Working for the government — the ‘DOPOR’ years

Every time the knee jerks, a government worker gets kicked — Anonymous Curmudgeon

During the Great Chicken Raid of 2013, armed Environmental Protection Agency personnel made unannounced visits to miners in the area of Chicken, Alaska, in the Interior.

As a self-employed businessman, I identify with the miners and entertained fantasies of disarming the intruders and making them walk back to Anchorage.

As a former government employee, I fear this event was another strike — by association — against those government workers who do the people’s work.

Today, I’m not exactly an organizational man or team player. Those who knew me when I worked for the “guvmint” might affirm that I never was. I was with the state Division of Parks and Outdoor Recreation, or DOPOR, from 1976 to 1990.

Government administrates and delivers services. Often those who administrate and those who deliver are at odds.

“DOPOR” is what we who delivered used when speaking of those who administered. There was no proof that anyone in administration was actually using dope, but there was plenty of evidence of “dopeyness.”

Mandates from administration were frequently made without direct knowledge of what went on in the field and were enacted without feedback from those in the field.

I was a custodian — the highest term for one who maintains and protects the property and safety of the public. My two top priorities were public safety and maintaining the people’s property. The enforcement of regulations often entailed asking campers to stop doing things that threatened safety or public property.

When a Park Ranger and I observed an individual standing in front of his motor home, in view of an outhouse, relieving himself, we got a classic response. When the Ranger spoke to this individual, he replied, “I came to Alaska to piss where I please.”

Here’s some responses to campground regulations: “I’m free to do what I want. I’m a taxpayer;” “I wish you government thugs would mind your own business;” “I’m born free, go away;” and “I’m a freedom-loving patriot, what’s your problem?” Usually “free” or “freedom” was included.

Groups of motorcyclists played major roles in two events relating to public safety. This was before white-collar professionals had embraced the Harley-Davidson.

At this time, the groups that I was familiar with were mostly Vietnam War veterans. Vets were treated poorly, so many of them joined “biker gangs” for the camaraderie.

I had become familiar with such fraternities. They weren’t just a bunch of ruffians.

The first incident occurred when I received word that a biker group occupied a campsite in my assigned area. Their presence and appearance was disturbing other “more respectable” types.

I entered the campground driving a lumbering combination of trash compactor, firewood box and traveling tool shed. I parked next to the encampment of scruffy characters. I dismounted from my DOPOR vehicle and entered the crowd.

In those days, I had a long beard and long hair. I was wearing a T-shirt and blue jeans. I scratched my head, stroked my beard and declared “you are the ugliest and scariest bunch of — insert expletive — that I have seen in a long time.”

One can get a positive response if the Oedipal expletive is used with the right tone.

There were cheers. I was offered a beer, which I declined.

My further interchange with the group referred to their former service and implied that they had once held jobs that protect other citizens. I introduced the possibility that they were scaring their fellow campers.

All reports were that after I left, the general drunkenness and lewd behavior was replaced by guitar strumming.

Later, I was a first responder in a remote area.

While driving between campgrounds, I came upon an accident where a motorcyclist had just been run over by a semi truck. I began CPR. The driver of the truck and the victim’s companion were in shock.

Shortly after I began chest compressions, a number of employees of a hospital in Anchorage appeared. I found myself with six nurses and two doctors. The nurses pitched in and demonstrated great resourcefulness. The doctors flailed about, gave irrelevant orders, which were respectfully ignored, and smoked near spilled fuel, which couldn’t be ignored.

Friends of the victim showed up on motorcycles. I sensed anger toward the driver. I made contact with the individual who I judged to be their leader and convinced him that any action toward the driver would be “unhelpful.”

A state trooper and the local EMT crew came last. The trooper was out of control, abrasive, unsympathetic and screamed at the bikers for touching the victim’s bike. He ordered me out of the area without as much as a thank you.

Before leaving, I made contact again with the group leader and suggested that as much as he might entertain the idea, beating up the trooper wouldn’t be helpful. He agreed, but suggested that he enjoyed the thought. I concurred.

Pushbacks to enforcement — rare at first — began to increase. Alaska National Interest Lands Conservation Act aggravated the escalation.

Tim Johnson is a computer programmer who lives in Palmer and is co-owner of AKWebsoft. Read more at TJ49.com.