June 19, 2003

Author: KAREN WALLACE SORENSON, The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: SOUTHWEST ZONER LAKE OSWEGO

Page: 01

Estimated printed pages: 4

Article Text:

Emmanuel "Jack" Bingham isn't simply one of the cast-offs of society. He is the forgotten. The never-was.

"She said I was feeble-minded," says Jack, who at 74 still tears up like a child. "I was so young." He sits in a wheelchair and wipes away the tears.

Oblivious to the blistering heat on the day we talk, he wears a knitted hat and a sweatshirt, clicking his dentures in and out of his mouth like a teen would a retainer. He needs a hearing aid, but he lost a few, so people just speak loudly.

It isn't clear what Jack, now living at a West Linn care facility, initially suffered from, but the term "feeble-mindedness" was a step up for the mentally retarded in those days. A few decades prior to Jack's birth, he would have been labeled "possessed."

Which is where Jack began his bad dream of a life.

According to Jack, he had no family support, no visits, no sense of past -- just a series of caregivers who, by other reports, were overwhelmed. Patients who acted out were shackled while others were left to languish.

Jack experienced a little of everything.

He was sexually and physically abused. Today, if you touch his shoulder too hard, he cries from the pain of an injury inflicted by a worker wielding a cane.

He wheeled other patients to and from shock therapy. "I didn't want to do it, but I had to," he says.

But in recalling all those years, his memory gets fuzzy. It is a maze of horror, loneliness and not a single person he could count on throughout his life.

His current records go back to 1996, and we pick up with Jack in that year.

"I have every reason to believe his story," says Doug Rogers, Jack's case manager at Clackamas County Social Services. "He clearly came from a state hospital facility. He's been a part of that larger system for years and years."

He's diagnosed as a schizophrenic and manic-depressive. Who knows if the system simply pinpointed his mental problems or helped contribute to them?

Looking at Jack today, one wonders how such an innocent survived so much.

And that is what Rinda Kilgore of Lake Oswego wondered when she noticed Jack while conducting a Thursday morning church service at his care center in 1996.

Rinda and a few church friends showed up weekly to give a religious message and sing hymns, to break the tedium for the patients.

"He showed up and was sitting there one morning and asked if I knew the Lord's Prayer and an old-time hymn, 'In The Garden,' " recalls Rinda.

Rinda, who always brought her violin, knew them both.

And there in the midst of his terrible, lonely, horror-filled journey, Jack began to sing. He was 67.

He knew the words. He knew composers and titles. He had a wonderful voice.

Aside from their shared love of music, Rinda was drawn to Jack because of his smile. She still chokes up when talking about it.

"How did he end up this genuine, sweet spirit with all he has been through?" asks this mother of five.

Rinda and her husband, Jim, a plastic surgeon, began taking Jack to church with their kids on Sundays. More of his gentle personality shone through.

"He'd greet people with, 'Hello, brother' when we'd go," she says.

Rinda and Jim took Jack to their home for holidays. Though he loves Christmas, it reminds him of pain and loneliness. No family. No gifts. No love.

At the gatherings, Jack said such touching things, Rinda wrote them down. Once he saw some plants in her living room and asked, "Is it OK if I go sit by those lovely plants? I'm a little short of oxygen."

She took a church youth group to his care center and they took to Jack, learning of his love for root beer and the cigarettes he got to smoke eight times a day. They played checkers and let him win.

There were still heartbreakers. Once he cried returning to the care center after church with the Kilgores -- he didn't want to go back.

And there was the time someone at the care center told him to take his clothes off to get ready for church. When Jack's ride showed up, he sat naked on the bed. An aide had forgotten him.

But the Kilgores didn't forget.

After seven years of visits, family dinners, church and appointments for things like lost dentures, they decided to adopt Jack.

To be precise, they got medical power of attorney for him and can make decisions relevant to his care.

He had been having more problems -- his shoulder ached, his arthritic knees throbbed and he had trouble walking. And one day Rinda asked what would become of Jack when he died. She learned his body would probably become a cadaver. No headstone. No service. No trace.

No way.

So last month, Jack and the Kilgores sat in a lawyer's office for the formalities. Rinda and Jim signed their names -- a luxury once you learn Jack can sign only with an X.

When the attorney asked Jack if he understood what was going on, he nodded and said of Jim: "Yes, and did you know he's a plastic surgeon? I've been wanting him to raise my face."

Afterward, Jack asked Rinda when he could go get his clothes. She explained he'd still live at the care center. His medical problems require full-time care.

But she and Jim have the last word now. There will be no more shuffling of Jack through the system.

The day we visit, Rinda has Jack at an orthopedic appointment. How does it feel to be part of a family? I ask.

Jack laughs. He calls Rinda his kewpie doll.

Maybe Jack is summed up best when, on a different day, he speaks about finally finding a family:

"Everything is falling into place for me -- with goodness and love."

Karen Wallace Sorenson: ksweekly@aol.com

Copyright (c) 2003 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 0306170259

Author: JULIE SULLIVAN - The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: A01

HANDICAPPED

Estimated printed pages: 8

Correction: Published correction ran: Wednesday, July 3, 2002:

* Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. was an associate justice of the U.S. Supreme Court. His title was misstated in a Page One story Sunday on forced sterilizations.

Article Text:

Summary: Advocates push for the state to acknowledge the price paid by victims of eugenics

The first memorial to Americans forcibly sterilized during the last century was erected last month by the state of Virginia. Now a growing number of Oregonians want a sign, too -- an apology from state leaders that Oregon also erred in sterilizing at least 2,648 people.

Nineteen years after the Legislature abolished Oregon's eugenics law, the power and practice of eugenics continues to fascinate historians, shock advocates and grieve those who were ordered sterilized because it was thought they would pass their disabilities, illnesses or criminal behavior on to their children.

From 1917 to 1981 a small state board dominated by physicians ordered removing the testicles, ovaries and otherwise sterilizing Oregonians in state care. Among them were convicted criminals, but far more extensively, people who had mental illness, epilepsy or mental retardation. Until reforms in 1967, sterilization often was used as a condition of release from state institutions or to punish people who acted out.

Others didn't know what was happening to them.

Unable to read or write

The young woman Newman married also was sterilized at the Salem facility. Shirley Newman could not read or write, so staff explained why the procedure was necessary to the frightened young woman and a friend as they were wheeled into surgery.

"They said that we would have kids who were water heads or mongoloids," Shirley Newman said.

"I was 18."

Such was the practical application of eugenics, a popular but flawed "science" founded by Charles Darwin's cousin, Sir Francis Galton. Eugenicists proposed to build a better humankind by preventing the unfit from having children and encouraging the bright and highly moral to reproduce.

Considered the leading edge of modern science, the movement prompted Oregon and 32 other states to pass sterilization laws in the first quarter of the 20th century.

Nazi Germany and its doctors then used the U.S. laws to legally justify Adolf Hitler's 1933 program that would sterilize more than 350,000.

Oregon was not the first state to mandate sterilization: Indiana's 1907 law legalized a decades-old jailhouse practice. Nor did Oregon sterilize the most; California led the nation with more than 20,100.

But Oregon was remarkable in its attempts to punish people having homosexual sex; the harshness with which sterilizations were carried out -- for years the state favored castration over vasectomies -- and the sheer staying power of the practice. The Legislature did not abolish the law until October 1983.

Since Virginia's governor apologized for that state's eugenics laws this spring, Steve Weiss, board president of both the Oregon Advocacy Center and the Mental Health Association of Oregon, has marshaled nine advocacy groups. They plan to ask Gov. John Kitzhaber to become the second governor to atone for the state-ordered procedures.

Advocates hope Kitzhaber will act before he leaves office in December, not only as Oregon's chief executive, but as a physician.

"It was a physician who introduced this law and physicians who carried the law out," Weiss said.

"They went after anyone they considered undesirable."

"Not pygmies"

The father of Oregon's sterilization law, was in fact, a mother, leading Oregon doctor and suffragette who after visiting the state insane asylum in 1883 dedicated her "pen and brain to preventing disease and crime through propagation."

Bethenia Owens-Adair wrote that "sterilization is the simplest, the purest and the greatest remedy that has ever been discovered by man. . . . At no distant day we shall have a federal law. Then we shall begin the propagation of supermen and women, not pygmies."

Such reasoning appealed to Americans made uneasy by record immigration from Southern and Eastern Europe; a growing and volatile working class; and increasing urbanization where poverty, alcoholism and violence seemed insurmountable.

"Owens-Adair saw the 'science of surgery' as a solution to complex social, political and moral problems," writes Mark Largent, a science historian at the University of Puget Sound, in the summer 2002 Oregon Historical Quarterly. The Oregonian, he notes, was the chief champion of her cause.

"We breed criminals in this country and will probably continue to do so until Mrs. Dr. Owens-Adair succeeds in getting her sterilization law on the books" the newspaper stated in 1909.

Nationally, social reformers such as Margaret Sanger, H.G. Wells and Chief Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. shared Owens-Adair's view.

But many Oregonians did not. Two early sterilization bills died or were vetoed amid "coarse laughter and coarser jokes," Owens-Adair wrote later.

Public opinion changed abruptly in November 1912 after a sex scandal rocked Portland. Several upstanding citizens, including an attorney, architect and two physicians, were linked to what appeared to be widespread homosexual activities, according to Peter Boag, professor and author of a history of homosexuality in Portland and the Northwest.

Within three months, Gov. Oswald West signed a law permitting the sterilization of "habitual criminals, moral degenerates and sexual perverts," specifically: "those addicted to the practice of sodomy."

Sterilization issue on ballot

Still, Oregonians resisted. In most states, Roman Catholics led the opposition because they opposed birth control. In Oregon, Lora Little led the fight. A national critic of vaccinations and the medical profession -- her son died from a smallpox vaccine -- Little used Oregon's initiative and referendum system to put sterilization on the ballot.

She argued that the surgeries were dangerous and that the science behind them false. Inferior parents did not always produce inferior children, she said, pointing to Virginia and Australia, where English prisoners initially were shipped and produced accomplished and successful societies.

Oregon voters agreed. Undeterred, legislators advanced yet another law in 1917, creating the State Board of Eugenics. Its members would consider the sterilization of all "feeble-minded" residents of the state hospitals and prisons whose children could be wards of the state or a social menace. Theodore Roosevelt sent the bill's sponsor his personal congratulations.

The Legislature continued to expand the program, despite court challenges. An analysis by two community historians, George Painter and Tom Cook, both of Portland, found that those targeted at first were men considered "sexual or moral degenerates." More than 90 percent of the men were castrated, although vasectomies were routine in other states.

"Oregon was an extreme state. If they were only worried about reproduction they wouldn't have done that," said Painter, an Oregon Historical Society volunteer who has researched sodomy laws in 50 states.

The Oregon State Penitentiary reported sterilizing John H., 17, "for allowing other prisoners to commit sodomy on his person,"

"The operation has had the desired effect," the official wrote. "We have had no further trouble with the boy."

Officials also hoped to stop habitual criminals. In a 1920 sterilization record uncovered by Cook, Fred B., 32, was jailed for sodomy, castrated and paroled two weeks later.

"He is an exceedingly low type of individual . . .. He did not really commit a crime, although we would purchase groceries etc. and never pay for the same. His wife stays by him and is presently trying to secure his release. There is no question that he greatly benefitted by the operation." But the vast majority of those who would be affected were people with mental illness and mental retardation. In 1935 during a budget crisis, legislators scrapped the need for patient consent.

That helped convince Michael Bailey, a parent whose 14-year-old daughter has Down syndrome, to join Steve Weiss this spring in calling for an apology.

Science debunked

By 1945, the "science" of eugenics research had been debunked and the Nazi atrocities revealed. Three years earlier, the U.S. Supreme Court had declared procreation a fundamental human right, and the Washington state Supreme Court, where 685 people had been sterilized, had struck down that state's law as unconstitutional.

"This perpetuated the myths that people with intellectual disabilities are threatening, oversexed, have no judgment, are prone to violence, criminality and immorality," Ferguson said. "Eugenics provided a scientific ground that justified discrimination and worse."

It was not until 1967 that a growing civil rights movement forced the state to reconsider.

"Present day scientific attitudes are imposing a problem," Dr. Charles Campbell of the state Board of Health testified in May 1967 in Salem. "More important is the probability that the constitutional rights of the patients involved are not being completely and adequately safeguarded."

The Board of Eugenics, exclusively staffed by the heads of the institutions, was recast as the Board of Social Protection, and for the first time, it included social workers and advocates. It also extended far more legal protection to those being considered for the procedures.

Parents often requested sterilizations to prevent unwanted pregnancies, and doctors approved them saying that people could function outside institutions as long as they didn't have the added burden of caring for a child.

But Jean Schreiber, a member of the Board of Social Protection, told The Oregonian in 1980 that she was shocked at the number of requests state administrators continued to submit and demand that the board members "rubber-stamp." And when the new board asked people in institutions why they wanted to be sterilized, people almost always responded "because they wanted to go home."

Fewer procedures done

Eventually, as the cases underwent additional scrutiny, fewer sterilizations were proposed or carried out. Under the new law 217 people were sterilized after 1967, mostly people with mental retardation. The last known state-ordered sterilization was in 1978. The board considered no new cases after July 1981.

In 1983, legislators acknowledged that "sterilization procedures are highly intrusive, generally irreversible and represent potentially permanent and highly significant consequences for individuals incapable of giving informed consent." The legislators voted to abolish the board and its authority.

Last year, the Virginia General Assembly became the first body in the nation to apologize formally for such laws. Last month, Gov. Mark R. Warner issued an apology as a highway marker was erected outside Charlottesville.

The sign reads in part: "In 1924, Virginia, like a majority of states then, enacted eugenic sterilization laws . . . Carrie Buck was chosen as the first person to be sterilized under the new law. . . . Later evidence eventually showed that Buck and many others had no 'hereditary defects.' She is buried south of here."

Would an apology matter in Oregon?

"An apology would be good," said Bill West of the ARC of Multnomah County, who has worked with people who were sterilized. "But it won't change history."

He hopes it lends awareness to the ongoing needs of people such as the McNeils and the Newmans.

The McNeils lived for years with little assistance, and Iva McNeil still works full-time at Goodwill Industries in Portland. Ted McNeil retired from his nursing home jobs. And the marriage?

"No trouble forever," he said.

The Newmans, who married in December 1970, distrusted state officials so much that they lived in poverty for decades until persistent social workers convinced them to accept help. Last week, on the porch of their Portland bungalow, the Newmans rocked on a porch swing. They have four cats and a dog named Mitzi. They have each other.

"Other people had beautiful babies," Kenneth Newman said. "We felt like we had been robbed in that particular category. After the surgery was done they said, 'Hey do you know what happened to you?'

"That's not right."

You can reach Julie Sullivan at 22-8068 or by e-mail at juliesullivan@news.oregonian.com.

Researcher Lynn Palombo of The Oregonian contributed to this story.

Caption:

Color Photo by ROSS WILLIAM HAMILTON - of The Oregonian Staff

2 Photos by Ross William Hamilton - The Oregonian

2 family photos

Photo - Adair

Sidebar - History of Oregon Eugenics Law

Copyright (c) 2002 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 020628012

October 22, 1994

Author: STUART TOMLINSON and ASHBEL S. GREEN of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: C01

Dateline: SALEM

ROSEMARY HENNESSY FAIRVIEW TRAINING CENTER ASSAULT

Biography Profile

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Summary: The resignation of Rosemary Hennessy, in charge of the facility for six years, comes after the arrests of 11 workers last month

``The accumulated pressure -- they just take a toll on you,'' said Rosemary Hennessy, who has led the agency for six years.

``I was not pressured to leave,'' she said. ``I appreciate their honoring my request.''

Those arrested in September were charged with everything from first-degree criminal mistreatment and first-degree assault -- both felonies -- to official misconduct. The mistreatment and assault charges carry maximum penalties of five years in jail and a $100,000 fine.

The 413 residents at the state facility have problems ranging from mental retardation to severe epilepsy, cerebral palsy and autism.

``They were willing to come forward, and I am proud of that,'' said Hennessy said. ``It's not an easy thing to do.''

``They had no way to defend themselves or even talk back,'' Stacy said.

Caption:

Photo -- ROSEMARY HENNESSY

Copyright (c) 1994 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9410220504

September 9, 1994

Author: STUART TOMLINSON - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

HANDICAPPED ASSAULT HARASSMENT

Oregon

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Summary: Indictments charge current and former employees with mistreating disabled patients at the Salem center since 1991

The 413 residents at the state facility in Salem for the seriously developmentally disabled have handicaps ranging from mental retardation to severe epilepsy, cerebral palsy and autism.

