Elizabeth Fillmore

24 Jun 19
Boulder Daily Camera
The following data is supplied by Colorado Weekly Homebuyers List Inc., 303-744-2020. The names and addresses of real estate buyers are available on gummed labels that include phone numbers. BOULDER AREA HOME SALES Listed are the buyer, the property address, the seller and the amount. Boulder Jill Parsons — 350 Arapahoe Ave., Apt. 24, Astrid Gifford, $135,000. Steven Hershberger — 4855 Edison Ave., Apt. 112, Justin and Katherine Essary, $170,900. Katherine Roundy — 2707 Valmont Road, Apt. 111c, Osha Properties LLC, $280,000. David Keffeler — 812 20th St., Apt. 4, Irene and Richard Mochulsky, $295,000. Nicole Vallely — 2800 Kalmia Ave., Apt. A111, Sophie Yorkwilliams, $314,000. Dimitra and George Chaus — 3795 Birchwood Drive, Apt. 73, Jessica M. Cameron, $318,000. Sue and Jason Timbo — 2707 Valmont Road, Apt. 301d, Ray and Keenan Brayer, $320,000. Christopher Guthrie — 625 Manhattan Place, Apt. 314, David and Caroline Havrilla, $345,000. Luke Mause — 600 Manhattan Drive, Apt. A9, Merrie B. King, $359,000. Hoo Lim — 33 S. Boulder Circle, Apt. 109, Lynne and Thomas McNamara, $369,000. Erich Gundlach — 470 Boulder St., Lawrence E. Worster, $387,500. Kory Riskey — 20 S. Boulder Circle, Apt. 2303, Viswanathan and S. Narayanan, $402,000. Ann Obenchain — 1201 Balsam Ave., Apt. 305, Triple Cross Ranch Holdings, $425,000. Kyle and Soojin Fulmer — 3337 Hickok Place, Craig C. Heneveld, $440,000. Chelsea and John Hedeman — 1495 Zamia Ave., Apt. 3, Julie Cobb, $445,000. Kathleen Dangelo — 3301 Arapahoe Ave., Unit 104, Cityview Peloton 390 LP, $449,900. Jack Clayton — 4800 Osage Drive, Apt. 7, Nicholas and Allison Lasure, $455,000. Christopher Coffield — 2155 S. Walnut St., Apt. 4, Christopher Coffield, $459,600. Michelle Macdonald — 3301 Arapahoe Ave., Unit 308, Cityview Peloton 390 LP, $479,300. Jennifer and Marcel Kofler — 5435 White Place, Freedman Horowitz Living, $480,000. Cheryl Firby — 1860 Walnut St., Apt. 4, Ronald Schrein, $490,000. Shiquan Su — 1560 Macarthur Drive, Maryann Fields, $500,000. Eric and Lauren Kelso — 1443 Tipperary St., Joseph Hite, $530,000. Barbara and Chris Georgeton — 3301 Arapahoe Ave., Unit 115, Cityview Peloton 390 LP, $550,500. Eben Clark — 1495 Zamia Ave., Apt. 6, Nola Chow, $575,000. Matthew Athorn — 6774 Bugle Court, Timothy P. Imbrock, $577,000. Lindgren and Nicole Carroll — 4614 Almond Lane, Mary Jo Bode, $577,000. Yasser Syed — 1860 Walnut St., Apt. 13, Frank Overton, $590,000. Marcel Delange — 2213 Pine St., Russell E. Huggins, $630,000. Marco Demartino — 730 Mohawk Drive, Eck Living Trust, $685,000. Donald McKinney — 3601 Arapahoe Ave., Unit 324, Shari E. Tebo, $690,000. Paul Dreyer — 1618 Zamia Ave., Adam and Jessica Johnson, $700,000. Douglas and Stephana Ryder — 2610 Fremont St., Mark W. Segars, $746,000. Brian Lehman — 704 16th St., Rpp Trust, $786,000. Frank and Jaime Farmer — 3081 15th St., Rory and Cheynna Sutherland, $794,500. Margaret Axon — 3030 23rd St., Charles Carol Semple Living, $842,000. Peter and Beth Ornstein — 5265 Centennial Trail, Ross Peter Jackson T, $900,000. Robert