On Feb. 10, 2025, life on “the hill” as I knew it changed.
The executive order eliminating the Federal Executive Institute changed the lives of so many, but especially the more than 50 contracted staff who created the environment where government leaders could learn.
I remember when the property was an upscale Charlottesville hotel called the Thomas Jefferson Inn. It became the Federal Executive Institute — FEI, as many of us called it — in 1968 as a training center, and now a piece of history on Emmet Street.
That week in February was snowy, and I was sitting in the lobby of the Holiday Inn on Emmet when the text came. As the manager for the janitorial and custodial team, I had to be sure I could get to the campus so the guests would still have service in the storms, so I checked into the hotel so that my work wouldn’t be disrupted by impassable roads. I was about to have dinner with one of my supervisors.
A friend wrote, “Have you seen this?” I opened the link. It was almost like I had been run over. My hands were shaking and I looked over at this young man I was with. I realized what was going to happen to my team. They were shutting us down.
I did not get much sleep that night, worrying what would happen to 18 people on my staff. I could see each one of my team members in my mind as I lay in the fetal position in bed. For many of my crew, this was the only job they knew. Four had worked at FEI for over 25 years, and the rest had been there from four months to 18 years. Four were full time and the rest were part time. Helping to shut down FEI was going to be a bigger challenge than anything I had faced in my career. I wallowed in self pity for those 12 hours at the Holiday Inn.
It was not until I drove up the hill to the FEI gate in the morning that it kicked in: I have to fight for my team. Just like I have been responsible for delivering a clean campus every day, I had to be responsible for them.
I have been in the management of janitorial services for over 25 years. I have closed other accounts before, but this was going to be different. Closing FEI was about saving lives. Alcoholics Anonymous teaches me that when a hand reaches out for help, I must be responsible. I took that promise in recovery and with my community work in the LGBTQ community. I would accept this challenge as well.
When I told people where I worked, they often responded that, “Nobody knows what they do up there.” FEI was a 14 acre secure property. Here’s what it looked like to my team: Driving up the hill, you could see all the colors of nature in the four seasons. The manicured lawn, fresh cut grass, beautiful flowers, fall foliage that looked like God had spray painted his beauty just in that one place.
To us, this was “The Hill,” this was our Hill.
The next morning after the executive order came down, driving up The Hill in the snow, I had a pit in my stomach. I knew there were more staff, who I did not directly supervise, who would need help as well. A class was in session, but it was quiet on campus. We knew this was the last class that would ever take place here on the beautiful little piece of heaven that we created. This welcoming space each one of us created. The grounds, the maintenance, the classrooms, and the clean offices, classrooms and bedrooms. We created that heaven on earth.
My team and I worked as contractors at FEI. We were employees of a nonprofit organization that matches people with disabilities with work. I was the project manager that was responsible for the performance of the FEI contract. It was more than a simple cleaning contact, though. After my first week at FEI, in 2019, I could see this group was going to change my life, and I hoped somewhere along the way I could make a difference in their lives. As the years grew, we became a family — not just my team but every person who made a difference in the experience at FEI.
My housekeepers kept the bedrooms immaculate. My custodians cleaned offices and classrooms with love and pride. The smells that came from the kitchen made by the food and beverage team called to me three times a day. Everyday, classrooms had their materials laid out for them, AV systems were perfect, lights worked, water flowed. A crew of young men I called the “Rat Pack” handled any problems that came up over 14 acres swiftly and correctly. This was the team on The Hill. Each month, we provided a lifetime experience for each class. We did so with pride.
That snowy morning in February was quiet. What did this order mean? By the end of the day, we had our answer. We were going to prepare for the last “Leadership for a Democratic Society” class to graduate.
Through the end of the month, we started seeing the rooms empty, the gym, offices and faculty saying goodbye. The emphasis that our company’s Executive Director and I stressed to our team was we were going to leave FEI in pristine condition, like we did for every shutdown.
As the weeks started to roll to that last day, we did as exactly as we were charged to do. After each deep clean on Friday afternoon, I sat at my desk and let our Director of Campus know we were ready for occupancy. We also talked about memories, what the place meant to us. We all agreed we were family.
There were two contracting companies that maintained the campus, but it was never an us and them. It was “we.” We all were hurting and we all were trying to hold each other up as best as we could. We knew about each other. One of the maintenance guys liked dirt bikes, another is getting married soon. One of my housekeepers always needed coffee first thing in the morning and one of his teammates would go to the kitchen and get it for him. One liked being with her grandbabies, the other owned pigs. One of the grounds guys introduced me to virtual reality glasses. He knew about the history of every plant on the campus. One of the conference guys was into WWE and the other was a huge Bills fan. One of the general managers had been to several Olympics as a contractor; she used to bring her three-year-old daughter to have conversations with me.
We are not just a number or a budget line. We have lives and our lives connected with each other at FEI.
Feb. 21 was the last day of Leadership for a Democratic Society Program classes at FEI. By 10 p.m. mostly everyone had left, but I stayed back with the security guards. I walked the campus one last time before it would be an empty shell. I walked the halls and looked at all the history, the beautiful pictures. I stood on the sun porch looking out at the koi pond. It was a cold, crisp night. I had left my coat back in the office, but wanted to feel the FEI chill.
My last stop was the stop I made every night: the huge American flag that blew in the air so proud and majestic. The light shining on beautiful waves of fabric was almost making the statement, “I represent all the people, not just a few. I move with the wind that God created for me to show off all my colors.”
We are not just a number or a budget line. We have lives and our lives connected with each other at FEI.
—Charley Burton, who lost his job at the Federal Executive Institute
They say when one door closes another opens. My main objective those few weeks was to find jobs for 18 people. I made one phone call and a local retirement community hired seven of our employees, including me. As much as I am grateful, I will miss our piece of heaven. There will never be an experience like FEI.
Because of the way FEI was shut down, I had anger for a few days, and I am experiencing a tremendous amount of grief and loss. But I want everyone to see the goodness of what that piece of heaven on “The Hill” was all about. On our last day, two young colleagues sang a song by Hillside United, Oceans, to help us heal. This is my version of this story. I am sure there are many others. If I was ever in love with a job, it would have been this one. But love fades and when it does we move on.
I took one last look at the flag when I was leaving the campus on March 13. It doesn’t look the same in the light as it does at night. But, as always, it was making those ripples through all the colors and threads that make up that piece of freedom. As I drove away I thought, “The campus is now ready for occupancy.”
