Fired Unfairly in a "Right to Work" State

How I became a full-time writer

On March 29, 2018, I was summarily terminated by Inova Health System. There was no oral or written warning. I started working at Inova in the fall of 1973, when I was still in high school. After more than forty four years, I was escorted off the premises like a common criminal. No goodbyes. I still haven’t recovered completely from it.

I was given no severance package, unlike all the others who had been laid off before me in Information Technology, in favor of an endless supply of foreign visa workers, mostly from India. I lost some 2000 hours of sick leave, and was only paid half of the 400 hours or so of PTO leave I’d accumulated. I was there long enough, and had called in sick so infrequently, that I’d built up quite a substantial base. They grandfathered in old timers like me, so that we could keep our old sick and vacation time after they combined them into one PTO bank, which was becoming the “new normal” in the corporate world. I was one of the longest tenured employees in Inova’s history. I think I’m still in the top ten. I can’t imagine that any of the others who spent decades there were treated as disrespectfully.

So, surely I must have committed some horrific offense, you must be thinking. Did I sexually assault someone? Punch an executive in the face? Get caught stealing expensive software? Not quite. I helped out a handicapped co-worker. I worked with a guy who was severely overweight, and had bad knees. It was a chore for him to walk with a cane. So I and the other person who worked with him had been swiping his timecard, so that he wouldn’t have to walk into a separate room where the timecard reader was. We were the only small group left in IT who had to clock in and out in this antiquated way. It was no accident that we were the last group left untouched by layoffs and the influx of foreign visa workers.

Technically, we were violating Inova’s timecard policies. But we had been doing this for him for years- it was an open secret. And when we weren’t there, others clocked him out. I felt sorry for him, and he would have nagged us relentlessly if we’d balked at doing it. As I tried to tell Human Resources in the very brief conversation we had before the rep shoved a letter of termination in front of me, which I refused to sign, I would obviously have never done this if I’d thought I could get in serious trouble, let alone lose the job I’d had since the Nixon administration. There was no fraud involved; he never left early. We simply brought his card to him in his parked car. And I certainly got nothing out of it. He never clocked me in or out. It wasn’t any kind of scheme to “falsify” our timecards, to use the corporate terminology.

We knew they were looking to get rid of us. They were paying us a lot more than any foreign visa worker they could hire to replace us. Someone- we never found out who it was- reported us for doing something that, again, had been a regular routine for the five years I’d been at that data center. Inova, like almost all big corporations, was notoriously cheap with its nonmanagerial staff. I can’t imagine that he/she was rewarded in any way for tattling. I’d like to think their conscience eventually bothered them. The other two guys were single, but their lives were still disrupted. My family’s life was disrupted. But rules are rules, as the authoritarians like to say.

They’d actually fired the handicapped guy a few days prior to my termination. In a bizarre move, the little cuck who fired us told us we were going to have a monthly talk to go over our “personal goals.” That morning, this despicable clown told me I had nothing to worry about, slapped my back, and reiterated that he looked forward to working with me in the future. An hour later, he was firing me. I lashed out, asking how he could fire someone who’d worked there for almost as long as he’d been alive, over such a ridiculous triviality. He stared at me and said, “Then you should have known better.” I told the cold young female HR rep that “I hope you realize what kind of world you’re helping to build,” but she maintained her blank expression.

When I informed people about what happened, the persistent refrain was, “You need to get a lawyer- you have a rock solid case!” Some suggested this was a blessing in disguise, because I’d be able to sue Inova for millions. I reached out to local media, and found that local media was just as much of a joke as the national media was. Even with the added politically correct twist that the guy I was fired for helping was gay, and had worked there for thirty two years himself, there was no interest. The ACLU wasn’t interested in the unfair firing of a gay, handicapped employee. Neither was the national gay newspaper the Washington Blade. One local reporter finally became intrigued, but the gay guy I’d been fired for helping refused to talk with her. He also used another Realtor on the sale of his townhouse, when I’d already done preliminary work and helped him move some stuff. As they say, “no good deed goes unpunished.”

I called many, many lawyers. None were interested. Invariably, they explained that Virginia is a “right to work” state. Which means that they can fire you for any reason at all. It’s a “conservative” thing, you wouldn’t understand. Finally, an attorney in Florida who was licensed in Virginia took my case. He wasn’t very confident, and he wound up doing little on my case before he left the company. He couldn’t even get Inova to give me the severance package they’d provided to everyone who’d been laid off. I thought they’d at least compromise and give me that, since it wasn’t very much. They obviously felt confident that the rigged system would work for them, and not work for an employee who was probably seen as stupid enough to stay with one company for that long. Obviously, they were right.

I was denied unemployment. I appealed, but was denied again. On the phone interview, the government representative actually broke down in tears when I explained what happened. But she ultimately had no power over their decision. Keep in mind, I had paid into the unemployment compensation fund for nearly half a century, and never used it. But apparently that counts for nothing. Just like older unmarried and childless people who die before collecting a single Social Security check, I was out of luck. I was sixty one, with no college degree and IT skills that were hopelessly outdated. I applied for many jobs, and ultimately wound up being called in for a single interview. It was for a position helping out at a senior center, including driving the bus to take them on special outings. Needless to say, I wasn’t hired.