and Ann Clarke — 3635 Silver Plume Lane, Mark L. Schroeder, $925,000. Vinay Shah — 3500 Catalpa Way, Sabine Bildstein, $957,500. Ori Zimmels — 3545 23rd St., Adrienne A. Chesley, $975,000. Crystal Cargill — 1531 Lodge Lane, Michael and Juliana Scott, $985,000. Bliss and Patrick Bernal — 2825 Darley Ave., Mark and Wendy Zuck, $1,075,000. Jonathan Price — 5022 Fourth St., Shane and Nicole Kent, $1,117,500. James and Katherine Gottlieb — 4876 Idylwild Trail, Susan M. Baile, $1,195,000. Laura and David Chapman — 4195 17th St., David J. Chapman, $1,200,000. Holly and Jonathan Sprague — 1550 Wildwood Lane, Marvin I. Shirley J. Gang, $1,260,000. Henry and Catelin Laurion — 824 Rockway Place, Richard and Cecilee Rogers, $1,260,000. Brian and Jennifer Rootham — 1890 Lehigh St., Tor Wager, $1,275,000. Ray Bambha — 805 13th St., Lindsey Dearborn, $1,300,000. Donna and Ian Harrison — 6020 Flagstaff Road, Marda J. Barthuli, $1,340,000. Grant and Susan Arends — 365 Inca Parkway, Lori and Timothy Harris, $1,356,000. Gary Waggoner — 337 Arapahoe Ave., Apt. 301, Elizabeth Sue McCorkle, $1,450,000. Jennifer and David Britt — 2380 Hillsdale Way, Kevin and Patricia Hartnett, $1,495,000. Graham Carlson — 705 Mapleton Ave., Lukas Bouvrie, $3,700,000. Broomfield Michael Gentry — 5 Evergreen St., Paige and James Brooks, $279,000. Kevin Reiner — 13400 Alcott Way, United Colo. LLC, $288,100. Darin Kirkman — 13598 Via Varra, Unit 421, Nancy Kerver, $315,000. Scott Hartford — 3322 Molly Lane, Edward Schiller Carolyn Care, $322,500. Jason Shapiro — 466 Hickory Place, Kar2 Properties LLC, $350,000. Jennifer Atenciobrown — 13215 Grove Way, Stephanie A. Carpenter, $362,000. Brittany and Andrew Fischer — 253 Greenway Circle W., Taylor Schwarting, $364,500. Rebecca and Andrew Nordstrom — 426 Hickory St., Ashley A. West, $373,000. Timothy Moore — 2770 Fernwood Circle, Bart and Linda Beverly, $375,000. Jessica Hewitt — 280 Beryl Way, Marvin and Patricia Schauer, $385,000. Melanie and Scott Ralston — 2509 W. 134th Circle, Hillary Lauren Sanchez, $411,000. Carolyn Jones — 1335 Holly Drive E., Jarrus L. Steele, $415,000. Vijay Bangaru — 920 Marble St., Laura Jill Sparks, $415,500. Benjamin Cooper — 12440 James St., Rene Dunne, $420,000. Jeffrey and Erika Blackmon — 855 W. Eighth Ave. Drive, Equity Trust Co. Fbo, $425,000. Alexander Beal — 325 Hemlock St., Paul and Theresa Veno, $432,000. Denise Belk — 3291 W. 10th Ave. Place, Christopher and Erin Shaver, $437,000. Matthew Deaver — 996 Highland Park Drive, Jeffrey P. Mitchell, $440,500. Gina Gardner — 12730 Yates St., Marilyn Kay Debell, $461,000. Jason Hamm — 16416 Zuni Place, Jason and Heather Johnson, $465,000. Kelly and Karen Meek — 13743 Legend Way, Unit 101, Mike Fehringer, $470,000. Jeane Berry — 16511 Antero Circle, Joseph P. Schurwonn, $473,500. Richard and Colleen Koss — 475 Birch St., Sph Property One LLC, $480,000. Ian McDavid — 2760 Decatur Drive, Douglas and Abig Guildner, $485,000. Craig Dukes — 4905 W. 128th Place, Raymond and Patricia Raulerson, $486,500. Rodney and Jacqueline Tekrony — 13168 Sandstone Drive, Taylor Morrison