Ten former or current employees, including three of 13 who had been on administrative leave since April, were booked into the Marion County Correctional Facility. Some were released on bail, while others were being held until their bail was posted, Giusto said.

``We're still looking for one more person charged in the indictments,'' Giusto said. He declined to name that person.

The charges range from first-degree criminal mistreatment and first-degree assault, both felonies, which carry maximum penalties of five years in jail and a $100,000 fine, to harassment, a Class B misdemeanor, which carries a fine of $1,000.

``They were willing to come forward, and I am proud of that,'' said Hennessy, who has been superintendent for more than five years. ``It's not an easy thing to do.''

Those arrested Thursday were:

Lee Roy Cleveland, 37, Salem, first-degree criminal mistreatment; fourth-degree assault; first-degree official misconduct (three counts); and harassment (two counts). James William Johnson, 47, Salem, criminal mistreatment (four counts); first-degree official misconduct (four counts); fourth-degree assault (four counts).

Derrin Kyle White, 26, Salem, first-degree official misconduct (three counts); harassment (three counts). Tracy Ray Wood, 33, Salem, first-degree official misconduct and harassment.

Copyright (c) 1994 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9409090431

April 15, 1994

Author: JOHN SNELL - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: C04

Dateline: SALEM

ASSAULT

Oregon

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

The 13 remained on leave as of Thursday, said Jim Sellers, a spokesman for the Oregon Department of Human Resources.

State police spokesman Lt. Bernie Giusto said the investigation centers on a claim that a staff member struck a client during a day trip with a number of center patients.

``We're trying now to confirm that through anyone who may have witnessed it,'' Giusto said.

State police said earlier that the investigation into the incident was complicated by the difficulty that some patients at the center have in communicating.

``What I heard was basically that there was an incident on the freeway involving a staff person,'' Breithaupt said. ``He had to pull off the road and deal with this person. There was some extreme physical activity.''

Center Superintendent Rosemary C. Hennessey then asked the Oregon State Police to investigate.

Copyright (c) 1994 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9404150442

April 8, 1994

Author: JOHN SNELL of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: D01

Dateline: SALEM

ASSAULT

Oregon

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

The Oregon State Police will work with a mental health therapist to conduct interviews at a state-run center for retarded adults to determine whether patients were physically abused by staff members.

It wasn't immediately clear to police what kind of assault is supposed to have taken place because the patient involved has trouble communicating. Lt. R.C. Ruecker of OSP said the patient was able to arouse concern in members of the center staff.

``It would be fair to characterize their concerns as involving the possibility that contact between the staff and some of the clients could amount to criminally assaultive behavior,'' Ruecker said.

``It presents a challenge that wouldn't be there in a typical environment where the potential victim of a crime is able to communicate fully,'' he said.

Ruecker said the investigation would most likely take ``several weeks.''

Sellers said four of the 13 were notified in personal letters hand-delivered by Hennessey. The other nine received word in letters delivered to their homes by courier.

In each case the leave was effective Tuesday afternoon.

Giusto said that to his knowledge, the initial allegation was made by a single patient. He added that the investigation may expand to include allegations made by others.

The center had a history of problems in the 1980s that resulted in the temporary loss of its Medicare funding. Federal inspectors later said the ccnter had corrected the problems.

In 1991, the federal government unsuccessfully sought to close the center and find its operators in contempt of court. The U.S. Justice Department charged that the institution had violated patients' civil rights by failing to reduce instances of assault, self-abusive behavior and ``pica,'' a condition in which mentally retarded people satisfy a craving to eat such inedible items as cigarette butts, crayons and rocks.

Copyright (c) 1994 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9404080440

Series: John Stacy (2nd of 2 parts)

Author: GORDON OLIVER - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

Dateline: SALEM

Series

Estimated printed pages: 4

Article Text:

Nearly everything he owned had been moved to the Eliot Homes. Even his eyeglasses had been packed away.

Erma Stacy had helped her son with lunch. ``Pick up your spoon,'' she told John whenever the sights and sounds distracted him from his soup or his peaches. ``Wipe your face.''

``You're doing a good job.''

Erma Stacy, her pink skin accented by a sweater of the same color, had nine other children, 23 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren. She knew how to mother.

She had given birth to John on Jan. 2, 1961. It had been a hard labor. ``He wouldn't be born,'' she remembers. ``I just lay there for days in labor.''

Doctors finally removed John by Caesarean section. He was a husky child, but something was wrong. He would turn blue during baths. His breathing seemed different. During surgery to repair a congenital heart defect at the age of 3 months, he became mentally retarded. He developed cerebral palsy.

Now he was leaving. Mother and son held hands and smiled. Erma Stacy helped her son adjust his temperamental radio to Q105, John's favorite station. She snuggled her face against his unshaven skin.

All around, people were preparing for the departure. Some workers stopped briefly, told John that they would miss him and went on with their business. ``The muffin man is leaving,'' one worker joked as he hurried past.

Some hugged him or whispered in his ear. Or they lingered, delaying the good-bye.

``I love this guy,'' Johnson said. ``He's my special guy.''

Stacy loved the people who cared for him. When one longtime employee quit her job, he brooded for weeks. ``When she left, he just cried and cried for her,'' Erma Stacy said. ``It broke his heart.''

Finally, a brown van pulled up outside the door. Things would start happening fast. The ``Star Trek'' poster that had been left off the morning furniture run disappeared into the van. Stacy's new parakeet, named Spock, went into a car that would be part of a the small convoy of state employees to Portland.

Twenty-five people milled in the lobby, a wide spot between hallways leading to bedrooms, lunch rooms and therapy rooms. John pushed the button on his wheelchair, through the doors and down the concrete path to his new life.

The noises swelled in the Benson Cottage lobby as clients and workers returned to their untidy routines. But Erma Stacy kept her gaze to the window as her son moved through the sunlight toward the van. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

John rolled his wheelchair onto the van's elevator. The old buildings, the sweeping lawns, the green hills and the huge water tower formed a backdrop. They were landmarks to a disappearing way of life for John Stacy and hundreds of others who are developmentally delayed. Perhaps never again would society place thousands of disabled people in places like this, where they could be easily forgotten.

At 3:15, the van departed. Stacy stared all around, then slept as the city began to pull him into its grip.

At 4:30, driver Pat Van Huss pulled up to the Eliot Homes parking lot. He opened the wide rear door of the van to the silence of the old Portland neighborhood.

He lowered Stacy onto the pavement.

John Stacy broke into a smile. His head bobbed. He squealed with joy.

The home's employees had been waiting. They had decorated the place with balloons and crepe paper. Welcoming banners hung from the walls.

Stacy tried to grasp the meaning of what he was seeing: the large living room with new stereo and television; the parlor for greeting guests, the wide-open kitchen to accommodate wheelchairs; and the decorations to make the place look like a real home.

He rolled his wheelchair down a wide carpeted hall and into the bedroom with French doors leading to a patio. His chest of drawers and television were in place. The ``Star Trek'' poster leaned against the wall.

He kept his eyes wide and tried to capture everything in his new world. But it was too much. The universe would open up slowly.

Caption:

Color Photo by BENJAMIN BRINK of The Oregonian staff

Photo by BENJAMIN BRINK of The Oregonian staff

Copyright (c) 1992 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9206220139

September 14, 1991

Author: JOHN PAINTER JR. - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: E01

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

But Concannon, who sat through the four-hour contempt hearing, added, ``It's a message to the state to do the work it needs to do.''

Abernethy argued that the government was using the wrong yardstick by focusing solely on injuries to residents. She said injuries often were the result of staff members ``having to make split-second decisions under highly volitile circumstances.''

Marsh seemed to agree. He said the government seemed to place the institution in a ``Catch-22'' position by faulting it for its high injury levels while demanding it reduce the use of restraints and psychotropic medications, in favor of ``more creative methods,'' to control violent residents.

In changing the course of direction of treatment at the facility, Marsh said, some additional injuries might be expected.

Marsh said he found the government's request for a contempt finding was ``inappropriate'' under the circumstances.

and faulted both sides for the huge volume of expert reports and other papers submitted to him.

However, he said part of that was his fault because of his earlier rulings in the case.

Copyright (c) 1991 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9109140514

January 21, 1990

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

Feature FAIRVIEW TRAINING CENTER Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 9

Article Text:

He's 35 years old but until last April, Larry Verboot never rode a bus on his own. He'd never had a paying job or gone downtown with friends.

``There certainly is a crisis in our community,'' said Jan Kral, executive director of Shangri-La Corp. in Salem, one of the largest residential program operators in Marion County. ``It's not that the providers and the counties don't care about people coming out of the institutions. It's just that we aren't able to welcome them because we don't have the resources.''

On Thursday, Kevin Concannon, director of the state Department of Human Resources, will ask the Legislative Emergency Board to approve $1.6 million for wage increases for care workers in the community system. The money would bring the average wage to $6 an hour instead of $5. Concannon calls the wage increase ``an important stopgap measure'' toward stabilizing the work force but says, ``It won't solve the problems of the '90s.''

*Staff turnover as high as 200 percent, with many workers staying no more than three months.

*Lack of a reliable system of tors, dentists and therapists who are willing to care for Medicaid clients with developmental disabilities.

*Group home closures. Six operators of group homes, serving a total of 164 people, have gone out of business in Oregon in the past year and four others, with 75 residents, are on the verge of closing. Statewide, there are 80 operators of residential programs.

As it is, the 1,045 care workers in the community system can barely provide the necessary 24-hour care for the 2,200 residents living in 281 group homes and apartments around the state, say those who operate residential programs. And 460 more workers will be needed by 1992 to meet the new demand, studies predict.

It creates ``quite a wake,'' he said.

``I believe in the community program heart and soul,'' Smith said, ``but I can't in good conscience continue to support the movement without adequate funding.''

High staff turnover creates confusion and stress among residents, who sometimes suffer setbacks in their progress or act abusively to themselves or others, advocates say.

In one group home, run by Portland Alternative Living Inc., a man was so upset when one of his caretakers quit he refused to feed himself. ``He really liked this person and when they left . . . he just stopped feeding himself,'' said Jerri Rudacil, director of the program.

In another home, a man who couldn't talk had learned to communicate his basic needs with hand signs. When his caretaker quit, he stopped communicating.

Vi Evanson of Portland said her daughter, Shirley, lives in a group home where there is ``constant turnover.'' Paralyzed and confined to a wheelchair, but mentally alert, Shirley is dependent on her caretakers to lift her into bed or in the bathroom.

``Every time someone new comes along, she worries about them dropping her,'' Shirley's mother said. ``She wonders whether they've had experience or whether they know what they're doing.''

Workers in the community system start as low as $3.85 an hour and yet are expected to care for some people who need to be fed, clothed, taken to the bathroom, given medications and who sometimes are abusive. Many are prone to seizures.

``In the animal shelter they get $7 an hour, so you draw your own conclusion,'' said Hilda Moravick, director of Lincoln County Human Services Division.

While no statewide system exists for tabulating medical or behavioral incidents involving residents, officials say there are too many. ``We don't need critical incident reports to know there's a problem,'' said James D. Toews, the state's assistant administrator of programs for the developmentally disabled.

``If they'd known how to feed him,'' Matthias said, ``his death could have been prevented.''

The Kerr home staff was not directly blamed for Bashaw's death but Mike Maley, administrator of Developmental Disabilities Services for the Kerr Centers, acknowledged that the death was an example of ``what can happen if the job isn't done totally right.''

The group home was operating under ``hastened'' timelines, Maley said. ``The timelines were a factor but to say they were a cause, that's not fair.''

Toews said blaming Bashaw's death on failures in the community was ``simplistic.'' Bashaw had numerous complicating conditions, investigators concluded. But his death prompted changes.

Residents aren't the only ones who suffer from the labor crisis. The work is physically and financially taxing. Inexperienced workers often hurt their backs lifting residents, contributing to a high rate of workers' compensation claims. And as most new workers bail out for better-paying jobs, the system relies on people such as Triplett, who value social service above money.

After 12 years in the field, Triplett makes $6 an hour. And he has no retirement benefits.

``I love what I do. I want to help the clients become all that they can be. That's why I'm here and why most of us are here,'' said Triplett, 37. ``But how long can society count on us to do that?''

Residential operators who have had programs in place for a number of years must cope with rising costs while receiving no rate increases for client care. Toews said he was putting together a plan to restructure rates but it won't be ready for 18 months.

In the midst of the wage crisis, Saif Corp., the state-owned workers' compensation insurance company, canceled residential operators from its coverage and threw them into a high-risk fund, increasing their premium costs an average of 45 percent.

Janna Starr, executive director of the Association for Retarded Citizens, thinks Concannon's wage proposal is not enough. So her group will suggest a $5.4 million wage and benefit package instead, which would bring the average wage to $7 an hour.

``They've been putting Band-Aid on top of Band-Aid and they just can't keep doing it,'' Starr said. ``I really think the day of reckoning is here.''

While wages are central in community care debates, there's a more philosophical question in some people's minds: Should people with disabilities, such as Verboot and Bashaw, live in the community? Advocates say they should.

``People's lives are better in the community, there's just no way around it. Even with the instability, people are living more fulfilled lives, they're doing more worthwhile things with their time, they are participating in the community despite their disabilities.''

It's an expensive right to support.

``We're trying to get the state to slow down a little bit and take a look at some of the problems that have developed,'' said Ed Knudson, co-chairman of the group.

But with the threat of federal sanctions -- and an ``unwavering'' commitment to community care -- Concannon said the state can't afford to slow down.

``Sure, we may run into some stormy weather, but we can still get to our destination.

Caption:

Photos by MICHAEL LLOYD of The Oregonian staff

Copyright (c) 1990 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9001202436

March 11, 1989

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: A01

Estimated printed pages: 4

Correction: PUBLISHED CORRECTION RAN SUNDAY, MARCH 12, 1989 FOLLOWS.

SUIT-SETTLING ORDER HIT

Article Text:

Summary: The Association for Retarded Citizens of Oregon cites ``appalling'' conditions at the institution

The association was an intervenor in a lawsuit filed against the state by the Department of Justice in July 1986.

The association's objection to the decree that settled that lawsuit was filed late Thursday afternoon. But at a hearing Friday morning, U.S. District Judge Malcolm Marsh sealed court documents pertaining to the case, prohibiting them from being released publicly.

Marsh sealed the documents at the state's request because residents involved in the incidents described could be identified even though their names were removed, said Pamela Abernethy, special counsel to the attorney general.

A hearing on the objection is scheduled April 6 in Marsh's courtroom.

Several pages in the 54-page court brief submitted by the association contain observations of unsupervised patients injuring themselves numerous times and improperly trained staff workers trying to cope with too many patients at once.

The reports did not give precise numbers of injuries or describe the seriousness of the injuries, but they indicate that harmful incidents occurred often. The observations made by the experts included:

*Many residents with several unexplained fractures, face lacerations, bruises, swelling, bites and burns.

*Residents who maimed, cut, choked, kicked, punched, bit and hit other residents and slammed them head first into concrete floors and walls.

*Unsupervised residents crawling on the floor naked or masturbating in the presence of other patients; other residents with clothes wet from urine or drool; residents ``fenced in a corrallike area.''

*Inadequate numbers of staff members in the cottages required workers to supervise several residents at once. One observer said groups of six to 15 residents in one building were not supervised.

*Residents with nothing to do. Residents were engaged in appropriate social actions 16 percent of the time, appropriate non-social activities 13 percent, inappropriate behavior 3 percent and no activity 68 percent of the time, according to Dr. Wayne Sailor, a professor at San Francisco State University, who observed the residents on behalf of the association.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8903110462

February 7, 1989

Author: VINCE KOHLER - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: South Zoner

Page: B04

Dateline: OREGON CITY

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

But while the Board of Commissioners endorses the program, the commissioners' unease with it is growing -- and will be a topic of discussion in the State Capitol this week.

Included in the total is $2.9 million that the county will spend during the 1988-89 fiscal year on programs for the developmentally disabled.

The commissioners fear that Clackamas County eventually could find itself responsible for specialized medical services that it has neither the money nor the skilled staff to provide.

How to shore up the program and make it successful will be among topics of discussion on Tuesday, when the commissioners lunch with the county's legislative delegation in the State Capitol in Salem.

``We've already gotten out most of the people who can live in group homes,'' said Commissioner Ed Lindquist. ``A lot of these new people need special care.''

The county Mental Health Division contracts with social services companies to staff the group homes. But low wages and the demands of such jobs often attract inexperienced workers and result in high turnover, Lindquist said.

