Mental health court helps offenders cope, avoid jail - indystar.com

Mental health court helps offenders cope, avoid jail - indystar.com



"Twice a month, District Judge David Staudt sheds his black robe and steps down from his imposing perch on the judge’s bench.

Staudt wears a button-down shirt and a loosened necktie. He sits at the floor-level desk where his court reporter usually would be posted. On these days, he runs a special mental health court, which handles offenders whose crimes stemmed from psychiatric illnesses. It’s the sort of project that state leaders want to encourage as they revamp the overall mental health system.

Staudt wants to look these defendants in the eye and show them he’s on their side. The judge smiled as a young woman was brought in during a session last month. “Well, Susan, how’s it going?” he said. “I’m trying,” she replied. The judge praised her efforts, but noted that she’d recently failed a drug test. Without informing her probation officer, she took a narcotic painkiller that her dentist ordered. The slip-up mattered, because she’d agreed to avoid drugs that could reignite an addiction that accompanies her psychological problems. “You’ve got a lot of things going well. It’s just this one thing,” the judge said. “It’s going to take baby steps to get you out of this.”

The young woman is one of about 30 Black Hawk County offenders participating in the mental health court, which offers intense oversight to help people cope with their psychiatric problems before their behaviors slide back into crime. Proponents say such efforts can save lives and money, because they prevent incarceration of people for the effects of schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, severe depression or other serious mental illnesses. Participants have pleaded guilty or been convicted of a range of crimes, from theft to assault. They’ve agreed to the program’s conditions, including regular drug tests, psychiatric treatment and frequent visits with a probation officer and a mental health counselor.

The goal is to ease the flow of mentally ill people into jail for misbehavior that might have been avoided if they had proper treatment and support. Blawk Hawk County Jail administrators estimate that 50 to 55 percent of their prisoners have psychological problems, including 25 percent who need prescription psychiatric drugs. The jail spends $175,000 a year on medication and extra staffing for prisoners with serious mental illness, plus their room and board.

The Waterloo mental health court is one of just two such programs in Iowa. The other is in Sioux City. They’re designed to bring calm to a legal process that can seem chaotic and frightening to people with mental illnesses. Offenders are brought into the courtroom one at a time instead of being held as a group. They sit at a long table with the counselor, a public defender, a probation officer and a prosecutor, who have informally discussed their cases beforehand.

The authorities, including the prosecutor, praise the participants for seeking jobs, attending classes, taking psychiatric medication, caring for their children and staying sober. Judge Staudt tells them such efforts are “sweet,” “neat” or “cool.” Each offender’s session lasts 10 or 15 minutes. When it’s through, the judge walks over, shakes the person’s hand and offers a card with information about the next court date.

One day last month, Staudt and the other authorities nodded and smiled as a graduating participant offered a tearful speech of thanks. Hannah Uker, 27, landed in the program after being convicted of a burglary charge that she says was related to a bad breakup with a boyfriend. She has bipolar and anxiety disorders, and a history of alcohol and drug abuse. She told the court that she was cynical about the program when she entered it two years ago. She thought the probation officer, Rob Wymore, cared only whether she peed in a cup for her scheduled drug tests. Uker recalled how Wymore and counselor Helen Kemp stuck with her after she had a breakdown and tried to kill herself in the fall of 2010. She spent 28 days in inpatient treatment, then returned to the court’s supervision and has stayed straight for 17 months.

“You’ve shown me how to respect others and respect myself, how to live life the right way,” she told the court. “At times you had to hold my hand, but you always stood by me, walked this path with me, encouraging and pushing me forward to succeed.” After the court session, Uker said that she saw Wymore or Kemp at least twice a month, and often more frequently. If she’d been on regular probation, “I wouldn’t have been seen on such a regular basis. I fear I would have fallen through the cracks,” she said. Many people on normal probation see their officers only every month or two.

Uker said she was glad to hear that other communities are considering mental health courts. “They should give it a shot, because it’s worth it,” she said. “You could save somebody’s life. It saved mine. I’m living proof.”

Dean Olson, the program’s defense lawyer, said the idea should not be construed as authorities going soft on criminals. “Quite frankly, they don’t get off easier,” he said of the participants. “This probation is more difficult than they would have otherwise. It’s more supervision, it’s more closely monitored. There’s more opportunity, but there’s also a requirement on the clients’ part that they participate in a fairly structured program that they wouldn’t have had to otherwise.”

Court officials sometimes lose patience with participants who lack effort. During a recent session, County Attorney Tom Ferguson and counselor Kemp batted around possibilities for a young man who had repeatedly failed drug tests and was now back in jail for violating probation. He was due to appear in the mental health court later that afternoon. “What do you want to do with him, besides kick him in the butt?” Ferguson asked. Kemp, who tends to lay a sympathetic hand on clients’ arms as they face the judge, shared the prosecutor’s exasperation in this man’s case. “I would like to kick him in the butt,” she said. Then she backtracked, suggesting he might deserve another chance.

Ferguson shook his head. “If there were times when he was going along well and then screwing up, that’d be one thing,” the prosecutor said. “But this is screw-up after screw-up after screw-up.” All sides chimed in, including the defense lawyer, who said the young man had expressed a willingness to serve another month or so in jail and then be dismissed from the program. Everyone agreed that if that happened, he probably would wind up in legal trouble again. They also agreed that the special probation program wasn’t doing him much good.

The judge donned his black robe and climbed up onto the elevated bench to pass official judgment. A sheriff’s deputy led in the offender, who wore handcuffs, leg chains and a gray-and-black striped jail uniform. “We’re sorry that you didn’t make it all the way,” the judge told the offender, who nodded. The man said he was ready to remain in jail a few more weeks, then to be dismissed from the mental health court. But even he indicated he appreciated parts of the program. He asked if he could still call Kemp, the counselor, after he was released. She put her hand on his back and told him that of course he could call her.

The judge settled the matter with a jail sentence that would amount to about a month beyond the month already served. “Good luck to you,” he said as the young man stood. “Thanks,” the man said before the deputy led him away."