Colo. Inc., $497,600. Jessica Anderson — 3422 W. 125th Drive, Erika and Jeffrey Blackmon, $504,000. Rebecca and Christopher Phelps — 13235 Shadow Canyon Trail, Brian J. Vansickle, $510,000. Arthur and Patricia Wardlaw — 13053 Sandstone Drive, Taylor Morrison Colo. Inc., $515,400. Christopher Parks — 13624 Parkview Place, Willie and Mikaela La, $520,000. Haley Murphy — 1264 W. 170th Place, Melody Homes Inc., $527,000. John and Deborah Ardilla — 3042 Grizzly Peak Drive, Lennar Colo. LLC, $559,900. Diana Hodges — 13787 Umatilla Lane, Wonderland Quail Creek LLC, $567,100. Duncan and Heather McBogg — 1198 Ash St., Katherine A. Crosby, $572,000. Stephanie Duggan — 146 Keystone Trail, Timothy and Charlotte Lane, $575,000. Jennifer and Simon Webster — 13767 Umatilla Lane, Wonderland Quail Creek LLC, $599,100. Brent Good — 16623 Edwards Way, Charles and Dorcas Tate, $620,000. William and Krista Hugenberg — 16274 Beckwith Run, Lennar Colo. LLC, $624,900. David and Sarah Becker — 3900 Rabbit Mountain Road, Ashley and Alexander Olsen, $627,000. Clifford and Michele Clasen — 3032 Grizzly Peak Drive, Lennar Colo. LLC, $643,800. Russell Heinen — 13047 W. Montane Drive, Taylor Morrison Colo. Inc., $647,200. Adam and Joli Bean — 16372 Spanish Peak Way, Epic Anthem Highlands Ll, $680,400. Beth Neuhalfen — 16256 Ute Peak Way, Richmond Am Homes Colo. Inc., $688,000. Christopher Wheeler — 16448 Prospect Lane, Brian D. Smith, $699,900. Gregory and Holly Walker — 13997 River Glen Court, Cynthia Stclair, $730,000. Chase and Katelyn McClure — 15046 Silver Feather Circle, Timothy and Christi Wiens, $767,000. Matthew and Signe Jones — 16113 Swan Mountain Drive, Standard Pacific Colo. Inc., $775,000. Brian and Heather Huelsman — 16491 Red Rock Lane, Jason M. Hamm, $775,000. Brittany and Daniel Manimbo — 14065 Park Cove Drive, Kirk and Debra Bamesberger, $785,000. Prakash Bhandari — 16128 Humboldt Peak Drive, Standard Pacific Colo. Inc., $862,400. Steven Scott — 4410 Crestone Circle, Ryan Yoffe, $1,000,000. Sarah and David Aglar — 5011 Foxglove Trail, and Christine Chris, $1,116,300. Jason and Kathleen Pitre — 15498 Mountain View Circle, Nicholas and Ronda Thomas, $2,100,000. Erie Derrick and Courtney Packard — 2427 Shortridge Place, Ochsner Legacy Trust, $239,000. Kamla and Kiran Chopra — 215 Jackson Drive, Meritage Homes Colo. Inc., $350,000. Jeffrey and Margaret Smith — 155 Jackson Drive, Meritage Homes Colo. Inc., $354,000. Mark and Kimberly Poletti — 227 Jackson Drive, Meritage Homes Colo. Inc., $356,600. Steve Austin — 1154 Telleen Ave., Meritage Homes Colo. Inc., $391,600. Drew and Gabrielle Jane — 2205 Dogwood Drive, Shawn and Erin McClelland, $395,000. Parshuram and Parvati Gurung — 2131 Wheat Berry Court, Amanda and Joshua Timbers, $435,000. Matt and Denise Poepping — 1529 Linden Way, Freddie and Dana Buresh, $444,000. Vance Harwood — 2143 Indian Paintbrush Way, Carey A. Mayernick, $463,000. Mohamed Shanata — 1230 Nova Place, Shea Homes LP, $488,100. Melissa Schwartz — 757 Cabot Drive, Standard Pacific Colo. Inc., $493,300. James and Thomas Carroll — 620 Gallegos St., Kimberly