Pat Cunnane ended his time in the Obama White House as a senior writer and deputy director of messaging. He currently writes for Designated Survivor in Hollywood. His book, West Winging It: An Unpresidential Memoir, is scheduled for release in April.

Secretly—selfishly—I was OK with it. Around 10 in the morning, I powered down my government-issued BlackBerry and strolled out of the West Wing. Early dismissal! A snow day of sorts. The wrought-iron gates of the White House complex closed tightly behind me. I wasn’t sure when I’d be back. That was above my pay grade. I was free to do as I pleased. For the first time in years, not only did I not need to check my emails every 90 seconds, I was legally forbidden from doing so.

I was nonessential.


And I was going to make the most of it. I grabbed my golf clubs and made my way past the Lincoln Monument, peeling to the left just before the Jefferson Memorial. Ready to tee it up at Hains Point. Thing is, I ran into an imposing barricade. Course closed. My shot blocked, I turned around. It was October 1, 2013.

Government shutdowns are many things. Avoidable. Irresponsible. Dumb. But, below all, they are an opportunity for the political class to spin, to play the blame game (indeed, the Republicans in Congress had driven us into this shutdown!). To make distinctions without differences. But there was one D.C. distinction with a big difference—and it was on every staffer’s mind.

Are you an essential employee of the federal government or a nonessential employee of the federal government?

Really, a rather rude question. And one that—if I didn’t have golf and a long break in mind—should have prompted some introspection on my part. At the time, I was a low-level staffer in the Obama White House (I would only ever make it to mid-level).

As a press wrangler and assistant, I was responsible for dealing directly with the White House press corps; shuttling them in and out of the Oval Office; answering their calls; clearing them through security and escorting them from the White House’s Northwest Gate; compiling the press secretary’s binder, the one he referenced as he briefed the press from the podium; making announcements over the loudspeaker. This is your two-minute warning for the press briefing!

It was the grunt work that helps make the West Wing go. But with a looming shutdown, these low-level responsibilities were about to be forced into the hands of those with little understanding of how to do them: White House senior staff.

Peter, Desiree, and Hannah—fellow wranglers at the time—joined me in the press secretary’s office to brief our bosses on how to do our jobs. Nobody knew if they were going to get paid, but that was beside the point. The thing about being nonessential is nobody talks about it. It’s an unspoken awkwardness. You’re assumed nonessential unless explicitly told otherwise. Not unlike access to the presidential bunker, if you have to ask, well, then you have your answer.

There was talk of attempting to categorize one wrangler as essential to avoid the conversation we were now having in the press secretary’s office. It was a compliment to be considered, but you could be forgiven for rooting against it.

And so we laid down the law for Jay Carney, Josh Earnest, Katie Beirne Fallon, Amy Brundage and Eric Schultz. Our roles momentarily—and dizzyingly—reversed.

The 2013 shutdown dragged on for 16 days.

Eric Schultz would eventually get the hang of the loudspeaker, and learn, after a few tries, that he didn’t need to start each announcement with a “Hi!”

Josh Earnest would be forced to do some press wrangling of his own, trailing President Barack Obama on a chaotic sandwich run to Taylor Gourmet, gamely trying to mind an unruly press pool that had questions about the shutdown. POTUS was not impressed with Josh’s skills, calling him a terrible wrangler. Still, things worked out OK for the guy who would soon be named White House press secretary.

Katie Beirne Fallon was the most overqualified hole-puncher alive, and Amy Brundage yelled out the wranglers’ favorite catchphrase, “Thank you, pool!”—our euphemism for “Get the hell out”—as she did her best to hurry the press out of the Oval Office.

On the other side of the White House gates, we nonessential folks toiled and tinkered, wondering when the gears of government might start grinding again. Bobby Whithorne, an assistant press secretary typically responsible for issues of homeland security, took up puzzles and pottery. Press assistant Peter Velz flew to San Francisco, where the Redwood Forest and Alcatraz were both closed. I had my fill of House Hunters and a little quality time at home in Philly. It was weird, having it be illegal to work.

Sixteen days later, the nonessential and essential were reunited. The West Wing filled back to the brim, bursting with young staffers greeted by their bosses. A newfound understanding among senior staff of the way the White House works, from bottom to top. And a reminder for us nonessentials of the privilege of the place. Our positions on the periphery of power could be taken away in an instant. We were rejuvenated. Golf could wait three years.

Truth is, government shutdowns aren’t about golf courses or blame-games or staffers slumming it for a few weeks. They are stunts that cause real, direct and unnecessary harm to Americans, from farmers looking for loans to families who have saved for a trip to a national park. They hurt citizens both inside and outside of government’s gates.

And when one party holds the key to those gates—the White House, the Senate, the House—and they still shut it down? Then it’s those who think they are essential who have failed us.