From Overbite To Oversight

Congress is filled with ambitious career public officials, but it also has its share of members from other professions who got fed up with government and decided to do something about it. Georgia Congressman Charlie Norwood is one of them.

Originally a dentist, Norwood came to Congress as one of 73 members of the influential Republican Class of 1994, the freshman revolutionaries who gave control of the House to the GOP for the first time in 40 years. He campaigned as a businessman who "got pushed too far" by the federal government. But Norwood was more precise about his grievances than his colleagues-he named a specific bureaucrat and a specific agency.

That official was Joseph Dear, then-administrator of the Occupational Safety and Health Administration, the Labor Department agency responsible for enforcing worker safety and health laws. On the campaign trail, Norwood made his intentions clear: He promised to call Dear every day at 5 a.m. to explain all that was wrong with OSHA.

For Norwood, the anti-OSHA crusade was about more than ideology-it was personal. In the 1980s, when the agency stepped up regulatory efforts to stem blood-borne pathogens such as the AIDS virus, his small dental office was among those most directly affected. New federal regulations forced him to change his business practices-in his view, at considerable cost and burden. In response, Norwood began levying an "OSHA surcharge" on his patients' bills and encouraged them to complain to Congress if they didn't like it.

According to a 1995 series in The Washington Post, Norwood was not alone in his aversion to OSHA. But the Republican ranked as the angriest newcomer and the most single-minded about changing the way the agency did business-if it continued to exist at all.

Since its creation in 1970, OSHA has had its share of enemies, not all as determined as Norwood, but at least as frustrated. There's even a body of urban legends about allegedly overzealous or inane OSHA rules. That repertoire includes the widely disseminated Tooth Fairy myth, which says OSHA rules prevent dentists from returning pulled teeth to little children (it's not true, though it could be interpreted that way).

Until 1994, OSHA never needed to pay much attention to its critics. Its congressional oversight subcommittee, dominated by Democrats who were firmly committed to the agency's mission, made sure of that. But in retrospect, that approach might have exacerbated the situation. Not a single Democrat on the Labor Standards, Occupational Health and Safety Subcommittee in 1992 had ever been on the business end of an OSHA regulation, since all but one were career public officials.

When Republicans took charge in 1995, the panel took on a far different complexion. It got a new name and a new chairman, both reflecting the desire to move in a new direction. The subcommittee, renamed Workforce Protections, was chaired by a plastics packaging company owner who had his own contentious history with OSHA.

Norwood never followed through with the pre-dawn wake-up calls, but within the span of an election cycle, Joe Dear's life suddenly grew a lot more complicated. Today, Dear is gone but Norwood now sits as chairman of the Workforce Protections Subcommittee. OSHA, of course, remains in his gun sight. In May, the House passed four Norwood-sponsored, employer-friendly measures that would redefine OSHA's relationship with the companies it regulates.

Norwood's OSHA package is unlikely to pass the Senate this year, partly because of the Senate schedule but also due to Democratic opposition. Even so, there is a lesson here for OSHA and every other ambitious regulatory body: Be careful who you antagonize, for one day they may oversee your agency.