Child Protective Services FAQ's - Why State cannot say how many foster children die each year? -- Child Protective Services too often fails to protect victims In memory of Children  protected to DEATH by CPS.                        Children Protective Services approved these children placement. Innocence Destroyed video about kids murdered while in custody of CPSIn Memory Of  Nancy Schaefer -- May she rest in peace.It's a travesty that we remove these children from neglectful homes, only to raise them in an underfunded, dysfunctional system.Don't be silent - Speak out against child abusePetition To: The White House and President Barack Obama

 

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CPS investigation: Despite changes, abused kids still die in Sacramento County system 
They had names and faces once. Now they have coroner's numbers.
 
Social workers call them their "worst outcomes."
 
Adrian Conway was 3 when he became Sacramento's Worst Outcome No. 96-00441, a little boy who was beaten, burned, bruised, bound, tortured and starved to death by his angry, drug-abusing mom.
 
Others have followed: Christopher Cejas, 12, No. 02-03984 Alexia and Akira Noel, 3-month-old twins, Nos. 04-03525 and 03526. Keith Carl "K.C." Balbuena, 3, No. 05-05953.
 
What these dead children have in common - besides the ultimate betrayal by a parent or caregiver - is their link to Sacramento County's Child Protective Services. Each was once an open CPS case, permanently closed by the coroner.
 
Twelve years after the death of Adrian Conway, whose murder exposed a risky CPS policy and forced massive reform within the agency, Sacramento's most vulnerable children still are being failed at the most basic level, a five-month Bee investigation found.
 
The agency's budget has nearly quadrupled since Adrian's death; staffing has doubled. But the results for kids - on several key fronts - remain grim:
 
-- A growing number of children who died of abuse or neglect in Sacramento County, or their families, were involved with CPS before their deaths. From Adrian's murder through 2006, 82 more children died - 35 of their families already known to CPS.
 
-- Among California's 20 counties with the most children, Sacramento had the highest rate of kids being abused or neglected again within a year of an earlier CPS intervention.
 
-- Kids are cycling in and out of the child welfare system at a record pace. Among the largest counties, Sacramento has the highest percentage of kids who land back in foster care within two years of CPS returning them to their families.
 
This was not the plan.
 
The legacy of Adrian Conway's 1996 death was envisioned as a revamped system to make kids safer, and some gains have been made. Timely social worker responses to the Child Abuse Hotline are up. Supervisor-to social worker ratios have tightened.
 
But internal problems persist.
 
The paper trail of statistics and public documents - especially where children died or were injured - reveals an agency in 2008 still struggling to ensure adequate supervision and training, appropriate evaluation of children's risk, quality investigations and accountability for mistakes.
 
Examining 18 local cases in which children died or were hurt on CPS' watch, The Bee found that the tipping point for kids' safety often comes down to seemingly small things: a social worker with poor English skills, an unanswered knock at the door, a miscue between agencies, a lack of follow-through, an incomplete background check, a supervisor on vacation, a poor candidate for parenting classes.
 
"I just see such blatant examples of a lack of judgment by CPS," said Deputy District Attorney Robin Shakely, who specializes in child homicides and has served on both the county and state child death review teams. "They're not even close calls."
 
Shakely said she believes the agency has abandoned its promises of the Adrian era - to pull children out of troubled homes first and ask questions later - in favor of more leniency toward the caregivers. Shakely was assigned to the Conway case and has prosecuted a progression of child homicides since.
 
When a child dies with government workers involved in the case, no one inside the agency is held publicly accountable because of juvenile, employee and patient confidentiality. But if caregivers are arrested, details of how CPS intersected with the families often emerge.
 
Agency officials and social workers say they make the best decisions they can at the time. But hindsight sometimes affords a different view.
 
The agency was so concerned about Bradley Price's temper that it sent him to anger management classes in 2005. He attended one the night before he fractured his son's skull. Travis Smith, a 2-year-old who loved squirrels and the "Popeye" movie, was thrown into his playpen and died two days later.
 
From a phone inside Napa State Hospital, Feliciana Reyes said she was allowed by CPS to keep her 1-year-old daughter even after she stabbed her husband in the back in February 2000 - as long as she attended counseling and parenting classes. The following year, her 4-month-old baby girl died abruptly and was declared a sudden infant death syndrome case. In June 2004, the corpse of another of her babies, 10-month-old Felicia, was found in the back seat of Reyes' car as she drove through Los Angeles.
 
Last fall, Tamaihya Moore's family members said they begged CPS workers to seek medical help when they saw the 17-month-old girl deteriorating in foster care. The coroner ruled the death a homicide, likely due to smothering, and the foster mom has been charged with murder. The family is suing CPS.
 
"It is absolutely horrible. How could this happen?" asked the girl's grieving grandmother, Debra Oliver.
 
Asked that question, CPS officials describe complex and time-consuming caseloads and the ravages of drug abuse, poverty and domestic violence. They deny any significant internal problems and characterize their worst outcomes as extreme, isolated incidents - sometimes the result of human error.
 
"Because we are an imperfect system made up of human beings trying to carry out the work, there are going to be times when there is an error in judgment," said CPS Director Laura Coulthard, who headed up emergency response for the agency when Adrian died.
 
Each child death is scrutinized, Coulthard said. When a mistake clearly has been made, the agency takes action against the employee that may range from a formal reprimand to firing.
 
"Accountability is essential," she wrote in an e-mail to The Bee, though she declined to discuss specific cases, citing county personnel policy.
 
However, The Bee found evidence in court files that some social workers continued in their jobs after failing to follow department policy in cases that ended with injuries or deaths.
 
One former social worker admitted under oath she had received no negative job evaluations after her decision in August 2001 ended with an 11-year-old girl being stabbed in the chest, barely surviving. (Read an online-only story about this case.)
 
Martha McGowan had been on the job about two months, and her supervisor was on vacation, when she returned the girl to her father. McGowan later admitted that she had failed to check the family's CPS file, which would have revealed the man's 30-plus criminal convictions, according to the girl's lawsuit against the county.
 
McGowan did learn at the last minute that the father had been taking PCP - a drug that can cause violent, psychotic episodes - but released his daughter to him anyway. Four days later, the girl and two neighbors, including a 15-year-old boy, were stabbed repeatedly during another of the man's drug-induced rampages.
 
In a 2006 deposition for the lawsuit, McGowan said that she had "expected some sort of repercussions or something," but instead she and her supervisor talked mostly about her feelings. She couldn't recall ever being debriefed about her decision-making process, or what she might have done differently.
 