M. Egan, $520,000. Brooke Nielsen — 655 Gold Hill Drive, Meritage Homes Colo. Inc., $525,000. Sam Shafer — 434 Highlands Circle, Clayton Properties Group II, $525,000. Jennifer Parenti — 1424 Clayton Way, Haas Family Trust, $535,000. Allison and Richard Harris — 1232 St. John St., Jeffrey Walls, $550,000. Donovan and Kelly Will — 1808 Southard St., Joseph and Karen Malacalza, $567,000. Kevin and Sarah Thompson — 756 Cabot Drive, Standard Pacific Colo. Inc., $574,600. Adam and Roger Fox — 1666 Alpine Drive, Stacey Dejong, $583,500. Diana Moore — 8007 Morningside Drive, Robert and Karen Myers, $585,000. Troy Smith — 1815 Burke Drive, Standard Pacific Colo. Inc., $585,000. Leland Lorentzen — 197 Nelson St., Misty and Jake Bragg, $592,000. Karthi Subbiah — 878 Gilpin Circle, Standard Pacific Colo. Inc., $618,300. Peter and Angela Jeppsen — 525 Orion Ave., and Tatyana Alexander, $630,000. Sara and Vincent Mares — 221 Luna Court, Shea Homes LP, $644,100. Galina Omelioussik — 1331 Fountain Lane, Toll Co. LP, $660,200. Jason and Juliet Getzel — 2801 Odell Drive, Wayne and Linda Willkomm, $720,000. Jeremy and Christine Bondeson — 496 Gold Hill Drive, Meritage Homes Colo. Inc., $727,200. Thomas Tuggle — 1306 Allen Ave., James H. Lillibridge Living, $785,600. Jacob and Misty Bragg — 1381 Fountain Lane, Toll Co. LP, $815,700. Lafayette Christie Schiel — 1425 Bacchus Drive, Apt. B13, Matthew J. Middendorf, $227,500. Julien Salmon — 1065 Delta Drive, Apt. A, Sandra D. Fox, $358,500. Kaley Lodin — 203 Bass Circle, Matthew Reddy, $390,000. Christine Strasser — 1694 Parkside Circle, Nicole Sati Fardi, $395,000. Brianna Vendetti — 912 Clover Circle, Michael and Katie Genauer, $446,000. Sunil and Sabitri Shrestha — 591 Wild Ridge Lane, Terry S. Forman, $475,000. Tiffany Omeara — 537 Wild Ridge Lane, Matthew Glauner, $485,000. Christopher Costello — 980 Mercury Drive, Eric and Corene Baumgardner, $494,900. Kurt Jansen — 1406 Caria Drive, Vincent and Melissa McGuire, $505,000. Douglas Anderson — 151 Salina St., and James Keneta, $513,000. Yan Volodarsky — 3928 Frailey Drive, Rg Options LLC, $520,000. James Boswell — 1723 Stonehenge Drive, Joi Michele Milsom, $585,000. Emily and Kevin Ring — 2021 Aster Lane, Indian Peaks Filing 2 LLC, $600,000. Benjamin and Karleen Mercuri — 406 W. Cannon St., Northern Star Property LLC, $660,000. Alexander Iselin — 1751 Pioneer Circle, Hemant and Sanjana Chandak, $665,000. Alejandro Gonzalez — 2524 Lexington St., John and Paige Kirkman, $680,000. Richard and Laura Allen — 2510 Westward Drive, Russell S. White, $700,000. David and Sandra Oveson — 279 Antelope Point, Paul and Sandra Williams, $750,000. Stephen and Patricia Sherman — 2433 Waneka Lake Trail, Sameer and Geeta Sawant, $752,500. Joseph and Amanda Silvestri — 318 Elk Trail, Samuel and Melody Cohn, $765,000. Jeremy Hodgekinsonprice — 2374 Hillside Terrace, M. Venkatesh, $1,322,500. Longmont Alvin and Tammi Allmendinger — 218 Cardinal Way, Unit A, Ellen Nickenzie Lawson, $177,100. Phillip Wong — 709 Kimbark St., John W. Wong, $250,000. Phillip Wong — 1432 Whitehall Drive, No. 18g, John