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Government
May 30, 2001
Walls of Silence
LOS ANGELES - In three decades, the memories have not faded. Andrew Bridge was 6 years old when police and social workers took him from his mother. An hour later, he was a prisoner behind the barbed wire, high walls and locked doors of MacLaren Hall.
Andrew Bridge was 6 years old when police and social workers took him from his mother. An hour later, he was a prisoner behind the barbed wire, high walls and locked doors of MacLaren Hall.
"It was a brutal place," he said. "A tough place."
Things have changed over the years. There's now a yoga class and an emergency mental health clinic instituted by a reform-minded director. The residents have changed, too.
"MacLaren has become the place of last resort," John Robbins, the director of what is today called MacLaren Children's Center, said. "Today, the population has become older, more damaged, more difficult - and that's where the long-term thing comes in."
Today, MacLaren remains a place where troubled kids often are treated like prisoners and scant hope is given to their lives. It no longer houses delinquents, but it is the only emergency shelter for abused, abandoned and neglected minors in Los Angeles County. Kids facing lesser challenges are immediately placed into foster homes.
After years of lawsuits and attempts at change, MacLaren today resembles the institution Bridge can't shake - with one major exception. Many of the children it houses are severely emotionally or mentally troubled.
"MacLaren was never intended to become what it is today, and that's a mental health facility. It's time for L.A. to recognize that," Bridge, now the chief executive officer and general counsel for the Alliance for Children's Rights, said.
About 130 kids, with an average age of 13, call this place and its military-style barracks home.
During a recent Daily Journal tour of the facility with Robbins, I saw one cottage for 11 girls - ranging from small children to developmentally delayed teen-agers. Nine little beds, most with stuffed animals on the pillows, were lined head-to-toe on both sides of a breezeway. The unused adjacent bedrooms were designed to accommodate two or three residents each.
The children, Robbins said, were subjected to this unusual living arrangement because some were self-destructive, violent and dangerous - and could harm the younger, more vulnerable girls. MacLaren officials put all the beds and their occupants in the breezeway so "four to five" professional staff members could observe them at all times.
Visiting a classroom at MacLaren School gave insight into another unusual arrangement. There were as many adults keeping tabs on kids in the senior boys' class as there were students. The atmosphere was overwhelming and, in its own way, sad. "How can you expect a kid to learn in such an environment?" Bridge asked.
Reports of such troubling scenarios led the Daily Journal to spend the last year seeking access to MacLaren and some of its children. I became interested after hearing reports from county and court officials that kids were being mistreated there. So, I filed a petition with the Los Angeles Juvenile Court last June and asked to speak privately with kids living at the facility. Within a month, Juvenile Court Presiding Judge Terry Friedman had granted our petition and suggested I be allowed to interview 10 of MacLaren's young residents. Unfortunately, it quickly became a test of faith whether I would ever be allowed to speak to the children even though, I was told, they had volunteered to speak to us.
Scheduled interviews with MacLaren kids were routinely canceled, and I was told that some kids had decided they did not want to talk to us. In the end, I was able to speak with three current and former residents.
One of those residents, Christina, 15, exemplified the new face of MacLaren. The longtime shelter resident overslept the morning of our interview. The tall, pretty young woman with neatly braided hair arrived wearing gray sweats and rubbing her eyes.
Christina was determined to speak to the outside world about conditions at the facility she has been in and out of so many times she couldn't remember details about the duration of her stays. She entered foster care at the age of 7, and said living in the system has been "rough" and unpleasant. MacLaren has been her worst experience.
"I don't like how the staff puts their hands on the kids," she said. "The staff is not supposed to put their hands on kids. ... But the staff grabs me and the other kids. They bend our wrist and put it way back here [gesturing to the center of her back]. That's how some of the kids get their arms broke."
Cautioned by her dependency court attorney to temper her remarks lest she face repercussions from MacLaren's staff, Christina lashed back: "I want them to know who I am."
Christina said she knew of at least two girls whose arms had been broken during restraints and, two years ago, she said her arm was nearly broken and a muscle was pulled out of place. "They are not supposed to restrain us like that," she said.
She also said she was concerned that drugs and alcohol are being smuggled onto the El Monte campus by some MacLaren residents. "They should send them to jail," she said. "The staff knows about it and sometimes they don't care. I don't know why."
Another problem was the food served at the facility. "It's horrible," she said. 'I don't really know what they be doing to that food. I really don't eat it."
At the time of our interview, Christina, a bright student who likes to learn, said she was boycotting MacLaren's school. "I go when I feel like it. ... It doesn't interest me," she said. "I just kick back and watch TV."
What brought a sparkle to this woman-child's sad eyes was when she talked about her grandfather, who visits every week, and her friends. One day she hopes to become a professional basketball player and said she's thinking about becoming a pediatrician as well.