Three hundred patients will be moved to group homes in communities statewide by the end of the year, and perhaps 200 more will move during the 1989-91 biennium.

The process is known as ``downsizing'' in social services jargon.

Ten retarded patients from the Kerr Center on the campus of Marylhurst College also will move into the county group homes.

Kerr Center phased out its patient residential program last November. Twenty other Kerr Center patients moved to group homes in Washington and Multnomah counties, King said.

Two of the homes are in the Oregon City area and three are in the Milwaukie area. Two others have yet to open. Three to five more group homes may open during the next biennium, according to King.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8902070425

December 16, 1988

Author: BARNES C. ELLIS - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: E04

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

In a letter signed by Oregon's two senators and five U.S. representatives, the delegation asked William Roper, administrator of the federal Health Care Financing Administration, to support a ``comprehensive agreement'' with the center that would end pending litigation with the administration and the U.S. Department of Justice.

Officials of the 80-year-old Salem institution for the mentally and developmentally disabled said the letter could prove ``extremely helpful'' to negotiations to end controversy at the institution.

``We've been at such an impasse on this thing,'' said James Toews, assistant administrator for developmental disabilities for the state Mental Health Division. ``We've clearly asked for a consolidated joint plan that would put all this to rest.''

The 1,000-bed center has been embroiled in controversy since 1983, when the U.S. Department of Justice launched an investigation into allegations of civil rights violations of residents in the center.

But the letter said visits from federal investigators and ``a stream of experts'' had made reforms difficult.

The investigation has ``kept critical professional staff away from their jobs in hundreds of hours of depositions, interviews and visits,'' the letter said. ``While it is important that these visits take place, the facility's ability to make programmatic improvements has been hampered.''

In October, problems with treatment programs for residents led the Health Care Financing Administration to threaten another $3.7 million-a-month cut in Medicaid funding. The cut was staved off by an appeal from the state Mental Health Division, but the lawmakers asked that the funding be ensured as long as the center demonstrates ``measurable progress'' in all areas agreed on by officials.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8812160662

November 27, 1988

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: C02

Estimated printed pages: 6

Article Text:

From the eighth floor of Aetna Plaza, headquarters of Region 10 of the Health Care Financing Administration, Thomas G. Wallner has an expansive view of downtown Seattle.

But Wallner, associate regional administrator of the division of health standards and quality for the Health Care Financing Administration, is more concerned about the view on his desk. The Health Care Financing Administration is responsible for monitoring the flow of federal Medicare and Medicaid fun4 health-care providers, including hg homes and state medical institutions. Wallner decides whether the providers in Region 10 -- Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Alaska -- meet federal health standards.

From where he sits, those reports on his desk tell Wallner that Oregon's institutions for the mentally ill and mentally retarded are in poor shape.

As a result of the reports, Health Care Financing Administration surveyors have been bearing down hard on Oregon, which receives more than $47 million a year for state institutions for the mentally ill or retarded.

After observing patients in Dammasch State Hospital and the Oregon State Hospital two years ago, the federal agency cut off Medicaid until state officials started following federal standards for staffing, direct care and continuing treatment. So far, $3.5 million has been withdrawn and the state continues to forgo $150,000 monthly because it has not applied for re-inspection that could lead to certification and the federal dollars that accompany the designation.

``They have some deep-seated, longstanding problems, and perhaps it isn't within their ability to turn it around quickly,'' he added.

Eventually, Medicaid funding was restored when the state submitted an action plan to the agency. A request to be reimbursed for the lost funds is pending before an appeals panel in the federal Department of Health and Human Services, the department that oversees the Health Care Financing Administration.

Rothwell, 44, a Spokane native, was a physical therapist in private practice before beginning work enforcing federal standards for long-term care for the Department of Health, Education and Welfare 13 years ago. Like Wallner, Rothwell, who has a master's degree in public health, also joined the health care agency when it was established 10 years ago.

``We're on the side of the patient served by Medicare and Medicaid,'' he said.

Although the surveyors are not asked to analyze why the problems occur, Wallner has his own ideas. ``As a general statement, when you have problems, you need to look at management and resources. I believe that's where the problems lie,'' he said.

``We're fighting a perception that we've had a decade of inaction,'' said Concannon, who admits that that might have been the case several years ago.

``We've said, `Look at what we've done particularly in the last year and a half. Don't visit the sins of our fathers on us of six years ago,' '' he said.

``We keep pointing out to them that you can't be sending letters in 1986 saying, `You're doing a fine job, and our examination of patients as well as records supports that,' and then say 15 months later that this is the worst facility in the U.S.A.''

They became especially concerned about requests from the center's doctors for approval to administer medicine to modify residents' behavior. Of the eight requests the committee received each month, it turned down about one-third, Piper said.

For example, ``it was very obvious that residents were suffering from medical side-effects,'' caused by too much medication, said Joyce St. Arnaud, a family practice nurse who served a year on one committee.

er problems were among those listed by agency surveyors on their report after their August tour. They included:

*An elderly resident who was injured in 16 of 31 falls between February and July.

*A resident kicked by an employee who was hired to provide direct care.

*A resident who sustained five injuries over a period of several months when employees failed to give him a helmet and corrective shoes. The injuries included a sprained ankle, lacerations and a concussion requiring hospitalization.

*A resident was injured at least 11 times from March through August; often the injuries were the result of ``aggressive behavior'' from other residents.

*Residents frequently were not supervised by employees or employees had too many residents to supervise at once.

The surveyors were alarmed by incidents they observed, Rothwell said. ``We saw pervasive -- pervasive -- immediate and serious threats to the clients,'' Rothwell said.

``It's not our intent or desire in any way to cut off the money,'' Wallner said. ``We're just saying to the state that the law requires you to provide a certain level of care, and if you don't provide that level of care, it's illegal for this money to be paid to you. So we view it as a positive thing.''

The latest battle -- over ``active treatment'' -- is becoming a battle of semantics. The federal officials say residents aren't actually getting the treatment prescribed in the institution's individual treatment plans.

When the surveyors go to institutions plagued with problems, the experience is ``emotionally draining,'' he added.

``They work long hours, and they see things that concern them greatly, and they come away oftentimes just exhausted,'' Wallner said. ``It's a tough job; it's confrontive all day long. It's a difficult thing to do.''

But turnover in the job is low, he added, because the surveyors are motivated.

``They feel they are doing very good things for the public, even though some people in Oregon don't see it that way. We see some very positive changes that result from these activities,'' Wallner said.

Caption:

2 Photos -- ROTHWELL -- THOMAS G. WALLNER.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8811260532

September 3, 1988

Author: SARAH B. AMES - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

Report

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Summary: A federal report threatens the second cutoff in 1 1/2 years unless the agency can show that it's really safe for its retarded residents

Kevin Concannon, director of the Oregon Human Resources Department, said Friday he had received the ``disturbing news'' in a letter from the federal Health Care Financing Administration. It would be the second time in less than 1 1/2 years that federal officials have taken the step because of conditions at the Salem institution.

Concannon said the state would respond to the criticism by midday Thursday in an effort to keep the money flowing.

A federal team finished its three-week survey Aug. 27. The report itself was not made public, and a woman who answered the telephone Friday at the Health Care Financing Administration's regional office in Seattle said everybody who knew the details of the report was out of the office for the weekend.

``When we try to pin them down on how many they want, they say, `Ours is not to tell you,' '' Concannon said.

Concannon denied that the institution was unsafe and said several of the incidents cited in the report were not surprising, given the severely retarded residents.

Although the federal agency can decertify the entire institution on the basis of its findings, Concannon said the state might cut its losses by volunteering to forgo funding for the six worst cottages while money for the rest of the program continued.

That is not an attractive alternative, he said, since the state would still lose more than $36,000 a day, or more than $1.1 million a month.

The state may immediately transfer 25 to 50 residents to community homes for the mentally retarded to respond partially to complaints about understaffing, Concannon said.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8809030671

August 22, 1988

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: A01

Feature

Estimated printed pages: 7

Article Text:

But those involved in the process warn that in its eagerness to reduce the population, the state must be careful not to create a network of ``little Fairviews'' in the residential programs that have cropped up to meet the growing demand.

``I think there's real potential for it,'' said Jono Hildner, administrator of Clackamas County Human Services. ``But I don't think it's happening yet.''

Part of the problem is that the community-care system ``is in flux; it's growing by leaps and bounds,'' said Gary Smith, director of the social services division of the Multnomah County Department of Human Services.

While the state sets the rules for quality of care, monitoring residential programs is the job of each county. In Multnomah County, the lack of a centralized recording system for complaints has made it nearly impossible to keep track of the total number and nature of complaints nd nature of complaints against a specific provider.

The problem is compounded by the lack of caseworkers to monitor group home conditions adequately and by the fact that the state requires formal inspection of the homes only once every two years. In some other states, such as Arizona, inspections are required every six months.

Complaints are filed under the name of individual residents; consequently, until the county searched files for each of the 40 residents in the Tungland homes, officials had no way of realizing that a pattern might be developing.

The results surprised officials because, in spite of the allegations, Tungland is considered a top-notch provider, Smith said.

``Tungland is considered the best in the field; that's everyone's opinion,'' Smith said. ``But if they're the best and there's problems, what does that say about the business?

``We'll be the first to say we don't have all the answers.''

County officials estimate the number of complaints against Tungland is higher than that for any other provider in the county. However, a fair comparison is difficult to make, said Charlotte Duncan, manager of the county's developmental disabilities program.

Tungland operates the most homes in the county -- the next largest provider operates five -- and Tungland handles the most difficult clients -- those who are profoundly mentally retarded or who have multiple disabilities or who also exhibit challenging behavioral problems, she said.

``It's a little like comparing apples and oranges,'' Duncan said.

Robert Tungland, owner of Tungland Northwest, said some problems might have occurred at some homes, but he denied his clients had been neglected. Changes are under way, he said.

``I'm always concerned when a program isn't the model we want it to be, whether it's by an inch or a mile,'' said Tungland, who has 15 years experience working with the developmentally disabled.

Smith said officials were satisfied that Tungland was complying with orders to correct problems.

Meanwhile, the county is taking steps to correct its own problems in monitoring homes and record-keeping.

More monitoring

Beginning in late June, Smith started requiring that critical-incident reports on a broad range of complaints be submitted to him for eventual inclusion in a central, computerized system, which will allow for easy tracking of a provider's record. Smith said he hoped the computer system would be on line within three months.

A total of 2.5 positions will be added to handle the stepped-up monitoring, Smith said.

Also, the addition of 17 caseworkers between September and November will reduce the county's caseload ratio from 140 clients to 65 clients per caseworker, which is expected to improve greatly the caseworkers' ability to monitor homes.

Physical restraint is a procedure in which physical contact is used to restrict an individual's movement when that person is in danger of self-injury or hurting someone else.

The use of physical restraints is forbidden in Marion County, said Eleanor Miller, head of that county's developmental disabilities program. Marion County, which has 322 clients in 19 group homes and small institutions, has the st population of developmentally disabled people.

Smith also is exploring the creation of a reserve pool of trained, prospective direct-care workers who could step in to fill unexpected vacancies in the homes. High turnover plagues the direct-care field.

Meanwhile, the state Mental Health Division, which is responsible for doing criminal-record checks on direct-care applicants, has agreed to expedite the process so that checks can be done in one day instead of the usual four or five. Until a year or so ago, applicants were not checked for criminal records.

Infrequent reviews

Group homes in Oregon undergo a licensing review every two years. In other states, reviews are more frequent. For example, homes in Arizona are reviewed annually for licensing and interim reviews are required every six months, in addition to routine reviews by client-case managers, said David Lara, manager of licensing and quality assurance for the Division of Developmental Disabilities in Arizona. In Multnomah County, there are no routine interim reviews, although case managers do visit the homes of their clients about once a month or less.

To augment the review process, a statewide plan is in the works to create a parent/advocate monitoring group that will go into group homes at least quarterly and review ``quality-of-life'' factors, such as the atmosphere in a home, relationships among residents and the interactions among residents and staff.

Furthermore, a data bank on all residential and vocational programs in the state for the developmentally disabled also is planned, in part to allow the state to compare one provider's programs with another's.

``We were stretched too thin and too many issues were happening and there weren't enough people to monitor what was going on,'' said James D. Toewes, the state Mental Health Division's assistant administrator of programs for the developmentally disabled.

``The problem is,'' Smith said, ``if at this stage, you say timeout, stop the world, we're not going to do any more development until everything's right, you never will do it.''

There simply are not enough homes to go around.

``There's not a lot of people clamoring to get into this business,'' Smith said. ``It's a sellers' market because there's just not enough providers out there.''

To Toewes, the situation begs the question: ``Will we in our haste pick providers who are below our standards?''

Conflicting pressures

The Legislature requires direct-care staff to be paid an average of $5 an hour. More than that is needed, Smith and others say, because improvement in staff quality and longevity is directly linked to wages. Providers, such as Tungland, say they can't pay more unless the increase is subsidized by the state. That is not likely, at least in the immediate future.

``The fiscal burden on the state would just be incredible,'' Toewes said.

``The service system in this state has been severely tested in recent years,'' he said. ``I think we're putting together the process that will result in quality programs but it's not without its concerns.''

Those concerns provide useful lessons, said Elam Lantz, director of the Oregon Developmental Disabilities Advocacy Center, a federally funded agency that looks out for the rights of mentally retarded and other developmentally disabled people.

Caption:

4 Photos.

GARY SMITH - Explains system is growing

CHARLOTTE DUNCAN - Says Tungland is unique

JAMES TOEWES - Says system is stretched too thin

ELAM LANTZ - Advises learning from mistakes

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8808220336

August 10, 1989

Author: ANN SULLIVAN - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Portland Zoner

Page: 01

Biography Profile

Estimated printed pages: 5

Article Text:

Summary: A disabled Portlander celebrates the new technology and attitudes that make renting his own apartment a reality

He has his own after a lifetime of dependency on other people, dependency on a series of institutions and agencies, including 34 years alone in Fairview Training Center.

He truly was ``put away'' there at the age of 5, a bewildered and terrified little boy who could not walk, could not feed himself and could not talk, a difficult and impossible burden to a poor family with several younger siblings.

He was a sad little boy who suddenly, along with an infant sister on the other arm, no longer was carried around by a cheerful father to ``see'' things. That is one of his happy memories.

He has new friends and he lives alone with help from trained assistants a few hours a day.

Most important, he is his own boss.

That financial plight was eased with temporary help from the state and Multnomah County, said Bud Thoune, executive director of the association. But in any event the organization had been moving into a new phase of care with an effort to place the severely disabled residents in their own living quarters.

``We wanted more options for their lives,'' Thoune said.

The Portland-based United Fund member agency covers Multnomah, Clackamas, Washington and Columbia counties in Oregon and Clark County in Washington. It has a central service center and sees about 150 different clients a year. Its offers many different services, including a sheltered workshop.

The association works with many people who have minds encased in bodies that don't work, Thoune said.

``People are beginning to realize the traditional system of community residential services wasn't really working in the best interests of the people,'' said Allan Bergman, deputy director of United Cerebral Palsy Associations Inc. in Washington, D.C.

Bergman, who will be in Portland August 16 and 17, said technology and laws mandating education for all children have stimulated the new approach.

``The voice synthesizer and the electric wheelchair have become critical,'' he said. ``At last, it gives them the same access as you and I. A little bit of high technology gadgetry has become a major issue today for people with substantial physical difficulties and former unintelligible speech.''

Neither the technology, nor the hours needed for patient assistance are cheap.

He travels to work and throughout the city on the bus, exploring his new world. He loves going out in rain by himself.

He has collected friends rapidly at work, on the bus, in his apartment house, and, between bus transfers, among the workers constructing the new Pioneer Place building downtown. He also meets people at professional wrestling matches, which he adores.

Throughout his own agonized effort to speak, which has improved slowly, his brown eyes are bright and direct. He misses nothing that goes on around him, and his gaze appears amused and disarming because he is so eager.

The observer realizes that he is a bright man imprisoned behind a physical handicap.

His life after Fairview included a care center, a training center near Florence, and a foster home in Eugene, where he attended night classes in psychology and English at Lane Community College.

His current personal assistant is Nick Cramer, a young man who arrives daily at 5:30 a.m. to help him with breakfast, dressing and picking up, and then again at 5 p.m. for the dinner hour.

It isn't long; its sentences are short, and he had help. But throughout the autobiography is the poignant revelation of how a little boy who was put into an institution felt; how much he understood; how he helped other younger and more handicapped children and played with them; and how he sometimes teased nurses.

