Posts Tagged With: AALJ

Congress to SSA “Let’em Die. That’s Life, right?”

10,000 people died waiting for a disability decision in the past year. Will he be next?

WEBSTER COUNTY, Miss. – On the 597th day, the day he hoped everything would change, Joe Stewart woke early. He took 15 pills in a single swallow. He shaved his head. And then he got down to the business of the day, which was the business of every day, and that was waiting. He looked outside, and saw his mother there in a green sedan, engine running. So many months he had waited for this moment, and now it was here. Time for his Social Security disability hearing. Time to go.

Stewart, 55, set out on crutches, tottering out of his mobile home and down a metal ramp he’d laid when stairs became too much. “I’m sweating my ass off,” he said, getting into his mother’s car, his long-sleeved dress shirt hanging open. He tilted the passenger seat all the way down, placed a pillow at the small of his back and, groaning and wincing, settled in as best he could.

“Did they say long-sleeved?” asked his mother, Jean Bingham, 73.

“It was the only decent shirt I had!” he said.

He knew only what he’d been told by his lawyer, who wanted to see him again before the hearing, and that was not to wear a T-shirt and to bring along a list of medications he uses to treat the pains that are all he has to show for a lifetime spent installing vinyl siding throughout Webster County. Neurontin for nerve pain. Baclofen for muscle spasms. Trazodone for depression. Hydroxyzine and Buspirone for anxiety, a condition that seemed to worsen each day his wait stretched into the next.

Stewart had first applied for federal disability benefits on May 21, 2015. The application was denied, and so was his appeal. When he appealed the second rejection, he went to the back of one of the federal government’s biggest backlogs, where 1.1 million disability claimants wait for one of some 1,600 Social Security administrative law judges to decide whether they deserve a monthly payment and Medicare or Medicaid. “A death sentence” is how Stewart, who has no health insurance, has come to think of another denial.

For other applicants, the wait itself may be enough to accomplish that. In the past two years, 18,701 people have died while waiting for a judge’s decision, increasing 15 percent from 8,699 deaths in fiscal 2016 to 10,002 deaths in fiscal 2017, according to preliminary federal data obtained by The Washington Post. The rising death toll coincides with a surge in the length of time people must wait for a disposition, which swelled from a national average of 353 days in 2012 to a record high of 596 this past summer.

The simplest explanation is that there isn’t enough money. The Social Security Administration’s budget has been roughly stagnant since 2010, while the number of people receiving retirement and disability benefits has risen by more than 7 million, despite a slight decline in the disability rolls beginning in 2015 as some beneficiaries reached retirement age.

The more complicated explanation, however, also includes fewer supporting staff members helping judges. A recession that increased the number of applications and appeals. A new regulation that requires additional medical evidence, lengthening the files judges have to read. And heightened scrutiny in the aftermath of a 2011 scandal in Huntington, W.Va., where one judge, who approved nearly everyone who came before him, was later convicted of taking $600,000 in bribes. Since then, according to a September report by the Social Security Administration Office of the Inspector General, the average judge has gone from deciding 12 cases every week to fewer than 10, a relatively small slowdown that, spread across hundreds of weeks and hundreds of judges, has contributed to the crushing backlog.

                                                                                          

     (Above, Left, see AALJ President, ALJ Marilyn Zahm and ALJ Randy Frye, Past President.)

“I know that people will die waiting,” said Judge Marilyn Zahm, president of the Association of Administrative Law Judges (AALJ). “This is the reflection of our priorities as an American people. We have decided it’s better for people to die than to adequately fund this program. . . . Will this get worse? Will the number of people who die double?”

While lengthy everywhere, the wait times have stretched longer still in some places, such as in Miami, where people wait an average of 759 days, and Long Island, where the wait is 720 days, and northern Mississippi, where the average is 612 days, and where Stewart couldn’t stop shaking in his car seat.

“My shirt is undone, I ain’t going to be able to put it in my pants. My pants are too tight,” he said, rummaging through a red bag filled with his medications, realizing he had forgotten to bring something to eat.