The social worker said she worked for CPS another two years, handling 200 more cases, before resigning to become a stay-at-home mom in Las Vegas.
 
"There's no way in the world she should have had this case unsupervised," said the girl's attorney, Ed Dudensing, a former prosecutor who has asked the state Supreme Court to review the case. The lower courts rejected the suit, saying state law makes government workers immune from liability for "discretionary acts."
 
Coulthard said this sort of internal breakdown should not have happened - and would not happen today.
 
VICTIMS HAD BEEN ON CPS RADAR
 
Deputy District Attorney Shakely and others are alarmed by the rising number of children known to CPS before their deaths.
 
From 2001 to 2003, the county recorded 14 child abuse and neglect homicides, in which five of the families had been involved with CPS, according to data from the county's Child Death Review Team. Over the next three years, child abuse and neglect homicides rose to 20, with 13 families having CPS histories.
 
In a special report last September to the Board of Supervisors, the team revealed that child maltreatment deaths - which include abuse- or neglect-related deaths such as drownings or overdoses - had more than doubled in Sacramento from 11 in 2004 to 24 in 2006. Of the 24 who died in 2006, 11 had histories with Sacramento CPS; nine had been involved with the agency within six months of their deaths.
 
"As a team, we want to see that the pattern of CPS involvement is changing," said Dr. Angela Rosas, a child abuse expert and former chairwoman of the county's Child Death Review Team.
 
It was CPS' involvement with Adrian Conway's drug-abusing mother that ignited the furor in 1996. Outrage was rekindled a year later when 2-year-old Rebecca Meza of Rancho Cordova was killed at home despite 10 prior reports to the agency.
 
At the time, the agency lamented its lack of resources, and the Board of Supervisors responded. Since Adrian's death, the CPS budget has risen from $33.9 million to nearly $125.9 million - a 271 percent increase in federal, state and local money, most spent on salaries, benefits and employee overhead.
 
Since Adrian's death, the population of children under 18 in the county grew by about 58,000, or 18 percent.
 
CPS officials say the agency's budget largely reflects its high social worker caseload, which has been the state's fifth highest since 2002 and exceeds state recommendations. Staff turnover and vacancies remain high, too.
 
"The caseload is out of control," said Ted Somera, executive director of United Public Employees (UPE) Local 1, which represents about 400 social workers.
 
Budget cuts decided last week will carve into CPS' new budget, which deeply concerns both union and agency officials.
 
Yet as far back as 1996, the citizens committee appointed after Adrian's death cautioned that money alone would not improve CPS. The 15-member panel, led by a retired Superior Court judge, concluded that "clearer procedures and protocols that make the best use of staff time should be the highest management priority."
 
The Bee's analysis of public records, coroner's data and thousands of pages of court documents reveals ongoing problems with some of CPS' procedures and protocols, particularly in how workers evaluate children's risk of being hurt.
 
15 REFERRALS FOR ONE INFANT
 
The Sacramento family of one 4-month-old girl, admitted to a hospital last October for suspected shaken baby syndrome, had 15 prior CPS referrals - 12 in Sacramento County and three in Butte County, according to the state Department of Social Services. The girl nearly died.
 
"How many times do you have to call CPS before they do anything?" asked Richard Melm of Sacramento, whose stepdaughter, Daelynn Foreman, starved to death in July 2006 while living with his ex-wife - despite six reports to Sacramento County's CPS of suspected neglect over a four-year period.
 
Daelynn's death was so shocking that CPS' own spokeswoman said the case "sent shudders down the corridors of all CPS."
 
When she died, the 12-year-old Orangevale girl with cerebral palsy had withered to 23 pounds, the average for a 1-year-old. The girl's mother, Brandy Foreman, has been charged with murder for allegedly having withheld food; she also faces drug charges.
 
Daelynn's death after six local referrals is acknowledged within Sacramento CPS as a problem case, one in which the worker "did not understand the situation well enough to be able to identify an appropriate intervention," said Coulthard, who took the agency's top job last year after rising through the ranks since 1985.
 
The department previously told The Bee that an internal investigation had resulted in "personnel actions," but would not elaborate.
 
Out of Daelynn's case, the agency developed new programs and assigned workers to specialize in "medically fragile" children and medical neglect referrals. It also created a Medical Neglect Review Team to monitor the more complex cases.
 
Coulthard and other top CPS managers say their ability to evaluate children's risk and make good decisions also has been vastly improved by a procedure adopted after Adrian's death. Workers in five CPS programs, including emergency response and family maintenance, are required to use what's known as SDM, or Structured Decision Making.
 
The written, check-off system provides structure to social workers trying to assess a child's safety and risk by making them note present circumstances and history such as prior CPS contact, excessive discipline, drug abuse or domestic violence.
 
SDM has been widely praised in California for increasing consistency and accuracy, and improving outcomes for kids.
 
But only if it's used correctly. The CPS oversight committee, in its examination of four child deaths, found that some completed SDM forms "reflected inadequate information." The committee also found that social workers were completing the forms at the end of cases, rather than relying on them for key decision-making along the way.
 
"They were doing it as part of closing their paperwork," said Alyson Collier, the committee's chairwoman. "So it was getting done, but it wasn't being used appropriately."
 
The spotlight on child deaths and CPS' inner workings has intensified in the past 10 months, as both its oversight committee and the death review team released critical reports to the Board of Supervisors.
 
The oversight committee cautioned supervisors in August that problems have persisted over the past decade, and that "a systemic change needs to take place."
 
The committee cited inadequate supervision and training as problems dating back to the Adrian era. In reviewing four child deaths, it found that social workers "did not receive regularly scheduled supervision." In one case, a worker tried for three days to get help from a supervisor and "found him to be unavailable."
 
A NEW EMPHASIS TO SAVE CHILDREN
 
As its top recommendation, the oversight committee advised CPS to make clear to social workers and families that "it must err on the side of child protection as opposed to family reunification."
 
Acting independently, the Child Death Review Team came to a similar conclusion: CPS must place child safety over keeping families together "in both written policy and active practice."
 
The Department of Health and Human Services agreed with both committees' findings and, when Coulthard came back before the board in March, supervisors lauded the agency's plans for improvement.
 
But a disconnect between CPS policy and what happens in the field was cited over and over by members of both citizens groups.
 
"I think that's where the breakdown is: It's practice vs. policy," said Sgt. Jeff Reinl, a member of the oversight committee and head of the Sacramento County sheriff's child abuse bureau.
 