W. Wong, $250,000. Tessa Melli — 804 Summer Hawk Drive, Unit 11208, Lauren C. Moreng, $275,000. Alain and Joan Vanderheide — 4743 Summerlin Place, Somerset Land Two LLC, $279,000. Susan Schlagel — 805 Summer Hawk Drive, Unit A2, Gary L. Papenfus, $295,000. Peter and Sofia Zneimer — 805 Summer Hawk Drive, Apt. X139, Nicoll Revocable Living, $303,000. Sandra Halinadams — 498 Verdant Circle, Harry T. Beatson, $305,000. Timoteo Monrealmacareno — 10713 Butte Drive, Lauren Lauchli, $306,000. Julie and Matthew Jones — 1601 Geneva Circle, Paul and Rebecca Couzens, $319,000. Eva and Tanner Horne — 1537 Calkins Ave., Dexter and Kenn Krutsch, $320,000. Yecid Pinales — 1812 Logan St., Gloria V. Romero, $325,000. Raul Sanchez — 1209 S. Sherman St., Lgi Homes Colo. LLC, $329,900. Arthur Ortega — 1317 Country Court, Unit K, Flatirons Homes Inc., $329,900. Nancy Mezo — 203 Cardinal Way, Boulder Creek Blue Vista II, $338,200. Juan Mendez — 2003 11th Ave., Sean Finn, $347,000. Erick Paramo — 8 Barrow Place, Fernando Ordonez, $355,500. Lili Cooper — 1728 Sumner St., Shawn Tierney, $360,000. Nathan and Kristin Hawley — 217 Cardinal Way, Boulder Creek Blue II Ll, $364,400. Brent and Laurie Gallant — 201 Cardinal Way, Boulder Creek Vista II Ll, $372,300. Jennifer Mahoney — 211 Cardinal Way, Boulder Creek Blue II Ll, $375,600. Roger and Suzanne Walker — 737 Busch St., Joel Jason Thomas, $380,000. David Snyder — 2225 Daley Drive, Mary Belinda Cordova, $380,000. Zora Cobb — 118 Lincoln St., Jeffrey J. Bergland, $382,000. Carol and Jason Wiggins — 2326 Gay St., Barry Alan Marler, $386,000. Maria River — 1809 Clover Creek Drive, Richard Arnold Voge, $386,200. Alexandra Vita — 63 Powder Horn Place, Leslie G. Goodwin, $386,900. Alberto Dayer — 847 Snowberry St., Shawna L. Lanham, $394,000. Robert and Lynn Baker — 2301 Steele St., George and Rosalie Strauss, $395,000. Scott Minchin — 831 Emery St., Jennifer and Jason Sage, $399,900. Donna Lundquist — 2434 Santa Fe Drive, Unit A, Bobbie and Barry Dodd, $405,000. Elson and Apekshya Shrestha — 1235 Trout Creek Circle, Jeremy McCourt, $416,300. Kimberly Templeman — 229 River View Court, Susan L. Burton, $416,900. Ryan Bateman — 1744 Spencer St., Michael L. Holliday, $420,000. Alan and Catherine Gosenca — 313 Homestead Parkway, Rebecca W. Richardson, $430,900. Lawrence and Therese Montecalvo — 1002 S. Terry St., Jason Casey, $435,000. Alden and Rachel Schwantes — 1712 Spencer St., Simone Farbus, $435,000. Majid and Rochelle Zamani — 1087A Mountain Drive, Dfh Mandarin LLC, $439,200. Lisa and David Bailey — 2355 Santa Fe Drive, Unit A, Patrick and Debbie Skaggs, $441,000. William and Julie Benson — 728 Widgeon Drive, Boulder Creek Denio LLC, $453,100. John and Heidi Fisher — 2270 Whistler Drive, Andrew and Abigail Lapham, $460,000. Gary Floyd — 1681 Cedarwood Drive, Brian and Michele Soriano, $462,000. Jeffrey Deems — 708 Bluegrass Drive, Kevin and Kelly Mahoney, $470,000. Donald and Carol Davies — 1534 Judson Drive, Joyce and Joy Hailey, $475,000. Michele Ricchetti — 2012 Charro Ave., Sherry A. Kroutil Revocable, $486,000. Annette Siverling — 1318 Country