leaderless year, they advocated for participatory management, rather than the more traditional hierarchical style of top-down decision making.

This new approach to management continues to gain currency as employers understand that employees–those in the trenches, who see problems first hand and who often have creative solutions for those problems–can be a valuable and economical part of the process.

Lum leapt in, spending $20,000 of the county’s money on Stephen R. Covey’s "7 Principles of Effective Management Training" for himself and his managers. He created "T.E.A.M."s (Together Everyone Achieves More) to tackle departmental issues and create policies where for too long, Lum says, there were none. Training sessions and workshops for managers and supervisors have continued throughout his tenure.

While the majority of employees prefer this new style, Lum and others say some have never felt comfortable with a process that takes longer and asks everyone for more accountability.

One veteran probation officer who spoke on condition of anonymity said that for some employees participatory management became a "be careful what you wish for, or you just might get it" kind of thing. "It became clear that some people were interested in participatory management as much as it served their self-interest," he said. "Lum is constantly being sabotaged by his own managers."

At least one of those managers disagrees. As one who signed the grievance, he also requested anonymity. (In addition to being directed by the county not to talk about Lum or the investigation, probation officers on both sides of the fence said they feared retribution if they spoke honestly about what is going on in the department.)

Said the manager who signed the grievance, "The Chief just tweaked participatory management so that he doesn’t have to make decisions. He pits one department against another, and lots of projects just hang in limbo."

The probation department’s number two in command, Deputy Chief Kim Barrett, who has been on medical leave since before Lum was yanked from his post, acknowledged that not everyone has had an easy time with participatory management. "Sometimes things do drag on too long," she admitted. "It’s a process. Sometimes people just want a decision made for them–any decision."

Lum, more proud of this change than any other he’s made within the department, sees that as the crux of the problem. He’s been told by some supervisors that it is his job to lead the department and make unilateral decisions. "I’ve had people tell me, and I’m not kidding, that I’m the ‘Daddy’ of this department. What is that?" he asks incredulously. "I want to empower my staff, not dictate to them."

He believes that it is his progressive philosophy, a philosophy at odds with current trends toward harsher, retributive punishment, not just his management style, that drives much of the opposition to him.

"Another part of it is change. I love change. I thrive on it. I was

recruited and brought here to help change this agency. But I also

understand that it can be threatening."

Some of those changes might be a little too New Age for some, however. E-mails from Lum to his staff reveal a frankness that made employees used to a more traditional style wince. After being criticized in a memo about a perceived attack on Barrett in a management meeting, Lum sent this e-mail in response:

"Well, it’s been an hour since we met and I’ve been bouncing between feelings of personal disappointment, depression, [and] ‘can I climb yet another hurdle.’ I seem to be a lightning rod for negative

attacks…where‘s the positive? BUT one feeling I’m not bouncing about is the extremely positive feeling that you and others had enough confidence in yourself, me and our values to come forth and share your concerns as you did. I greatly respect you for that, and recognize that we still have work ahead of us.… Thanks, again."

The manager who signed the grievance called the e-mail "bullshit." He says Lum chewed out one of the managers who sent the memo, and said it was sent as a last straw, that Lum has a pattern of inappropriate public criticisms. He says that after Lum was confronted, "He just disappeared. He doesn’t even have an office now. He works from home a lot, sending out e-mails late at night. We just spend too much time dealing with his eccentricities."

Lum counters that moving out of his office down to the juvenile hall, and moving Barrett into his old office, was a very conscious decision. "I wanted to make it clear that Kim was in charge," he says. Working under the first female deputy the department has ever had was tough for some employees, Lum said. Some would go over her to him with questions or concerns. Part of participatory management, he says, is dealing with things at the lowest possible level. "I wanted people to deal with Kim."