CPS Division Manager Melinda Lake candidly said that the agency failed to follow its own policies in the 2005 beating death of Keith Carl "K.C." Balbuena, a 3-year-old with a speech impediment whose mother and roommate were convicted of the crime earlier this year.
 
The first CPS emergency response worker, who speaks with a heavy accent, admitted in court that he closed the case even though he couldn't really understand the boy. A second social worker visited the apartment nine times but never found the couple, despite agency guidelines listing numerous strategies for locating a family.
 
The boy died eight days after that worker's last unsuccessful visit.
 
But Lake, who then supervised emergency response workers, also argues that the community at large bears some responsibility for its worst outcomes.
 
Christopher Cejas was 12 when he was tortured, starved and beaten to death in August 2002 while visiting his father, a registered sex offender.
 
A social worker had gone to the Watt Avenue apartment complex in June 2002 to follow up on a neighbor's 1:30 a.m. call to CPS nine days earlier. The anonymous caller claimed to have heard a terrible beating of a boy named Christopher, about 10 years old.
 
The case was not flagged as an emergency, and, lacking a last name or apartment number - and getting no help from the apartment manager - the social worker left. The case was closed as "unable to locate."
 
"If a child being severely beaten and screaming doesn't deserve an immediate response, who does?" asked Shakely, who prosecuted the case.
 
The upstairs neighbor overheard the boy being beaten again 11 weeks later but did not call CPS or 911. That vicious beating, which lasted for hours, proved fatal to Christopher Cejas.
 
Christopher's North Carolina family said the social worker could have found him in time had she gone to the local school and aggressively interviewed residents at the apartment complex. State regulations and CPS' employee handbook clearly lay out requirements for workers to talk with people beyond the immediate family in their investigation, including teachers, neighbors, police and others.
 
Lake said scant information provided in the anonymous call led the social worker to conclude she was in the wrong place.
 
"This case just screams out for civic responsibility," said Lake, who thinks many more residents knew of the horrors inside Apartment 13 but did nothing.
 
The county has staked much of its strategy since Adrian's death on preventing family crises, creating eight Family Resource Centers in high-risk neighborhoods that provide services to help families cope, and care for their children.
 
Families whose cases are investigated and opened by CPS, but who retain custody, are offered services including counseling, drug treatment, parenting and anger-management classes.
 
"Most of our families need help and support," Lake said. "Most aren't vicious murderers."
 
The agency points to success stories - women like Angela LeBeau of Sacramento. The former meth addict was reunited with her four children as she took 180 classes on topics ranging from alcohol and drug use to parenting to self-esteem. She works for CPS as a meeting scheduler and a parent leader, helping others navigate the system.
 
Coulthard and her boss, Lynn Frank, director of the county's Department of Health and Human Services, complained that the recent committee reports' focus on child deaths - the "worst outcomes" - creates a distorted picture of the large agency and its hardworking staff.
 
"If that's all they see, it's fairly easy to jump to conclusions that we aren't keeping kids safe," Frank said.
 
But William Grimm, a senior attorney at the Oakland-based National Center for Youth Law, said it is critical to publicly examine child deaths because they are often "just the tip of the iceberg of a system that's not treating kids well."
 
SOME STATISTICS SPELL TROUBLE
 
Grimm said he sees a troubling combination in Sacramento County's child welfare data.
 
Among the state's 20 largest counties, based on child population, Sacramento County has the highest percentage of kids reunited with their families within a year of being placed in foster care, according to a Bee analysis of the most recent data compiled by UC Berkeley's Center for Social Services Research (http://cssr.berkeley.edu). The county's reunification rate more than doubled between 1998 and 2006.
 
What sounds like good news comes with a giant caveat: Sacramento also has the highest percentage of kids re-entering foster care after being reunited with their families, triple the rate of Los Angeles County, and more than double that of San Diego, Fresno and Orange counties.
 
Kids are coming right back into the system.
 
"What that says to me is, this is a system that is not operating well," Grimm said.
 
"It's not protecting children, and it's not helping families, either, because you're putting children back in homes that are not prepared or supported to maintain the children in the homes," he said. "And they're coming back in re-victimized."
 
In Sacramento County, kids are being re-victimized at an alarming rate, as well.
 
The data show that, among the largest counties, Sacramento has the highest rate of children being abused or neglected again within a year of CPS confirming a report involving them. One in five kids abused or neglected in 2004 was referred to the agency again within 18 months - more than 1,000 children.
 
Even after CPS cases are closed, repeat abuse and neglect in Sacramento is among the highest in the state's urban counties.
 
CPS officials reject such county-to-county comparisons, saying each operates independently, with different policies and programs. Yet CPS' own improvement plan states that reducing repeat abuse and foster care re-entry are high priorities.
 
Coulthard said the county has made "slow and steady" progress in cutting back on repeat abuse, mostly through community partnerships to quickly hook troubled families into support services. "We know we're improving, but we're not good enough," she said.
 
The county hopes to address high re-entry rates with team decision-making, a strategy that pulls together children, social workers, birth families, service providers and others to help make decisions about a child's placement.
 
Without team decision-making, planning has been inadequate, Coulthard said, making children susceptible to problem placements. But she noted that the vast majority of kids who landed back in foster care last year had not actually been abused or neglected again; instead, their caregivers had violated conditions of the requirements set when they regained their children.
 
Alyson Collier, chairwoman of the CPS oversight committee, said the team approach eases the burden of a "lone social worker out in the field," making difficult decisions in isolation.
 
"We have to stop doing business that way," Collier said.
 
A LONE WORKER IS OVERWHELMED
 
The consequences of a lone worker shouldering a complex case can be extreme.
 
In one horrific example, CPS handed off a troubled family to a home visitation worker outside the agency, who knew her limitations but couldn't get the agency to intervene.
 
Alexia and Akira Noel, 3-month-old twins, were found dead in July 2004 by their father, Ernest Noel, in a sweltering upstairs bedroom.
 
Before the twins were born, CPS had been monitoring Noel and his girlfriend, Vanessa Hackett, who were both mentally disabled and struggling to raise a daughter, according to court records. When Hackett became pregnant with twins, CPS "became very concerned about the couple's ability to care for three young children," according to a document from Noel's attorney.
 
CPS enlisted the help of Birth & Beyond, a county program now part of CPS that provides support and guidance to pregnant women and struggling new parents.
 