The memoir reveals his sense of humor, and his belief that he knew what other, more handicapped children wanted to say by simply looking into their eyes.

He recounts his appreciation of kindnesses shown him; his ill-concealed sorrow that he was largely abandoned by his family; his pain that his family neglected to tell him about their various moves.

He writes of a sister who won a pie-baking contest and promised him a piece that never was delivered.

He remembers the Christmas he didn't get any presents and other children did; and a sister who promised to take him home for a visit but didn't when her husband apparently objected.

He expressed extreme hurt that his mother, a teacher, hired a lawyer to put him in Fairview, although his father, a carpenter, did not agree. He does admit that he must have been a terrible burden to a woman with three younger children.

He complains bitterly that the occasional visits from parents and sisters dropped off completely, and he lost track of where anyone was living. His parents divorced and his father remarried.

Caption:

Color Photo By STEVE NEHL of The Oregonian staff.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing C

August 10, 1989

Author: ANN SULLIVAN - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Coast Zoner

Page: C02

Biography Profile

Estimated printed pages: 4

Article Text:

Summary: After years in institutions chance to be own boss major gain for man, 54

He has his own ``place'' after a lifetime of dependency on other people, of institutions and agencies, including 34 years alone in Fairview Training Center.

He was ``put away'' at Fairview at 5, a bewildered boy who could not walk, feed himself or talk, a difficult and impossible burden to a poor family with several younger children.

He has new friends and he lives alone with help from trained assistants a few hours a day.

Most important, he is his own boss.

That financial plight was eased with temporary help from the state and Multnomah County, said Bud Thoune, executive director of the association.

``We wanted more options for their lives,'' Thoune said.

The Portland-based United Fund member agency covers Multnomah, Clackamas, Washington and Columbia counties in Oregon and Clark County in Washington. It has a central service center and sees about 150 different clients a year with different services, including a sheltered workshop.

``We've got a number (of minds) encased in bodies that don't work,'' Thoune said.

``People are beginning to realize the traditional system of community residential services wasn't really working in the best interests of the people,'' said Allan Bergman, deputy director of United Cerebral Palsy Associations Inc. in Washington, D.C.

Bergman, who will be in Portland Aug. 16-17, said that technology and laws mandating education for all children have stimulated the new approach.

``The voice synthesizer and the electric wheelchair have become critical,'' he said. ``At last, it gives them the same access as you and I. A little bit of high technology gadgetry has become a major issue today for people with substantial physical difficulties and former unintelligible speech.''

The technology isn't cheap, nor is the manpower that is needed for patient assistance.

He travels to work and throughout the city on the bus as he explores his new world, where most people are not handicapped. He loves going out in rain by himself.

He collects friends rapidly at work, on the bus, in his apartment house, and, between bus transfers, even among the workmen on the new Pioneer Place building project downtown. He also meets people at professional wrestling matches, which he adores.

His life after Fairview included a care center and later a training center near Florence, and a foster home in Eugene, where he attended night classes in psychology and English at Lane Community College.

His current personal assistant is Nick Cramer, a young man who arrives daily at 5:30 a.m. to help him with breakfast, dressing and picking up, and then again at 5 p.m. for the dinner hour.

It isn't very long, and its sentences are short, and he had help. But throughout is the poignant revelation of the feelings of a little boy who was put into an institution: how much he understood; how he helped other younger and more handicapped children and played with them; how he sometimes teased nurses.

He recounts his appreciation of kindnesses shown him; of his ill-concealed sorrow that he was largely abandoned by his family; of his pain that his family neglected to tell him about their various moves.

He writes of a sister who won a pie-baking contest and promised him a piece that never was delivered.

He remembers the Christmas that he didn't get any presents and other children did, and a promise by one sister who was going to take him home for a visit but didn't when her husband apparently objected.

In an interview, he expressed extreme hurt that his mother, a teacher, hired a lawyer to put him in Fairview, although his father, a carpenter, did not agree. He does admit that he must have been a terrible burden to a woman with three younger children.

He complains bitterly that the occasional visits from parents and sisters dropped off completely, and he lost track of where anyone was living. His parents divorced and the father remarried.

Caption:

Photo by STEVE NEHL - of The Oregonian staff.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8908100240

April 14, 2002

Series: Out of the Shadows (2nd part of an occasional series

Author: DON COLBURN - The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: A01

Series

Estimated printed pages: 9

Article Text:

"Yeah! Yeah!" he bellows from the back of the room when anyone says something he likes.

"Spkup! Spkup! I deaf!"

He's 56. Balding beneath his Portland Speedway cap, with short gray hair on the sides. Glasses.

"Stop!" he says suddenly. He's up out of his seat, on his clumsy feet, waving his good hand. The words come out blurred.

Linn does her best to translate. "Why am I afraid?" she guesses.

"No!" He's ranting.

"Sorry" he says. "Over-passionate."

"How feel?" he repeats. A murmur ripples through the room, as onlookers realize this unpolished outsider has the county's top official on the spot.

"What gonna do?" He tries once more, then shrugs.

"Thank you so much for your statement," Linn says.

He was born outdoors in the middle of a February night, a month-and-a-half premature.

His parents lived at North Portland's Columbia Villa housing complex. His father was sick in bed with pneumonia, and his mother went outside to get coal for the furnace. As she lugged the bucket back, she recalled, she felt sharp pain and fell to the ground.

The doctors diagnosed cerebral palsy, a form of brain damage that occurs during or near birth. Today he would be called a child with special needs. During the late 1940s and 1950s, he was labeled a feeble-minded cripple.

"His great asset is his friendliness and pleasant disposition and his indomitable spirit, prompting him to work and try hard in face of odds that would discourage many a brave soul," a psychological evaluation found. But it also doubted he could ever live independently.

He was 27.

He lives with his calico cat, Ollie, in a one-bedroom Southeast Portland duplex. There's a Douglas fir in the front yard, a wooden ramp up to his porch and a computer printout of the American flag taped to the door.

"He's got the words right there in his brain," Koeckkoeck says. "He just has trouble coordinating his voice box and his mouth to make them come out."

He speaks in idioms, delivered dead-on with keen facial expressions and left-hand gestures: "Off my back." "Big deal." "From Day 1." "Heart on my sleeve." "Catch-22." "Old dog new tricks." "You, me, lamppost." "Hit nail head." "Bark wrong tree." "Dream on."

And his favorite: "Walk my shoes."

"Strap down your right wrist so you can't move your hand," Willman says. "Put on knee braces so your legs barely work. Put marbles in your mouth, so your tongue can't form words. Then take the Hawthorne bus downtown and try to get through the day."

Ask county Chairwoman Linn. Ask any council member. Ask Human Services Director John Ball. Ask their staffs.

Which is the point.

And he attends more meetings than the committee members themselves.

The man who has agreed to show him around is Jon Cooper, Fairview's last superintendent.

"Ank woo," he says, giving Cooper the thumbs-up.

"Know why? Now, gonna tell my friends. No bull."

He wheels past the original Hospital for the Feeble-Minded, the nursery school, the laundry and the rows of dormitory "cottages," many named after U.S. secretaries of state.

"Why you work here?" he asks Cooper. "Nice guy. Kind. Why?"

"Hit me," he says. "Not eat food -- hit me." He was spanked many times as a grown man. Once, he says, somebody rubbed salt in his eyes.

Willman asks him to calm down, and he apologizes. "Sorry. Over-passionate. Shock me."

"Beds in here!" He points to an empty room with chicken wire in the windows. "Like prison."

He's had enough. He works his way back down the unlit stairs, then rests and collects himself near the drug-free workplace sign.

"My heart," he says, tapping his chest. "Know why? Feel like in jail."

"Not talking hat," he adds bizarrely. It's another of his idioms -- three words to stand for "Now my friends won't think I'm talking through my hat when I tell them about my experience at Fairview."

"One night!" he says. "Serious! Know why? See how feels!

"Walk my shoes."

You can reach Don Colburn at 503-294-5124 or by e-mail at doncolburn@news.oregonian.com.

Ross William Hamilton can be reached at 503-294-5164 or by e-mail at rosshamilton@news.oregonian.com

This story is part of an occasional series of articles about people in the mental health system. Previously published stories can be viewed at www.oregonlive.com/special/shadows

Caption:

4 Photo by Ross William Hamilton - The Oregonian < Photo - by

Fredrick D. Joe/The Oregonian

Sidebar - Century at Fairview reflects changing care of the disabled

Copyright (c) 2002 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 0204150147

†

November 16, 2003

Author: ROBERT LANDAUER - The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: EDITORIAL

Page: F04

Editorial Column

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Sixty-one years ago this Tuesday, Oregonians learned just how expensive "fat" can be when carelessly carved from state basic services.

It is Nov. 18, 1942. George A. Nosen, haunted by the delusions of paranoid schizophrenia, works as a cook's helper at the Oregon State Hospital. Sent to a storeroom to collect ingredients for scrambled eggs, Nosen mistakes white, crystalline cockroach poison for powdered milk. A cook dumps 5 to 6 pounds of the roach powder into the preparation. More than 400 patients and employees become ill soon after eating the dish. Forty-seven hospital residents die -- the worst institutional tragedy in Oregon history.

There are two major reasons to recall the 1942 horror. One is the matter of perspective. Absorbed by today's issues, we lose sight of how far Oregon's mental health care system has progressed since that mass poisoning.

The other, more pressing point is that dismissing the tragedy as "just an accident" is too glib. "It was such an accident as was bound to happen, sooner or later -- and it may happen again -- at one of several Oregon state institutions which, over a period of many years, have received dimes when they needed dollars." J. Richard Nokes, who went on to become The Oregonian's editor, made that point in his "Skeletons in Our Closet" expose in 1942. Nokes detailed a history of funding delays for state hospitals and prisons until violence or fatal accidents forced politicians to refocus their gaze.

The chronicle, an adult lifetime ago, could be transported to today's newspaper with only modest editing. Facilities were overcrowded and systems overstrained then. The state hospital, 28 percent over the capacity assigned by the U.S. Public Health Service, had too few staff members for the tasks of their 60-hour workweek -- which recently had been cut from 72 hours. Work quality was deteriorating. There was high turnover and difficulty in replacing staff and in conducting follow-up programs on patients leaving for home. Governors and legislators were ignoring the problems in favor of more visible, popular and influential clients and causes.

We've come a long way since then, but not remotely as far as we tell ourselves. We no longer have 2,700 mentally ill patients locked into state institutions, as we did in 1942. We have released most of them, along with severely developmentally disabled Oregonians, to seek community-based care. Conceptually, the idea and the practice can be humane, progressive and fruitful. Sadly, many are "forgotten travelers, with tickets to nowhere" -- a phrase perhaps more accurate now than when Victor H. Jorgensen of The Oregonian used it to describe institutionalized patients in 1940.

The money -- never enough -- sometimes follows them, sometimes not. Many patients (and former prisoners) get lost along the way. Those with health, mental health and alcohol or drug treatment problems may find these separate bureaucracies too befuddling to negotiate -- like trying to correct mischarges on a long-distance telephone bill when different providers have made mistakes.

Case managers, endlessly responding to crises, spend little time with clients to keep them stable. Few have time to listen for hints of frustration and inability to cope, no time to look for symptoms of emotional fraying -- an apartment in disarray, bills unpaid, appointments not kept or someone burrowing into unhealthful seclusion.

There is a line one hears again and again now in human services and state health plans, in corrections and education: "We deal with emergencies, but we don't have time for treatment to prevent emergencies."

More fiscal surgery -- such as the $800 million at risk from the proposed income-tax referendum on Oregon's budget -- and we'll be slicing into vital organs we can identify and feel, not huge, anonymous and fictitious repositories of fat.

Robert Landauer: 503-221-8157 or robertlandauer@news.oregonian.com

Copyright (c) 2003 Oregonian Publishing Co.

February 14, 2003

Author: SPENCER HEINZ - The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: D01

HANDICAPPED MELVIN BUSH

Local Biography Profile

Estimated printed pages: 4

Article Text:

Summary: Filling a need, barista Melvin Bush delivers to downtown Portland

He sells coffee.

A lot of people sell coffee.

About every corner has coffee.

Then again, has anyone thought of selling coffee between the corners?

Melvin Bush has.

He has because he wanted a job.

He works out of a wheelchair that he maneuvers with a joystick. It shifts into high with a silver toggle switch.

His chair is rigged with a wooden box for two pots of coffee, plus cups up front and a fastened-down clock. It times his daily circuit that others mark their mornings by.

As downtown Portland's only traveling barista, at least as far as he can see, he delivers to the interiors of blocks where coffee otherwise is not.

He sells at his regular stops and to passers-by along the way. He has the job because his skills range, his employer says, from total dependability and a brilliant mind to a knack and drive for selling.

Born with cerebral palsy, Bush cannot walk. He has limited use of his hands. He is not able to enunciate the full range of words. He fills the space with all intonations of "yes" and "no" and "oh yeah," plus the bracingly sarcastic, "Oh yeah. Right!"

As a result, a mobile business model for getting coffee to the coffeeless is emerging on downtown Portland streets.

He did not do this alone, and it did not happen by chance.

He lived, jobless, on Social Security disability and food stamps.

The severity of his cerebral palsy made him unemployable, at least according to traditional ways of thinking. He could have continued living on disability funds, those who know him say. Yet he wanted a job for the reasons that people who want jobs want them: a paycheck, meeting others, contributing, having somewhere to go each day.

David Kern, job developer, accepted the mission. Hired on contract by the state, Kern -- then with Integration & Independence, now with Southeast Works -- knocked on doors of downtown coffee shops and restaurants.

Managers said they would get back to him if something opened up. Then came a breakthrough. Julia Harshberger, cafe manager of Seattle's Best Coffee at Southwest Sixth Avenue near Mill Street, asked Bush in for an interview.

He did well, and she hired him at the standard start of $6.90 an hour. She snapped his picture, posted it with snapshots of other employees on the cafe's "Wall of Fame," worked with agencies to outfit his chair with coffee-selling gear and launched him last November onto downtown streets.

A daily route

He starts at 8 a.m., stops a block down for the parking lot man. Mike, the parking-lot man, was not a coffee drinker before meeting Melvin. Three months ago, Mike says, Melvin sold him cup number one.

For newcomers, Melvin leans toward his serving-table card. "Hi -- My name is Melvin," it begins, and it ends, "If you'd like me to come to your office every day, I can put you on my route. Please call Julia at 503-274-9789 to set it up."

New patrons learn by watching. Regulars pour their own, mark the inventory sheet, drop cash in the crockpot and make their own change.

Most days he swings by the DMV, the American Automobile Association, Wells Fargo, U.S. Bank, Portland State University's Extended Studies building, Basha's Mediterranean Cuisine, the Fire Bureau's Engine 4, spots in between.

He visits Luis the importer, Tasa the receptionist, Kris the burrito man, Amy the registrar, Dave the printing production coordinator, Bobbie the insurance and membership person, Lynn the mailroom coordinator, Debbie the sales rep and Rebecca the cashier, who apologizes with verve for not showing up the day before because meetings held her hard.

"I missed you, Mel," Rebecca says. "It was awful. I had no coffee."

Day after day, he wheels around for his to-do with Donna the registration clerk, a longtime friendly holdout.

"I promise," Donna promises again, "to get a cup of coffee -- tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, right!," Melvin says.

They shower each other with their daily vows. The office enjoys the show. Now and then, he returns for refills to the cafe.

One of a kind

"You're the greased lightning around here," his boss says. She has learned since hiring him, she adds, that he represents the first and only mobile barista for the company's contingent of more than 60 corporate-owned cafes and 100 franchise cafes in some 14 states and five countries.

"He's fulfilled all of the ideals," she tells colleagues, "that this company holds onto."

As Melvin ends another refilling stop, one of the cafe patrons, Tom the urban studies man, steps out of the cafe's counter line.

What, he asks gently, is this about -- this wheelchair with coffee?

Melvin tips toward the sign that says, "Hi My name is Melvin."

Three steps from the cafe's counter, Tom buys from Melvin.

He takes a cup, tells Melvin thanks, says he'll be back again tomorrow.

Still others wait wherever they are.

They have come to know, oh yeah, that Melvin Bush gets back to them.

