BUREAUCRACY: Dead End

As a kid in short pants, James E. Glynn used to shunt wooden blocks across the kitchen floor and make believe he was turning the big wheels of commerce. But when he had to go to work right after grammar school as an extra hand on the New York Central Railroad, he began to feel that his dream would never come true; a guy could never be a big-shot transportation executive without a college degree.

Jim learned a lot about transportation, just the same, as he shuttled from railroading to one small trucking job after another, and he spent his spare time and money on books—the Bible, Shakespeare, and everything he could get on transport. By the time he had reached middle age, ambitious Jim Glynn seemed to be highballing down the road to his goal.

A Note of Praise. After serving overseas in the Army Transportation Corps in World War II, Captain Glynn applied for a job with the Government’s Institute of Inter-American Affairs. To make sure he got it, he added a few nonexistent qualifications: two years at Brown, a degree from Stevens Institute of Technology, a big job with a big trucking company. He got the job, and his transport survey for the Colombian government won him a warm note of praise from the Minister of Public Works. After that the U.S. Commerce Department hired Jim at $10,000 a year. He helped on the planning for ECA, lectured before the Armed Forces Industrial College, lent expert advice to the Congressional Committee on Atomic Energy. He did so well that President Truman sent him a personal letter of commendation.

Then ECA needed a high-level expert to formulate and carry out its transport policy in Greece. Jim Glynn’s application blank—embellished with a few more additions—was studded with so many achievements that ECA hired him on the spot at $12,000 a year and sent him to Greece. He did his usual competent job. But after five months, ECA suddenly told him his work was unsatisfactory and fired him.

A Voice on the Phone. One night last week the telephone rang in Jim Glynn’s well-appointed Washington apartment. It was a newspaper photographer asking for his picture. “What’ for?” Jim asked. “Maybe you don’t know it,” said the photographer, “but you’ve just been indicted, mister.”

ECA, it seemed, had done some checking up on Jim’s application blank, discovered Jim’s little embellishments and charged him with making fraudulent statements. It wasn’t that Jim hadn’t done a bang-up job all the way. It was just about like Jim Glynn had always figured—no one would believe he could be a big-shot transportation executive without a college degree.