After the twins' birth in April 2004, a Birth & Beyond worker visited the apartment at least 16 times over three months, finding the home and children in varying states. In May, she persuaded Hackett to take the babies to the Sacramento Crisis Nursery, but CPS returned the girls to the home six days later, after Noel assured the agency he and Hackett had completed a parenting class.
 
Birth & Beyond stepped up its visits, bringing in a public health nurse, but the Birth & Beyond worker cautioned CPS in July that the case was "intense" and perhaps beyond her scope, the prosecutor's trial brief shows. Again, CPS decided "no further actions were necessary since Birth & Beyond was involved with the case," according to the brief.
 
At this point, one of the twins had a diaper rash so severe her bottom was bloody.
 
The saga abruptly ended on July 14, 2004, when the girls were found dead inside the apartment. The coroner ruled the deaths homicides; both parents went to prison.
 
Coulthard acknowledged that the twins' deaths were an example of "practice not being aligned with procedure." The agency's response "wasn't appropriate," she said, and the family should have been a formal child welfare case.
 
Instead, Alexia and Akira Noel became Worst Outcomes 04-03525 and 03526.
 
Marjie Lundstrom - mlundstrom@sacbee.com
 
 Sacramento Bee, June 22, 2008
 
 
                                         
They had names and faces once. Now they have coroner's numbers.
         Social workers call them their "worst outcomes".

   In Loving Memory Of Children Who Didn't Have to Die - 2003

January-February-March-April  
January
 
Sarah Campbell
18-year-old
January 2003
Cheshire,England
 
Kenneth Sconawah
17-month-old
January 8,2003
Warm Springs, Oregon
 
Kevin "K.J." Fulmore Jr.
3-year-old
January 19, 2003
Merritt Island ,Florida
 
Jermasha Decuir 
5-year-old
January 30, 2003
New Iberia, Louisiana
 
 February
 
Case # 95-02-005
Girl
2-month-old
February 5, 2003
New York
 
David Carr
2-manth-old
February 12,2003
Baltimore,Maryland
 
March
 
LeRon St. John
15-year-old
March 1,2003
Detroit ,Michigan
 
Julissa Quesada  
3-year-old
March 10,2003
Brownsville,Texas
 
John E. Rubio
14-month-old   
March 10,2003
Brownsville,Texas 
 
Mary Jane Rubio
2-month-old
March 10,2003
Brownsville,Texas
 
Charmaria Drake
20-month-old
March 13,2003
Cleveland,Ohio
 
Joshua Causey
4-year-old
March 18,2003
Dearborn,Michigan
 
Jade Louise Sinclair
3-year-old
March 26, 2003
Lincoln,UK
 
Dakota Austin Yonts
2-year-old
March 27,2003
Mayking,Kentucky
 
Emilio Villamar
16-year-old
March 29, 2003
Fort Lauderdale
Florida
 
 
April  
 
Rufus Manzie Young Jr
4-year-old
April 6,2003
Detroit ,Michigan
 
Deondre Bondieumaitre
16-month-old
April 16,2003
Florida
 
Camden O'Connor
5-month-old
April 17, 2003
Polk County,Iowa
 
Anthony Cortez
15-year-old
April 21 2003
Fresno,California
 
Jose Malachi Flores
2-year-old
April 24, 2003
Waipahu,Honolulu
 
Savina Gonzales
2-year-old
April 28, 2003
Fresno,California
May - June -July - August 
May
 
Briana Pope
3-year-old
May 2003
Omaha,Nebraska
 
Matisse Alix-Leblanc
1-year-old
May 12, 2003 
St-Blaise-sur-Richelieu,Canada
 
Heling King
5-month-old
May 12,2003
San Diego,California
 
Al-Lex Daniels
10-month-old
May 15, 2003
Hartford,Connecticut
 
Chloe Palmer
2-month-old
May 15, 2003
Chicago,Illinois
 
Christopher Battie
4-month-old
May 16,2003
Fresno,California
 
Chasity Haselden
3-year-old
May 20, 2003
Marion County
 
June
 
Jerry Trivett
15-year-old 
June 1 2003
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
 
Daniel Soto
21-month-old
June 4,2003
East Windsor,New Jersey
 
Yeritza Torres
3-year-old
June 17, 2003
Chicago,Illinois
 
July
 
Pedro Alva
15-year-old
July 2003 
San Diego,California
 
Kristen Tatar
4-year-old
July 2003
Penn State,Pennsylvania
 
Stephanie Ramos
8-year-old
July 9,2003
New York City
 
Caleb Freire
2-year-old
July 13,2003
Douglas County
Georgia
 
August
 
C.J. Young
2-year-old 
August 2003
Mesa,Arizona
 
Zachary Kay Moran
14-month-old 
August 8,2003
Charlotte,North Carolina
 
Kyshawn Punter
2-year-old
August 14,2003
DeKalb County
Georgia
 
Porchia Bennett
3-year-old
August 17, 2003
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
 
Matthew Calbi
14-year-old
August 17,2003
Old Tappan,New Jersey
 
Zachary Turner
13-month-old
August 18, 2003
Newfoundland,Canada
 
Nikki Lutke
5-year-old
August 28,2003
Cheyenne,Wyoming
Sept - Oct - Nov - Decem 
September
 
Coral Ellen Burrows
6-year-old
September 9, 2003
Featherston, New Zealand
 
Rafael Gomez
2-year-old 
September 10,2003
Ephrata, Pennsylvania
 
Angelic Clary
3-month-old
September 14,2003
Bakersfield,California
 
Chazarus "Cha Cha" Hill Jr
3-year-old
September 20,2003
Oakland,California
 
Jerry Davis
20-year-old
September 21,2003
Los Angeles,California
 
Mya George
3-year-old
September 25,2003
Port Allen,Louisiana
 
Dymon Davis
2-year-old
September 30, 2003
Chicago,Illinois
 
October
 
Alexia Montoya
1-year-old
October 13, 2003
Denver,Colorado
 
Liam Thompson
3-year-old
October 16,2003
Columbus, Ohio
 
Tyrell Rowe
19-month-old 
October 17,2003
London,UK
 
November
 
Cassandra Coralee Wilson 
23-month-old 
November 6,2003
Manitoba,Canada
 
Michael Padin
5-year-old
November 7, 2003
Chicago,Illinois
 
Melody Conway
15-years-old
November 12,2003
Sydney,Australia
 
Jitoras Randolph
16-year-old
November 22, 2003
San Diego,California
 
Johnny Mendez
18-year-old
October 22, 2003
San Diego,California
 
Petra Blanksby
19-year-old 
November 24, 2003
New Hall,UK
 
Mundine Orcher
5-month-old
November 29,2003
Aboriginal,Australia
 
December 
 
Ashley McLellan 
3-year-old
December 2003
Seattle, Washington
 
Joella Carter Reaves
11-year-old
December 1, 2003
Stockbridge,Georgia
 
Tyler McKee
8-day-old
December 5,2003
Akron,Ohio

When abused children are further abused by the system One foster mother's fight to save her children.