“You didn’t eat no breakfast?” his mother asked.

“I ain’t have the time!” he said.

He hadn’t felt pressure like this in years – not since he last worked in April 2015, and his world was reduced to food stamps, credit cards and the confines of a single-wide trailer, parked along a country road that few cars go down. He had thought about this day ever since. What would the judge ask him? Would he believe him? Or would he think he was lying, too lazy to work? Would he finally get an answer, or would the wait continue?

Stewart took an anxiety pill and looked at the car’s speedometer.

“Never going to get me there in time,” he told his mother as she steered through the remote county of hills and pine where nearly 1 in 5 working-age adults receive either Supplemental Security Income, for the disabled poor, or Social Security Disability Insurance, for disabled workers.

He fidgeted with the air conditioning vents, opening them up.

“I’m going from chills to hot spells,” he said. “I’ve got hot spells now.”

He leaned back.

“I’m getting cool.”

Then: “I’m sweating.”

Then: “I’m getting worse now.”

For most of his life, Stewart had believed things could only get better. He had been raised with the conviction that a man was only as good as what he could accomplish with his hands, and so he had always felt good, because he could do so much with his. After high school, he started out building furniture. Then he worked as a carpenter. But vinyl siding was what he loved completely. Cutting the metal. Measuring it out. Hauling it in his truck and completing a job worth being proud of, worth attaching his name to, and that was a promise he made to every customer after opening his company, Premium Siding, 10 years ago.

At the time, the county was in the midst of a steady and precipitous decline, accelerated by a recession that never seemed to end, and Premium Siding’s profits were barely enough for Stewart to survive on, let alone pay for health insurance. So already carrying two decades of work injuries – falling off ladders, getting shocked by hot wires – he would sometimes go to a community clinic that charged $35 per visit. Or more likely, he’d use a heating pad and try to think about anything but pain, until one day in the summer of 2013, when pain became nearly the only thing he could ever think about.

He can’t remember what he tried to pick up. He remembers only that he had been out at a work site, lifting and cutting 50-pound coils of metal. He remembers reaching for something that had barely weighed anything. He remembers the sharp, immediate pain, the sudden realization that his back might never be the same, and that, for everything he would ultimately lose, he had never even touched whatever it was he had reached for. The doctor would later say he had a compressed vertebra and a pinched nerve in his lower spine. But in that moment, it felt more stabbed than pinched – “vicious, terrible stabbing” – and he went home, to his bed, which was where he was, four years later, on another day of waiting, when an alarm went off.

Nine in the morning. Time for his medication. He turned on the lights – three bare bulbs – and saw again what his life had become, in this trailer he allowed no one to enter, not even his mother. He stumbled past the leather furniture that hadn’t been sat on since he hurt his back, and the NASCAR toy cars he carefully collected years ago, covered in a thick film of dust along one wall, and the kitchen countertop obscured by months of trash.

“Let’s just get it over with,” he said, looking at his bottles of medicine.

The pills made him drowsy, and he went to the only place he could still sit. The Ab Lounge, an exercise chair he had bought to strengthen his lower back but now used because it could recline just so, was where he conducted his affairs. There were empty peanut jars nearby, a stack of debts and a remote control, which he picked up. A science-fiction show came on, and he tried not to think about the bankruptcy papers he would soon need to file. Or the yard out back he could no longer tend to and had to poison. Or the utter sameness of his life, every day so much like the one before, that his memory felt increasingly blurred. Or that just about the only time his phone rang anymore, as it did at this moment, was when a bill collector called.

“Yeah? Okay,” he said into the phone, realizing it was only his mother, who was planning to use her Social Security check to buy him more medicine later that day. “That will work.”

He hung up and shook his head, unable to handle the shame of it anymore. He had promised himself that if he was denied again, he’d no longer accept his mother’s help. He’d let his pills run out, and his trailer go dark, and start drinking again. So much in his life depended on others now, from the television his brother had helped pay for, to the groceries delivered by his mother, who also took him wherever he needed to go, including on this morning to see his lawyer before his Social Security disability hearing.

