C A R E E R S

Social
Work's
New Deal
Doing good, doing well
Barry Lipson doesn't fit the social-
worker stereotype: no overburdened,
underpaid do-gooder he. Instead of
pitting himself against poverty in some
hopeless city slum, Lipson works 20 hours
a week at a modern hospital in Chicago's
fashionable Lincoln Park area while earn-
ing his graduate degree from the Universi-
ty of Chicago. His patients in the chemi-
cal-dependency unit are as likely to be
cocaine-addicted Yuppies as alcoholic va-
grants. The 31-year-old Lipson, who re-
ceives his master's in social work in June,
wants to become a certified addiction
counselor and eventually set up his own
private practice. Ask why and he sounds
somewhat like the stockbroker and com-
modities trader he used to be. "I don't want
to be the type who works for the state and
has a caseload of 400 and burns out early,"
he says. "I want to make a good buck."
Such a frank admission would have been
heresy 20 years ago, when thousands of
social workers enlisted in the War on Pov-
erty. Today the profession is focusing in-
creasingly on the middle class and its mala-
dies-a shift due in part to the Reagan

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'Great potential': Regina Medina of USCcounsels children at a Watts therapy center

administration's severe cuts in social-serv-
ice spending for the poor. The field still
appeals to those with a strong social con-
science, especially now that problems such
as AIDS, homelessness and sexual abuse of
children have high visibility. But several
new specialties-notably occupational so-
cial work and psychotherapy-attract a
new breed of professionals who want to
help themselves while helping others. Al-
though starting salaries for M.S.W.'s aver-
age only about $19,000, a therapist in pri-
vate practice can make $60,000 or more a
year. Says Robert Roberts, dean of the
School of Social Work at the University of
Southern California: "They have found you
can be an altruist and still drive a BMW."
On the strength of those specialties, the
profession is emerging from a decadelong
decline. Enrollment in Columbia's gradu-
ate social-work program, which fell from
750 to 400 between 1977 and 1982, has
bounced back 50 percent since then. And
the Boston University School of Social
Work last year established its first waiting

list in 10 years after applications rose 23
percent. In the early '80s, recalls Boston
dean Hubert Jones, some graduates took
two years to find jobs. "We had many grad-
uates coming back and saying, 'My God, I
got a graduate education. I made this in-
vestment, and what did I do it for? I'm
having a hell of a time finding a job'," says
Jones. But last year the job picture for BU
grads brightened considerably, which
matches a noticeable trend profession-
wide: the Department of Labor predicts
demand will increase 33 percent by 2000, a
rate almost twice the average for all
occupations.
As social work's appeal rises, so do pro-
fessional standards. Since 1980, 36 states
have passed or revised laws regulating the
profession; more than 20 states now re-
quire a degree from one of the nation's 347
accredited bachelor's or 93 accredited mas-
ter's programs. The vast majority of Ameri-
ca's social workers still serve in the same
public or nonprofit agencies that tradition-
ally employed them-in family services,

STEVE LEONARD
Breaking stereotypes: Counselor Lipson

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38 NEWSWEEK ON CAMPUS

MAY 1988