Although the title of my article may allude somewhat to a dislike of social workers I'd like to clarify right from the beginning that is not entirely true. Do I have a problem with some social workers? Absolutely! However it's my belief that the problem lies within the system, not the workers. I believe that in some states the adoption and foster care system gives workers so much power that some develop a "god syndrome."

As an adoptive parent of 8 of my 10 children, I have had the opportunity to observe the adoption system close up several times. What I have found is that what is best for the child is not always necessarily the plan that is followed.

After 18 years of foster care and eight adoptions, I could keep you here for hours with stories of authoritative abuse in the foster and adoption systems. However I'm not going to do that, I'm just going to tell you about a few of my experiences. Don't get me wrong, I could also keep you here for hours reading heartwarming stories about well meaning social workers who have made enormous differences in the lives of children, but I'll save that for another article.

If you have ever been a part of the foster care system then you know how much red tape and frustration can be involved. For me, the only thing that made all of the aggravation of navigating through this system worth it is the thought of where my foster children would be, if not with me. Because of this I gained a reputation of taking in the "throw-away kids." These are the kids that other foster parents wouldn't consider taking in because of behavioral problems, medical problems, or because they are attached to a large sibling group. It was the result of this reputation that brought Jacob to me.

Jacob was an older sibling of two of my other foster children, Jessie, who had lived with me for all of his 4 years of life, and his newborn sister Genevieve. There were a total of nine siblings in their biological family. Three of the children were now living with me, 4 were living with another foster family, and two were living in group homes. Jacob had severe behavioral problems, most likely the result of 13 previous foster placements. At the time I agreed to take Jacob in he had just broken his foster brother's arm. The social worker called, begging for me to give him a chance. If I wasn't able to take him he would end up in a group home. I've never been one to give up on a child, but as a seasoned foster parent I also knew that some kids are so hardened and have been so traumatized that I can't save them. Because I had other children to consider as well, I decided to give it a try Jacob, but on a provisional basis.

A few weeks before our case was moved to adoptions, just a short time after Jacob came, our social worker moved and a new worker was assigned. I explained to her that I could only adopt Jessie and Genevieve at that point, since Jacob hadn't been with us long enough to make a decision on a permanent plan. She related that the county was not willing to place the children in separate permanent plans. In an effort to try and satisfy both the county and the best interests of my family, I suggested waiting to put any of the children into a permanent plan, adopting the two children and taking guardianship of Jacob (which could later be reversed allowing me to adopt him at a future date), or taking guardianship of all three children. The worker wasn't satisfied with any of these solutions. In fact with a mandated push to get more children adopted and out of the system, she wasn't going to budge on her position to get all three children adopted immediately.

The next day the social worker showed up at my door with suits for the boys. She asked me to have them dressed and ready Saturday morning, to go to an adoption fair! Horrified by the idea that this worker was going to take my children away, I called the children's attorney. The judge, already familiar with this case, ordered the worker not to take the children to the adoption fair. Undaunted by the judges orders she showed up unannounced at my door the following day. This time with a camera in hand. Since she was ordered not take the children to the adoption fair, her plan was to take pictures of them to the fair instead!

As a foster parent we expect the social workers responsible for our case to show professionalism, compassion and morality. The idea that a social worker would be so emerged in her own agenda that she wouldn't look at the best interest of the children was a completely foreign idea to me. What followed next completely shook my (then) idealistic view on this system.

The worker then proceeded to take the children outside for a photo session. Blocking my way when I tried to follow the she told me that she needed to speak to the children privately. Alarmed by this, given the circumstances from the previous few days, I called the children's attorney and was instructed not to allow the children to stay outside alone with this social worker. Thankfully I walked outside just in time to hear her ask my children if they would like to move to a new home. When they responded "no," she asked "What if Terri doesn't want you anymore, would you want to move to a new home then?" Aghast and sickened by the woman's audacity to plant this idea of rejection in the children's mind I threw her off of my property.

Shortly thereafter the judge put a restraining order against this particular social worker, he also ordered that these children not be considered for adoption with anyone besides myself, and he agreed that I should be allowed to proceed with the two younger children in adoption but be given time to make a decision on permanency with Jacob . A new worker was assigned, and life went back to normal or so I thought.

Two months later, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, with so much to be thankful for, the children and I were looking forward to a wonderful day of celebration with family and friends. At 10:00 in the morning, coincidentally just two short hours from when the court would go dark for the long weekend, I received a phone call from our new social worker. I was informed that she had orders from her superiors to move baby Genevieve. She asked me to have her packed and ready to move on Sunday (again, coincidentally before the court would re-open after the holiday.)

After yet another call to attorney I was advised to get to the court before it went dark. Running into the courtroom at the last possible minute the judge agreed to a walk on hearing. He then proceeded to voice his disgust with the entire department of social services and their abuse of power, their revengeful actions spurred on by the slap on their hand they had received as a result of their previous actions in this case. The department was sanctioned and given a strong warning by the judge. He also ordered that no child could be moved from my house by the department without a court order.

How does this story end? A few months later Jacob was moved from my house after he tried to choke Jessie, landing him in the hospital. Jacob moved on to several more foster homes where he struggled with anger. Several more children were hurt in the wake of his anger before he was placed in a more restrictive environment. I have since adopted both Jessie and Genevieve. Oh, and the social worker? She quit the following month.

This is just one of numerous situations that I am personally aware of involving a gross abuse of power in our department of children and family services system. Many states have already implemented safeguards which prevent any one person from having an over abundance of power such as the social worker in my case. In those states panel systems have been put into place and implemented. Panels are assembled which include the social workers and case managers. Other members of these panels include lay authorities who have either relevant care or life experience, foster parents for example. In those states no decision involving a child's welfare is made outside of a the jurisdiction of this panel. Unfortunately, the state of California has not yet adopted this system and this abuse of power continues to run rapid. 

By Terri Alexander

             

 "Mommy" she whispered softly as one last tear slowly fell. This was her last thought as she slowly slipped from this world into what waited beyond.
 