“I just need silence,” he said, in the car, hoping that would calm him.

“I’m not used to all of this, Joe!” she said, giving him a weary look.

“I need – I need silence.”

The car went quiet, and Stewart waited for the anxiety medicine to take hold. For his hands to stop quivering. For the car to carry him past all of the payday loan shops and empty storefronts of Webster County to an office belonging to a lawyer who he believed could help him.

“Hugh Gibson Law, this is Samantha, can I help you?” the receptionist was saying to another caller.

On the other side of the counter, sitting on a thick-cushioned couch in the waiting area, was a thin man with gaunt features who grimaced whenever he shifted in his seat. Every now and again, someone at the office would ask him if he needed anything.

Water? Something to eat? Want to lie down?

The man tightened his grip on his cane.

“I want someone to shoot me,” he finally said.

“Hugh Gibson Law,” the receptionist said to another caller.

A few minutes later, Gibson, the most prolific Social Security disability lawyer in Webster County, a tall, garrulous 71-year-old who himself walks with a limp and a cane, came into the waiting room, glanced at the man on the couch and headed into the back of the office. Gibson had spent years witnessing the disintegration of people like him, marooned in a disability adjudication system that he still believed could be a force for good, despite everything. He started taking disability cases four decades ago, when claims in Webster County predominantly involved illnesses and car accidents. But then the factories that once powered the county’s economy closed, and more unemployed workers started applying, and the wait became longer and longer.

When potential clients now ask about applying for disability, Gibson tells them that it could be two years minimum before they get a judge’s decision, and that they can’t work while they wait if they want to be approved. They usually lose the car first, then the house. Next comes bankruptcy. Stresses accrue, marriages fracture, pains and illnesses mount, and some die right before their hearings, when the wait is worst, and when Gibson brings clients into his office to prepare one final time, clients like the thin man with the cane, Joey Sims, 36, now seated in front of him.

“Does he have a good case?” Gibson asked his assistant.

“He hasn’t been to the doctor but twice this year,” she said.

“A semi-idiot then,” Gibson sighed, knowing that the severity of a medical condition mattered only so much as what was documented, and not enough was documented here.

“If I had money to go see the doctors, then I wouldn’t need help,” Sims said, exasperated.

“Yeah, well, we have serious things to deal with to get you approved,” Gibson said, glowering, because it seemed that way with every case. If clients weren’t too young, then often there were drugs in their pasts. Or they’d return to the job after an injury and, even if they quit soon after, it would look to a judge like they could still work.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” Sims pleaded, and Gibson began a routine he performs for all of his clients, the same one he did again the next day for an anguished woman in a back brace.

“You can’t just go in there and be an idiot,” he told her.

“They don’t pay liars,” he told her.

“See that shirt you got on? Don’t wear that,” he told her.

Gibson knew how terrible he must sound sometimes, hollering at clients, cutting them off, ordering them around, but he also knew what could happen if he didn’t. They could say something to a judge that would be innocuous in other circumstances – that they could drive, or mow grass – but could lead to a quick denial, which had been happening more often, as the disability approval rate among judges nationwide dropped from 73 percent in 2008 to 55 percent last year.

There were increasingly days when Gibson wondered whether it was time to scale back. After all, he was paid only if his clients won. Maybe the other lawyers were right, some cases just couldn’t be won. And that was how he was quietly beginning to feel about Stewart.

Outside Gibson’s office, Stewart held a stack of medical papers and, disoriented, tried to listen as his mother asked question after question.

“Are you taking those in there?” she asked of the documents.

“How long is this going to take?” she asked.

“Are you going to be okay?” she asked.

“Remind me to tie my shoes,” was all he managed to say, going inside the law office, shoelaces flopping this way and that. He took a seat in a back room, head full of doubts. If he couldn’t focus well enough to answer his mother’s questions, how was he going to answer the judge’s?

“Joe,” Gibson said, riffling through all 169 pages of his medical file. “Let’s go over what you do all day.”