Court, Flatirons Homes Inc., $501,900. Sean and Kelly Finn — 331 Western Sky Circle, Meritage Homes Colo. Inc., $505,000. Kimberly Barr — 2325 Watersong Circle, Dylan and Sarah Hollingsworth, $535,000. Weijun Tan — 5043 Maxwell Ave., Dfh Mandarin LLC, $537,600. Cody and Jordon Allard — 1029 Woodgate Court, Richmond Am Homes Colo. Inc., $550,100. Kathryn and Alexander Biale — 4202 Arezzo Drive, Edward and Tonya Simmerson, $555,000. Alexandra Knettel — 7451 Mount Sherman Road, Joshua A. Shurtleff, $560,000. Robert and Gretchen Dixon — 801 Widgeon Drive, Boulder Creek Denio LLC, $587,300. Shadi Ramey — 9151 Rogers Road, Blind Mule LLC, $590,000. Andrew Vialpando — 1916 High Plains Drive, Dfh Mandarin LLC, $615,000. Colin and Tonya Pixley — 425 Karsh Drive, M. E. LLC, $625,000. Rozlynn White — 2233 Lombardy St., KB home Colo. Inc., $630,300. Martha Oneill — 4415 Maxwell Ave., Boulder Creek LLC, $644,300. Jenean Eberhardt — 1415 Harvard St., Rowan Wing, $645,000. Anthony Garcia — 13775 County Road 3, Charles and Teresa Hellmer, $650,000. Benjamin and Joy Bishop — 1763 Montgomery Circle, Jong and Won Kim, $667,500. Samantha and Nathan Harris — 2128 Lake Park Drive, Erik and Samantha Schmitz, $705,000. Carla Jamieson — 344 Lincoln St., Nick and Sonci Moore, $715,000. Dumltru Pop — 1945 High Plains Drive, Dfh Mandarin LLC, $718,000. Charles and Susan Shilling — 224 Francis St., Joshua P. Landers, $720,500. Robert and Angela Pringle — 4411 Maxwell Ave., Boulder Creek Renaissance LC, $736,100. Dennis and Linda Hunt — 4734 Summerlin Place, KB home Colo. Inc., $809,000. Lisa and Timothy Watts — 6632 Fairways Drive, Michael and Diane Riordan, $850,000. Donald Schena — 3708 Braeburn Place, Matthew Neel, $1,044,000. Bartley Jenniches — 2227 Sedgwick Court, Standard Pacific Colo. Inc., $1,099,900. Lindsey and Casey Jenks — 5239 Niwot Road, Taylor Homes LLC, $1,150,000. Jeffrey and Stephanie Wright — 2880 Godding Hollow Parkway, Sharon R. Scheller, $1,500,000. Louisville Yannick Eckmann — 2255 Garfield Ave., Carrie Michele Myers, $570,000. Michelle and Graham Whitaker — 2228 Cliffrose Lane, Sheila and Gwendolyn Blanchard, $580,000. James Butler — 868 W. Barberry Circle, Helmut K. Soehn, $610,000. Emily and Nick Stites — 1444 Fillmore Place, Jon Sasser, $650,000. Christopher and Carrie Cornejo — 941 Eldorado Lane, Igor and Tina Rahelic, $669,000. John and Holly Lattin — 903 W. Chestnut Circle, Michele R. Giggey, $675,000. Eric Stout — 750 Peach Court, Jingwen Tang, $725,000. Julien and Jessica Denat — 387 W. Elm St., Jenna and Thomas Vanhorn, $760,000. Jeffrey and Gretchen Bail — 409 W. Spruce St., Nicholas Martin Jacobs, $1,605,000. Nederland Kerri and Chris Beers — 266 Forsythe Road, Peter and Nina Lynch, $399,000. Superior Michael Sinner — 2037 Eagle Ave., Eve Y. Zhou, $374,400. Eric and Tara Benton — 539 Briggs Place, Kenneth and Keara Ernest, $512,000. Maxwell Li — 448 Promenade Drive, Wonderland Superior Town, $635,400. Berk Bozoklar — 440 Promenade Drive, Wonderland Superior Town, $680,300. Suzanne and John Cook — 303 N. Snowmass Circle, Terry D. Shannon Revocable, $750,000.
