CORONAVIRUS (COVID-19) RESOURCE CENTER Read More
Add To Favorites

Mental health training adds to law enforcement's job scope

Kerrville Daily Times (TX) - 4/18/2015

April 18--Closed circuit monitors record every movement Kerr County Detention Center inmates make, but the quiet ones often worry Sheriff Rusty Hierholzer the most.

Hierholzer shook his head as a woman slept facing a wall. In another cell, a man lay motionless on the floor near the door under a blanket.

"If she wasn't asleep, she'd be crawling all over the walls," Hierholzer said. "She's an animal in a cage, and she does not need to be in our facility. That guy, lying on the floor under a suicide blanket. He shouldn't be here either."

The drug addiction, alcoholism and violent offenses that land many prisoners behind bars often is rooted in mental illness. And, for inmates, their families and the law enforcement officers who may risk their lives responding to crisis calls, there is no relief in sight.

Mental illness costs state and local governments about $1.5 billion per year, according to the Texas Medical Association. The association estimates that each person that is repeatedly jailed, hospitalized or admitted to a detoxification center cost the state around $55,000 per year.

The state allotted $2.6 billion for public mental health treatment in the 2014-15 budget year, $1.7 billion of it from the general revenue fund. Texas is ranked 49th in that funding, according to the association.

"That's wrong," Hierholzer said. "As of March 30, we had 16 inmates classified as major chronic mental health cases. These people shouldn't be in jail at all. I get really disgusted with the state because what the state has done, in the last 10 years, some of it out of necessity, is to turn all of the state hospitals into forensic hospitals for people who have been found incompetent and need treatment. As great as the state of Texas is, there is no reason we should be ranked last on the funding for mental health. That, to me, is negligence on the part of our state Legislature."

The Sheriff's Association of Texas recently prepared a legislative platform of 10 issues for lawmakers, Hierholzer said. Increasing Title V appropriations for MHMR, which oversees mental health treatment services across Texas, is the No. 1 priority. Endorsing the development of a system of regional mental health centers to divert inmates into care also is part of that, Hierholzer said.

"Law enforcement is letting, in a lot of ways, the state shove this down on us making it a law enforcement issue, and having these people put in our jails and having our officer be required in certain ways to be trained to deal with it, and it should not be that way," Hierholzer said. "Law enforcement should not be involved at all in mental health treatment.

Getting an inmate treatment is a nightmare, according to Hierholzer. An inmate may wait up to nine months for an evaluation. Hospitalization may not be possible in severe cases due to a lack of beds.

Other times, that means reducing or dropping charges so a person can be released for outpatient care when nothing else is available. Getting officers and social workers to agree on a person's mental status is another problem, one Hierholzer attributes partly to a lack of training.

"I had one a couple of weeks ago who was found mentally incompetent," Hierholzer said. "It will be six months before there will be a bed available for that person. What we are seeing more and more, when a person needs help, we have to call another agency to come out and evaluate them. When a social worker comes out and says, 'No, there is nothing wrong,' what do you do? When you've got experienced officers standing there trying to give them all of the information we can give them about this person and what we're dealing with, and they tell us 'No,' it gets frustrating, or when they get a doctor on the phone and they say, 'No, they are not a danger to themselves,' it gets frustrating."

Crisis calls or those requesting mental status evaluations are a fact of life for Kerrville police, according to public information officer Ben Eubank.

"We probably get at least one call a shift, and we have three shifts a day," Eubank said. "We get at least one call minimum for some type of mental health issue, whether that's a transport to the Crisis Stabilization Unit from the hospital or going to a residence and dealing with someone that's suicidal."

The dynamic of how law enforcement handles those calls has changed in many departments in recent years, Eubank said. Police academies and agencies now teach officers to recognize the signs of schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, mood disorders and other disorders involved in many crisis calls.

Post traumatic stress disorder, which encompasses a range of physiological and behavioral problems, is a growing problem, according to Hierholzer.

Handling crisis calls often means just talking to a person, Eubank said.

"As a patrol officer, you learn really quick that the way to approach the situation is not as the authority figure barking commands and orders," Eubank said. "It's by going out there, saying, 'I'm Ben, and I'm just like you.'"

In one week, firefighters, city officers and deputies have handled two potentially deadly encounters that became public knowledge. Most never make headlines, Deputy Eli Garcia said, because they happen in a home or other isolated area.

A Kerrville man, Christopher David Navarro, was charged Thursday with deadly conduct for shooting at deputies who responded to a domestic violence call at his home. When deputies went inside the home, they found Navarro had positioned an AR-15 and another weapon to fire at anyone who entered.

On April 8, gawkers encouraged another Kerrville man to jump off of the Sidney Baker Street bridge as Garcia, Eubank, Kerrville police investigator Kristy Harris and others spent more than four hours attempting to coax him down.

Some posted facial photos to the Internet, where friends and family members found them.

"His mother was in our jail, and she called her daughter when she heard about it," Hierholzer said. "It caused quite a scene."

Others were angry that the bridge was closed at rush hour. Some revved their engines, apparently to startle the man into falling. Many came after a Facebook poster falsely claimed he was dead.

Some criticized the hours Harris talked to the man as he swung his arms and legs, a clue it was a serious attempt.

Harris, Eubank and Garcia heard them. So did the man. It almost derailed their proceedings, according to Harris and Garcia.