Asked what she would change about MacLaren, she didn't pause. "I would stop letting the staff restrain the kids," she said.
MacLaren's history has been checkered since the days it served as a juvenile hall for delinquent youth at the same time it housed abused kids.
Though the delinquency kids were moved to another facility in the late 1970s, the abused children who remained were not necessarily left better off. In the 1980s, the shelter's staff physically and emotionally mistreated children, according to numerous accounts. Following widely-publicized scandals, county employees were prosecuted and convicted of everything from molesting kids to drug dealing on the premises.
Recently, the specter of staff mistreatment of kids has re-emerged following documented injuries to children, ranging from broken bones to sprained limbs and blackened eyes. Some of these injuries have resulted in lawsuits being filed against the county on behalf of foster children.
Many feel the shelter's staff is improperly trained to deal with special-needs kids. Perhaps because of that, a Manhattan Beach lawyer is preparing a class action on behalf of all children at the shelter. Among the claims of the children he and other lawyers represent are broken arms and other injuries sustained during restraint procedures.
Ron Eisman, a Whittier attorney, recently settled claims brought by two boys who suffered fractured arms during restraining procedures by staff.
"I don't think they intentionally wanted to break their arms, they were just not trained in the proper procedures," Eisman said.
According to MacLaren's director, however, it is the children who lose control - not the adults.
"He or she may be assaulting another child or the staff. They have to be contained, and in that containment process is when a child can get hurt," he said. If a child is injured, Robbins said, an outside agency, generally law enforcement, is brought in to investigate. Although some disagree, Robbins said he is unaware of any situation where a MacLaren employee has deliberately or negligently injured a child.
Robbins must deal with other threats to the institutions and its residents, as well. A judge recently ordered MacLaren to meet the same state-licensing requirements as any other community care facility, including restrictions on overcrowding, special education, physical restraint and staff training. "MacLaren couldn't survive one day if it's forced to meet state code," said a leading child advocate who asked not to be identified.
Robbins, however, is not worried about MacLaren closing its doors: "I think that everybody believes there will be some licensing requirement. It's up in the air, and the state is trying to clarify to find out what the court order means," he said.
Putting aside the issues of state licensing and other lawsuits, there remains a huge problem: MacLaren no longer serves the purpose for which it was intended - a short-term emergency placement for at-risk kids. About that, everyone, including Robbins, agrees.
Instead, MacLaren has become a hard-edged limboland for kids no one else seems to want.
"Shelter care facilities are an idea of the '70s that didn't work. They are a dumping ground for children," Bridge said. "They are where foster care dumps its children. And, rather than being a temporarily facility, which is what they were intended to be, kids grow up at places like MacLaren, which is a travesty. How can a kid grow up in MacLaren and expect to survive on the streets of Los Angeles when they leave?"
The majority of the children at the shelter today have serious emotional problems, physical disabilities or both. The cost of housing a child at MacLaren is $123,000 per year.
Child advocates say these kids are on a perpetual trampoline that bounces them between stints at MacLaren, psychiatric hospitals, foster homes and juvenile hall.
Manual, 17, arrived early for our interview. The serious young man waited patiently in MacLaren's lobby with a counselor from the private facility where he had recently been transferred. When Manual learned that his attorney and favorite social worker wouldn't be there to sit in on the interview (and had sent surrogates in their place), he seemed hurt and dejected.
That didn't stop him.
Since he was 9 years old, Manual has been in and out of the foster-care system. He's lived at MacLaren on three different occasions and, most recently, spent three months there before moving to a facility in Rosemead. MacLaren has been one of the only constants in his life.
"The first time I came here I thought I was in juvenile hall and I was going to get locked up. I saw the walls and everything. But it wasn't like that. I made friends," he said.
During his last stay, Manual ran away three times, always returning to his family's neighborhood in Highland Park. In truth, he said, his family rarely comes to see him. He went home anyway and generally got himself into some kind of unspecified trouble.
Asked what he would change about MacLaren, Manual said he would remodel the building. "I would make it more up to date," he said.
Like Christina, he also would change the quality of the food. "It's not that good. Sometimes the mayonnaise had green chunks in it. It was nasty, man," he said.
The worst thing at MacLaren, he said, was the school. "It needs a little bit more control. It's not that good. Kids need to get a little bit more help," he said.
Another problem was the kids. "Some of them are in gangs," he said. "They team up."
Manual admitted he was no stranger to trouble. "The [district attorney] was trying to put me away. I got angry. And he tried to put me away and tried to put me in [probation] camp," he said. "My attorney got me out and they had an open bed at Mac. So they brought me here. They saved me."
Although the youth admitted he'd had unpleasant encounters with some of MacLaren's staff because of his temper, he feels most of the adults who work at the shelter are "cool." Manual said that on his last birthday the staff gave him a Walkman and several stuffed animals. "All the staff are cool to me," he said. "If you show them respect, you get it back."