Spencer Heinz: 503-221-8072; e-mail spencerheinz@news.oregonian.com

Caption:

Color Photo by MICHAEL LLOYD of The Oregonian staff

Photo by MICHAEL LLOYD of The Oregonian staff

Sidebar text -- MELVIN BUSH

Copyright (c) 2003 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 0302140126

December 3, 2002

Author: JULIE SULLIVAN - The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: A01

Dateline: SALEM

HANDICAPPED

Local Oregon

Estimated printed pages: 5

Article Text:

Summary: Gov. Kitzhaber apologizes for forced sterilizations endured by 2,600 Oregonians

"To those who suffered, I say, 'The people of Oregon are sorry. Our hearts are heavy for the pain you endured.' " -- GOV. JOHN KITZHABER

Gov. John Kitzhaber, haunted for 30 years by what he witnessed in a state hospital as a medical student, apologized Monday for Oregon's long history of forced sterilizations, acknowledging "a great wrong done to more than 2,600 Oregonians."

In the closing days of his administration, with his health and welfare agenda for children dashed in the budget crisis and his dream of universal health coverage but a bitter memory, Kitzhaber found in the apology a powerfully just note.

"It's the right thing to do," an uncharacteristically emotional Kitzhaber said in an interview with The Oregonian shortly after issuing the apology to an audience of victims and advocates in a ceremony at the Capitol. The state forcibly sterilized children, the governor told the crowd, as well as people with mental disorders, disabilities, epilepsy and criminal records. Nearly all of them were "vulnerable, helpless citizens" entrusted to the care of the state by their families or by the courts.

"To those who suffered, I say, 'The people of Oregon are sorry,' " Kitzhaber said. "Our hearts are heavy for the pain you endured."

He then declared Dec. 10 as Human Rights Day in Oregon to honor them annually -- "A day on which we will affirm our commitment to the value of every human being in Oregon."

"It will never take away the pain," she told Kitzhaber. "But your apology is both greatly appreciated and accepted."

"People will know now that I'm a human being," she said.

Kitzhaber is the second governor, after Virginia's, to apologize for laws that forcibly sterilized at least 60,000 Americans between 1900 and 1980.

Oregon was one of 33 states that adopted sterilization laws in the early 20th century based on eugenics, the pseudo-scientific movement that sought to solve social problems by preventing those with "bad genes" from having children. Nazi Germany eventually used U.S. eugenics laws to justify its programs that sterilized and eventually killed millions.

Kitzhaber said Monday that the apology was a logical step in the state's 25 years of progress in caring for the vulnerable. The other steps he cited included:

* Abolishing the state board that ordered the sterilizations.

* Paying residents for work they perform in state institutions

* Replacing large, dormitory-style housing for the disabled with more private settings.

* Abandoning the overuse of drugs, isolation and "inhumane devices" such as leather restraints, helmets and straitjackets.

As a 23-year-old medical student in the early 1970s, Kitzhaber worked nights at Dammasch Hospital, helping a young man with a brain injury to relearn to bathe, dress, spell and read. He did not witness any sterilizations but remains disturbed by other treatment.

"It was a real eye-opener going into that institution," Kitzhaber said. "I vividly remember watching someone get electroshock, getting an injection to essentially paralyze them so they wouldn't break any bones when they went into convulsions.

"I still think about that."

Kitzhaber's apology conjured up the ghosts of institutions in which people often felt abandoned and abused. Some victims of sterilization want reparations, although no lawsuits have been filed. For others, acknowledgment is enough.

"I can't have kids," he said. "I don't even have a girlfriend. This matters to me. It does."

The move for an apology began in May when, while reading of the Virginia governor's apology, Steve Weiss, a Portland advocate for those with mental illness, was stunned to see Oregon was ninth on the list of states that had sterilized people, behind California and others. With Bill Lynch, of the Oregon Council on Developmental Disabilities, and Michael Bailey, editor of the Oregon Clarion quarterly newspaper, he organized a coalition.

Weiss saluted Kitzhaber at Monday's ceremony and offered a two-word response to history:

"Never again!"

Oregon's eugenics law was the brainchild of Dr. Bethenia Owens-Adair, one of the first women doctors in the West. Like many reformers of her day, she saw sterilization as a scientific solution to a world beset by immigration and urbanization where the growing pockets of poverty, alcoholism and violence seemed insurmountable. She introduced the first eugenics bill in the Oregon Legislature in 1907.

But it was not until a sex scandal in Portland rocked the state that the Legislature seized her cause. Gov. Oswald West signed the first eugenics law in February 1913, authorizing the sterilization of "habitual criminals, moral degenerates and sexual perverts," specifically, those "addicted to the practice of sodomy," according to Mark Largent, a historian.

Voters scrapped it, but a determined Owens-Adair, and Legislature, pushed through the state Board of Eugenics in 1917. The board could authorize not only the castration of criminals and those with mental illness who engaged in homosexual sex, but eventually all "feebleminded" residents of state hospitals and prisons whose children could become wards of the state or "social menaces." It eventually included people in state care because they were orphaned or "wayward" teen girls.

That law, and a vastly reformed board, stood until 1983, its legitimacy for decades upheld by the 1927 U.S. Supreme Court case of Buck v. Bell.

Carrie Buck was the first person ordered sterilized under Virginia law as a 17-year-old unwed mother who was herself illegitimate.

The Supreme Court upheld the Virginia order in Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes' now infamous opinion that "Three generations of imbeciles are enough."

Researchers recently found, though, that the Buck case was a fraud. Buck's lawyers conspired with the state to conceal the fact that Buck was a rape victim and her daughter eventually became an honor student, said Paul Lombardo, a law professor and expert at the University of Virginia.

In Oregon, the last known case came before the board of Eugenics in June 1981. Kitzhaber, as a young state senator from Roseburg, served on the subcommittee that abolished the board in 1983.

Roey Thorpe, executive director of Basic Rights Oregon, thanked the governor on behalf of sexual minorities, noting that Oregon's laws had targeted them.

She asked Oregonians to honor those victims by "Telling the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people in your life that you love them and accept them."

"I said goodbye years ago."

Julie Sullivan: 503-221-8068;

juliesullivan@news.oregonian.com

Copyright (c) 2002 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 0212050197

July 30, 2002

Author: JULIE SULLIVAN - The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

Estimated printed pages: 4

Article Text:

Summary: Documentation of the last 20 years of forced sterilizations in Oregon has mysteriously disappeared from state archives

Records chronicling the forced sterilization of 2,650 Oregonians have disappeared or been shredded, erasing proof of one of the state's most troubling chapters that advocates now want addressed.

Extensive searches for the records of the Board of Eugenics and its successor, the Board of Social Protection, have so far turned up little beyond annual two-page reports issued before 1950.

That's because the records were shredded at the request of a state employee -- whose identity remains a mystery -- and in violation of state law.

Employees at the 50-year-old firm are combing their files for the order that accompanied the shipment about a decade ago. Murphy thinks the files came from Dammasch State Hospital in Wilsonville, which closed in 1995. But two former Dammasch superintendents said they do not remember seeing the eugenics records or ordering their destruction.

Oregon State Archives and state library employees, shocked at the potential loss, want to find that order, too. Under state law, the state archivist decides what records can be destroyed and when.

Unauthorized destruction of state records is a misdemeanor.

Without a record, the history of what happened depends on the memory of those who were there. Former members of the Board of Eugenics, chiefly the superintendents of state institutions who met quarterly, have hazy or incomplete recollections.

"This was 40 years ago," said Dr. Dean Brooks, former superintendent of the Oregon State Hospital. He remembers a handful of people being sterilized. But one existing record shows that 26 people from his institution were sterilized in a two-year period.

The records' disappearance comes as survivors and 17 organizations representing people with disabilities, mental illness and gays want Gov. John Kitzhaber to apologize for the state's eugenics law.

As a legislator, Kitzhaber served on the joint committee that helped repeal the law in 1983. But advocates want him to acknowledge the state's sterilization policies that for years were used to prevent "defectives" from having children. They included anyone considered "feebleminded, insane, epileptic, a habitual criminal or sexual pervert who is likely to become a menace to society," as well as people convicted of rape or sodomy.

After 1967, when the eugenics board was revamped into the Board of Social Protection, the law was chiefly used to sterilize those with mental illness or mental disability.

On Monday, state employees, acting at The Oregonian's request, completed a fruitless search of the Oregon State Hospital basement in Salem as student archivists scrutinized microfilm of board minutes from prior to 1963. Missing are case files, consent forms and any record of the last 20 years' work of the Board of Eugenics and Board of Social Protection.

No trace remains of two cases that reached the Oregon Court of Appeals in the early 1970s, including one that the U.S. Supreme Court later declined to hear.

Murphy and his employees remember shredding the records from the state mental health division because the contents were so disturbing. Inside "nicely bound volumes," Murphy said, were the analysis, discussion and conclusion of board members who referred to people in the medical terms of the time: idiots, mongoloids and cretins.

"All the playground insults you've ever heard in your life seemed to be the categories that they put people in," Murphy said. "Every ugly term you can think of for human beings. . . . This wasn't a book or two. This was a bunch of stuff."

Murphy said his staff assumed that the documents, like the canceled checks and other records they routinely handle, had been microfilmed. But no such microfilm has been found.

James Taves, a state employee who co-wrote the legislation repealing Oregon's eugenics law in 1983, remembers that while researching the law, he saw records of operations on 9- and 11-year-old girls for "hygienic reasons."

"When it became politically incorrect to have them there, they just disappeared," Cooper said.

One of the chief legal and historical experts of eugenics said records have disappeared nationwide. Paul Lombardo, a University of Virginia law professor and historian whose research has driven much of the eugenics discussion nationwide, said the destruction of such records represents "the worst kind of bureaucratic negligence."

"Now there is no evidence that would allow government to reflect and say, 'We did this' or for people to look at it and learn from it, or for the people involved to make the case they've been harmed or even document the fact it happened," Lombardo said.

"It's a tragedy and a terrible way to conduct public policy."

In the hushed halls of the Oregon State Library, librarian Merrialyce Blanchard oversees a eugenics collection that includes more than 80 items, only a single page of which records what happened in Oregon.

Blanchard, who said she has gone out of her way to preserve and protect the collection, is disturbed by news of the records' destruction.

"If we lose this information, we could rewrite our own history."

You can reach Julie Sullivan at 503-221-8068 or juliesullivan@news.oregonian.com.

Copyright (c) 2002 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 0207300086

February 6, 2002

Author: CHERYL MARTINIS - Correspondent, The Oregonian

Edition: NORTHWEST FINAL

Section: NORTHWEST

Page: C02

Dateline: SALEM

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Summary: Researchers work to preserve artifacts and memories, good and bad, of the now-closed state institution

"Kind of like the plaque on the wall, it was all kind of covered up when it became inappropriate," Cooper said.

Even before the institution closed, much of its history had disappeared. As views changed about what was acceptable, evidence of past practices, such as restraints, was done away with, Cooper, said.

"There's so much emotion"

Everyone who lived or worked on the grounds has a different story to tell, said Janice Pierce, a Portland-based photojournalist who is doing the videotaping.

He didn't know why they did it or even how he felt about the prank. "We didn't know what's right, what was wrong," he said in his taped interview.

Different eras, conditions

In a recent phone interview, she said she has mostly good memories. "After I got used to it, it seemed like all the girls liked me, and I liked all the girls," she said.

She remembers walking, hand in hand, to the dining room. "It was just one of their routines," she said.

Documentary, display are goals

A few physical items, ranging from a wicker wheelchair to old barber chairs and a remote-controlled electroshock machine, are being stored at the Oregon State Hospital.

You can reach Cheryl Martinis at 503-399-8540 or by e-mail at cheryl@open.org.

Copyright (c) 2002 Oregonian Publishing Co.

January 17, 2000

Author: MARK LARABEE - The Oregonian

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

HANDICAPPED MOLLY DRUMMOND

Biography Profile Oregon Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 4

Article Text:

Summary: A victory in federal court could provide more help for people who've been on waiting lists for years

A federal lawsuit filed on behalf of six developmentally disabled and mentally retarded Oregonians aims to force the state to pay for residential and intensive in-home programs as required under the Americans with Disabilities Act.

Although the lawsuit is not a class action, advocates for the disabled said a victory could mean sweeping changes for frustrated families dealing with severely disabled relatives, many of whom have been on waiting lists for more than a decade.

Of the more than 4,000 developmentally disabled and mentally retarded people in Oregon who are on waiting lists, 2,600 need 24-hour residential care, Wilde said.

Weeks said the lawsuit didn't surprise him. "We're clearly on record with the Legislature," he said. "The wait list hasn't been addressed for years, and we clearly need to develop a plan to deal with it."

The Arc of the United States, an advocacy group for the mentally retarded and their families, found that more than 200,000 disabled people are on waiting lists nationwide. Oregon ranks fourth highest per capita -- behind Louisiana, New York and Pennsylvania -- among 48 states where developmentally disabled people are waiting for services.

The Oregon lawsuit is among a handful of similar suits filed across the country. In many states, the courts have forced legislators to direct more money to programs for the disabled.

In 1996, the 11th U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals upheld a federal judge's ruling in Miami that said Medicaid required Florida to provide services to qualified applicants with "reasonable promptness." And in 1998, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in a Georgia case that the state was required under the Americans with Disabilities Act to serve people with mental disabilities at home or in group homes instead of institutions.

Diann Drummond, 51, an activist for the disabled whose daughter Molly is a plaintiff in the lawsuit, said the time for lobbying has ended.

"We have asked, we have waited, and we have begged," she said. "It's time to demand."

Molly, 21, is profoundly mentally retarded, has a chromosome abnormality and suffers from severe scoliosis, a curvature of the spine. She is happy, loving and an active member of her Northeast Portland family, her mother said.

"I want Molly to be a part of the community," she said. "It's good for her, and it's good for them. She's entitled to get what support she needs to live as an adult."

Drummond said her family is typical of those needing help. Until Molly turned 21, she was enrolled in a daytime special education program through Portland Public Schools, where she learned living and communication skills and was given peer tutors and the opportunity to socialize with others outside her home. Drummond now pays $700 a month for a similar privately run program but worries about not being able to care or provide for her daughter.

"Families are burning out," Wilde said. "Kids are coming out of schools, and they wind up on the sofa at age 21 with nothing to do, nowhere to go."

Pam Curtis, Kitzhaber's health care policy adviser, said the governor was aware of the long waiting list for these services. She said she knew of suits filed in other states and isn't surprised that one was filed here, though as of Friday, she hadn't seen it.

Other state officials acknowledge there is a problem.

"There is a growing need for 24-hour care, particularly as parents are aging and their children continue to live at home," Toews said. "We have maintained a somewhat painful public policy in Oregon in that we cannot pay for and maintain a 24-hour care system."

People who need residential care and have no one to care for them are taken care of, Toews said. But most getting state assistance receive part-time services at home. He estimated that 24-hour care for everyone who requested it could cost hundreds of millions or more.

Cynthia Owens, wait list coordinator for The Arc of Oregon, said the Legislature has not realized the full necessity of having to fund these programs, and families feel as though they have nowhere to turn.

"A lot of parents who have been caring for their children for years and years are no longer physically able to continue," she said. "Even if you love your kids, you just can't do it anymore."

You can reach Mark Larabee at 503-294-7664 or by e-mail at marklarabee@news. oregonian.com.

Caption:

Color photo by BENJAMIN BRINK/The Oregonian

BW photo by BENJAMIN BRINK/The Oregonian

Copyright (c) 2000 Oregonian Publishing C

August 19, 1999

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: EDITORIAL

Page: D08

Editorial

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

If you live in a state with one of the worst records of care for developmentally disabled adults -- such as Oregon -- the idea of joining a 10- to 20-year waiting list to get assistance must seem like a fool's errand.

But it's critical for creating the awareness needed to engage state policy-makers, legislators and voters in solving the problem of caring for a growing population of adults with mental and physical impairments.

A crisis is unfolding in this state as caregivers age or die and are no longer able to provide for their disabled loved ones. The landscape of unmet needs described by staff writer Bill Graves on Sunday has been a generation in the making.

The question for Oregonians is how to meet this challenge in a way that allows us to face ourselves in the mirror. The current outlook is not encouraging.

By the state's own count, 3,880 developmentally disabled adults are on waiting lists for services. Of that number, 350 have been waiting more than 10 years. The Arc, a national advocacy organization for the mentally retarded that compiled the state rankings, says some families have simply given up and aren't even counted.

The growing population of adults with disabilities shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone.

It began with the realization in the '60s and '70s that disabled children could achieve a better quality of life when raised at home. Instead of relinquishing their children to state institutions, more and more families helped them triumph in ways small and large over conditions such as autism, cerebral palsy, Down syndrome or mental retardation.

At the same time, the past 10 to 20 years of medical advances have saved hundreds of thousands of people who would have died in auto crashes, drownings or from head or spinal cord injuries. Their families also saw the benefits of home care.