"I could hear it on the bridge," Harris said. "It was terrifying up there. If he would have made the wrong choice up there, that would have affected everyone, much like 9-11 affected everybody, that was just watching it on TV. It would have affected our community because people would have lived with the sight of that for the rest of their lives. I have heard that there were multiple calls to the department telling them to open the bridge. I also heard multiple comments about what happened that day, and my response is, 'It's a human life, and it's worth living.' Even if he lived a bad life, maybe tomorrow is the day that he makes it better."

"When they are going through that type of crisis in their head and they hear, 'Jump jump,' that is just the cherry on top of their life of, 'I'm hopeless, I'm helpless, no one cares for me," Garcia said. "It's counterproductive, to say the least."

The longer a person speaks to law enforcement, the better chance of a positive outcome, according to Harris and Garcia, since that gives them more time to build trust bonds.

"It's a small price to pay, if it stops them," Harris said.

It also gives them time to slow that person down, which Harris said helps them to retake control of their personal situation. The department uses cellphones and a throw phone connected to a van that allows a team to listen to the call.

The Special Operations Unit also is a team effort, Harris said, incorporating a trained dispatcher who can talk to a person who does not trust officers.

"First and foremost, you have to build trust, and it's hard to get a person who is probably having the worst day of their life to trust a stranger who represents authority," Harris said. "It could be as simple as giving them some water, it might be the first thing someone has given them in a long time. A lot of the time, they are where they are because no one recognizes their problems."

Garcia was shutting his phone off on a Dallas runway as he and Deputy Eric Piper extradited an inmate from Virginia when the first text came in about the situation on the bridge.

The conversation continued all the way to San Antonio. When Garcia arrived in Kerrville, he immediately went to the bridge. Getting close enough to the man to speak to him proved difficult for the veteran negotiator.

"Ben (Eubank) went to school with him, and he wouldn't even let him get close," Garcia said. "The fact that I was wearing civilian clothes might have helped me to be able to get close. I offered him a cigarette and a lighter. When the second one went out, we made eye contact, and I asked, 'Dude, would you like another one?'"

As Harris distracted the man, Garcia, Eubank and Kerrville police Lt. Phil Engstrom tackled him, a safety procedure that also prevents a jumper from taking an officer with them.

A person who is taken down is first evaluated at a hospital for possible drug or alcohol usage, Hierholzer said, then may be taken to a local crisis stabilization unit for 72 hours before a mandatory appearance before a judge who can determine if jail or a mental health detainment is appropriate.

Local law enforcement receive 80 hours of training through the San Antonio Police Department academy, Harris said.

Harris, 34, a 10-year veteran, served as a Coast Guard boat captain before becoming a police officer.

Garcia, 50, also is certified through the Texas Association of Hostage Negotiators.

Body language can speak more than words when officers arrive at a scene and begin assessing whether they are dealing with a depressed person, a suicidal person or a potential suicide by police, a growing menace to law enforcement.

Another growing factor are crises involving dementia and Alzheimer's patients, Garcia said.

"I'd say we get at least one report a week on those calls," Garcia said. "It's becoming more and more common."

In January, Hierholzer had a gun pointed at him by a 75-year-old Shalako Drive resident who told dispatchers he was on fire.

Deputies found the man sitting on a toilet. When another officer on the scene, Deputy Michael Holzapfel, asked him what was wrong, he replied, "I'm on fire, you son of a bitch."

Holzapfel turned his back for a moment to check on his patrol vehicle. When he turned around, Guthrie held a gun at him at close range.

Hierholzer laid down his own weapon before entering the home. Moments later, he tackled the man, who was taken to a hospital for observation.

"He died a week later," Garcia said.

Five years ago, Garcia and another officer faced another potential suicide by police in Ingram, a veteran with PTSD. After calming him down, they asked if he wanted a cigarette.

"He reached behind him and grabbed an object," Garcia said. "We were very close to engaging this guy, and when we got close, we could see it was a cellphone. He made one last attempt at suicide by cop."

Pharmaceutical medications that have allowed many patients to be placed on outpatient care haven't proven entirely effective, according to Harris and Garcia.

"They stop taking their medication," Garcia said. "It's a very common thing that goes on. It's a vicious circle, and some self medicate some other ways."

Current FBI statistics show that about 80 to 90 percent of patients under treatment for mental illness who are involved in a crisis call have stopped taking their medications.

"Even thought the pharmaceuticals have come a long way in assisting people with mental illness, they're not there yet," Harris said. "Most of the time, it takes a month to three months to see any change, and they stop their meds before that."

Family members often are not aware of a person's problems, Harris said. Too often, she said, arresting people for intoxication or another applicable legal charge is the only option to get a person help.

Dealing with families who are hostile to law enforcement is another problem. One of Harris's worst patrol calls involved a child who attempted to kill himself.

"I had to try to calm her down enough to tell her that her 12-year-old son had tried to commit suicide three times," Harris said. "They had no idea that this had occurred in their home in the last 24 hours. To watch that heartbreak and that impact was difficult."

"It's not easy for us," Eubank added. "I once had to work a 16-year-old who shot himself. As a police officer, you are intimately involved in these situations, there is no backing out, whether you succeed or fail."

___

(c)2015 the Kerrville Daily Times (Kerrville, Texas)

Visit the Kerrville Daily Times (Kerrville, Texas) at www.dailytimes.com

Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC