An Enumerator:

It’s More Than Counting

Even When Counting

Article I Section II of the Constitution requires a head count every ten years of each and every person in the United States. Getting this information became a far more daunting task than expected by the Founders.

First of all, to get a count of heads the government sends out a census form to all citizens and requests a prompt return of the document.

However, only about 60% of citizens return the forms.

The other 40%, those delinquent in returning the forms, are labeled, “Non Responders.” These folks have to be counted in a face to face contact with an “Enumerator.”

Tough job!

I took it.

An Enumerator is a U.S. Census Government Employee. My training for the position kicked off with being fingerprinted. Then, once I was criminally cleared, I was sworn in for service with the same oath taken by the President of the United States.

Sheez.

Next came 25 hours of painfully droll, acronym-laden, classroom lectures about the decennial task of collecting Personally Identifiable Information (PII) from those Non Responders. PII starts with a name, an age, a date of birth, a gender, an ethnicity. And, an address, the number of people residing at the address, (asked in three different ways to catch anyone hiding there) and whether the Non Responder rents or owns the residence.

Not everyone glows with patriotism about taking part in this kind of face to face interview. So, we were allowed up to six attempts to retrieve PII from a Non Responder to slowly coax out folks who won’t open their front doors to strangers dressed in business casual outfits and holding clipboards.

To attempt to ameliorate Non Responder anxiety, some grey suited bureaucrat gave the interview a very dry name to make encounter seem more like a clinical experience rather than a chat with nosey stranger. The interview was titled, “Non Responder Follow Up” (NRFU.)

The “FU” part wasn’t noted at the time.

Enumerators were required to finish off their NRFU lists by April 1. That seemed to me like a very curious end date.

After six failed attempts an Enumerator was allowed to interview a proxy for the PII such as a Non Responder’s relative, a Non Responder’s neighbor or a Non Responder’s real estate agent.

(How do you get confidential PII from a real estate agent?)

After a couple of weeks of the work I had docked about 50 hours and visited 20 addresses. I learned that some people who don’t return census forms don’t do this by mistake.

I was told, “Go away, I put mine in the mail. You people lost it.”

And, “Who I am is none of your business! Get off my property!!”

And, some mild, and not so mild, no thank you profanities.

Then, there was the Non Responder, Lucie. She made my day.

To my request for NRFU she said, “Yes, of course, but hurry, because I’m extremely busy running errands and packing because I’m traveling to Belgorod, Russia tomorrow for a family reunion.”

I chalked up all of her quick PII responses. When we finished I said, “Thank you, goodbye,”

“You are a very fast writer,” said Lucie.

“Thank you. I am a writer on the side,” I added.

She touched my elbow. “Mr. Writer, could you wait just a minute, please?” she asked.

To this unusual request I said, “Yes, but just for a minute.”

“Thank you sir, There’s something I’d like you to take a look at. Would you come in while I get it?”

“No, we’re not allowed to enter a residence.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back.”

Lucie returned with a paper and gave it to me. “This is a story about my family,” she said. “Do you think you could read it and after you finish maybe you’d be interested in writing my story?”

“I’m always looking for an interesting story,” I said. I perused the Xeroxed black and white page of a memorial dated March 15, 2007. The page was titled, “Remembering Maria Mikhaillovna Pawlukowicz nee Nizhegorodtseva.”  Under the title was The Star Of David; under the star was the face of a woman with a caption: A Mother Who Suffered Much But Loved More.

Lucie told me the woman was her mother who was born in 1940 in Belgorod, Russia. Shortly thereafter her father, Boris, moved the family to Pinsk, Poland to what he hoped would be a safe haven. Life was good there. Two more children followed, a boy and a girl, Victor and Victoria, making Lucie oldest of three.

One day in 1943 Lucie’s father was arrested on suspicion that he was involved in anti-German underground activities. The following day Lucie’s father was executed and her mother and the couple’s three children were arrested and jailed.

Lucy’s mother was ordered to a slave labor camp. She was given the choice of either taking her children along with her or leaving them behind to be adopted by strangers.

“My mother saved our lives by giving us up,” said Lucy. “The first memorial in 2007 in Pinsk was organized by my brother and sister when they finally learned through years of searching that our mother had died in prison. Since we honor her memory by getting together with them every March fifteenth.”

“I do find this very interesting,” I said.

“So you’re off to Belgrade for the family reunion,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. “But it’s not Belgrade, sir; it’s Belgorod – it’s Russian and  means, ‘White City.’”

“Indeed, I’d like to write something about this for you Lucie. When you return I’ll show you what I wrote and see what you think about it and then you can decide if you’d like me to share your story.”

“Yes. Okay. I’ll be back in Chicago in two weeks. The flight gets back around 7 pm but don’t call me until the next day because I’ll need lots of sleep.”

“Ms. Lucie, you call me when you are ready to hear your story.”

Just like that, as I was counting out heads as an Enumerator, I had counted in a family.