But decades later, those adults, whether disabled from birth or by injury, still must be fed and dressed, diapered and bathed by aging family members who may be in failing health.

The dilemma comes for the 2,913 who are waiting for residential care in group homes. Currently, only a family care crisis will get someone off the list and into a home.

The state's reluctance to create any more group homes is understandable. The difficulty in keeping group homes properly staffed in a strong economy of rising wages is authentic. The liability that occurs from rapid turnover or hastily trained staff can't be overstated.

But if care isn't provided for disabled adults, the state may find it faces another kind of liability. The current triage system based on family caregivers' abilities hasn't held up well under legal scrutiny. Some states that use Medicaid money to care for disabled adults have found themselves losing lawsuits brought by families and have been ordered to provide similar services to people with similar disabilities.

Those liabilities haven't been entirely lost on the state. Even though the Legislature failed to spend any additional money to reduce the waiting lists, it did at least call for a fuller accounting of individuals and their needs. Knowing the size of the problem is the first step to addressing it.

Families that may have become discouraged over the years must again step forward to see that their names are added to the waiting lists. In order to get disabled loved ones the services they need, the state has to know they count.

Copyright (c) 1999 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9908190102

March 16, 1997

Column: Special Report

Author: PATRICK O'NEILL - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: C01

FAIRVIEW TRAINING CENTER HANDICAPPED

Column Oregon Profile

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Summary: Shutting the 86-year-old site is an emotional issue for families of the severely retarded

It is a cocoon of safety, a fortress against stares and jeers, a haven where a profoundly retarded person can be assured of such necessary services as medical and dental care.

But it is also horrendously expensive to operate.

Copyright (c) 1997 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9703150690

November 28, 1996

Author: PATRICK O'NEILL - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B05

Dateline: SALEM

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Summary: He says his agency has met conditions to have $9.6 million in the governor's budget to move residents to group homes

Barry Kast, administrator of the state Mental Health and Developmental Disability Services Division, said Wednesday he believes his agency has met all of the requirements needed to win Kitzhaber's support for the closure.

But Kast said he doesn't know for sure whether the money is included in the tightly guarded budget, which is due to be made public Monday.

Savings from the closure also would allow a pay increase for people who work in the group homes, group-home workers and they would permit more flexible arrangements to care for the disabled, people, including periodic nursing care for those people who need it instead of 24-hour care.

``We've made our case with the governor several times,'' Kast said. He said Conditions set by Kitzhaber to support the closure plan include:

*Services must be extended to people who are not currently being helped.

Kast said he believes his agency has met all of the conditions, but he doesn't know for certain whether the money is included in the budget.

``On Monday we'll find out,'' he said.

The Legislature, which will convene Jan. 13, is not obligated to follow Kitzhaber's budget but usually relies heavily on the governor's proposal.

Copyright (c) 1996 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9611280298

July 8, 1996

Edition: SUNRISE

Section: EDITORIAL

Page: B06

Editorial

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

It's an understatement to say that this is a sensitive, complicated issue. Feelings run deep on all sides, and Tuesday's hearing in Portland is likely to be emotional. It is scheduled to begin at 1:30 p.m. at Westminster Presbyterian Church, 1624 N.E. Hancock St.

The plan was put together with the participation of parents, organized labor, local governments and advocacy groups. It must pass muster with both the federal government and the governor.

The plan takes a reasonable stab at resolving the issues involved, but the state's sorry record justifies skepticism.

It's also hard to deny that the future of care for the developmentally disabled is in the community and the home, and that most people do better in those settings.

There are several keys to success:

Ensuring that individual transition plans are in place, the right community settings are available and crisis backup systems exist before residents are moved.

Ensuring that the state and counties protect the safety and well-being of residents in their new homes.

Ensuring that local communities are not destabilized.

Some of these requirements are in the plan, and others are likely to be added as the public offers comments and the feds and the governor weigh in. State officials want to present the plan to the 1997 Legislature.

The blueprint is ambitious, and a lot has to happen for it to work.

Copyright (c) 1996 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9607060463

July 28, 1992

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

Dateline: SALEM

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

``You are giving me the highlight of my professional career. This is it. Nothing will ever surpass it,'' Robinson said.

Copyright (c) 1992 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9207280603

June 5, 1991

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B03

Local

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

The motion, filed by the U.S. Department of Justice in Washington, D.C., claims that residents at the Salem institution for the developmentally disabled still aren't safe.

Kevin Concannon, director of the Oregon Department of Human Resources, rejected the Justice Department's most recent allegations.

Concannon said he was unaware of ``any other area in the country that is making the effort we're making.''

Still, the Justice Department claims the changes haven't been enough.

Copyright (c) 1991 Oregonian Publishing Co.

January 25, 1991

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: C03

Oregon Report

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Developmentally disabled residents at the Salem-based state institution ``continue to be repeatedly harmed or exposed to the risk of significant harm, despite what has been more than an adequate passage of time to correct the problems,'' the panel concluded after a three-month review.

State officials, however, dispute the report's findings.

Marsh will consider the panel's findings in determining whether Oregon has violated its agreement with the Justice Department.

``We factually disagree with the experts and we have separate experts who uphold the State of Oregon's point of view,'' he said.

But Janna Starr, executive director of the Association for Retarded Citizens of Oregon, said Concannon shouldn't be taking issue with the experts on the panel.

``It's outrageous for him to question their credentials when he participated in picking them,'' she said.

Copyright (c) 1991 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9101250552

August 1, 1990

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: PAGE: A11

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Their differences apparently set aside, state and county officials joined in calling the group home at 16122 N.E. Russell St. a model of cooperation and partnership. ``It speaks volumes about our attitude and our philosophy of caring for people who need government intervention,'' Gladys McCoy, chairwoman of the Multnomah County Board of Commissioners, said at the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

The home's five male residents, who range in age from 14 to 22, were missing from the celebration. Their five bedrooms were neat as pins, with stuffed animals lined up tidily in one and sports and rock 'n' roll posters adorning the walls of others. Group home supervisor Sonja Stengle noted that three of the residents work in a local grocery store and two attend Reynolds High School. They moved in at the end of May.

Built at a cost of $165,000, the tasteful, well-appointed home represents ``a concrete and tangible expression of these men's civil rights,'' Kevin Concannon, director of the state Department of Human Resources, said, referring to efforts to deinstitutionalize people with disabilities.

All but eight juvenile residents with critical medical needs have been moved out, Concannon said, 25 of them since January.

The 2,296-square-foot house was designed by Michael L. Brayson of Portland and built by Prinz Construction. Multnomah County tossed in project and program design and management and absorbed some of the construction costs, such as street improvements and site engineering. The city of Portland waived half the building permit costs.

Under an agreement with the state, the Housing of Authority of Portland owns the house and acts as its landlord.

Cost of operating the home and its related therapy and vocational programs is about $8,000 a month per resident. Each occupant pays about $330 a month for room and board and is required to cook and do housework.

Copyright (c) 1990 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9008010622

May 17, 1990

Author: ANN SULLIVAN - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: PORTLAND ZONER

Page: PAGE: 03

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

John Calhoun, an intelligent Portland man long imprisoned by the handicaps of cerebral palsy, is going to make a major speech at a national convention in San Diego later this month.

Calhoun is 54 and gray-haired, a cheery, friendly man who has been rescued by changing sociological attitudes, by a large group of concerned helpers and overseers, and, importantly, by the wonders of technological advances.

He has his own apartment.

He travels the city by bus and his electric wheelchair.

He has new friends.

He has a job.

He also has a functioning voice in the form of an electronic synthesizer into which he punches sounds, resulting in a pleasant male baritone that talks effectively to his friends and helpers.

Calhoun will tell his story of transition from life in an institution to assisted independent living when he attends the national convention of United Cerebral Palsy Association Inc., which will be held in San Diego Thursday through Saturday.

His speech is titled ``No Place Like (My Own) Home.'' He will be accompanied by Bud Thoune, Oregon executive director for the United Cerebral Palsy Association of Northwest Oregon, and Tara Asai, the residential services director for the association.

Calhoun will talk about his joy, his frustrations when things go wrong -- such as mechanical problems with his wheelchair -- his absolute pleasure in his own independence, his occasional loneliness.

``I can't think about going back,'' he says. ``I like being my own boss.''

Calhoun has been freed from the developmental prison into which he was thrust at the time of his home birth, a 10-pound baby in a 30-hour labor that almost killed both him and his mother. The attending doctor should have done a Caesarean delivery, for the infant was damaged cruelly by the birth, and his mixed-up brain signals left him unable to direct control of locomotion and other physical movements and unable to talk.

Yet he was not ``feeble-minded,'' the cruel description often applied to many developmentally disabled individuals in past years.

But he could not communicate out of his frustrated world. As he got bigger, he was a problem for a suffering family which had several more younger non-handicapped children to rear.

But nurses and attendants liked him and encouraged him. He developed many friends among them and the patients. As sociological attitudes began to change, efforts began in earnest about 15 years ago to find some means other than institutionalization to free him.

On May 27 last year, Calhoun moved into his own apartment. He has his own music system, attractive furniture, two balconies and two attendants who intermittently help him out.

He is on his own and adores it, preferring not to share with a roommate.

Others will benefit by Calhoun's experience, and he has paved the way in telling Asai and other officials and his attendants how to do such transitions better.

Another 11 developmentally disabled persons ranging in age from their early 20s to mid-50s have been placed in their own similar situations in Portland, and another is being trained for the transition.

April 27, 1990

Author: WILDA WAHPEPAH - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: D01

Dateline: SALEM

Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

The inspectors from the Health Care Financing Administration found the state institution in substantial compliance with a three-year plan to correct problems and reduce the number of people it cares for.

Dr. Richard C. Lippincott, head of the state Mental Health Division, said that many of the deficiencies were technical requirements, such as making sure that residents are informed about their medications and side effects.

However, the agency said that it considered the unresolved problems to be serious and should be addressed promptly, according to a letter the agency sent to Lippincott.

Lippincott said that he found the review encouraging.

The agency withheld Medicaid money for several months, at a cost to Oregon of about $8 million.

The state has spent $40 million since 1987 to add staff, train workers, renovate the facilities, hire a residents' advocate and set up a residents' council.

Concannon and Lippincott confirmed that two aides were fired Monday for giving a haircut to a 30-year-old resident but they provided few details. One aide had been employed since 1984 and the other since 1986.

Lippincott said that he did not know ``for a fact'' how the haircut was given though he did say investigators had talked to the aides and the resident for their sides of the story.

He described the resident's hair as being ``contemporary'' for young men and said that, after the haircut, it was substantially shorter.

Concannon said that he was troubled by the incident.

``To this resident, his hair was a very important part of his self-esteem,'' Concannon said.

He said the state makes an effort to screen employees by checking their police records.

The complaints cover a wide range of behavior, from falling asleep on the job to serious infractions, Sand said.

Copyright (c) 1990 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9004272712

February 4, 1990

Column: Politics

Author: STEVE DUIN of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: FORUM

Page: C05

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

The survey results were due in Jan. 26. Hennessy had her staff out buying champagne that morning. But before the first toast was poured, the 10-member team reported it had some problems and would have to return after the Super Bowl weekend for further study.

The ratio of staff-to-residents is now 3-to-1, more than double what it was three years ago. The state and the feds combine to spend $112,000 annually per resident, compared to the $35,000 spent on each resident at the Oregon School for the Blind. The active treatment programs, Hennessy said, are on track.

The difference here is breathtaking,'' she said. And the feds' current beefs? ``Some of them are just plain ridiculous.''

The feds believe those chimes are also restricting patient freedom.

``It's the reverse-halo effect,'' Concannon said. ``No matter what we do . . . they make it sound like this is Dachau, and that's a misjudgment by a couple surveyors who have never been here before.''

Copyright (c) 1990 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9002032085

February 3, 1990

Author: BILL GRAVES - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: A01

Dateline: take a look SALEM

Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

``We are not out of the woods yet, but we are certainly in a fair review process.''

But they complained about the lack of structured leisure activities during breaks for residents and about inconsistencies in the way various workers served the same given individual, Hennessy said.

State officials replied to the inspectors' concerns in a 13-page defense. The state will not know for two weeks, possibly longer, whether the Health Care Financing Administration will impose penalties, Lippincott said in his Friday news conference.

Lippincott, Hennessy and Kevin Concannon, director of the state Department of Human Resources, met for more than two hours Friday with leaders of the 10-member federal inspection team from Seattle. Prior to that, the inspectors had refused to discuss their findings with state officials, setting a tone that worried Concannon.

``That has all the earmarks for us of some ominous bad news in the offing,'' Concannon said Thursday in a meeting with The Oregonian's editorial board.

Copyright (c) 1990 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9002032522

January 21, 1990

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B02

Feature FAIRVIEW TRAINING CENTER

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

It was 7:50 a.m. Cold and dreary. Larry Verboot was waiting for bus No. 4 on Southeast Division Street in Portland.

He didn't look much different from any other working man: He wore jeans and a sweatshirt and a green rubber rain jacket. He carried a black metal lunch pail.

But Verboot was different. At 35, he has the mind of a small child.

``Don't know,'' he answered when asked his last name. ``Don't know,'' he said, when asked his age.

As the Tri-Met bus approached, he pulled his baseball cap down over his shaggy blond hair and prepared to board. ``Time for work,'' he said, flashing his ready grin.

During the next hour, Verboot would change buses once before catching a ride with a van in Gresham that would take him to a nursery near Boring. For five hours, he would sort metal tree stakes: straight ones in one pile, bent ones in another. For $2 an hour.

Now, Verboot is a lot happier. ``I go places,'' he said. Shopping. A local tavern for darts.Pro wrestling on Saturday nights. Downtown with his buddies.

``It's a makeshift family,'' said Simone Thompson, 19, who cooks dinner for the group during her shift. ``There's a bond there. I treat these guys like I would my brothers.''

Less than a year ago, Verboot's mother didn't believe he could live successfully in the community.

Verboot, the second of four children, wasn't diagnosed as mentally retarded until he was 5 years old, although long before that his mother suspected he wasn't normal. He didn't walk until he was 16 months old and didn't utter a word until he was 3. He was unusually hyperactive.

, ``he seems more well-adjusted, more interested in life,'' his mother said. ``His vocabulary has increased. . . . He's civic minded. He really pays attention to what's going on.''

After work on a recent night, Verboot watched the news on television. ``Just say no to drugs,'' he advised no one in particular, after listening to a news report. A commercial quickly caught his attention. ``Santa,'' he cried, pointing at the set. Just as quickly, his attention was interrupted by something else. Soon he would go shopping, he said, with Joan Beck, a former group-home worker who's kept up a friendship with him. He lanned to buy a TV for his bedroom with money he saved from his job and his Social Security disability ome, about $350 a month.

Someday he hopes to have his own apartment, Verboot said, and a bicycle. But for now, he said, he would settle for his very own bank-machine card. Then he could really go places.

Copyright (c) 1990 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 9001212254

December 5, 1989

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B08

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

``We're hoping they'll be pleased with the changes we've made, while realizing that we've just begun,'' Hennessy said.

Members of the review team refused to talk to the media.

Although work remains to be done, she said, ``I think we're in substantial compliance.''

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8912050552

November 10, 1989

Author: ELIZABETH MOORE - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Portland Zoner

Page: D02

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

The commissioners acted on a staff recommendation by Gary Smith, director of county Social Services, who said that inadequate community care homes could result in federal fines to the state or unknown penalties to the county.

But commissioners said they would like to leave the door open for future participation when their confidence is restored that disabled people can be properly cared for in Multnomah County community homes.

``We are at the edge of a large precipice, and we need to do some serious work before we exacerbate the problem by adding people who need these services,'' said Commissioner Gretchen Kafoury.

Among the changes requested in the county's resolution were for the state to increase staff salaries and fringe benefits, to make more money available for client psychiatric services, and to advance case management dollars to the county to hire additional staff for future clients.

The commissioners said they would support the state Mental Health Division in approaching the Legislative Emergency Board for additional money.

The downsizing program calls for the state-operated Salem institution to reduce its residents by 300 over the next three years or lose $50 million a year in federal Medicaid funds.

In previous county hearings, caregivers and parents have said that the community care system is underfunded and its employees overworked.

``The quality of care is our primary objective,'' he said. ``We're struggling under a congestion problem. It has to expand farther and be more diversified.''

Commissioner Rick Bauman said the board's decision made him ``real uncomfortable'' though the resolution would allow the county ``maximum flexibility'' for getting involved in the program again.

``There are no villains in this one. We're both in a tough bind,'' Bauman said.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8911100719

November 8, 1989

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: E10

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Robin Williams, a case manager for developmentally disabled people in Multnomah County, agreed.

