Dave Rogers recognizes the work of Rosalie Gerber
Dave Rogers (as himself and not as)
Public Services Librarian
Sidley Austin LLP
Chicago, IL 60603
Rosalie Gerber: Turning Data into Intelligence
http://listproc.ucdavis.edu/archives/law-lib/law-lib.log9907/0118.html
OBITUARIES The Washington Post July 15, 1999, Thursday, Metro. Page B06
Rosalie Prokarym Gerber
Law Librarian
Rosalie Prokarym Gerber, 68, a former Central Intelligence Agency officer who worked as Washington law firm librarian for about the past 15 years, died of complications from lung and liver cancer July 2 at Georgetown University Hospital.
Mrs. Gerber, who lived in Washington and Nags Head, N.C., was born in Throop, Pa. She graduated from George Washington University and studied at Georgetown University’s Institute of Languages and Linguistics.
From 1951 to 1969, she served as an intelligence officer in the CIA’s Directorate of Operations. She then worked as a law librarian at Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies from 1970 to 1973 and at the Aryamehr Technical University in Tehran, Iran, from 1973 to 1975.
She worked at the American Embassy in Moscow before joining Jenner & Block law firm in Washington in 1986.
She was a member of the Royal Asian Society in London, the Goethe Society of Washington, St. Matthew’s Cathedral in Washington, National Wildlife Federation, Defenders of Wildlife, Sierra Club and the Nature Conservancy.
Survivors include her husband of nearly 41 years, Burton Gerber of Washington and Nags Head; her mother, Mary Prokarym of Throop, Pa.; and two brothers.
When your mentor was a spy, you learn a lot about your profession and the transformation of data into intelligence. Rosalie Gerber was already established in her career when I met her via phone. I was the technical kid that could track down materials on OCLC faster than others. Rosalie was one of the few people who matched my cadence for fast speech. She could tell me areas where I could grow in my knowledge in a way that didn’t cause my “I know everything already” instincts as a 24-year-old to get in the way. She taught me about my profession, about life and a lot more.
Rosalie taught me how to use cadence of speech to match the person to whom one is speaking. A drawl isn’t a sign of lack of intelligence. A cadence for speech is an opportunity to connect with a stranger on the phone, from whom one is asking a favor. It’s a matter of being polite and pushy at the same time, Rosalie explained.
When Rosalie was officially retired as a spy, she lived with her husband Burt in Moscow and other cities in Eastern Europe. They also lived in Tehran. Attached to the American Embassy, she was officially the wife of a diplomat. Then again, Burt was officially a part of the State Department. Rosalie’s fluency in Russian permitted her to adjust her accent so that Muscovites would think that she was from Leningrad and vice versa. She said that she could be a Muscovite in Moscow if she wanted, but she didn’t have nearly as much fun when she didn’t have the additional challenge. She had the look of a harried and disgruntled worker trying to obtain bread, milk and toilet paper for her family down pat. When she was in the shops, her photographic memory would record price and availability of key provisions. Her analysis on the supply and demand picture was far more accurate than any analysis of government data or satellite photos.
I learned from Rosalie about Washington, D.C.’s epic ability to panic-purchase bread, milk and toilet paper when the word “snow” is uttered. It came up several times over the decade plus that we worked together.
When she traveled in the former Soviet Union in her role as a librarian collecting materials for a library, she could perform similar analyses. She didn’t turn off her information collection skills when she retired the first time. She adapted to the environment.
Rosalie taught me how to use the tendencies of bureaucracies to intuit information. Information that is probably on someone’s desk in the era before the Internet was tough to locate. In a post-Internet world, the data is harder to isolate. She taught me the skill to think outside my world. The skill comes in handy on a regular basis.
Our conversations frequently were incredibly short and to the point. One example came when I dialed her four digit extension and blurted, “What are the words for ‘criminal’ and ‘procedure’ in Polish?” She replied. Polish was one of several languages in which she was fluent. My phone rang a moment later. “Why are you asking about Polish criminal procedure when the Warsaw embassy should be the people you are calling?” was Rosalie’s comment. I used OCLC to identify the best collection to contact and matched a Philadelphia cadence to have materials sent. Knowing a Polish attorney internally who was a former prosecutor then working as a paralegal helped to make sure that the project completed.
One conversation was not directly related to work. A tourist had been dropped off in a cab at the corner of the Sears Tower. The look of terror in the woman’s eyes and the blank response to my query, “Are you lost?” caused me to pull out my cell phone and call Rosalie at home. I didn’t know the phone number, but I knew what words were spelled by the numbers. Another trick that Rosalie taught me. Explaining the situation that I could get her directions to anywhere in Chicago if I knew what she was seeking, I handed the phone to the startled woman. Rosalie started going through her greetings in different languages. The woman quickly picked up on the process and started doing the same thing. The woman was from Bulgaria, but both agreed to converse in Polish. The woman was able to get to Water Tower Place in a cab. Two days later, Rosalie sent money through the pouch to pay for the call. She laughed a little that the lost tourist was worried about calling long distance on a cell phone. Rosalie assured the woman that there wasn’t a problem.