Lum made other changes outside of the department. For example, says Probation legal clerk Lori Frago, before Lum arrived, probation staff was doing other departments’ work, such as typing court orders or notifying clients of their court hearings. "John gave that work back to other departments. Do you know how many man-hours he has saved us?" While it may have saved man-hours within the probation, department, it didn't make any friends at the courthouse, she says.

Frago, a superintendent for two and a half years of the ten she has been with the department, says she admires the changes Lum has made, and said many more employees are happy with him than are not. She calls the latest investigation purely political. She, too, believes it is the chief’s views, not his "poor judgment" or his unconventional habits, that traditional conservatives in the county can’t stand. "Look, John is a true liberal. And he doesn’t just espouse his views, he lives them. He has a great deal of integrity, and passion for what he does."

A Turbulent Tenure

According to Lum, his battles began almost immediately. The first was with former County Administrator Bob Hendrix. "He and I clashed almost immediately," Lum says, over the state of the juvenile hall. "He was angry at me for identifying conditions over there that were out of compliance."

The Probation Department’s role in the criminal justice system, in addition to overseeing convicted criminals, is to detain juvenile offenders and run juvenile hall. During the time Lum brought the hall up to code, a complaint that he was removing juveniles from custody for outings (including a much-criticized visit to the Lums’ home and hot tub) turned into a full-fledged county investigation.

He says taking kids out into the community helps keep them connected to it–crucial for when these children are released. "If they don’t have a stake in the community, we’re going to see more victimization," he says. The statement is typical of the long-view approach Lum takes dealing with juveniles.

The county found no evidence of wrongdoing, but his family’s practice of bringing foster children into their home was called into question. While the Lums had been involved with foster care for years on the East Coast, conflict-of-interest questions were raised here–especially when one of the family's young charges was arrested and put on probation.

"He’s just got incredibly poor judgment," said the manager who signed the grievance. "He just blows off concerns from staff and does whatever he wants."

Once again, however, Lum prevailed, when then—Attorney General Dan Lungren handed down a decision in confirming that "a…chief probation officer…may be licensed as a foster parent for children who are wards of the juvenile court.…"

That opinion didn’t help Lum in the early morning hours of Aug. 5, 1999, when his house was raided by police looking for evidence linking one of his charges to a stabbing that occurred in a Taco Bell parking lot in SLO. The police found a small baggy of marijuana in the boy’s trash can, but nothing, apparently, to link him to the crime. Although Lum called the search professional, and said he and his family cooperated fully, he wonders why he was not given some notice by police. "It was incredibly humiliating for my entire family," he says. "I would have been happy to invite them in."

Detractors point to the case as yet another where the chief’s judgment about what is appropriate is impaired. The chief has five daughters, three still living at home.

Lum bristles at the insinuation that he has ever placed his daughters' lives in danger. Springing up off the couch, Lum strides out of the living room, returning a moment later with a black-and-white photograph of himself as a younger man, with his then—4-year-old daughter, Nicole. A barbed wire fence cuts through the scenery behind them. "This is my daughter and I at Framingham Correctional Institute in Massachusetts," he says. "I have always involved my kids with what I do, so they can see some of the unresolved ‘—isms’ in this country–racism, sexism, classism. I would never allow them to be placed in any danger. If anything, the people who stay with us have been very protective."

Since the search, Lum says his family has avoided taking any youths into their home, but says they will become a foster family again. To avoid even the appearance of conflict of interest, "we won’t take any more SLO County kids," he says. "It’s sad that we have to go to such an extreme."

Still, Lum did not pull back from making waves. Instead, he courted controversy yet again when he very publicly took on the California Youth Authority last summer. Lum refused to send juveniles ordered by the court into the CYA system, after interviews with dozens of teenage wards turned up reports of regular abuse–including rape. Lum would later travel to CYA facilities around the state, visiting SLO County wards and inspecting the conditions under which the teenagers live.

For his efforts, Lum has emerged as one of the state’s leading critics of its "get tough" approach to juvenile justice, winning him fans–and enemies–statewide. Testimony given by Lum and others to a joint oversight commission convened to investigate the abuse allegations resulted in the resignations of top CYA officials, including director Gregory Zermeno and El Paso de Robles superintendent Kate Thompson.