Other fond MacLaren memories had to do with friends, popcorn, snow cones, video games, field trips and playing basketball. But Manual, who wants to become a deputy sheriff, admitted he still has trouble controlling his temper.
"I get angry when people try to put consequences on me. But you have to accept the consequences or it gets worse and worse," he said.
Maggie Brandow, a staff attorney with Mental Health Advocacy Services Inc., said, "These are kids with serious psychiatric problems and they don't last long at MacLaren because it's a chaotic environment. They break down."
Brandow, whose expertise is in representing mentally ill children, said her clients are frequently hospitalized and then returned to the shelter. "The ambulances come to MacLaren and the kid takes his belongings in a trash bag," she said. She believes some of these hospitalizations are unnecessary.
Robbins said his staff errs on the side of caution - but he believes children are legitimately hospitalized because they are adjudged to be a danger to themselves or others. "It happens frequently," he said. "Their impulse control is out of control."
Other kids who act out are just as likely to find themselves leaving MacLaren in a squad car that transports them to juvenile hall. Mental health advocates contend shelter kids often are arrested for nothing more than manifesting the symptoms of their illnesses.
"Two of my clients, both girls - one is mentally retarded, the other mentally ill - were arrested in the last two weeks at MacLaren for assault," Brandow said. "I'd like to know who's making the decisions about whether these kids are criminals or mentally ill."
Robbins, however, maintained that "there are times when we have a child who assaults another child - and the child who is assaulted says, 'I want to press charges.' Law enforcement decides whether to take the child to juvenile hall. ... We also have children who assault staff."
Asked why these kids have so many problems, Robbins responded that he thinks it's part of the price society is paying for the excesses of the '70s and '80s.
"Drugs, clearly, and alcohol are two issues that are just tearing the guts out of every community in this country. Some kids are beyond repair because that kind of damage doesn't go away. We have increasing numbers of kids who are damaged because of the rampant use of drugs in all sectors of society," he said.
Robbins feels too many parents simply don't have time for their kids.
"In many ways, we are a less caring society. We don't care for each other as we used to," he said. "We have created a throwaway society where everything is disposable. I think that in some ways we've crossed over the line and our kids are disposable, our mates are disposable, everything is disposable."
Robbins has spent virtually his entire career helping children, beginning as a child welfare worker in San Diego in 1960. He has seen the changes among children - and institutions like the one he now runs. Robbins was hired two years ago, following a death at MacLaren that shook Los Angeles County to its core.
On Oct. 10, 1997, Jason Pokrzywinski, a mentally troubled 12-year-old, collapsed and died after inhaling fumes from a can of hair mousse. Jason had been in a series of psychiatric hospitals for treatment of inhalant abuse and depression before he was sent to the shelter. He was unsupervised at the time he sniffed the mousse. At the time, Jason was on "one-on-one" watch; all his activities were supposed to have been monitored by MacLaren's staff.
Jason's mother, Debbi Pokrzywinski, filed a lawsuit against the county in June 1998. She was represented by high-profile attorney Gloria Allred of Allred, Maroko & Goldberg who described the boy's death as a "human sacrifice" and a wake-up call for Los Angeles County.
"The death of a high-risk child at MacLaren under those conditions was a tragedy waiting to happen," Allred said. "Jason Pokrzywinski became the first child victim to lose his life there because the system, whose duty it was to protect him, failed instead to provide the supervision and care which could have saved his precious life."
The mother's lawsuit, which was subsequently settled, alleged negligence. She charged that high-risk children, some with serious mental illnesses, were being sent to live in a facility that was not designed for them and that failed to provide the therapy, treatments and/or supervision they needed. Pokrzywinski also charged that her son had been given prescription medications in excess of the dosage levels prescribed for him. Pokrzywinski v. County of Los Angeles, KC028421 (L.A. Super. Ct., filed June 16, 1998).
After Jason's death, a red-faced county Board of Supervisors demanded change. "Jason died and everything was put on hold," Patricia Curry, a commissioner with the county Commission on Children and Families, said.
In short order, a management consultant was hired by the county to study what was going on at MacLaren, then under the control of the Department of Children and Family Services. Among other things, the consultant suggested the facility needed strong, centralized leadership. Thus began a major push to consolidate and coordinate services for kids at MacLaren.
From that point, county departments began to pool resources and revenue to operate MacLaren. This interagency group, which was in October 1998 dubbed the Interagency Children's Services Consortium, consisted of the directors of the departments of children and family services, mental health, health services, probation, education and the chief administrative office. At the time, the concept of agencies working together was hailed as a unique and grand experiment.
Once the ball was rolling, all the consortium needed was an administrator to run the day-to-day operation of the shelter. It was determined that this individual would be employed by the chief administrative office and would be accountable to the consortium.
