In an era of automated valuations and digital interfaces, Doug Kirkpatrick's approach to property tax appeals feels almost revolutionary in its simplicity: sit down and talk to people. As Chief Appraiser of Elbert County, Georgia, Kirkpatrick manages just 14,000 parcels, a number that allows him to do something his colleagues in larger jurisdictions can only dream about.
"If we don't see a reason to change, we'll call them in and talk to them," Kirkpatrick explains. "That's me and my board of assessors."
The results speak for themselves. After implementing a 42% average increase in property values in 2023, driven by a 49% surge in median sale prices during the pandemic boom, Kirkpatrick faced over 1,000 appeals. Yet only 80 escalated to formal board of equalization hearings. The secret? Direct, honest communication.
Kirkpatrick's philosophy on public interaction was forged early in his career through a painful encounter with a family friend. When "Aunt Sue", a woman who "wouldn't say something bad about somebody if they smacked her", came to appeal her assessment, she unleashed a torrent of anger that left the young appraiser crushed.
Weeks later, when he finally mustered the courage to visit her restaurant, she greeted him warmly as if nothing had happened. The lesson crystallized: "Aunt Sue wasn't coming to see Dougie. She was coming in to talk to the Fannin County Assessor's Office."
This insight shapes how Kirkpatrick trains his staff today. "When they're ranting and raving, don't try to pass the buck. You are the assessor's office. Listen to them, deal with what you can, empathize where you can."
While Kirkpatrick embraces modern tools, mobile technology for field work, Google Street View for property verification, he recognizes their limitations in rural Georgia. "I deal with people that say 'I don't have the internet. I don't have a computer. I don't have a smartphone.'"
His vision for technology integration is pragmatic rather than revolutionary. He wants to capture and warehouse realtor listing photos before they disappear, leverage existing public data sources, and use technology to better inform taxpayers during the appeals process. But he never loses sight of the human element.
"Sometimes it's just talking to people. Boots on the ground, talking to people."
What sets Kirkpatrick apart is his willingness to own the unpopular decisions. After the 42% revaluation, he held public hearings with "200 really angry people." His opening? "You opened that notice and said, 'What stupid son of a...' That's me. I'm that guy. Questions?"
This directness earned him something rare in the assessment world: political support. His board of commissioners praised his willingness to meet with "every public group that asked", Republican Party, Democrat Party, Rotary Club, and face hostile crowds "without anger and without being arrogant."
"There's no joy in this for me," he tells taxpayers. "I don't get a raise for doing this. I'd have much rather sent you a notice saying your value went up a percent and a half. But I have a job to do, and I have enough integrity to do that job."
Kirkpatrick frames the assessor's role in terms rarely heard at industry conferences. "We always want to pat the first responders on the back, and that's great... But they don't do their job if we don't do our job. They don't have a job to do. We can't afford to hire them, we can't afford to get them ambulances."
His advice to newcomers reflects this service-oriented philosophy: "Put your heart into it. Do the best job you can do. You are serving your community in a really big way."
Despite 35 years in the profession, having worked in six different counties, Kirkpatrick remains optimistic about both the real estate market and the assessment profession. He sees the post-COVID market correction as a return to equilibrium after years of artificially suppressed values, predicting continued strength for "several more years to come."
For the profession itself, he envisions greater integration of technology while maintaining the human touch that builds public trust. His approach offers a template for smaller jurisdictions: leverage technology where it helps, but never forget that behind every appeal is a person who needs to be heard.
"Most folks are reasonable when you sit and you talk to them," Kirkpatrick observes. In an age of algorithms and automation, that simple truth might be the most radical idea in property assessment.
Successful property assessment isn't just about accurate valuations, it's about building public trust through transparent communication. While technology can enhance our capabilities, the willingness to sit across a table from an angry taxpayer and explain your work remains irreplaceable. As Kirkpatrick demonstrates, owning your decisions and treating each appellant with respect doesn't just reduce formal appeals; it builds the political capital necessary to do the job right.