The six year old lay quietly in the dark listening to the dull thumps and bumps of her brothers and sisters playing upstairs. She could hear her mother's voice, an angry, mean and threatening voice that still somehow brought comfort. A tear ran down her dirty little face. She wanted her mommy.
 
Slowly, with what strength was left to her, she turned her head toward the stairs, as she had done so many times before and watched the light that seeped in from under the door. Then she heard the water running in the kitchen sink and licked her cracked lips with a dry tongue.
 
She knew mommy would be in the kitchen now, and she wanted so much to be in her mother's arms. She wanted to be warm, dry and safe. She wanted to have just a sip of that cool running water.
 
She tried to get up to go to the door but couldn't move from the damp and musky pile of old clothes and newspapers that had been serving as her bed. She reached one scrawny bruised arm to the door. Opening and closing her tiny hand as infants so often do. She opened her mouth to call out to her mother, but the sound that ripped from her raw throat was only a dry and painful whisper.
 
She didn't know how long she had been there in the darkness of the basement, but she knew why. In her child's mind it had been her fault; she had been a very bad girl. She must have been because mommy had told her so. She had made mommy very angry, that is why she was there.
 
She had crawled to the door many times and clawed at the wood until her fingers bled. She had cried out in fear, pain, and hunger. She had cried out in her sorrow and had promised to be a good girl. No one had answered her cries and so once again she would crawl back down into the darkness, confused, afraid, and alone.
 
She had squeezed her eyes shut tight many times against the tears of frustration and fear. They would fall anyway. When her tears would finally fade she would lay and watch the door quietly; listen to the rats rustling through the filth of the basement and she would wait.
 
As the time passed an odd calmness washed over her and she began to feel a strange kind of numbness. Oh, she still felt the pain and sickness of her empty stomach, the dry burning in her throat, and her head still ached. She was aware of the sores and bruises on her small body which still oozed blood and puss and caused pain with every movement. She felt the throbbing of the splinters under what remained of her bloody and infected fingernails. She knew all this pain, but somehow it didn't matter anymore, she felt detached from it as if it were happening to someone else.
 
Darkness surrounded her as she heard her mother ushering the other children to bed. She heard their feet, a distant steady thumping as they went up the stairs.
A faint memory of soft pillows and warm blankets fluttered on the edge of her mind. 'Mommy' she whispered softly as one last tear slowly fell. This was her last thought as she slowly slipped from this world into what waited beyond.
 
No arms had held the little one as she passed. No tears were shed. Life continued on in the shabby house, uncaring of the tiny forgotten frame which lay half buried beneath the garbage and dirt in the basement below.
 
 
How a Child Died in her Mother's Basement

Charlene Wise was sitting at a kitchen table in Norristown when her water broke. It was just after midnight and her sixth child was about to be born.
 
What concerned her, however, was that she and her sister, Darlene, were running out of crack.
 
A burst of pain cut through her drugged haze. She lay down.
 
"Do you want me to call 911?" Darlene asked.
 
Charlene suggested that her sister go "do some prostitution," and buy more crack.
 
The pain got worse and Darlene called an ambulance.
 
"Don't push!" paramedics shouted as they rushed to the hospital.
 
The baby girl was born on Sept. 19, 1991, blue in the face, with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. The doctors and nurses were angry with Charlene. "You knew you weren't supposed to get high," they told her.
 
In the morning, they asked her to choose a name for the baby.
 
Charlene wanted a name that sounded like her own.
 
"Charnae," she said.
 
She never got to hold her baby.
 
When social workers checked Charlene's case history, they found that her five other children had been put in foster care after she was caught living in a crack house in Pottstown. They decided to place Charnae in foster care, too.
 
On the way out of the hospital, Charlene peered through the nursery window. There were cards attached to the cribs. One pink tag read, "Baby Wise."
 
A beautiful baby. Charlene felt bad about losing Charnae. But she felt worse that she had not gotten high in many hours.
 
Six years later, after Charnae died in a horrific case of child abuse, Charlene would remember the day of the birth as the first of many occasions when she had failed her daughter.
 
Charnae was almost 3 when she was returned to her mother.
 
Charlene had desperately wanted her children back. She convinced Montgomery County social workers that she had turned her life around. She found a home in Philadelphia at 3017 W. Harper St. and struggled through a drug-rehabilitation program.
 
Denisha, her oldest, came back around Thanksgiving 1992. She was 13. Kadedra, 5, and Gwendolyn, 4, followed.
 
Several months later, social workers told Charlene it was time for Donte, then 4, and Charnae to return.
 
Charlene felt she hardly knew them. She had visited the children in their foster home. Charnae was impaired by the crack her mother had smoked while pregnant. Social workers said Charnae and Donte were slow learners and aggressive.
 
Charlene wasn't sure she could deal with them just yet. She had just had another baby, her seventh. With Charnae and Donte, she would have six children at home - her eldest son, Timothy, 12, was not returned.
 
"I can handle only so many kids," she told social workers.
 
"It's like this, Ms. Wise," one replied. "You either take them now or we put them up for adoption."
 
"I'll take them," she said.
 
Charnae, who had been slow to walk, now wouldn't sit still. If Charlene gave her dolls, she would rip their hair out and yank off their clothes. Donte was the same.
 
To calm them, Charlene banned candy. She tried the time-out method. She yelled. She had neither partner nor extended family to help her. The house on Harper Street rang with her screams:
 
"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"
 
Donte and Charnae defeated her at every turn. Donte would prop a chair against the kitchen cabinet, climb onto the stove and take candy out of a jar. Then he'd race upstairs and share the loot with Charnae.
 
She was the quiet one. Charlene called her a "sneaky little beaver."
 
Charlene did not have the patience or the skill to deal with them. She slapped them, hit them with shoes and hairbrushes, pummeled them with her fists.
 
That only made things worse. Charnae and Donte wet their beds and soiled the mattresses. Charlene banned them from drinking water after 9 p.m. - and jammed shut the tap on the bathroom sink. Donte responded by twisting his head under the bathtub tap. Charnae drank from the toilet.
 
Denisha was another worry. At 15, she became a mother, making Charlene, at 32, a grandmother. In 1995, Charlene gave birth to her eighth child - with a fifth father.
 
Through it all, she smoked crack.
 
She had a 9 p.m. bedtime rule for the children. At 11, she would slip out of the house and buy some "get-high."
 
