WE HAVE just watched a serene, six-minute PowerPoint presentation outlining what the awkwardly named Department of Alcohol and Other Drug Abuse Services does with its $45 million budget, when Director Lee Catoe begins a typical agency budget presentation: "We are not asking for funding. We are asking for an investment.‘.‘.‘."

He can't get the third sentence out before Gov. Mark Sanford interrupts. "Let's make this conversational," he says. "Let's start with the big picture."

Chief of Staff Fred Carter looks sympathetically at Mr. Catoe and offers: "Lee, just remember, I do this every day of my life."

"The bigger picture," the governor continues, "would be, 'Does DAODAS do anything?'‘" He doesn't pause for an answer. He talks about "the actual product" and makes an observation he will return to frequently during the next 90 minutes: There's no statistical change over the years in the number of South Carolinians with alcohol and drug problems.

Welcome to State Government 101, an introductory course taught for -- and, it would seem, by -- our outsider governor. The end-of-course paper will be a radically different state budget, which Mr. Sanford will try to sell to the General Assembly.

If Mr. Catoe is thrown off-kilter by this exhilarating exchange during his boss's very first budget hearing, imagine what will happen when the process moves in coming weeks to agencies that are not part of Mr. Sanford's Cabinet, whose directors were not hired by him and infused with his philosophy.

And pity the poor managers -- the hands-on, day-to-day folks who come to budget presentations expecting to do the bulk of the talking. Their neat little presentations are pushed aside; they've already been read, and the student/instructor is ready to ask the big-picture questions.

A word of advice to future presenters: Come prepared to think on your feet. Make sure you or someone aggressive enough to jump in knows everything there is to know about how your agency works, and can discuss, as Mr. Sanford puts it, "the outcomes." He and his staff have read the documents you've sent over, and some you didn't send over. They want to know the stuff that is not in the reports; they want answers to questions that pop into their minds while reading those reports.

This isn't the way it works in state government. At least not in this one. Budget hearings are pro forma. A legislative subcommittee might handle a half-dozen agencies in a single afternoon. The agencies talk about what they want to do, and how much money they want to do it, not what they do and why. The most grilling I've seen before last week was when one disciple in the House used to turn hearings into mini-seminars on how to properly write an "accountability report" in keeping with the gospel of Baldridge: all style, no substance. Nothing like this; nothing that could provide information that might actually allow us to make smart decisions about spending.

As the DAODAS managers sputter about, looking for a slide to address this question or that, the governor gently pushes: We don't need a slide. Just give me your answer.

What about prevention, he wants to know: Sure, the Youth Access to Tobacco Study shows there are fewer places where kids can buy cigarettes, but "would that be meaningful prevention if you're a teenager?" (Probably not, comes the response.)

When a manager says there is less focus on prevention because DAODAS was "traditionally a treatment agency," the rejoinder is quick: "So it's the way we've always done it?"

Mr. Sanford's never-fully-answered question about whether the state gets more bang for the buck from prevention or treatment is just the start. All the questions from the governor and his staff go to the fundamentals.

Does the agency need more control over the 33 county authorities it contracts with to actually provide prevention and treatment programs? Does money go to programs that work, or just programs we're used to providing? (This one comes closest to getting a full answer, when the director of a local program admits that he finds himself focusing less on outcomes than on "chasing the dollar" and "where can I get my next grant and keep my staff on board.") And ultimately: Does the agency need to exist, or would we be better off if another agency passed out the grants and contracts?

A Sanford aide asks about the DARE program; everyone agrees it's a waste of money, continued only because of politics. Mr. Carter pipes up: "See there; we got an outcome of the budget hearings. We just saved $200,000."

Mr. Sanford is delighted. But not satisfied. "If you were to pick four other things that just flat don't make sense, what would they be?" he asks.

After a couple of items get named, an aide tries to change the subject. "Wait, wait, wait," Mr. Sanford interjects. "Could we come back to that? We've got two things you're going to work on. Give me two more."

And so it goes. No one in the packed room is safe. At one point, Mr. Sanford points to a woman sitting along the wall and asks: "What's your name? Is there anything that jumps out at you?"

At meeting's end, the list is still incomplete, so Mr. Sanford assigns homework: Give me a detailed budget that explains every program you offer, and rates its effectiveness on a scale of one to five. It will help you in setting priorities, he tells the officials. And, he adds, underlining the ultimate point of these hearings, "it will help us in making decisions."