When I left Jenner, our relationship continued. Rosalie had been one of my references to obtain my current position. When she didn’t call back the Human Resources folks quickly, I realized that there was a problem. Calling her home number from words it spelled on a Sunday night, I reached her husband. He told me that her cancer had taken a turn for the worse on Friday and I needed to call her at the hospital. He didn’t say it, but the call was pretty much to say goodbye. I called from my church’s audio room during a concert. The sense of urgency to reach her was louder than the music of a cantata on the stage.
Rosalie tolerated my sense of humor, hoping that she could temper my love for puns. The absurdities of politics were regular fodder for thirty second phone calls where Rosalie would help me to improved the comedic material before saying my lines in public. If Rosalie said, “Keep trying” the lines wouldn’t go to my trainmates. When I reached Rosalie in her hospital bed, her breathing was labored. In the midst of the moment of saying goodbye to a good friend, I resorted to one of my unusual puns. Rosalie started laughing, a process that caused her to gag. I apologized. She cut me off, starting her words with a phrase that she used when teaching me: “What you have to understand is that I need to laugh more than I need to breathe,” she emitted. “You don’t need to apologize.”
She called the next morning to Human Resources. By the time I had the job offer, she was resting at home before returning to work. She lived for another eighteen months. I tried my best to get her to laugh at least twice a week. Sometimes the laughs were closer to groans, but she appreciated the effort. She suggested that I read Gene Weingarten in the Washington Post since the technology allowed easier access than having to subscribe to her favorite newspaper.
Walking up to St. Matthew’s Cathedral in July had been a time for reflection. I flew from Chicago the night before, staying in a hotel near the cheapest airport. The hotel was close to the bus line to get to the Metro to transit from the suburbs to 17th and Rhode Island NW. I was proud of myself for navigating to the Cathedral until I remembered one of Rosalie’s criticisms of my being a monoglot, realizing that navigating while speaking the native language wasn’t exactly rocket science. I learned a tidbit that had gnawed at me when I looked at the pictures of John John saluting his father’s casket. The odd cast of the background for the pictures was not a reflection of black and white photo technology. The cathedral is red stone. I hadn’t counted on learning something new that morning.
Walking in to the Cathedral, I recognized Rosalie’s husband’s voice immediately. I was very early for the Funeral Mass. Burt shook my hand, a bit surprised that I had come in from Chicago without having someone pick me up at the airport. He was attending to details, keeping himself busy as he faced an incredibly hard day. I took a seat in the front section at Burt’s insistence. Had he known that I was coming, he would have probably given me some role in the recitations or prayers. I was a bit of a stranger in a strange land as a Protestant in a Cathedral. I didn’t want to put the family is a place where I would bump someone who actually knew what they were doing. I promised I would come to her funeral. I didn’t promise that I would be able to be a picture of ecumenism.
She made sure that I knew who had her plans for the funeral. In talking to Burt earlier in the week, I made a point of directing him to the right folks at the parish. I was one of several that had the task. I found out later that she had left tasks for several people.
I never saw Rosalie in person. All of our interactions were by phone, fax and pouch. E-mail existed, but it was a technology in which Rosalie didn’t participate. I picked a seat in the Cathedral that would let me be close to her casket. I didn’t realize that the Cathedral was full until I came out of the church. I watched the casket placed in the hearse. I wanted to touch the casket, but I knew that Rosalie hated smudges on wood surfaces. Burt spotted a smudge that he asked the funeral home to polish up, noting that Rosalie was a bit of a fanatic on the topic. I smiled. Someone else had said goodbye to my mentor and I was able to use my trademark phrase “I am totally innocent” at the same time.
I walked with Burt to the meal after the Funeral Mass. In a moment of applying the knowledge Rosalie had taught me, I spotted a surveillance vehicle—with diplomatic license plates—taking pictures. I noted the vehicle to Burt. In his natural element as a spy, he had a moment of fun on a very hard day as we played a bit of Fox and Hounds. The game continued at the meal as more colleagues helped me to join in the game.
The July heat had been oppressive in a way that can only be produced in Washington, D.C. The cool of the Cathedral and the heat and humidity of the sidewalk made for a stark contrast. A person in the group walking to the meal stopped us and purchased ice cold water. Some creative jaywalking and use of one-way streets later and we were at the restaurant for the meal—Rosalie’s favorite restaurant. We ditched the vehicle with diplomatic plates trying to follow us.
Sitting in the cool of the restaurant for an hour or so before heading to the airport, I had one last task assigned by Rosalie to complete. “I heard that snow is on its way,” I said to the folks at the table. Quickly excusing themselves, two people stepped outside on their path to obtain bread, milk and toilet paper for the impending weather disaster. The two were pretty much knocked back by the blast of heat as they stepped outside of the air conditioned restaurant. A person within earshot smiled. We raised our glasses to Rosalie, knowing that she was able to chuckle. The person who smiled then completed the task she had been given by Rosalie—she arranged for me to get a ride to the airport. Rosalie made sure that the envelope the smiling person carried for me had enough money for the shuttle bus in case I had was a little short.