Depending on her money situation - she was receiving welfare checks for three children and Social Security checks for three others - she would go out for crack many times a night. Sometimes, she would still be smoking when the children woke up in the morning and asked for help going to school.
 
Too tired to get out of bed, she would tell them to stay home and watch television.
 
If anyone outside the house had cared to look, there were numerous signs that the family was headed downhill.
 
On Feb. 23, 1996, Charnae was rushed to Hahnemann University Hospital with a severe scalp infection. She was withdrawn and apathetic. Hospital records show that staff worried Charlene was using drugs.
 
In October, the city Department of Human Services (DHS) - responsible for ensuring the safety of Charlene's children - received word that Donte had gone to school with a black eye. The boy said that Charlene had hit him with a broom.
 
Another report said Kadedra was injured after she put her leg on a hot plate to warm herself. Her pants caught fire and she suffered second- and third-degree burns.
 
On Christmas Eve 1996, Charlene and Denisha had a huge fight. Charlene did not give Denisha's son the Christmas toy she had promised. On Christmas Day, Denisha, then 17, took her son and moved out.
 
That left six children in the house on Harper Street alone with Charlene. The oldest was Kadedra. She was 9.
 
Charlene's addiction had its rituals. Each night, after the children were in bed, she would lovingly organize her drugs, her cigarettes and her beer.
 
She was chasing what drug users call the "ghost," the euphoria she'd had when she first started using.
 
She needed absolute quiet because the drugs made her paranoid. She called it "bugging." If she thought she heard a car on the street, she thought the police were coming for her.
 
Like an athlete preparing for a race, she needed to concentrate.
 
And then she would hear a creak - Charnae and Donte creeping around in the back bedroom again. They seemed to have a sixth sense about when she was getting high.
 
If she yelled at them to stop, the high went away.
 
If she leapt up to hit them, the feeling vanished.
 
If she slapped them and made them cry, her mood disintegrated.
 
One day in 1997, blind with anger, she grabbed them both and pushed them into the basement. She didn't shut the door, but the basement was dark and dirty and they were terrified. When she let them out a little while later, they had cried so much that they went right to sleep.
 
She had found a way to get high in peace.
 
Charlene found it easy to fool social workers. She yelled at them when they paid surprise visits and demanded they give her advance notice. She cleaned the house and stocked the refrigerator before the scheduled visits.
 
She recalled receiving compliments from them on her housekeeping.
 
They did not spot her drug paraphernalia. Charlene burned incense to mask the smell of crack.
 
She recalls one asking, "Ms. Wise, are you getting high?"
 
"No."
 
"We're going to start giving you random drug tests."
 
But they never did. In spring 1997, she started barring social workers from the house. She was smoking heavily and wasn't ready even for scheduled inspections.
 
The Juvenile Justice Center, a private Germantown agency that the Department of Human Services contracted to provide services to the family, referred the case back to the city.
 
"We can't push our way in," executive director Richard Chapman said. "If cooperation is not forthcoming, we write to DHS and say we can't ensure the welfare of the children."
 
Charlene remembered DHS workers knocked on her door. She refused to open it. They called her on the phone and threatened to call the police. She gave them an appointment to visit.
 
A social worker visited June 4. Charlene opened the door. All she wanted to do was get high and sleep. She told the social worker that she had stopped letting DHS into the house because she was leaving town.
 
Shortly thereafter, DHS closed its file on Charlene Wise.
 
According to DHS's own rules, cases cannot be closed without assessing whether the children are living in a safe home.
 
That assessment was never made.
 
The basement had no fan or air conditioning, and its window was nailed shut. Putting Charnae and Donte down there in the summer heat troubled Charlene.
 
But after a few times, it got easier. It helped that social workers no longer bothered her and she stayed high all day and all night.
 
Charnae and Donte seemed to get used to the basement, so Charlene shut the door and left them there longer. Sometimes she could hear them playing together and laughing.
 
The punishment had a marked effect on Donte, who grew quieter. Charlene decided to stop punishing him. Now when Charnae misbehaved, Charlene put her in the basement by herself.
 
Each hour the little girl was shut away meant an hour of peace. Each night she was locked up meant a good "get-high." Each time Charnae came out of the basement unharmed, after longer and longer periods of confinement, it seemed less and less like a terrible thing.
 
Charnae would knock on the door when she wanted to go to the bathroom. Charlene would let her out, bathe her and feed her. Charnae would play with her siblings. Then she would go back down.
 
The novel punishment became routine. The abnormal became normal.
 
The balance tipped noiselessly: Charnae wasn't being put in the basement now and then. She was being let out now and then.
 
Then even that stopped. Charlene would leave a plate of food on the top step as she cleaned up or fed the other children. Sometimes the food would be gone when Charlene returned; often the plate would be untouched.
 
In July, Charlene went all the way down to the basement and saw that Charnae was using a bucket as a potty.
 
On Aug. 21, a month before Charnae's sixth birthday, Charlene opened the basement door. The little girl was sitting on the top step.
 
"Tub time," Charlene said.
 
Charlene bathed Charnae and combed her hair.
 
Charnae didn't look good. She stumbled as she walked.
 
The thought of taking her to a doctor frightened Charlene because no one outside the house would understand; the basement punishment was a family secret.
 
"What's the matter with you?" Charlene asked.
 
Charnae was silent.
 
Charlene steeled herself - there was nothing wrong with the little girl. She never did walk straight. She was just tired; she probably needed sleep.
 
Charlene led her back to the basement. There was no thought of punishment anymore - Charnae hadn't done anything wrong. The basement had simply become the place where she stayed.
 
Charnae went quietly. Charlene shut the door behind her.
 
Frank Wise's car broke down a few blocks from his sister's house one July evening while Charnae was dying. He was with his fiancee. They decided to walk over to Charlene's for the night.
 
His niece Gwen opened the door. The children were excited to see Uncle Frank. His mind was on the broken-down car as he slept that night on the living room couch. He didn't think to make a head count and didn't ask where Charnae was.
 
He did recall that the house was quieter. He knew that Charnae was a difficult child.
 
The next morning, Frank saw Gwen and Kadedra, but he was worried about his car and didn't wonder about Charnae.
 
Other family members dropped by that summer, marching up Charlene's front steps, past the boarded-up basement window, a few feet from Charnae.
 
At a July 4 family get-together, Charlene's 17-year-old son, Timothy, who had long been on his own, told Charlene, "I bet if I go down to the basement, I would find Charnae."
 
"Go ahead!" Charlene dared him.
 
He didn't go.
 