Stewart didn’t say anything. His mouth was dry. He was still wearing sunglasses he’d forgotten to take off.

“What time do you get up?” Gibson asked after a moment.

“Around nine,” Stewart said.

Gibson cringed.

“How many of [your medications] make you lightheaded?” came another question.

“Quite a few,” Stewart said. “About half.”

Another bad look came over Gibson’s face. He tapped his pen against the folder.

“Make no mistake, if you don’t do this well, you’re going to lose,” he said slowly. “You’ve got to speak up and tell him what is what and not be vague. ‘Sometimes.’ ‘A little while.’ ‘A little bit.’ ‘Not very much.’ ‘A whole lot.’ All those words. They don’t mean anything. They don’t mean anything. You might as well just open your mouth and close it. Because nothing comes out worse than those vague words. And I just want to grab people and slap them – wake up! You can’t just say ‘sometimes’ with a judge!”

“Lord, mercy,” Gibson said, telling Stewart that he could not have drawn a stricter judge. James Prothro had the 31st lowest approval rating among Social Security administrative law judges, according to a Washington Post analysis of every judge’s disposition record between January 2010 and April 2017. During that period, Prothro decided 2,610 cases, approving 27 percent of them.

Later, Stewart would get angry. He would think about all of the people he had seen in Webster County receiving benefits whose disabilities he considered milder than his, and wonder how they had gotten them, and why everything had to be so difficult for him. But at that moment he just nodded slowly, wanting to absorb everything Gibson said – stand to show he couldn’t sit for long; never say, “I don’t know” – until Gibson rose from his seat.

“You have a slim shot,” he said. “People sitting around the house, watching TV all day, they’re not used to talking, and I understand that. But I have to get you to talk. Tell the judge the things the judge needs to know. Can you do that, Joe?”

And then Stewart was back in the car, and he was rummaging for his anxiety medicine, and he was saying, “I need to put it in my pocket so I can remember to take it,” and he was going into a courtroom, and the door behind him was closing, and it was locking, and he was trying to stay calm.

Five-hundred and ninety-seven days.

One-hundred and sixty-nine pages of medical evidence.

One hearing.

How to condense so many years of physical deterioration, so many days of waiting, into one hearing? How to convince someone of pain, when no one can see it? How to remember to say everything that needed saying – the pills taken, the number of pounds that can be lifted, the distance that can be walked, the falls, the different doctors and their names?

So Stewart did his best to follow Gibson’s directions. He carried his back pillow into the courtroom. He stood when he felt pain. He was specific. He said, “burning in the chest.” He said, “I went to see my chiropractor, but they wanted $60, so I haven’t been back.” He said, “My mother, she’s tired of driving me around; she has other things to do.”

And he tried to look at the judge, to express with his eyes what he couldn’t with words, but the judge wasn’t in the room at all. He was sitting in front of a camera in another courtroom 65 miles away in another Social Security Administration building in Tupelo, Mississippi part of a government policy to work down the backlog by holding some disability hearings by video-tele-conference. Stewart heard the disembodied voice of someone whom Gibson called a “vocational expert,” whose role it was to use, among other sources, the government’s list of possible jobs, the Dictionary of Occupational Titles, last updated in 1991, to discern whether there was any work someone like him could do anywhere in the United States, regardless of pay, distance from his house, or whether he would be hired.

And then an hour had passed, and the hearing was over, and Gibson was saying, “Thank you, your honor.” Stewart, feeling dazed and unsure whether that was really it, sat for a moment, until he saw everyone else was standing. He got up. He collected his crutches and walked outside with Gibson, who was going on and on about the judge.

“One lawyer – a good lawyer – they had 13 cases with him, and they didn’t win a one,” he said. “Not a one.”

“Whether or not he’s going to pay you, I do not know,” he said.

“So we’ll wait and see. . . . You might not get a decision until February.” And: “It may be six months.”