One good stroke of fortune was the fact that Inova had ended its original, traditional pension plan the year before they fired me. Because the plan was top notch for the first fifteen years or so of my employment, I accrued a decent amount of money, and I chose the lump sum option. It’s a good thing I did that, because if I’d taken a monthly payment for life, they could have cut that off with my termination. I’d had the primary family income for years, but now all I had were very meager book royalties. I hadn’t started Substack yet, with the chance to get paid subscribers. I did start writing for The American Free Press, which gave me a fair part-time income. Luckily, my wife still had her full-time job, but without my income we were forced to dip into my 401K far too often. At least I had those resources, which too many Americans don’t.

Somehow we’ve managed okay for these past six years. I still keep my real estate license active, which costs me close to $1000 a year. Last year, I sold a townhouse that belonged to an old friend from my writer’s group, who had passed away. His niece was kind enough to hire me to list it. If only my family was that loyal, I could have had three other lucrative listings as well. But these close blood relatives all hired strangers instead. I estimate I lost at least $35,000 in commissions. This had happened so many times in the past that it wasn’t surprising. Just very disappointing and disillusioning. That’s why I stopped selling real estate full time in 1989. If you want to see how loyal friends and family members are, become a Realtor.

I wrote Survival of the Richest while I was still working for Inova. It was surrealistic to actually be living through the situation I’d chronicled in that book. It’s one thing to write about what’s happening to others. It’s something else entirely to be experiencing your own Survival of the Richest story. I saw firsthand just how difficult it is to find a job. It was small solace to pat myself on the back for describing the economic situation so accurately. I learned not to “date” myself on my resume (I’d stupidly been noting that I graduated from high school in 1974), but it didn’t help much. Because I’d been at the same place for so long, there wasn’t that much I could put on my resume. I developed a separate writer’s resume, but with the titles of my books, it would have to be a real outlier of an employer that would give me the slightest consideration.

I must have applied for dozens of “communications consultant” type of positions. I can’t imagine anyone more qualified to communicate than me. I think my oral and written communication skills are top-notch, but evidently corporate America feels otherwise. Then again, I’d surely get into hot water because of what I was communicating. I began to kick myself for staying in the comfortable cocoon Inova had afforded me. I’d allowed myself to grow stagnant. I could have taken college courses at night. Obtained IT certifications. I could have pushed harder to sell real estate. I could still do that, but I’ve never been known for my ambition. I was leading a good life. I was planning on working at Inova until I was at least seventy.

All the best laid plans, as they say. Both my wife and I, like so many millions of other workers, always had the specter of layoffs hanging over our heads. She’d been laid off a few times, and drawn unemployment. I was actually laid off briefly in 2013, when they closed the data center I was working at, but they told me unofficially that I would be going to the new data center. I basically got a month’s paid vacation. The commute was much longer, but I kept my seniority and was happy to still be employed. But we witnessed all the continuous layoffs. People who’d been there for a long time replaced by Indian visa workers. The possibility of us being laid off was always in the air. The same kind of dire rumors persisted at my wife’s work.

But even though I’d been fearing losing my job for so long, I never thought I’d be fired. I was a very dedicated and loyal employee. As dependable as they come. But to be fired for essentially doing a good deed, every day, was beyond my comprehension. I wondered if my writing, and increasing appearances on podcasts had anything to do with it. I’d heard someone in upper management make a brief caustic remark about my books during a meeting, and someone (never found out who) reported me for doing a phone interview while on duty. I was on break, and had done other interviews there with no fanfare, but I realized that both jealousy and the subject matter I invariably discussed during interviews might be becoming a factor at work.

The manager who eventually fired all three of us had been involved in a heated political argument with the gay handicapped guy, only a few days earlier. I tried to emphasize this with lawyers, but again no matter what I told them, they stressed that legal action over unjust termination was very difficult in “Right to Work” states. I’m confident that conservatives would assure me this was a good thing, because they couldn’t force me to join a union. They didn’t have to worry about that, given the lack of unions in America 2.0. I played the gay, handicapped card for all it was worth in communications with lawyers, but it didn’t seem to matter. I guess it isn’t an advantage being gay and handicapped in a “Right to Work” state. At least not when you’re connected to a notorious thought criminal like me.

Inova is the largest healthcare institution on the east coast. As such, it is an important advertiser in local media. Just one five minute television story on the local news would have caused Inova to back down instantly. Even an article in a local newspaper would have made a difference. Picture the headline: “Employee who worked forty four years for the company, gets fired for helping a gay, handicapped co-worker.” Such an article back in the ‘90s, exposing how Inova had paid an administrator a $96,000 Christmas bonus, coincidentally resulted in Inova offering its approximate 13,000 employees the first Christmas bonuses in their history. I think they gave us $500. I’m certain that a similar story would have garnered me at least a nice severance package, if not the offer of a better position.

