The Story
If you have ever driven through Philadelphia, over the Delaware River, and into South Jersey, you probably traveled along the interstate highway system on I-95, I-76, and I-676. Planning for these different roads began as early as the 1930s, but it was the passage of the National Interstate Highway and Defense Act of 1956 that led to the idea of integrating them all into a single coherent network. By the early 1960s, construction was underway on all segments except for one—I-676, running north-south through Camden—but why?
As the story goes, in the early 1960s, the Federal Highway Administration (FHA) announced to state Departments of Transportation (DOTs) a big funding round for new interstate highway segments. Proposals were to be delivered to the FHA’s office in Washington, D.C., by 4 PM on a certain Friday, when they would be time- and date-stamped “received.” Late applications would not be accepted. The New Jersey Department of Transportation (NJDOT) carefully completed its proposal for I-676 and assigned a staffer the task of hand-delivering it. He decided to take the train to DC, a short, two-hour ride. He arrived at Amtrak’s 30th Street Station in Philadelphia with plenty of time to spare, so he walked into the station bar and ordered a beer. He ran into an acquaintance, ordered another beer, then another, and…missed his train. He did not deliver the application on time, it was not time- and date-stamped, it was not accepted, it was not reviewed, and the project was not approved or funded. It took another decade to secure funding and get construction underway. The road was finally completed in 1980—the last link in the Interstate Highway System connecting Philadelphia and the South Jersey suburbs. But why did it take another ten years?1
The Theory
Max Weber, a German sociologist, political economist, and lawyer, was interested in rationality, secularism, modernity, and capitalism, and, among other things, he is the intellectual father of what has come to be known as Weberian bureaucracy. According to public administration and philosophy scholar Wolfgang Drechsler,
Weberian bureaucracy, in its optimal form, is ethics-based, high-capacity, and motivation-driven, and it is designed to be both responsible to the state (government) and responsive to groups and citizens (society). This form of rational bureaucracy hopes to achieve these goals through hierarchical, career-organized, competence-based, rule- and files-based public administration. Weberian bureaucracy has its systemic faults, however, including slowness, and, importantly for our story, a strong emphasis on process.2
Acknowledging how much we all like to complain about bureaucracy, Reinhard Bendix points out that the large-scale organizations of western civilization are recognized not for their size but rather for,
“the problems peculiar to our forms of organized cooperation.”
These modern bureaucracies depend on the division of labor, which leads to “red tape,” monotonous work for the individual employee, and that emphasis on process, again. And while Weber was interested in rationality, Bendix points out that no large-scale organization can be expected to live up to the ideal of technical rationality, as it must reflect the diversity of people within the organization, the internal psychology of the organization, and how external people view its activities in a historical context: Do people like it, trust it, despise it, fear it, and so on. In other words, Weberian bureaucracy is rational until the humans—those running things on the inside and those watching from the outside—get involved.3
Let’s get back to our story about bureaucratic process and, specifically, the process of receiving an RFP and submitting a proposal for a government contract. We can now begin to see why, in the context of a Weberian or rational bureaucracy—ethics-based as it is—all proposers must follow the same set of rules: They fill out the same forms, participate in a public pre-bid meeting, submit questions that all bidders will receive the answers to, and submit their proposals by a specific date and time. For many types of contracts, bids are submitted in sealed envelopes that are opened at an advertised time and date and read out loud in a public bid room with a big clock on the wall, where anyone can attend and watch. This process is designed to ensure that no one has an advantage based on personal relationships with government employees or behind-the-scenes dealing. To win, you must follow the instructions and assume that, in most cases, price will triumph over approach, scope, competence, relevant experience, and references. This is why it can be so difficult to differentiate yourself in a public bidding environment, where the best you can do is submit the lowest bid and not do anything wrong. In the extreme story of the NJDOT—a government proposing to another government—they did something wrong: They failed to follow the instructions, and their proposal was thrown out, delaying the construction of a major road for a decade. Rational bureaucracy defeated by imperfect humans, once again.
Two More RFP Stories
The president of the firm where I worked asked me to write a proposal for a small, routine service project. The client, however, was a large and rapidly growing public university about to embark upon a huge building campaign, and we wanted to get our toe in the door for the more glamorous and lucrative future projects. We expected a lot of competition, so I took more time than usual to draft a thoughtful, creative, and customized response to the RFP, demonstrating that we understood the client’s problem and were uniquely qualified to solve it. I also made sure that my text and graphics followed the simple, specific requirements dictated in the RFP: brief, concise, 20 pages maximum, cover letter, seven sections with seven tabs numbered 1-7, with resumes, hourly rates, and insurance coverages at the end. I turned all my work over to the marketing folks to finish and package and said,
“Make sure you read the RFP and the client’s requirements for the submission.”
Well, they didn’t. The proposal was due in their office by 4 PM on a Friday, and when I stopped by marketing at 2, I ran into the marketing director, who said with a big smile, “It is finished, and I am about to drive over and deliver it.” Then he held up a 1-1/2-inch-thick spiral bound book full of boilerplate material, with four tabs that said A, B, C, D. We were not selected, so the president insisted I call the client and ask for feedback. I was embarrassed but made the call and said, “What could we have done differently?” The client said,
“Peter, I threw yours in the trash right after I pulled it out of the envelope. If you can’t read simple instructions for an RFP, how can you possibly do a good job on my project?”
My rational bureaucracy (the business development office) was defeated by their rational bureaucracy.
Here is one more story, from the other side of the table. I wrote an RFP for a government agency for an important project. We expected to receive a lot of proposals, so I was specific about the proposal requirements, including a maximum length of 20, 8.5x11 pages. But I forgot to include a minimum font size—I usually specify 11- or 12-point. One clever firm seized this opportunity and submitted a proposal in microscopic 7-point font. It was illegible, headache-inducing, and more important, despite delivering twice as much information as anyone wanted to read, it was an obnoxious attempt to evade the spirit, if not the language of our RFP. Like the client in the previous story, we threw it in the trash.
The Lesson
When responding to an RFP—particularly one from a public sector organization—recognize that you are engaging with a bureaucratic process and follow the instructions. If the instructions are incomplete or unclear, follow the intent or spirit of the instructions and assume that the people who wrote the RFP will be involved in evaluating your proposal. Oh, and don’t miss your train.
“I guess the question I'm asked the most often is: "When you were sitting in that capsule listening to the count-down, how did you feel?" Well, the answer to that one is easy. I felt exactly how you would feel if you were getting ready to launch and knew you were sitting on top of two million parts -- all built by the lowest bidder on a government contract.”
- John Glenn
This story was relayed to me by a retired, long-time civil servant with deep knowledge of the history of South Jersey, and while it made perfect sense at the time, I don’t know where I would begin if I had to validate it. However, since The Reflective Urbanist is not striving to be a rigorous academic publication, from time to time, we may stray from provable facts to apocrypha that still serve our purposes.
Drechsler, Wolfgang, “Good Bureaucracy: Max Weber and Public Administration Today,” in Max Weber Studies, 20(2), July 2020, pp. 219-224.
Bendix, Reinhard, “Bureaucracy: The Problem and its Setting,” in American Sociological Review, 1295), October 1947.