23 Jun 19
L4LM

On Friday night, The Raconteurs were at CBS television studios in New York City for the second of their two consecutive musical guest appearances on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert.  The band—comprised of Jack White, Brendan Benson, Jack Lawrence, and Patrick Keeler—offered up the late-night television performances in support of their recently released Help Us Stranger LP, which arrived on Friday […]

23 Jun 19
Medievalists.net

There’s always been a fraught relationship between medieval academia and the Society for Creative Anachronism

22 Jun 19
L4LM

Breakout soul-pop outfit Lawrence has released a new song, “Casualty”, produced by rapper/singer/songwriter Jon Bellion. “Casualty” marks the first new music from the brother-and-sister-led outfit since the release of their Living Room LP last year. As the band notes in a statement about the collaboration with Bellion, Jon is not only one of our favorite artists, but he’s also […]

21 Jun 19
KLBK | KAMC | EverythingLubbock
The last time Tanna Jo Fillmore talked with her mother, she was in a Utah jail, angry, pleading and desperate. She’d called every day that past week, begging for help. I need my medicine, she demanded. I have to get out of here! she screamed. Fillmore was in the Duchesne County Jail on a charge of violating probation in a drug case; she had reportedly failed to report a change of address. At 25, she’d struggled with mental illness for years, but Xanax and hyperactivity medication had stabilized her. Now, she told her mother, the jail’s nurse was denying her those pills — and she couldn’t take it any longer. That November day, she phoned her mother, Melany Zoumadakis, three times over an hour. In their final conversation, Fillmore’s voice was raw with rage. She blamed her mom, a nurse herself, for not doing more. She threatened to kill herself, warning that if she did: “‘You’re going to be the worst mother in the world.'” Then she hung up. Zoumadakis called her daughter’s probation officer and told him she feared her daughter would die in jail, but he assured her Fillmore was being monitored. The next day, Thanksgiving 2016, Fillmore’s sister, Calley Clark, received a Facebook message. “I’m so sorry,” a friend wrote. Then another note arrived: “Please tell me it isn’t true.” In Texas for the holiday, Clark had an uneasy feeling and asked her boyfriend to call the jail. He returned with the news. Clark dialed her mother, gasping so hard she could barely speak, and asked if she’d talked with Tanna that day. She hadn’t. “Mom,” she cried, “she’s dead!” On her ninth day in the Duchesne County Jail, Tanna Jo Fillmore hanged herself in her cell. She never did get her meds. Read the headlines on any given day across America and you’ll find evidence of a crisis roiling the criminal justice system: “Suicide leading cause of death in Utah jails.” ”San Diego County inmate suicide rate ‘staggeringly’ high.” ”Attempted suicides at Cuyahoga County Jail tripled over three-year span.” Stories like Fillmore’s have been told time and again, and yet the deaths continue in jails large and small. Suicide, long the leading cause of death in U.S. jails, hit a high of 50 deaths for every 100,000 inmates in 2014, the latest year for which the government has released data. That’s 2½ times the rate of suicides in state prisons and about 3½ times that of the general population. It’s a problem commonly blamed on the mere fact that more mentally ill people are landing behind bars, a trend that started after state psychiatric hospitals began closing in the 1970s and promised alternatives failed to emerge. More recently, jails have been overwhelmed with those addicted to opioids or meth, many of whom wrestle with depression and withdrawal. Increasingly, troubling questions are being raised about the treatment of inmates in many jails, possible patterns of neglect — and whether better care could have stopped suicides. A joint investigation by The Associated Press and the University of Maryland’s Capital News Service finds that scores of jails have been sued or investigated in recent years for allegedly refusing inmates medication, ignoring their cries for help, failing to monitor them despite warnings they might harm themselves, or imposing such harsh conditions that the sick got sicker. Reporters spent months examining hundreds of cases in local news reports, reviewing investigations of specific jails, and compiling a database of more than 400 lawsuits filed in the last five years over alleged mistreatment of inmates, most of whom were mentally ill. Some 40 percent of those lawsuits involved suicides in local jails — 135 deaths and 30 attempts. The court files contain thousands of pages of allegations and valuable clues about how and why this problem persists. For example: — About a third of jail inmates who attempted suicide or took their lives did so after staff allegedly failed to provide prescription medicines used to manage mental illness. Some jail officials say withholding medications for a short period isn’t harmful and that some inmates try to manipulate the system to get drugs. David Mahoney, a Wisconsin sheriff, disagrees. If inmates are taking psychotropic drugs, he says, “we have a moral and ethical responsibility to continue them.” — The first week of an inmate’s detention is critical. In the jail