Gibson said something about errands he had to run, shook Stewart’s hand and got into his bright red truck. And Stewart, now caught in another backlog of people awaiting a disposition after the hearing – which has doubled in the last year, from 35,000 claimants to 70,000 – watched him drive off, then saw his mother. She was in her car, waving at him to move it, so he climbed in and reclined the seat until he was nearly supine.

“Can I ask you a question?” said his mother, who had sat outside the courtroom but overheard something about a videoconference. “Was he in there?”

“Who?” Stewart asked.

The judge.

“No, he was on TV,” he said, and she looked confused.

“Well, I’m relieved it’s over,” she finally said.

“It ain’t over,” he responded, and there was nothing else to say, so on they went to Webster County, through the endless rows of tall pines, past the houses Stewart had once worked on, stopping at his trailer. “There’s another day,” his mother said and pulled away, and he was alone again. The trailer was dark inside. He took his afternoon medication. He sat in his Ab Lounge. The television came on. The pills started to do their work. The 597th day was over, and the only thing left to do was to wait for the 598th to begin.

(By  , November 21, 2017)

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Categories: socialNsecurity | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Culture of Corruption At Social Security Administration, Starts At The Top

                                                                                              

The “so-called” scandal in the Madison, Wisconsin Social Security Office of Disability Adjudication and Review, SSA/ODAR, is disturbing. I believe that Judge John H. Pleuss’ is getting a raw deal.

I have some thoughts on the matter. At the end of this Blog post I have posted the article written by M. D. Kittle. Please read the article after I offer my comments. I have considerable experience in these matters.

This is an invasion of Judge John H. Pleuss’ privacy. I express no opinion concerning the Judge’s remarks in his personal notes. Some may find them inappropriate, and some may not. However, the Judge has an “expectation of privacy” in his personal notes and observations.

The Social Security Administration encourages the Judges to keep a “Private File” of notes to refer to when deciding a disability case. The notes help the Judge to refresh his recollection of the claimant and of the Hearing when he goes back to make a decision on the case. The File is separate from the Claimant’s Disability File. They should not be discoverable under the Freedom Of Information Act (FOIA).

The Disability Hearings are private, unless the claimant consents to strangers sitting in on the Hearing. The Judges’ personal notes from the Hearing should also be private.

The disability evaluation process is a “high volume’ business. A Judge must hear 50 to 75 cases a month in order to produce an average of 50 to 60 decisions a month. There are no pictures of the claimant in the case files. All judges scribble notes and memory joggers in order to try to remember the claimant later when they review the file. Credibility weighs heavy in the decision making process. A Judge must conjure up a recollection of the claimant to properly dispose of the case. One Judge’s characterization of the person who appeared before them may be different from another. His job is not to flatter the claimant, but to remember who he or she was. There is nothing in Judge Pleuss’ notes that is grounds for adverse action against him.

If you notice all of the cited comments refer to women; and women, only. Normally that would cause one to think that the ALJ is obsessed with women or female claimants. But, I have a better explanation, and it has nothing to do with the ALJ.

I contend that this incident raises serious questions about the fitness of the Decision Writers in Judge Pleuss’ Hearing Office. Judges do not write their own decisions. There are professional Decision writers in each Hearing Office. Lawyers and Para-legal writers draft a proposed decision based on the ALJ’s Hearing Notes. The ALJ modifies, amends, and approves a final draft.

First, if a Decision Writer has passed on to the Civilian Managers in the Hearing Office Judge Pleuss’ personal notes, that would be unethical and disloyal. We need look no further than the Decision Writers and Management to see what is happening here.

There has always been tension and friction between between the ALJ Corps and civilian managers, all the way up to the Commissioner in Baltimore, Maryland.

On several occasions the AALJ, the Judges’ Union, has lobbied Congress to remove the ALJ Corps from under the authority, supervision, and management of the SSA civilian managers.

( https://www.amazon.com/socialNsecurity-Confessions-Social-Security-Judge/dp/1449569757?ie=UTF8&ref_=asap_bc)

Yes, there is a Culture of Corruption here; but, it starts in Baltimore, Maryland at the Office of the Commissioner and the Office of the Chief Administrative Law Judge; and it reaches down to the lowest level. And it is most malignant at the Hearing Office Director (HOD) and Decision Writers level.