On a personal level, being fired was almost as traumatic as loving a loved one. Your self-worth is severely impacted. You feel impotent and worthless. I’d known that the job market wasn’t likely to be kind to a community college dropout my age, but I had no idea it would be as bad as it was. I considered all the much younger people I knew, who couldn’t write or speak half as effectively as I could, but had solid, six figure incomes, and smoldered a bit inside. And for the first time, I found out that my extended family wasn’t as supportive as I imagined them to be. Almost none of them called me after it happened, and no one mentioned the subject at the next family gathering. The same thing happened when my brother Ricky died. My books, podcasts, etc. have been ignored thoroughly by these loved ones.

As for my real life friends, I didn’t hear from them, either. When you work for a large company for forty four years, you build up a lot of contacts. But just like your high school friends usually disappear with graduation, my work friends vanished with my termination. I had to face the fact that they were never really friends. We just were forced to be at the same place for eight hours, five days a week. That’s a tough thing to swallow. Losing a job leaves a huge void in your life. If I didn’t have this wonderful cyber world, with so many supportive friends all over the world, I would surely have gone crazy. Perhaps I would have “transitioned” into a hippo. It’s no secret that hippos are my favorite animals.

I walk around my neighborhood and see the other retirees, most significantly older than me. Many of them seem restless, depressed with their empty nests and sexless marriages. I wonder how many of them also left the workforce involuntarily, and have been unable to even line up job interviews. I assume almost all of them are better off financially than me. I used to say that I surely made less money than anyone else in our very nice middle-class subdivision. Colin Powell once lived in my neighborhood, before we moved in. My friend and next door neighbor had a position in IT which was light years above my own modest level. Because it’s the Washington, D.C. suburbs, there are lots of double and triple dippers here.

I pictured leaving Inova after maybe fifty years or more. As such, I would probably have worked for them longer than any other employee in their history. So I imagined a pretty big celebration. A banquet, perhaps with some nice speeches remembering my career. Maybe a generous farewell gift, like they used to give gold watches to people when they retired. At my last yearly anniversary dinner, given for workers who’d been there at least five years, they’d made a really big deal over me, because it was my fortieth anniversary with Inova. The others who were celebrating their anniversaries kind of got lost in the shuffle. I have the filmed tribute on a thumb drive somewhere. I have no desire to watch it again. I should have left on my own accord, and been honored at least to some degree. Very few people work that long for any company.

The little cuck who fired me was terminated himself a few years later. So was the female battleax director who’d accelerated the process of replacing longtime workers with lower paid Indians. I guess that’s some small comfort. I wonder if they reflected on the irony when they themselves were fired. Is it wrong for me to fantasize that they’re mopping floors somewhere? I doubt they felt any shame, which I did upon losing my job. Even though I’d done nothing to be ashamed of, I cursed myself for swiping that handicapped guy’s timecard for him. I should have refused, as most employees would have. It’s not like he really appreciated it. He never once apologized to me or the other guy for the fact we’d been fired because of him. And, of course, listing his house would have provided some welcome compensation.

In a state that wasn’t “Right to Work,” I could have been forced to join a union. But I also could not have been terminated without incremental steps. They would have had to inform me that clocking out someone else, under any circumstances, was a fireable offense, and given me the opportunity to stop doing it. Which I obviously would have. At least I think that would have been the case. I don’t know- maybe they can fire you for any contrived reason in every state. Especially if you’re a White male. And given to sharing your radical thoughts with everyone on the job, which I did for forty four years. So I would have been fired anyhow, during “COVID,” because I’d undoubtedly refuse to wear a mask or get vaccinated. I’d certainly be making fun of social distancing and condemning the mandates and lockdown. I probably would have been “cancelled” over my podcasts, social media posts, and my writings here.

I hope this doesn’t seem like I’m wallowing in self-pity. Most people would consider my situation very enviable. We have a lot of equity in our home. If the housing market collapses, we’ll be in the same sinking boat as millions of other homeowners. But as of now, it represents the bulk of my net worth. The neighborhood is quiet and peaceful. We back to a very thick woods. Deer often wander into our yard. We’re clinging to what’s left of the middle class by our fingernails. Our lovely neighborhood is just the kind of suburb the elite want to eliminate. There’s no crime or drama here. Very little diversity. In many ways, living here is like stepping back into America 1.0.

My wife’s company is conducting more layoffs. She sticks out like a sore thumb; White, in her sixties, with no college degree. Without her income, things would certainly get a lot harder. We might have to sell the house, which I definitely don’t want to do. It’s our dream home, and we’ve been here for twenty six years. But at least it’s an option. I’m available, if any business owner reading this wants to hire a sixty seven year old who can talk and write pretty well, for remote work. There’s always the chance one of my books could catch fire, and sell 500,000 copies. RFK, Jr.’s book on Anthony Fauci sold over 900,000 copies. Maybe Netflix will call about Bullyocracy; that would make a perfect reality series. Hope reigns supreme; remember I spent a lot of time watching Frank Capra films.