Enter Robbins, who was then the administrator at San Diego County's children's shelter. Robbins said he applied for the job at the eleventh hour and was hired in June 1999. Widely admired for his management skills, observers say Robbins has an impossible job and too many county bosses to please.
As director, Robbins has introduced an array of programs and reorganized MacLaren's staff. New programs include a wraparound-services pilot project, an emergency mental health clinic, on-site conflict resolution, yoga classes and an independent-living program for older kids leaving foster care. "We're at the point of change now and we're going through the process of transition," Robbins told members of the county's Commission on Children and Families last October.
For all the reorganization and Robbins' skill, observers say the bottom line is that conditions for children living at MacLaren haven't really improved.
"Many of the problems are inherent in having a large institutional facility for children, particularly abused and neglected children," Friedman said. "It's far from a family setting and these are very often seriously damaged children with profound mental disorders, significant mental delays and serious behavioral challenges."
The underlying problem, Friedman said, is there are few placement facilities that will accept kids with behavior problems. "There is little, if any, treatment available at MacLaren. The educational program is unable to provide all of these children with the appropriate education they are entitled to."
Bridge agreed, saying MacLaren is part of a problem that is not unique to Los Angeles County. "It's a failure to provide mental-health services," he said. "We are witnessing a deterioration in these children's lives because of our failure to intervene in an effective way."
So far, Friedman said, the only change he's seen was the creation of the consortium. "It's a positive step," he said. "The agencies are working together and that's a big improvement. I think there's improvement on the service delivery side, but it has not borne fruit for the children who remain at MacLaren."
The consortium's goal, Robbins said, is to create something called an "integrated services model." What this means is unclear - and the failure to communicate likely rests with the consortium, which holds nonpublic meetings. Asked why this is, Robbins responded that the meetings are open to the public. But the next day, a member of the county counsel's staff, who sat in during a recent interview with Robbins at MacLaren, called to correct the director. Consortium meetings of county department heads, she said, are "not open to the public."
Kids often say they think MacLaren looks like a prison.
"It's a version of a prison, a 'home' run like a quasi-reformatory," attorney Sanford Jossen, who represents children at MacLaren, said. "When I saw one of my clients, a 9-year-old retarded boy, I was blown away by where he lived. It was so clinical. ... As a civilized society we wouldn't tolerate this for our children. Aren't these our children?"
Though it's compared with a prison - and feels like one to many of the children who reside there - MacLaren actually is an unlocked facility and kids frequently run away.
If he could, Robbins said he would lock all the doors.
While the director acknowledged that MacLaren remains troubled, he believes things are in better shape than when he arrived. "Have we been able to develop better placements for the kids? No," Robbins said. "Is MacLaren a perfect place? No. Not yet."
Allred said the county has had sufficient time to do what's necessary to protect MacLaren's kids. "If they cannot make children safe there, they should not accept children," she said. "We should not accept excuses. Politicians are responsible for whatever happens [at MacLaren], and they have to make a commitment to children in dollars."
Our last visit took place in Hacienda Heights. When we met him, Nicholas, 14, recently had left MacLaren and had moved to a residential group home. The first thing the lanky youth did to his new bedroom - which otherwise contained a pedestrian dresser, twin beds and a laundry basket filled to the brim with unfolded clothing - was to tape a copy of "Tiger Beat" on the wall.
The fanzine was clearly a precious possession, except that it wasn't exactly his. "I borrowed it from a girl," he said.
To break the ice, Nicholas, who hopes to become a singer in a rock band, took "Tiger Beat" off the wall. He sat on one of the twin beds with his visitor slowly sharing every one of the well-worn fanzine's pages. All the while he gave a running commentary on the lives, hairdos and musical skills of his favorite rock stars: 'N Sync, Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, Hanson.
Blue eyes emanating an intense curiosity, Nicholas talked of his hopes of going to college. Most questions (unless they had to do with rock groups) were answered in simple phrases like "one month" or "one year." After each reply, his social worker shook her head to signal that Nicholas wasn't getting the answers right.
Put simply, Nicholas appeared to be developmentally delayed and had few recollections of life at MacLaren. He didn't know how long he lived there nor how long he'd been in foster care. He did remember that he liked some of the kids and didn't like others, and he liked parties in the gym. Also, he enjoyed going to movies on weekends, and his favorite was "Space Cowboys." School was good, Nicholas said, and church was good because he could sing.
Best of all was when his family came. "My grandma and brother came to visit and take me out to lunch, sometimes Denny's," he said, licking his lips.
Proud of what appeared to be a piece of jewelry on his black sweater, Nicholas took it off to give his visitor a closer look. It was a shiny gold pen with a tiny angel on top. The future rock star beamed. "I bought it at the MacLaren Store," he said.
#300802
Cheryl Romo
Daily Journal Staff Writer
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