Many of Charlene's relatives had troubles of their own. Frank had been on probation for attempted theft. Barbara, Charlene's sister, was on probation for holding up a fast-food restaurant. Charlene's sister, Darlene, a fellow crack addict and prostitute, was to be found unconscious in a city shelter on April 23, 1998. She later died and was taken to the morgue, where city officials waited to hear from worried relatives.
 
No one called.
 
The family had never been close. Children came and went in an unceasing cycle of foster care, group homes and social workers. Children were born, children were taken away, children returned.
 
A concerned neighbor, Tammy Dennis, invited Charlene to church one Sunday. Charlene promised to attend with her children. But when Dennis came to pick them up, no one answered the door.
 
Dennis, who grew up on the block, remembered a time when children ran freely in and out of one another's homes. Then crack arrived. People became secretive. They closed their doors and windows. Dennis, a poised and collected woman, returned to the block in 1996 after two years in Indiana. She had to learn a new, unspoken rule: "You see what you see, but you see nothing."
 
Charlene herself lied about what was happening, but she lied poorly. She told her cousin Len Margarita Wise that Charnae was at Harper Street. She told Len's mother that Charnae was with relatives in North Carolina.
 
In the late summer, she phoned Denisha, then 18, who had last seen her younger sister in May. Denisha had thought Charnae looked malnourished.
 
"The foster care people have come to take her away," Charlene said on the phone. "They are pulling out in their car now. . . . Charnae is looking out of the window and is waving at me. . . . Look at all those nosy neighbors looking."
 
A few days later, Denisha casually asked her mother which neighbors had seen Charnae being taken away.
 
"No one."
 
Charnae was dying. But Charlene couldn't bring herself to articulate the thought. On Aug. 22, 1997, she sent Kadedra and Gwen down to check on their sister.
 
She was too afraid to go herself.
 
The two small children had not seen Charnae in a while. When they returned from the basement, they were hysterical: "Charnae is real bad off."
 
Charlene calmed them down. She told them to say nothing about it - it was a family secret.
 
A little while later, Charnae knocked on the basement door.
 
"Mommy, can I have some water?"
 
Charlene opened the door and gave her a glass. Charnae looked weak. Charlene shut the door.
 
On Aug. 23, Charlene carried a plate with hot dogs and spaghetti halfway down the basement stairs. She handed the plate to Charnae.
 
"Thank you."
 
"I'll be back," Charlene said. She was going to a birthday party for her grandson at Denisha's house.
 
"OK."
 
Charlene dressed and got ready to leave. On her way out, she shouted, "I'll see you when I get back, baby."
 
If Charnae replied, Charlene didn't hear.
 
At the party, she took Denisha aside and said she had something important to tell her: Charnae wasn't going to make it till next week.
 
Denisha drove Charlene home that night. She demanded to see Charnae. Charlene refused and had Denisha drop her off a block from home. She walked the rest of the way.
 
Once home, she turned on all the lights. The thought of Charnae in the basement had clung to her all evening like a shroud.
 
She threw open the basement door.
 
"Charnae," she called out. "Charnae, you down there?"
 
Silence.
 
Charlene scrambled down the steps. The little girl was lying on the floor in the fetal position. Charlene bent down and touched her. Charnae felt cold and hard.
 
Charlene jerked her hand back. She spun around and ran up the unsteady stairs. She didn't stop when she reached the landing, didn't stop until she reached the bathroom on the second floor. She slipped inside and jammed the door shut behind her.
 
Call 911. The thought terrified her. She couldn't. She just couldn't.
 
The children need me, she thought.
 
She turned on the tap so that the other children would not hear her cries. And then, muffled by the sound of rushing water, she wept. For the child who had died, for what she had done, and for all she was going to have to pay.
 
On Sept. 16, 1997, police found Charnae's skeleton, arrested Charlene and charged her with murder.
 
Joan Reeves, commissioner of the Department of Human Services, called Charnae's death "unimaginable" and ordered an internal investigation of the case.
 
The results were never made public. The agency declined all requests for interviews for this article, citing pending litigation.
 
The following year, a state review of the DHS internal investigation found a string of serious lapses in which the agency had not followed its own policies for child safety: There were times when no social worker was assigned to the family. A required risk assessment was not conducted in February 1997. There was no record-keeping during the crucial period between February 1997 and Charnae's death. Long-term family plans were not made. The case was arbitrarily closed.
 
In a statement about its responsibility, DHS told state investigators "at no time was there a determination that acts of commission or omission by the department or its agents could have predicted or prevented the tragedy that befell this child."
 
In March, Charlene was convicted of third-degree murder. Judge James Lineberger sentenced her to 28 to 56 years in prison.
 
In July, Denisha Wise decided to sue the city and state on behalf of her dead sister, charging that DHS had failed in its duty to protect Charnae.
 
"DHS and the state were grossly negligent and recklessly indifferent," said Neil Perloff, Denisha's lawyer.
 
"If I come into money, it would be for my siblings," Denisha said. "I will make sure they have a nice education like I never had. I will get Charnae a headstone. We had no money to get Charnae a headstone. Whatever is left for me, I don't care."
 
On a scorching summer afternoon, Darnell Harris took one lunging step to the left of a gravestone marked "Perkins."
 
The grave-digger then took two steps down and drew his boot across the grass to mark the spot of Charnae's grave. He looked up to see whether it aligned with the haphazard markers strewn around. He then revised his estimate by two feet.
 
"Here," he said confidently.
 
Actually Charnae's grave was a little to the left of Harris' calculation - Denisha had placed a small marker on the ground that read "Sister."
 
At the Merion Memorial Park in Bala Cynwyd, no stone marks Charnae's final rest. No epitaph describes her days. For a life so short, so brutal and unloved, what would it say?
 
 

We urge legislators to take a closer look at funding child protection issues and authorities to use wisdom in investigating abuse cases.

Is there someone to speak for children so that their unfinished lives do not slip silently away ? 

If hundreds and hundreds of predictably and preventably dead children is not enough to inspire action, what is ?  If you choose not to act, who will ?  If not now, when ?

 

_________________

Children In News Please Read.... 2003 

             

http://suncanaa.com/memory2010cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2009cps   http://suncanaa.com/memory2008cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2007cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2006cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2005cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2004cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2003cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2002cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2001cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory2000cps    http://suncanaa.com/memory1990_1999cps
 
  Those children's voices call out from small graves to those who truly care about child welfare. 
 
                          Learn more about them.....Read their stories.

                                   

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