The New Commissioner

Housewives in six New England states were surprised last month to meet a new breed of bill collector--Internal Revenue Service agents, who traveled from door to door with a sometimes embarrassing question: Had the occupant paid his federal taxes? If the answer was yes, the canvassers asked for proof--a receipt, return or canceled check. If no evidence was available, the agents took down names & addresses to check against the service's records. If delinquency was admitted, the agents were happy to accept on-the-spot payments. Door-slammers were likely to be visited by another kind of caller, a man with a summons.

Reaction was violent. "This is the sort of thing that the Communist government does in Russia," cried Massachusetts' Representative Edith Nourse Rogers. "A strange, dangerous, intolerable thing," echoed the Boston Record. But the tax-paying public, once it got the point that only tax-dodgers need fear the ringing doorbell, seemed well pleased with "Operation Snoop," as the press called it. Last week, when the tabulation of the two-day canvass was reported, it looked like a tax-collector's dream. Out of 8,800 New Englanders questioned, 1,150 (13%) confessed delinquencies, and dug up $80,000 in overlooked taxes. Other queasy, uncanvassed delinquents sent in an additional $162,000. The service, which spent $10,250 in salaries for the 258 canvassers, realized $24 in taxes for every $1 spent.

Into the Field. The man behind Operation Snoop is Commissioner of Internal Revenue T. (for Thomas) Coleman Andrews, 54, a self-styled "Byrd Democrat." Andrews is a jovial, distinguished-looking Virginian with a fine command of Elizabethan English and an enthusiasm for rod & gun. He inherited an IRS which was left a shambles by the tax scandals of the Truman Administration. In seven months he has rejuvenated morale and rebuilt his staff with complete disdain for political recommendations. Principal reorganization: cutting the number of IRS regional offices from 17 to nine, at the same time transferring large chunks of responsibility and authority from Washington to the regional offices. Result: 1,500 Washington jobs eliminated, 1,200 added in the field. "We're taking away from the red-tape crew," he explains, "and increasing the workers who go out and actually harvest the tax crop."

Andrews stands out from his predecessors in the BIR most notably because he is the first collector in history who is an experienced auditor and accountant. After high school in Richmond, he went to work as an office boy with Armour & Co., soon took up bookkeeping as an after-hours sideline. He passed the CPA examinations at 21, became the nation's youngest accredited accountant. After founding his own auditing firm, he later took on the additional job of Virginia State auditor. Virginia remembers him for uncovering 100 cases of corruption and fraud, sending a county clerk and five county treasurers to jail, and setting up an annual system for county accounts that was so airtight that bonding companies slashed premiums for public officials.

Fair Game. Andrews' reforms have not won him unanimous applause. The capital's tax lawyers resent his decentralization, which means fewer advisory fees for them. Some G.O.P. bigwigs are irritated by his refusal to accept patronage appointments. "I don't blame him for running his own shop," scowled a top-ranking Republican, "but just because a man is okayed by the national committee doesn't mean he's got lice." Snaps Andrews: "Politics ruined this outfit before."

The door-to-door canvass in New England brought qualms to many a Congressman, who feared that the snooping might have an explosive political kickback. But Coleman Andrews answers the political caterwauling by citing his $24-$1 return. Last week the eight other regional commissioners were preparing to extend the doorbell ringing to every corner of the U.S. Says Andrews: "I'm convinced that we're going to get about all that it is practical to get out of the present tax laws. The future looks awfully good."

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