The community-care system is underfunded, provides ``chaotic medical services'' for people with serious needs and overworks staff members who are undervalued and demoralized, Williams said.

But most of the commissioners expressed reluctance to do so.

``There has to be some middle ground,'' said Gladys McCoy, the commission's chairwoman. ``We would want to send a signal but not get out of the game.''

She indicated that the commissioners would make a decision Thursday.

``There'll be a big ripple effect, no doubt about it,'' Toewes said after the hearing. Clackamas County has already refused to participate in the next phase of downsizing, he said.

Gary W. Smith, the county's director of Social Services, has recommended to the commissioners that they pull out of the next phase or face liability for inadequacies in group home care, which could result in federal fines. As an alternative, Smith suggested that the county agree to furnish case management but require the state to contract directly with providers for homes.

Only Commissioner Gretchen Kafoury appeared ready to bow out of the downsizing plan.

``We desperately want to participate. And it would be ludicrous to have a parallel system operated by the state,'' Kafoury said. But ``the state had millions of dollars they chose not to spend on this problem for political reasons, so . . . do we continue to absorb these responsibilities onto local government?'' she asked.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8911080566

November 2, 1989

Author: ELIZABETH MOORE - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: E04

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

The comissioners will formally vote on the issue in the next two weeks. An informal hearing will be held on the matter at 1:30 p.m. next Tuesday in Room 602 of the Multnomah County Courthouse.

Smith told the commissioners that deficiencies in community care homes could result in financial penalties from federal auditors and could ultimately jeapordize state funds for developmentally disabled persons.

He added that he didn't know what specific penalties could be levied against care homes but added that if federal inspectors ``found the homes out of compliance, we know they wouldn't be happy.''

Smith said county officials may opt to cease developing new residential programs, managing new caseloads and subcontracting with new care providers until they determine that downsizing programs are ``stable . . . and adequately funded.''

Traditionally, county governments have served as the conduit between the state and care providers, but if Multnomah County temporarily stopped its involvement, the state Mental Health Division would have to contract with providers directly. The state division has not contracted directly with providers before and might not be equipped to do so, Smith said.

If county commissioners chose not to ceaseparticipation, Smith said, the county could continue case management alone, or to assist in all aspects of developing community care programs.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8911020759

October 25, 1989

Author: JOAN LAATZ - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: C08

Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

The providers want the state Emergency Board at its December meeting to authorize a minimum 10 percent increase in workers' wages for the 1989-91 biennium. That would cost the state about $4.7 million.

Immediate steps are necessary, a report by the state Executive Department concluded.

On Tuesday, the Executive Department report was released at a news conference called by the Multnomah, Clackamas and Washington County chapters of the Association for Retarded Citizens.

Outlining their concerns were Kathryn Weit, executive director of the Multnomah County chapter; Glenn Weybright, a speech pathologist who works in group homes; Tom Triplett, a group home worker; and Jerri Rudacil, director of Portland Alternative Living Inc., a group home provider that has six homes.

Low pay and demanding work result in staff turnover rates as high as 91 percent in six months, Weit said. The average length of employment in a group home is three months.

Direct care workers, who are paid an average of $4.37 an hour without benefits, make less money than fast food workers and pizza deliverers, Weit and the others said.

Yet they are expected to teach basic living skills to severely disabled people who have been institutionalized much of their lives, they said.

``What's more important, a hot pizza or providing care to people with disabilities?'' Triplett said. ``This makes me question the values and priorities of the state of Oregon.''

There are about 1,200 direct care workers who care for 2,213 residents in 281 group homes around the state. Within three years, 500 more workers will be needed.

But where will they come from, Weit and the others asked.

Weit was unable to point to any group homes that have actually closed because of lack of workers, but she said many providers have said they cannot expand to meet the additional demand for services.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8910250529

September 16, 1989

Author: BARNES C. ELLIS - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: First

Section: Local Stories

Page: D02

Dateline: SALEM

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

George Coleman, Clackamas County chief deputy medical examiner, said an autopsy showed several factors contributed to the death. While dehydration was among them, he said that did not mean Bashaw had been neglected.

``It was a medical problem,'' Hutchinson said. ``He wasn't locked in a room and deprived of water.''

Concannon said the investigation of the death was expected in the next few weeks.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8909160960

Author: BARNES C. ELLIS - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: D02

Dateline: SALEM

Local

Estimated printed pages: 1

Article Text:

George Coleman, Clackamas County chief deputy medical examiner, said an autopsy showed several factors contributed to the death. While dehydration was among them, he said that did not mean Bashaw had been neglected.

Concannon said the investigation of the death was expected in the next few weeks.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8909161292

July 22, 1989

Author: PHIL MANZANO - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: E01

Dateline: SALEM

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

The association now can become an observer in the monitoring of progress in the changes. The association's lawsuit has been on appeal in the Oregon Court of Appeals since Dec. 21, 1987.

ARC executive director Janna Starr said in a written statement that the association ``is very glad to lay down the sword of battle, and we look forward to a new era of cooperation.''

``We're looking forward to three years of partnership with everyone to get the job done,'' he said.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8907220620

July 4, 1989

Author: JANET GOETZE - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: B01

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Summary: The OK and state action will keep Medicaid payments flowing to the state institution in Salem for mentally handicapped people

Sens. Bob Packwood and Mark O. Hatfield announced the agreement Monday in Packwood's Portland office. They were joined by Kevin Concannon, director of the Oregon Department of Human Resources, and Pamela Abernethy, special assistant to Attorney General Dave Frohnmayer.

The agreement marks the end of a six-year legal battle and more recent controversy arising from federal inspections of the Salem institution. Federal officials threatened to pull $50 million a year in Medicaid payments if the state didn't improve care for mentally handicapped persons.

Secretary Louis Sullivan of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services telephoned Packwood with the federal decision after reporters and photographers gathered in the senator's office. However, several actions leading to the decision already had occurred.

The new programs and additional money, Concannon said, mean the state can follow a federal court consent agreement it signed two months ago for improving care to mentally handicapped people. The agreement ends a civil rights case filed against the state in 1983. Plaintiffs charged the state wasn't providing proper care for institutionalized persons.

Instead, Packwood noted, Oregon became the first state to use the new legislation. Concannon said at least 15 other states facing loss of Medicaid for institutionalized people are working on plans similar to Oregon's. He will travel to Washington, D.C., next week for a conference with officials from those states.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8907040456

May 5, 1989

Author: SARAH B. AMES - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: D06

Dateline: SALEM

Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Federal officials will take public comment on the plan for 30 days and then will have another 30 days to approve or reject the plan.

State officials decided to negotiate with the agency to form a three-year plan that both sides could agree upon. If the administration accepts the plan, the agency will not cut the Medicaid funding as long as the state makes a good faith effort to meet the six-month benchmark goals.

In the plan, the state promised to maintain health and safety standards. Within six months, the state also plans to have active treatment programs in place for about half the residents. The remaining residents would be under active treatment by July 1990.

The local group homes, foster homes and apartments will house between two and five residents, said Cindy Becker, deputy administrator for developmental disabilities at the Mental Health Division. The homes would be funded by contracts with the counties.

``The principle that smaller is better holds no matter what their problems are,'' she said.

The state plans to spend $32 million during the next three years on the community programs, with about half the tab picked up by the federal government.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8905050497

April 18, 1989

Author: JOHN PAINTER JR. - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: B01

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Summary: The state has 60 days to develop a plan for making reforms at the Salem institution and to submit it to the federal government

Kevin Concannon, director of the state Human Resources Department, said he was extremely pleased with the agreement.

The state institution for the mentally retarded and physically disabled has been mired in a lawsuit brought by the federal Civil Rights Division of the U.S. Justice Department and complicated by intervenors, who unsuccessfully sought a ruling that would have greatly reduced the population of the Salem institution.

The state has 60 days to develop a plan and submit it to the federal government, said Pamela L. Abernethy, attorney in charge of the state's special litigation unit.

In addition, the state is already working to place more of the current 875 residents in community-based group homes, with the aim of reducing the population to less than 500 residents by July 1991, Concannon said.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8904180680

March 19, 1989

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: C01

Dateline: SALEM

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Janet Bergsten, whose 22-year-old daughter has a mental age of 3, worried that the community her daughter was being sent to would not be safe.

``Would you send a child 3 years old into a community to be cared for?'' Bergsten asked. ``Why would you ask me to?''

``Although they are mentally retarded, they still have a sense of belonging here,'' he said. ``If you send them to public school, they are going to be subject to ridicule.''

The plan will be submitted to the federal health-care agency April 24, but written testimony will be accepted until May 24. Other meetings are scheduled Tuesday in Nendel's Motor Inn in Medford and Thursday in the Red Lion/Indian Hills Motel in Pendleton. Both meetings will be held from 1 to 4 p.m.

``The plan presents a really great challenge, and. . .it may be our last challenge, our last chance,'' he said.

The plan says that:

*Each case manager will be assigned to look after the needs of 35 residents.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8903190426

March 11, 1989

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: A01

Estimated printed pages: 4

Correction: PUBLISHED CORRECTION RAN SUNDAY, MARCH 12, 1989 FOLLOWS.

SUIT-SETTLING ORDER HIT

Article Text:

Summary: The Association for Retarded Citizens of Oregon cites ``appalling'' conditions at the institution

The association was an intervenor in a lawsuit filed against the state by the Department of Justice in July 1986.

The association's objection to the decree that settled that lawsuit was filed late Thursday afternoon. But at a hearing Friday morning, U.S. District Judge Malcolm Marsh sealed court documents pertaining to the case, prohibiting them from being released publicly.

Marsh sealed the documents at the state's request because residents involved in the incidents described could be identified even though their names were removed, said Pamela Abernethy, special counsel to the attorney general.

A hearing on the objection is scheduled April 6 in Marsh's courtroom.

Several pages in the 54-page court brief submitted by the association contain observations of unsupervised patients injuring themselves numerous times and improperly trained staff workers trying to cope with too many patients at once.

The reports did not give precise numbers of injuries or describe the seriousness of the injuries, but they indicate that harmful incidents occurred often. The observations made by the experts included:

*Many residents with several unexplained fractures, face lacerations, bruises, swelling, bites and burns.

*Residents who maimed, cut, choked, kicked, punched, bit and hit other residents and slammed them head first into concrete floors and walls.

*Unsupervised residents crawling on the floor naked or masturbating in the presence of other patients; other residents with clothes wet from urine or drool; residents ``fenced in a corrallike area.''

*Inadequate numbers of staff members in the cottages required workers to supervise several residents at once. One observer said groups of six to 15 residents in one building were not supervised.

*Residents with nothing to do. Residents were engaged in appropriate social actions 16 percent of the time, appropriate non-social activities 13 percent, inappropriate behavior 3 percent and no activity 68 percent of the time, according to Dr. Wayne Sailor, a professor at San Francisco State University, who observed the residents on behalf of the association.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8903110462

February 22, 1989

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: A01

Dateline: SALEM

Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Gov. Neil Goldschmidt announced he had signed a 48-page consent decree that required the state to make 200 improvements in patient care at the state institution for the mentally retarded and physically disabled. The improvements must be made by June 30, 1991.

admit any wrongdoing on the part of the state.

Representatives of the Association for Retarded Citizens of Oregon, an intervenor in the dispute, did not sign the decree. Janna Starr, executive director of the association, said the group opposed the decree because it did not mention group homes as an option for mentally retarded people.

The consent decree requires the state to submit a plan to the Justice Department in 60 days, outlining how the requirements contained in the decree will be met. Improvements range from increasing staff-to-patient ratios to assuring that residents have regular eating schedules.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8902220739

February 22, 1989

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: A14

Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 4

Article Text:

An advocacy group for retarded citizens, the 2,200-member association is composed mostly of parents whose children are too old to attend school and need community medical and vocational services and physical therapy.

The association could contest the decree and request a hearing on issues that were not addressed, or it could file another lawsuit in federal court, Starr said.

More than 500 residents have been moved into community group homes since 1983. But the association that the state is moving too slowly.

Last year, the state promised the federal Health Care Financing Administration that the population of 1,000 residents would be reduced by half by July 1, 1991. Now, the state says, the goal will be reached in 1992.

Oregon has about 200 group homes, each of which is designed to hold five residents. Each person who moves into a home has an individualized treatment plan and enough workers to take care of the person's needs. Expenses are paid through a combination of state and federal funds.

Karen Staley, president of the Association for Retarded Citizens for Oregon, said the wait has been too long already.

``They don't talk about the community. They don't talk about giving people access to community services. They just talk about making things livable and better and good within the institution, and I guess we always believe it is going to be better in the community,'' she said.

Several counties are reluctant to take responsibility for the residents and have delayed negotiations with the Mental Health Division. Finding appropriate housing often is difficult and working with contractors isn't easy, Toews added.

Toews admits the placements have not been always been successful because it is not easy to predict how residents will respond to a new environment.

``Yes I can point to some failures out there,'' he said. ``People have gone out there, and everything we thought about wasn't enough or it didn't work, or we had to adjust it.''

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8902220686

February 7, 1989

Author: VINCE KOHLER - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: South Zoner

Page: B04

Dateline: OREGON CITY

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

But while the Board of Commissioners endorses the program, the commissioners' unease with it is growing -- and will be a topic of discussion in the State Capitol this week.

The county board on Feb. 2 approved an agreement with the State Mental Health Division ensuring that the county will get more than $12.7 million for the 1987-89 biennium for mental health services including alcohol and drug abuse programs. That is about $630,000 more than was anticipated.

Included in the total is $2.9 million that the county will spend during the 1988-89 fiscal year on programs for the developmentally disabled.

The commissioners fear that Clackamas County eventually could find itself responsible for specialized medical services that it has neither the money nor the skilled staff to provide.

How to shore up the program and make it successful will be among topics of discussion on Tuesday, when the commissioners lunch with the county's legislative delegation in the State Capitol in Salem.

``We've already gotten out most of the people who can live in group homes,'' said Commissioner Ed Lindquist. ``A lot of these new people need special care.''

The county Mental Health Division contracts with social services companies to staff the group homes. But low wages and the demands of such jobs often attract inexperienced workers and result in high turnover, Lindquist said.

Three hundred patients will be moved to group homes in communities statewide by the end of the year, and perhaps 200 more will move during the 1989-91 biennium.

The process is known as ``downsizing'' in social services jargon.

Two of the homes are in the Oregon City area and three are in the Milwaukie area. Two others have yet to open. Three to five more group homes may open during the next biennium, according to King.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8902070425

January 21, 1989

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: E01

Biography Profile

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

Summary: Instead of taking a leave, the superintendent of the troubled state institution resigns after a year, citing the pressures of the job

The Mental Health Division had said Thursday that Gustafson was taking a 30-day leave, but on Friday, officials said she actually had decided to resign.

The plan is the result of an agreement reached between the state and the federal Health Care Financing Administration in December. It calls for half of the institution's 954 residents to be in community group homes by July 1991.

Gustafson's resignation will not affect the plan, or a proposed settlement of a lawsuit between the state and the federal Department of Justice, said Kevin Concannon, director of the state Department of Human Resources.

However, she will be missed, he added.

``I've appreciated having Linda there because she comes with national breadth; she has run large institutions. . . . She can spot problems, and she has vastly superior knowledge of places like that,'' Concannon said.

And in the past tumultuous year, Gustafson has been forced to deal with more threats to cut off Medicaid funding, federal lawsuits and out-of-court settlements. She has met the crises head on, not flinching from the controversy, those who worked with her said.

But Gustafson, 44, said Friday that the pressures placed on her since her arrival from Illinois had ``taken their toll'' and she was ready to resign. The decision, Gustafson said, was made after ``considerable thought'' about the time she would have to commit to implementing the three-year plan.

When Concannon hired Gustafson, he said he was impressed with her experience in dealing with difficult situations.

Despite efforts to meet with parents, advisory groups and employees, however, she had the reputation of being hard to get to know.

Yet, recalled Sleeman, when a cottage manager became ill and went to the hospital, Gustafson called her to see how she was.

``That's the other side of her that a lot of people never got to see,'' Sleeman said.

``She did have those moments when she could let down for a minute to tend to somebody, but then she had all these other pressures coming her way,'' he added.

``She had a huge task of fighting a defensive action while also going forward, being progressive,'' Lantz said. ``I think the superintendent's job is a very difficult one and is under a lot of scrutiny from a lot of different pressure groups.''

The superintendent should be familiar with Oregon's experience, said Lippincott, who already has notified some people of the opening and plans to call others.

