When New Times put in a public-records request three weeks ago, the agency's deputy director immediately called a staff meeting and warned that no one was to talk to this newspaper. "We're talking about federal money here," the deputy director said, according to someone in attendance. "This is prison time!" (The deputy director also stressed to employees that the agency had done nothing wrong.)
The atmosphere became even more tense when a veteran employee was placed on paid leave last month and told he was "under investigation," without any reason given. Weeks later, within a few hours of New Times' public-records request, Janet Belfield, the agency's grant writer, was also placed on paid leave pending an "investigation."
Michael Ratcliff
Social Eye Media
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Belfield is believed to have attempted to contact the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development with concerns about Lingner's spending. She did not respond to requests for comment.
Jereon Brown, a HUD spokesman, says that the issues raised by New Times should trigger scrutiny.
Because housing authorities get so much federal money, HUD is quick to order investigations when it receives credible information about misspending or policy violations, the spokesman says.
"Generally based on what you're telling me, it looks like a practice," he says. "Sometimes, the perception could be a reality.
"We go in when a concern like this is raised."
Like most housing authorities, the HAMC is something of a hybrid. It's not technically a government agency — but, because most of its funding comes from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, it might as well be.
Indeed, the HAMC used to be part of county government. At that point, it wasn't a stand-alone agency. It was simply the department that got Maricopa County's HUD funds and managed the county's Section 8 program and other low-income housing projects.
In 2004, however, the county spun off the department. Each county supervisor appoints a commissioner to oversee its operations, and a deputy county attorney signs off on procedures. But it's technically an independent agency, outside the control of County Manager David Smith.
New Times attempted to contact each of the agency's commissioners. Not one could be reached for comment.
It was the commissioners who chose Lingner. Two years ago, the agency's director of five years left the HAMC for a similar job in Alabama. The open position quickly drew 54 applicants.
And that's why it was so strange when the commissioners ultimately chose a candidate who didn't even meet their agency's minimum qualifications.
As New Times reported at the time, the HAMC said it wanted a candidate with seven years of administrative experience, a bachelor's degree, financial acumen, and an "apolitical" nature.
Somehow, it ended up choosing a high school graduate whose only administrative experience was supervising a staff of four while a city councilman. And it wasn't just that Doug Lingner had no college education, little experience "administrating," or even that his personal finances were perpetually a mess. It was that he seemed about as political as it gets.
The main argument for his hiring seemed to be that Lingner needed a job — and that the developers who run this town were pulling for him.
On the city council, Lingner had been the developer's go-to guy. But he didn't start that way. When he first ran, he was a nobody: a "citizen activist" ranting about illegal immigration at City Hall and unknown to the developers who finance most council races. He won his first race — taking on the Hispanic incumbent — with a budget of just $9,000.
Twelve years after he was first elected, that race would take on near-mythic proportions. The councilman would tell the Arizona Republic that he took a job delivering lost luggage at night to make time for campaigning. "He would campaign all day, take a nap, then wake up and deliver people their bags from 10 p.m. to 4 a.m.," the Republic dutifully noted.
Documents from the time, however, tell a different story. According to the financial-disclosure forms that Lingner filed with the city clerk during his first campaign, in 1994, his only source of income was his wife's pharmacy job — and his own long-term disability pay. On the form, he reported his occupation as "domestic engineer."
The Lingners' finances at the time were tenuous, at best. They'd already filed for bankruptcy, twice, according to court records. Just two years earlier, they'd lost their home to foreclosure, putting the family of four into a Laveen apartment.
Once elected, Lingner proved to be nothing if not a canny politician. The former tile setter insisted on wearing Hawaiian shirts to city meetings, even as the other guys showed up in business attire. The message was clear: He was the populist in a sea of suits.
And Lingner pulled off his populist pose even as he was increasingly becoming one of the suits.
Almost from the moment of his first electoral victory, he began pulling in big campaign contributions from developers. "When I ran for the city council in 1994, nobody returned Doug Lingner's phone call," Lingner himself told New Times. "Once I got elected, suddenly I had 5,000 friends."