When confronted, Lingner didn't deny hiring his son, Huff says. He just repeated funding wasn't there.
But Huff had done her homework. Before being let go, classified employees are supposed to get a chance to apply for open positions at the agency, including jobs being handled by temps.
Michael Ratcliff
The housing authority's complex on North Seventh Street
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So why wasn't she given that chance? Lingner couldn't seem to answer.
"There's a lot of corruption here," Huff told Lingner. "I'm taking this as far I can go."
Is that a threat? Lingner asked.
"That's a promise," Huff responded.
And then Lingner asked her a curious question, she says. He asked her this: "What would you have done if you had an opportunity for your kids?"
That night, Huff began calling the commissioners, blowing the whistle on Lingner's nepotism. She says they seemed sympathetic, at first.
But nothing changed.
The very next day, in fact, Brandon Lingner's name was added to the employee roster.
And Will McFarland, the temporary employee who was one of Huff's good friends in the office, was let go, too. Lingner had promised him for months that they'd find funding to bring him on full-time. But now Lingner said there wasn't enough money.
And then Lingner said something else, McFarland recalls.
"I know you and [Huff] are friends," Lingner told McFarland. "Be careful who you talk to."
Lingner confirms that his son did work as a temp for a five-week period in December and January. He insists there was nothing nefarious about the hire; thanks to his time as a volunteer, Brandon knew the ropes, he says.
"He was just trying to help," Lingner says of his son.
Tania Huff's calls to the agency's commissioners may not have changed her situation, but they definitely got someone's attention.
On December 23, one week before Huff's position was to be eliminated, she was placed on paid leave. She was ordered to take her personal items and go.
Unbeknownst to her supervisors, though, Huff had already photocopied key documents. Among them: the papers she was given at her hiring, which clearly state that her position was classified.
Armed with those documents, Huff contacted the Reverend Oscar Tillman, president of the Maricopa County chapter of the NAACP. Tillman says he immediately began calling Lingner, hoping to talk to him about correcting the mistake and taking Huff back.
But Lingner wouldn't return Tillman's phone calls. His assistant told Tillman that Lingner couldn't meet with him until after the holidays.
Tillman would have none of that. He began calling the board of commissioners. And that's when, he says, suddenly Lingner was available for a meeting after all.
The meeting was awkward, to say the least. Lingner kept trying to make assertions — only to have Tillman respond with documents that showed he was incorrect. "He didn't know what he was doing," Tillman tells New Times.
But the situation became even more awkward when Lingner apparently tried to establish rapport by telling Tillman about a friend who made racial comments in front of a black employee — but "he wasn't like that," or so Lingner explained awkwardly.
"It was so uncomfortable," Tillman says. "I started looking around thinking, 'Is this guy okay?' It was so out of line . . . something I would have heard guys talking about when I entered the Air Force in 1960.
"Maybe he was trying to endear himself to me, but he did not succeed at all," Tillman says. "He succeeded in looking like a fool."
At that meeting, Lingner promised to look into Huff's situation and get back to Tillman. He never did. Tillman estimates that he contacted the housing authority 20 times in January and early February.
Either Lingner wasn't there or he couldn't talk. Tillman would get transferred to the human resources person, who'd say they were working on it. When Tillman called the chairman of the board, Richard Cole, Cole would call back on Lingner's behalf and report that Lingner was out sick.
Last Thursday, Tillman got some credible information that Lingner was, in fact, working on agency business. So he called Cole and demanded to know why he kept getting the runaround.
Cole called back, apologetic. He'd finally gotten the straight answer from Lingner: Lingner's attorneys had told him not to talk to Tillman.
Tillman is now talking to his lawyers about filing suit on Huff's behalf.
Tillman says Cole has been straight with him, but he's fed up with everyone else at the housing authority — particularly Doug Lingner.
"These people have to be some of the dumbest people in the world," he says.
In January and February, even as Oscar Tillman kept dialing the agency in vain, the HAMC was dealt a few crippling blows.
In addition to documents obtained through a public-records request, New Times received an anonymous packet of information last month: monthly statements from the agency's credit cards.
Those documents show a raft of questionable purchases made by Lingner. Among them:
• An average of $200 a month on meals at restaurants, including hotspots like the Valley Ho Hotel, Portland's, My Florist, and the Orange Table.
• Travel, including $1,629 for meals and hotel rooms in San Antonio, $609 for meals and a hotel in Sacramento, and $1,071 for two stays at the Treasure Island Hotel in Las Vegas.