Criticism that Lum was "taking on the problems of the world," and not concentrating on his mission here continued to escalate. Deputy Chief Barrett tried to put some of those concerns to rest in a staffwide e-mail in May of this year. "I have heard folks ask, 'Where is the Chief?' They believe this is not our problem, therefore why are we putting energy into it? I would counter that this is all of our problem, as these youth will be returning to our community, and left untreated and further victimized will be a greater public safety risk when they do."

That e-mail probably did little to smooth tensions that were crackling not just within the department but in the courts as well.

Lum’s latest controversy came just weeks before he was removed from his post, when presiding Judge Barry LaBarbara scathingly rejected a report with dueling recommendations. (Another of the Probation Department's missions is to offer the courts specific sentencing recommendations for offenders convicted of a crime.)

The report concerned Daniel Contreras, a 19-year-old convicted of voluntary manslaughter for allegedly holding 16-year-old Bo Alleckson while another teen stabbed Alleckson to death at Paso Robles high school in July, 1999. Part of the report suggested leniency for the young man. Lum says he had allowed the differing viewpoints because he believed both had merit.

Lum’s detractors say the move is indicative of his liberal philosophy "favoring" criminals.

"John always talks about being a supporter of restorative justice," said the disgruntled manager. "But he totally left out the victim’s point of view in this report." Judges have been unhappy with Lum’s performance for some time, he says, and this was just the last straw. LaBarbara did not follow the report’s recommendation, instead handing down the maximum sentence.

Even supporters feel that Lum may have taken the wrong tack with the courts. In most counties, the Probation Chief answers directly to the court. Not so in SLO County, where the chief is now appointed by the Board of Supervisors.

"John has always felt that he answers to the board, not the judges, and that has put a strain on things," said the veteran probation officer. "He challenged the status quo. Recommendations from the department have historically favored whatever the prosecution has asked for, he said. "Our reports were pretty much rubber-stamped." Moving probation away from the prosecutorial side to a more independent position within the court has won Lum little support, he said.

Inevitable Coup or Due Process?

Lum finds it ominous that in the almost two months since the investigation began no one has contacted him. "If someone makes allegations against another person, it seems basic that the first thing you would do is talk to that person," he says. "I wonder whether due process is being employed here."

County Administrator Edge says the reason Lum has not yet been contacted is because the investigation is in an informal stage, while the investigator researches whether the charges against him have any merit. Only in that case, Edge says, will a formal investigation be launched. "Due process comes into play when there's something to do due process about," he said. And while he agrees there is nothing good about a process that leaves someone "in limbo" for a long period of time, there is no legal time limit within which the investigation must be completed.

When told that the investigation against him is not even "formal" yet, Lum is incredulous. "Then why am I sitting here?" he asks.

Edge, who later said county counsel advised him that using words like "informal" and "formal" might be misleading, says he made the decision to remove Lum from his post with the blessing of the supervisors. "It was the right thing to do at the time." He admitted the timing was "messy," with the deputy chief already out on medical leave. (Both the deputy’s and the chief’s positions are being filled by long-time division manager Myron Nalepa.)

Some have suggested that Edge removed Lum in an effort to prove that he was not giving Lum preferential treatment. The anonymous letter complains that during one of Lum's previous investigation, "nothing substantial was done," in part because Edge and Lum "seem to have an unusually close relationship."

Edge agrees that he has bent over backward to keep himself out of this investigation, even though he says he and the chief have no closer a relationship than he does with other county department heads. He assigned Assistant Administrative Officer Jim Grant to handle the case. "I know that if I were to conclude with anything other than 'chop his head off,’" Edge says, "someone will say, 'Edge undermined the process.'"