Many of the Decision Writers suffer from mild mental disorders. They tend towards Melancholia. They are frustrated, and they bicker and complain. Some tend to be trouble makers.

Many, I have noticed, appear to be envious of the Judges. They resent that the ALJ hears the cases, but they, the writers, have to do the leg work of writing the decision. They work in the dark, behind closed doors, and get little or no credit. This tends to generate friction and resentment.

The worst of the lot are the male homosexual writers. And there are many. There were two in my office for almost 20 years. We had only six writers and the two males were homosexuals.

They are prone to hysterics. They are easily agitated, often for no discernible reason. I was discussing a draft decision with one once and, out of the blue, he became agitated and screamed at me. I was shocked. I did not know what I should do. Do I discipline him, or what? I did nothing, because there are so many of them and they are well placed. Also, the Hearing Office Chief Judges tends to protect them. So, I just let it go.

All of which brings me back to my original point. This is just the type of hanky-panky that male homosexual writers would start. This is how they operate. I know from experience. I spent about 20 years in a Hearing Office and I saw just about every kind of dirty office shenanigans that one could imagine.

The tip-off is that they only mentioned remarks about women. Anyone who has ever had to work with male homosexuals in a legal office or other closed community would notice that. It is a dead give-away.

All of this will probably turn out to be nothing more than a tempest in a tea pot.

Here is the article.

Social Security judge suspended in wake of Madison scandal.

Wisconsin Watchdog has learned that Administrative Law Judge John Pleuss’ hearings in recent days have been canceled amid a looming Social Security Administration Office of the Inspector General investigation into the Madison Office of Disability and Adjudication Review, or ODAR.

Asked whether Pleuss had been suspended, an office employee who answered the phone Thursday June 16would say only that Pleuss was out of the office. So, too, was Office Director Laura Hodorowicz. Asked whether Hodorowicz had been suspended, the employee said, “I can’t answer that,” but that the director is “out today, too.”

Neither Pleuss nor Hodorowicz returned calls from Wisconsin Watchdog seeking comment.

Sources close to the situation say Administrative Law Judge John Pleuss appears to have been suspended as an investigation looms into allegations of misconduct at the Madison Office of Disability Adjudication and Review. Doug Nguyen, spokesman for the Social Security Administration’s Chicago Region, did not return an email seeking comment. ‘Culture of corruption and cover-up’

Wisconsin Watchdog first reported last week about new charges of “pervasive” sexual harassment, bribery and nepotism coming to light at the Madison ODAR facility. These accusations came on top of previous allegations of misconduct, harassment, and whistleblower retaliation at both the Madison and Milwaukee disability claims review offices.

“There is a culture of corruption and cover-up, and that goes all the way to the top,” said an ODAR employee with knowledge of the situation. The staff member spoke on condition of anonymity for fear of reprisal.

Wisconsin Watchdog obtained internal documents showing what employees have described as “highly inappropriate” comments Pleuss has made about claimants appearing before him.

“Young, white (female); attractive brunette,” Pleuss wrote under “Initial Observations” in official hand-written hearing notes. The claimants’ names and other personal information have been redacted.

“Young, white (female); long brown hair; attractive; looks innocent,” the ALJ wrote.

He described another claimant as “buxom,” and noted that a “young, white (woman) looks like a man.”

“Obese, young, white (female) skimpy black top,” he wrote of another claimant.

“Very black, African looking (female),” the ALJ wrote, and parenthetically he added,“(actually a gorilla-like appearance).”

In one document, Pleuss wrote, “I’ll pay this lady when hell freezes over!

RELATED: ‘Culture of corruption and cover-up’ alleged in Madison Social Security office

Pleuss is one of six administrative law judges at the Madison office. He has been the subject of an internal investigation into sexual harassment allegations, according to multiple sources.

The employee who spoke to Wisconsin Watchdog on condition of anonymity said Pleuss has acquired a reputation as “being sexually inappropriate.”

