The assessment profession faces a peculiar challenge: most of us stumbled into it by accident, yet we're responsible for decisions that profoundly impact our neighbors' lives. Monica Williams, Deputy Chief Assessor in Philadelphia, captures this paradox perfectly when she describes her 20-year journey that began with a simple nudge from her mother: "The city's hiring."
Like many of us, Williams thought she'd move on after two years. Twenty years later, she's helping shape how one of America's largest cities approaches fairness, transparency, and public trust in property valuation.
"I don't think you can pull back transparency," Williams observes. "It's like you can't just shut the window one day and say you can't see anymore."
This shift toward openness represents perhaps the most significant evolution in our profession over the past two decades. Where assessment once operated largely behind closed doors, today's assessors must be prepared to explain their work to an increasingly engaged public.
But transparency isn't just about external communication. Williams emphasizes starting from within: "The first level of transparency for me is making sure my staff understands. Because if they don't, then how are they ever going to explain it to anyone else?"
This inside-out approach to transparency serves a dual purpose. It builds internal expertise while preparing teams to handle the inevitable questions from property owners who see their values rising alongside their tax bills.
Every assessor knows this struggle intimately. Property owners receive a bill and assume we're responsible for the entire amount. Williams articulates what we all face: "People just look at a bill that they have for property taxes, so they don't care that the assessment office determines assessment and the politicians decide the tax rate."
This fundamental misunderstanding persists despite decades of public education efforts. The challenge intensifies during periods of rapid market appreciation, when homeowners who've lived in their properties for decades suddenly face significantly higher assessments.
"Everybody can see people are paying these astronomical prices," Williams notes, "but the person who's been in their home for 30 years is like, I don't care, I'm not selling my property."
With approximately 20% of assessment professionals over 60, succession planning has become critical. Philadelphia's approach offers a model worth considering: they've created multiple pathways into the profession, including a management trainee program for those without real estate backgrounds.
Interestingly, Williams finds these "blank slate" candidates often easier to train than experienced real estate professionals who "come with certain biases or the way that you've always done things."
The key to retention? Making assessment a career, not just a job. Philadelphia has developed clear advancement tracks, even allowing clerical staff to progress into assessor roles. This approach combats the "accidental career" stigma by showing new hires a genuine path forward.
The integration of technology, from Cyclomedia to pictometry to Google Maps, has transformed how we work. Williams appreciates these tools for their ability to show neighborhood evolution over time, supporting more accurate and defensible valuations.
Yet she maintains a balanced perspective: "I don't think including technology is going to solve all the problems that some people think it's going to solve. But it will definitely help."
This measured approach acknowledges both the concerns of senior staff who fear obsolescence and the enthusiasm of those who see technology as a solution to bias accusations. The reality, as always, lies somewhere in between.
As someone who assessed a gentrifying section of Philadelphia, Williams brings nuanced insight to this contentious issue. She recalls driving through neighborhoods her mother once warned her to avoid, now filled with $500,000 homes.
"Gentrification can be both," she reflects. While neighborhood improvement brings benefits, it requires "cooperation of people that have the power to keep longtime residents in those spaces so they can benefit from the things that come along with gentrification too."
Education emerges as the critical factor, helping residents understand why changes occur and how they're impacted. This returns us to the transparency theme: the more people understand our process, the better equipped they are to navigate neighborhood transitions.
Williams offers a refreshing take on our profession's "accidental" nature. Rather than apologizing for how we entered the field, she suggests we focus on what matters: "Once we get in the career, those of us that are in it need to do a better job of bringing new people in and really letting them know this can be a career."
In an era of job-hopping and career uncertainty, assessment offers something increasingly rare: the opportunity to build expertise over decades while serving one's community. As Williams puts it, "It may be an accidental career, but it can be a beautiful career."
The assessment profession stands at an inflection point. As public scrutiny increases and technology reshapes our capabilities, Williams' two decades of experience offer a roadmap: embrace transparency, invest in people, and remember that behind every assessment lies a family's most significant investment. That responsibility, accidental career or not, deserves our best effort.