While the full nature of the allegations against him has not been made public (or even given to Lum himself), aggrieved employees say it’s not just a question of Lum’s emotional stability, but that he violates county codes. Said the manager who signed the grievance, "He’s so arrogant, he thinks these policies don’t apply to him. I’ve heard him say, ‘It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission.’"

The anonymous letter also accuses Lum of violating county and

departmental codes. It claims he actively lobbied against Proposition 21, which allows some juveniles to be sentenced in adult court. "He made it a very hostile environment for those of us who supported it," the manager says. The letter also alleges Lum violated county codes about privacy, inappropriately sharing details of Barrett’s medical condition with staff.

While Lum's detractors point to what they say is a strained relationship between Lum and Barrett, conversations with each, as well as e-mails between the two, paint a very different picture. Each is quick to defend the other and openly admirable of the other’s work.

Then there is the infamous poem incident. During the last holiday season, Lum sent out Maya Angelou’s poem "Still I Rise" to all staff. The poem begins, "You may write me down in history / With your bitter twisted lies,/ You may trod me in the very dust / But still, like dust, I rise."

Strong stuff, but it was the seventh stanza that apparently gave some folks in the office apoplexy:

"Does my sexiness upset you? / Does it come as a surprise / That I dance like I’ve got diamonds / At the meeting of my thighs?"

`"Chief Lum has poor judgment and doesn’t understand his staff very well.… This poem has sexual overtones and offended most of the staff," reads the anonymous letter. "Current policy on e-mail is clear (attached)."

Again, Lum is incredulous. "It’s Maya Angelou, for heaven’s sake," he says, "She read one of her poems at President Clinton’s inauguration."

His voice tightens with exasperation that it is "violations" like these that he may be on leave for committing. "The idea with this leave is that I haven’t been harmed. But I feel harmed. This kind of removal is not an action taken lightly. I wish the board would just say, ‘The direction John is taking is not the direction we want the probation department to go in, so we’re just going to let him go.’"

This leave, he says, definitely gives the impression that he has done some wrongdoing. His family is in turmoil. "One of my daughters is about to graduate from high school. She keeps asking me, 'Will we still be here?' And I have to answer that I don't know."

While the supervisors do have hiring and firing power over Lum, they cannot just remove him on any given Tuesday, the way they can with employees like Edge, who serve "at the pleasure of the board." Lum’s rights are protected not only by Civil Service Commission rules, but also by the more stringent Peace Officers’ Bill of Rights.

If a formal investigation is launched, it will be at that point, Edge says, that Lum will finally be allowed to answer his accusers. The decision to move forward or abandon the investigation will be made by the supervisors in closed session.

"Look, John has done a lot of good for this department," says the disgruntled manager. "But now he’s just gone too far."

Too far by actually violating county codes, or just too far in angering the wrong people? That is the question county officials must now answer–and must answer in a way that leaves everyone satisfied that due process was followed.

Lum and the supervisors have already received many letters and calls in his support–calls Lum is not even allowed to take. He says he will "absolutely" fight if his removal is attempted without clear due process. "The way the county has summarily and without discussion put me on leave is very troubling," he says. "I would never treat anyone in my organization the way I've been treated."

He says he is flabbergasted that he has not been contacted to try to work things out. "I just want to seek a win-win situation. What do we need to do to resolve this? Do we need a mediator? Let's bring one in."

Asked if he would do anything differently, Lum says he would not have switched from hierarchical to participatory management quite so quickly, or informally. "I would be more structured in my approach. I would have tightened things up to loosen them up, so to speak."

But will he abandon his role as crusader? "Not if it means repressing my values. Not if it means ignoring wrong when you see it, like in the CYA." Lum says he just finished reading the report from the Board of Corrections that has called for sweeping changes within the CYA. "That made me feel so good," he says. "I was the only probation officer in the whole state who spoke out about this. But I did it because I had to. I can't be selective about fighting what's wrong." Æ

Tracy Idell Hamilton is a New Times staff writer.