“It truly has become a national running joke,” the staff member said.

But there is nothing funny about the charge by those familiar with the administrative law judge and the “toxic environment” of the Madison office that Pleuss has approved or rejected disability claims based on “how sexy he thought the claimant was,” the employee said.

The insider claims “sexual harassment of staff is pervasive and ongoing” in the Madison office. Other sources have told Wisconsin Watchdog as much.

A disability claims attorney told Wisconsin Watchdog this week that there has been concern for some time about Pleuss’ conduct. The attorney said cases that seemed strong were denied, while weaker cases were approved.

“This issue may explain a lot about that inconsistency,” the attorney said. “Given your reports, I will now be able to raise issues involving females. It should be interesting since I will be asking for copies of his notes on every denial.  I’m sure that request will be denied and I may end up asking federal district court to issue orders for the release of the documents.”

The ODAR employee who spoke to Wisconsin Watchdog said the SSA offices in Milwaukee and Madison are “extremely hostile work environments for whistleblowers.” They also are closely connected by the same administrative players in the Chicago ODAR Region.

Reward and punishment

ODAR whistleblowers have told Wisconsin Watchdog that they have repeatedly been subject to retaliation and intimidation for reporting waste, abusive behavior and other misconduct in their government offices.

Less than a month after Ron Klym was featured in a Watchdog.org special investigation, the senior case technician at the Milwaukee Office of Disability Adjudication and Review was told the agency that has employed him for 16 years is proposing to fire him.

Klym detailed the Milwaukee office’s growing backlog of cases. Wisconsin Watchdog obtained records of some of the more lengthy delays.

More problematic is what Klym calls the administrative “shell game.” He said the Milwaukee office’s case disposition numbers have at times drastically improved because managers in the chain have dumped off scores of cases to other regional offices.

(NOTE: This is not new. This was happening before 1990. Shell Games. Paying Down The Backlog. See https://www.amazon.com/socialNsecurity-Confessions-Social-Security-Judge/dp/1449569757?ie=UTF8&ref_=asap_bc )

Multiple sources have told Wisconsin Watchdog that, Hodorowicz, director of the Madison office, protects Pleuss and others in her inner circle.

The employee who spoke on condition of anonymity said Hodorowicz is fond of making “dirty backroom deals,” offering  “cooperative” employees perks in the form of financial benefits and special privileges to maintain their loyalty and above all –silence — about misconduct in the office.

Eventually, the office director runs out of sweeteners, the employee said.

“When that happens , the threats begin. … She will threaten people’s jobs, tell them she won’t promote them, lower their performance reviews, say that she will give them a bad reference,” the insider said. “She will give them the worst work assignments in the office.”

Wisconsin Watchdog has obtained emails sent by Hodorowicz that appear to be threatening in nature.

Multiple employees say the office director has been the subject of several investigations into her conduct, in Madison and when she held the same position in Milwaukee. Each time, they say, her cadre of loyalists testify on her behalf. And, sources say, they are rewarded for their loyalty.

And a Madison office staff member said Hodorowicz has taken nepotism to a new level.


Wisconsin Watchdog reported Monday that Office of Inspector General agents are opening an investigation into the Madison office, particularly focusing on Pleuss,  Hodorowicz, and Wayne Gentz, a group supervisor considered to be a Hodorowicz ally.

Also this week, U.S. Sen. Ron Johnson, R-Wis., sent a formal letter to the Social Security Administration requesting the agency’s “unfettered cooperation” in turning over information related to allegations of misconduct and retaliation in SSA’s disability claims review offices.

“I write to you concerning reports of whistleblower retaliation within the Milwaukee and Madison hearing offices of the Social Security Administration’s Office of Disability Adjudication and Review,” Johnson wrote in the letter to Carolyn Colvin, SSA’s acting commissioner.

Johnson, chairman of the Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee, has been trying to get answers from the SSA since a staff-level briefing on May 9.

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Categories: Social Security Judges | Tags: , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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