Thirty-five years ago, a town manager in New Hampshire or Maine could expect to settle in, learn the community and spend a career making it better. The job was never easy, but it was knowable. Today, that same role looks dramatically different, and the gap between those two eras tells us something important about the health of local democracy itself.
It’s worth remembering why this profession exists at all. The council-manager form of government was born out of the reform movement of the early 20th century, a deliberate response to the corruption and cronyism of the political machine era. Reformers had watched strong-mayor systems become instruments of patronage and self-dealing, and they wanted something different: a trained, impartial professional who would serve the whole community, not just the winning faction. Staunton, Va., appointed the first city manager in 1908. Today, the model is used in more than half of American cities with populations over 10,000. The founding idea was simple and elegant: separate the politics from the administration.
When I entered this profession in the 1990s, the average tenure of a city or county manager nationally was around 5.4 years, according to International City/County Management Association survey data. By 2006, that figure had risen to 7.5 years. But the more telling number may be the median. According to the Association’s 2018 Chief Administrative Officer Salary and Compensation Survey, the median tenure of an officer in their current position had fallen to just four years, meaning half of all managers were leaving in that time or less. That trajectory should concern us.
In Maine, the evidence is stark. A May 2026 investigation by the Portland Press Herald found that more than 25 communities across the state had seen their top administrator vacate the role in just the past three years. Raymond, Maine, has had three managers in two years. Winslow has churned through four since 2023. Gardiner has been manager-less since 2024. In New Hampshire, Chichester has lost three town administrators in one year.
The pool of candidates is shrinking too. When Augusta’s longtime city manager Bill Bridgeo first sought that role, nearly 100 people applied. When he retired in 2021 after nearly 25 years in the position, the successor search drew just 14.
What has changed?
The scope of the work has ballooned. Historically, managers drafted budgets, oversaw departments and supported their councils or selectpersons. Today, municipalities are expected to address homelessness, addiction, climate change, utilities, energy, workforce housing, pandemic recovery and an ever-expanding roster of social priorities and grant-funded state and federal programs. The complexity has not been matched by proportional resources or staffing.
The political environment has turned toxic. For generations, the governing mantra was that all politics is local, meaning residents cared most about roads, schools and local budgets. That has turned on its head. National culture wars now dominate local agendas, from school board meetings to town council chambers. Social media transformed civic discourse. Political arguments that once played out in thoughtful letters to the editor followed by objective local newspaper coverage now ignite in Facebook groups, spreading misinformation with speed and impunity. The National League of Cities reported in 2021 that 81% of local officials had personally experienced harassment, threats or violence, most frequently on social media platforms. At a recent conference, more than 5,200 town/city managers gathered and identified burnout, wellness crises and staffing shortages as the dominant themes of their profession.
The pipeline is drying up. Fewer young people are studying public administration. The University of Maine stopped offering the major in 2011 due to low enrollment. The International City/County Management Association’s own demographic data is pretty sobering. In 1934, 41% of managers nationally were under 40; by 2012, that figure had dropped to just over 11%. Those who do enter the profession often arrive in smaller communities with less experience and less local knowledge.
Yet despite these changes, the fundamentals of what makes a great public administrator have not changed at all. The best leaders in this profession still put the people first. They combine technical competence with genuine humility. They serve the council and the community. They are honest with residents about difficult trade-offs, transparent in their processes and consistent in their ethics. They cultivate strong teams, because no administrator succeeds alone. They practice resilience, acquiring, as former Durham Town Councilor Wayne Burton has often said, “a warm heart, a thick skin, and a tough stomach,” without losing their humanity.
What has changed is the environment in which those qualities must be exercised. The arena is louder, faster and far less forgiving of honest mistakes. The margin for misunderstanding has shrunk while the volume of criticism has greatly increased. Good managers are leaving, not because the work lacks meaning, but because the cost of doing it for the manager and the manager’s family has become unsustainable.
The solution is not to make local government management easier. It is to make the conditions for good governance possible again. That means councils and select boards that model civility. Communities that distinguish disagreement from demonization. Residents who pause for a moment to reflect and recognize that the professional administrator across the table, in fact, is trying to serve them and the community as a whole.
The job description has been rewritten by three decades of social, political and technological change. The character required to do it well has not. I’ve spent 33 years in this profession, 25 of them in one community. That kind of tenure is increasingly rare. I still believe this is among the most meaningful work a person can do. The challenge now is making sure others believe that too.
Originally from Laconia, Todd Selig has served as Administrator of the Town of Durham for 25-years. Durham operates under a Council-Manager form of government.