Caption:

Photo of LINDA GUSTAFSON

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8901210538

January 14, 1989

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: Fourth

Section: Local Stories

Page: D03

Estimated printed pages: 1

Article Text:

Concannon, who met with Justice Department officials Wednesday, said he was close to making a recommendation to Gov. Neil Goldschmidt on a consent decree. He said the recommendation could be made within the next few days.

At the same time, Justice Department officials would give the proposed decree to U.S. Attorney General Richard Thornburgh to consider, Concannon said.

The Salem institution houses nearly 1,000 mentally and physically disabled people. It has been a concern of federal officials for several years and lost $8 million in Medicaid funds for 14 weeks in 1987 because of problems federal officials called life threatening.

The settlement would resolve a lawsuit filed by the Justice Department against the state in July 1986.

The commitment must be judicially enforceable, she said.

Copyright (c) 1989 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8901140543

December 23, 1988

Edition: FOURTH

Section: GRAPHICS

Page: D08

Chronology Profile List Statistics

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Inspections conducted the next year.

December 23, 1988

Author: SARAH B. AMES - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: D08

ANALYSIS

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

State officials on Wednesday announced an agreement with the federal Health Care Financing Administration to develop an improvement plan for the Salem institution, which now houses about 950 residents. Every six months the federal reviewers will return to ensure that the state meets set goals on the plan's track.

After repeated withdrawal of Medicaid or threats of cutoffs, Oregon will be the first state to take advantage of a 1985 federal law that allows states to develop long-range planning for their institutions that have come under attack during federal inspections.

``It gives a little better focus than `Do everything before we come back' '' for another inspection, she said.

If successful, the plan could end an often bitter dispute between the financing agency and the state over treatment of the retarded.

The state has argued that it is making improvements as quickly as it can, but Health Care Financing Administration reviewers have repeatedly found conditions they consider threats to residents' health and safety.

However, in October the federal agency again threatened to cut off $3.5 million a month in Medicaid payments for residents because of health, safety and treatment concerns.

With Wednesday's agreement, both sides will finally sit down and set a strategy to correct the deficiencies, one that will take into account both improvement at the large institution and the hope that more of the residents could be served in the community.

``The deal's not cut,'' said James Toews, an assistant administrator at Oregon's Mental Health Division who will lead the state's effort to pull together a plan. ``We're not done by any means.''

Thomas G. Wallner, the federal agency's regional assistant administrator in charge of regulating health and safety, said the agency would still cut off funds if the state couldn't deliver an acceptable plan.

He said the Health Care Financing Administration could still schedule surprise investigations if it catches wind of extraordinary conditions.

Wallner would not say whether he was pleased with the new strategy, stating simply that it was the law and that he would carry it out.

``We're not going to close the door, work on a plan and lay in on them at the end,'' he said. One public hearing will be held, probably at the end of January, Toews said. Then the plan will go the Health Care Financing Administration for approval, and it could go into effect as early as March or April.

Although many of the issues are similar, the Health Care Financing Administration agreement does not cover the exact territory of the suit, Lemman said. ``Solving one does not necessarily solve the other,'' he said.

Caption:

December 16, 1988

Author: BARNES C. ELLIS - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: E04

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Officials of the 80-year-old Salem institution for the mentally and developmentally disabled said the letter could prove ``extremely helpful'' to negotiations to end controversy at the institution.

``We've been at such an impasse on this thing,'' said James Toews, assistant administrator for developmental disabilities for the state Mental Health Division. ``We've clearly asked for a consolidated joint plan that would put all this to rest.''

But the letter said visits from federal investigators and ``a stream of experts'' had made reforms difficult.

The investigation has ``kept critical professional staff away from their jobs in hundreds of hours of depositions, interviews and visits,'' the letter said. ``While it is important that these visits take place, the facility's ability to make programmatic improvements has been hampered.''

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8812160662

December 16, 1988

Author: PHIL STANFORD - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: E01

Column

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

And in the cottages that dot these campuslike grounds, they're starting to talk about you-know-who.

You know, the jolly fat man who wears a red suit and brings you presents?

Better not shout. Better not cry. Better not pout. Telling you why.

Why, sure you do.

Santa Claus is coming to town.

Of course, it's mostly the moderates and the milds, as they call them, who show any interest. The severely retarded, the ones who have to wear football helmets and boxing gloves to keep them from hurting themselves, probably don't understand.

``It was fun for everyone,'' says the woman in charge of the cottage. She doesn't want her name to appear in print, because this is still a touchy issue down there.

``When Santa came they were all real excited. They would go up to him and say, `Hi, Santa, what have you got for me?'

``And they would tell him they had tried to be good during the past year, that they had been doing their programs.''

For example, there is one program called ``money concepts.''

``We try to teach them to make change for $5 and $10 bills,'' she says. ``Most of them don't know the value of money.''

``And then Santa would pass out the presents,'' she says. ``Actually most of them thought they came from him instead of their parents.''

Every year he would take a day off work, put on a Santa Claus suit and drive to Salem.

After he finished handing out presents in his son's cottage, he would go ho-ho-ing through some of the others, spreading good cheer.

And that among these standards was the concept of age-appropriateness.

``Please remember that the holiday season is upon us,'' began a letter, sent to parents. ``Attached is a list of gifts that is appropriate.''

The list of appropriate gifts included washable sleeping bags, baseballs, playing cards, perfume and shaving lotion.

Dolls and teddy bears for female clients were out. Male clients would no longer be given cars and trucks.

Cochrane, of course, was told that his services were no longer wanted. And the various cottages were made to understand that, whatever form he might take, Santa Claus would not be an appropriate part of Christmas this year.

In fact, when some of the cottages put up pictures of Santa, people from the front office came and tore them down.

Not Age Appropriate, they said.

And of course they were right. Because here were these people with the bodies of adults -- and what business do adults have with Santa Claus?

And of course some of them, at least the moderates and the milds, cried and carried on, but what would you expect?

There had been a misunderstanding, they said. They had never meant to tear down the Santa Claus decorations, so they could go back up.

But as far as having Santa Claus come hand out presents, forget it.

Santa Claus is not, repeat not, Age Appropriate.

And, of course, they're right about that.

But somehow that's not the point. At least not for J.T. J.T. is a moderate, 22 years old. He smokes cigarettes and watches TV a lot.

``When he came here last time it was fun,'' he says, pronouncing the words very slowly, one at a time.

So what does he think about Santa not coming this year?

``Well,'' he says, ``I guess . . . that's . . . life . . . in the . . . fast lane.''

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8812160286

November 30, 1988

Author: JIM HILL - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: D11

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

``We're working every day to correct any possible deficiencies,'' said Dr. Richard C. Lippincott, administrator of the Mental Health Division.

Lippincott emphasized that the settlement talks, presided over by a federal magistrate, were continuing, and he said: ``We think we're very close.''

Phil Lemman, a spokesman for the Oregon attorney general's office, said the appeal would lead to a hearing before an administrative law judge and a decision, or order, by that judge. If it is dissatisfied with the order, the state can then appeal to an appeal council of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, he said.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8811300645

November 27, 1988

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: C02

Estimated printed pages: 6

Article Text:

From the eighth floor of Aetna Plaza, headquarters of Region 10 of the Health Care Financing Administration, Thomas G. Wallner has an expansive view of downtown Seattle.

But Wallner, associate regional administrator of the division of health standards and quality for the Health Care Financing Administration, is more concerned about the view on his desk. The Health Care Financing Administration is responsible for monitoring the flow of federal Medicare and Medicaid fun4 health-care providers, including hg homes and state medical institutions. Wallner decides whether the providers in Region 10 -- Oregon, Washington, Idaho and Alaska -- meet federal health standards.

From where he sits, those reports on his desk tell Wallner that Oregon's institutions for the mentally ill and mentally retarded are in poor shape.

As a result of the reports, Health Care Financing Administration surveyors have been bearing down hard on Oregon, which receives more than $47 million a year for state institutions for the mentally ill or retarded.

After observing patients in Dammasch State Hospital and the Oregon State Hospital two years ago, the federal agency cut off Medicaid until state officials started following federal standards for staffing, direct care and continuing treatment. So far, $3.5 million has been withdrawn and the state continues to forgo $150,000 monthly because it has not applied for re-inspection that could lead to certification and the federal dollars that accompany the designation.

``They have some deep-seated, longstanding problems, and perhaps it isn't within their ability to turn it around quickly,'' he added.

Eventually, Medicaid funding was restored when the state submitted an action plan to the agency. A request to be reimbursed for the lost funds is pending before an appeals panel in the federal Department of Health and Human Services, the department that oversees the Health Care Financing Administration.

A South Dakota native, Wallner, 49, started out with the federal government in 1970 investigating fraud and abuse by health care providers for the Social Security Administration. He has been in his position with the Health Care Financing Administration since the agency first was established 10 years ago.

Rothwell, 44, a Spokane native, was a physical therapist in private practice before beginning work enforcing federal standards for long-term care for the Department of Health, Education and Welfare 13 years ago. Like Wallner, Rothwell, who has a master's degree in public health, also joined the health care agency when it was established 10 years ago.

``We're on the side of the patient served by Medicare and Medicaid,'' he said.

Although the surveyors are not asked to analyze why the problems occur, Wallner has his own ideas. ``As a general statement, when you have problems, you need to look at management and resources. I believe that's where the problems lie,'' he said.

``We're fighting a perception that we've had a decade of inaction,'' said Concannon, who admits that that might have been the case several years ago.

``We've said, `Look at what we've done particularly in the last year and a half. Don't visit the sins of our fathers on us of six years ago,' '' he said.

``We keep pointing out to them that you can't be sending letters in 1986 saying, `You're doing a fine job, and our examination of patients as well as records supports that,' and then say 15 months later that this is the worst facility in the U.S.A.''

For example, ``it was very obvious that residents were suffering from medical side-effects,'' caused by too much medication, said Joyce St. Arnaud, a family practice nurse who served a year on one committee.

er problems were among those listed by agency surveyors on their report after their August tour. They included:

*An elderly resident who was injured in 16 of 31 falls between February and July.

*A resident kicked by an employee who was hired to provide direct care.

*A resident who sustained five injuries over a period of several months when employees failed to give him a helmet and corrective shoes. The injuries included a sprained ankle, lacerations and a concussion requiring hospitalization.

*A resident who sustained 85 injuries between April and July, although two staff members were assigned to protect him from abusing himself. While hospitalization was required after one incident, the staffing did not change, the surveyors reported.

*A resident was injured at least 11 times from March through August; often the injuries were the result of ``aggressive behavior'' from other residents.

*Residents frequently were not supervised by employees or employees had too many residents to supervise at once.

The surveyors were alarmed by incidents they observed, Rothwell said. ``We saw pervasive -- pervasive -- immediate and serious threats to the clients,'' Rothwell said.

``It's not our intent or desire in any way to cut off the money,'' Wallner said. ``We're just saying to the state that the law requires you to provide a certain level of care, and if you don't provide that level of care, it's illegal for this money to be paid to you. So we view it as a positive thing.''

The latest battle -- over ``active treatment'' -- is becoming a battle of semantics. The federal officials say residents aren't actually getting the treatment prescribed in the institution's individual treatment plans.

When the surveyors go to institutions plagued with problems, the experience is ``emotionally draining,'' he added.

``They work long hours, and they see things that concern them greatly, and they come away oftentimes just exhausted,'' Wallner said. ``It's a tough job; it's confrontive all day long. It's a difficult thing to do.''

But turnover in the job is low, he added, because the surveyors are motivated.

``They feel they are doing very good things for the public, even though some people in Oregon don't see it that way. We see some very positive changes that result from these activities,'' Wallner said.

Caption:

2 Photos -- ROTHWELL -- THOMAS G. WALLNER.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8811260532

October 22, 1988

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: D01

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Summary: The action in U.S. District Court comes as Oregon officials confer in Washington, D.C., on a settlement

U.S. District Judge Malcolm Marsh issued an order Thursday that delayed the trial. A pretrial conference will be set when Attorney General Dave Frohnmayer contacts the court to indicate all parties to the trial ``are available,'' Marsh's order said.

Several state officials traveled to Washington, D.C., this week to continue settlement negotiations with U.S. Justice Department officials and, although no settlement to the suit was reached, some progress was made.

``We're still working away at it, and that's clearly a good sign,'' Kevin Concannon, director of the state Department of Human Resources said after he returned from Washington, D.C., Thursday night. ``We've had some very productive days. If we get through the next few weeks, we can put behind us what's happened in the last 10 years.''

Concannon said he kept Gov. Neil Goldschmidt posted by telephone on the progress of the negotiations and would report to him now that he's back in Oregon. The next move, he said, would be up to the settlement judge, U.S. District Judge Michael Hogan.

Representatives of the Association for Retarded Citizens of Oregon, which also is a party in the negotiations, were not invited to Washington, said Janna Starr, the association's executive director.

If the case goes to trial, it could last seven to 14 weeks, Concannon has estimated.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8810220475

October 12, 1988

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B03

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

Kevin Concannon, director of the state Department of Human Resources, said the association's decision was a surprise.

``We're still talking with the judge, and I think most of the attorneys are. We didn't anticipate this, let me put it that way. There's still a lot of work going on,'' said Concannon. He added that further comment about the proposed agreement would have to come from the judge.

Although the association has not signed the proposed settlement, several options remain, according to U.S. Magistrate Michael Hogan, who has been mediating the negotiations for two weeks.

The options include a settlement hearing and various steps of litigation. A case also could be settled without all the parties signing, Hogan said.

``We're going to continue to work,'' Hogan said. ``We're making progress and they have been fruitful talks. The case is not settled until it's all over. . . . We're going to continue to work as long as we're making progress.''

Starr said the association would request a ``settlement hearing'' if the U.S. Department of Justice signs the agreement. The hearing would allow the association to show why the agreement should not be signed, she said.

Starr noted that a study done in August by the federal Health Care Financing Administration found that residents suffered more than 55,000 injuries ranging from minor incidents requiring treatment to broken bones during the six months before the survey. Five of the eight residents represented by the association were among those injured, Starr said.

The residents represented by the association want to move out of the institution to ``quality community settings'' and to gain that same right for other residents, she added.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8810120750

October 5, 1988

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: B01

Estimated printed pages: 2

Article Text:

``The (federal) expectations about what will be provided under . . . active treatment have intensified, become more ambitious or harder to meet over the years,'' said Concannon.

One patient who was known to be suicidal and who needed close supervision was found ``hiding behind a locker . . . with a ripped up piece of bedsheet tight around his neck with a long strip of sheet leading from the noose around his neck,'' according to one of the citations accompanying the letter.

The state can appeal the latest federal decision to terminate the funding by filing a written request for a hearing within 60 days, Thomas G. Wallner, associate regional administrator of the Health Care Financing Administration, said in his letter.

But the state may have other options, said Concannon.

If an appeal is filed, at least six months could go by before it is heard; during that time, improvements could get under way while Medicaid funding still is available, he added.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8810050756

October 3, 1988

Edition: FOURTH

Section: EDITORIAL

Page: B06

Editorial

Estimated printed pages: 1

Article Text:

But it found the situation still not ideal and contends the institution for the retarded grows lax when it is not directly under federal scrutiny. Since the state Department of Human Resources also knows that further improvements ought to be made, federal pressure should not be needed to bring them about.

The two agencies were shouting at each other through their lawyers a few days ago. Now their attention seems to be properly focused again on the care of the people who depend on their combined resources. They ought not let future differences cause them to lose sight of their shared responsibility.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8810030230

September 29, 1988

Author: NANCY McCARTHY - of the Oregonian Staff

Edition: FOURTH

Section: LOCAL STORIES

Page: A01

Estimated printed pages: 3

Article Text:

State officials learned of the decision by the federal Health Care Financing Administration Wednesday.

At the same time, state officials voluntarily withdrew Meier and Holderness cottages, where 100 residents live, from $370,000 a month in Medicaid funding until improvements can be made. An application to reinstate the funds will be made when improvements are completed, probably in two to three months, state officials said.

He reserved the right to conduct unannounced surveys, ``given the serious nature of the issues.''

The state filed a lawsuit against the federal agency, claiming that the proposed decertification did not follow federal regulations. The state was granted a temporary injunction blocking the decertification on Sept. 8; a week later, U.S. District Judge Malcolm Marsh issued a preliminary injunction pending a hearing Oct. 25 to consider the decertification issue and to determine if residents' civil rights are being violated.

Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.

Record Number: 8809290740

September 21, 1988

Edition: FOURTH

Section: EDITORIAL

Page: B06

Editorial

Estimated printed pages: 2