lawsuits, more than half of suicides or attempts occurred during the first seven days, and many of those were within the first 48 hours after intake. Those early days are marked by the sudden stress of confinement when inmates worry about losing jobs, family reaction and an uncertain future. — Inmates frequently used clothing, bedsheets or shower curtains to hang themselves. The review also revealed instances of inmates being given razors, despite clear warnings they might harm themselves. — Many inmates weren’t checked regularly — usually every 15-30 minutes — because of staffing shortages or inadequate training. Of the 165 jail suicides and attempts, about 80 percent of inmates were awaiting trial. These lawsuits represent a tiny fraction of the problem. An exclusive 50-state reporting effort to collect recent data found more than 300 suicides in local jails from 2015 to 2017 — in just nine states. The others did not provide numbers or offered incomplete data, an issue prompting some legislatures to consider bills that would require jails to provide better information about those dying behind bars. The 2014 federal statistics reported 372 suicides among some 3,000 jails surveyed. What’s most disturbing about these deaths, lawyers and civil rights advocates say, is they’re largely avoidable. “The vast majority are foreseeable and preventable,” says Lori Rifkin, a California prisoners’ rights attorney. “But they continue to happen because, overall, I think there is a cultural dismissiveness toward both the signs that help us predict suicide — and toward the steps necessary to prevent them.” Jonathan Thompson, head of the National Sheriffs’ Association, calls that assessment absurd and says while jail officials must take every step to protect inmates, they’ve been placed in an impossible situation. “We’re not the nation’s psychologists,” he says. “We have decided that as a society let’s just warehouse the mentally ill in a jail … which is neither equipped for, trained to handle or able to be most efficient and effective at solving the problem. “The failure here isn’t just what a deputy or an officer in a jail does or doesn’t do. The failure is that these people are being put in a criminal environment for mental illness.” Tanna Jo Fillmore had a troubled history. Jo-Jo or TJ, as her family called her, was a fearless girl, competing in rodeo barrel races and riding her horses through the woods into the rugged Uinta mountains. Her mother dubbed her “the horse whisperer.” Problems started cropping up, though, during adolescence when she gained weight and classmates taunted her. She’d cry but would forgive. “She wanted to be accepted by everyone so much, even if they were mean to her,” says her sister, Calley Clark. Clark says her sister struggled with depression as a teen, but no one really addressed it. When Fillmore dropped out of high school just shy of graduation to care for her ailing father, Clark adds, “all her plans and dreams went away.” She was later diagnosed with post-traumatic stress, anxiety, panic disorder and depression, and was prescribed Xanax and the stimulant D-amphetamine sulfate, according to a civil rights lawsuit filed against Duchesne County. Fillmore married at age 21, and around then, her family says, she started using methamphetamines and developed a reputation as a “druggie” in their tiny eastern Utah community, Tabiona. In 2013, according to court records, Fillmore pleaded guilty to drug charges and was placed on probation. Two years later, Clark says she still appeared to be using meth, though she flushed her drugs down the toilet and vowed to quit. By November 2016, Fillmore, long separated from her husband, had moved to Salt Lake City to live with her mother. She was talking about a fresh start and waiting for an open bed in residential drug treatment. The family’s lawyer, Tyler Ayres, says Fillmore didn’t report her change of address to her probation officer. That led her to the Duchesne County Jail where, according to the lawsuit, she told the booking clerk about her prescriptions but, despite repeated requests, was denied them by Jana Clyde, a licensed practical nurse who allegedly called her a “drug addict.” The complaint claims Clyde, who can’t legally prescribe drugs, didn’t “fulfill her gatekeeper role” by contacting the jail doctor. Dr. Kennon Tubbs, who contracts with the county, told the AP he didn’t receive any request for medication for Fillmore. Tubbs’ physician assistant makes a weekly visit, but there’s no indication Fillmore saw medical staff while locked up. Clyde did not respond to a message sent to her through the county. Ayres, the family’s lawyer, says Fillmore wasn’t suicidal and flourished while taking medication: “All they had to do was give it to her. … They have an obligation to provide adequate medical care.” The lawsuit notes Fillmore also may have feared facing a lengthy sentence for her probation violation, although her court-appointed lawyer told the AP the chances of that were exceedingly low. Fillmore hanged herself with a bedsheet. Her court hearing was four days away. Nationwide, jail suicide cases are leading to substantial settlements over faulty policies or neglect; some lawsuits were brought by families who’d tried warning jailers of a loved one’s condition. In Grundy County, Iowa, Jared Slinker, a 26-year-old mentally ill father of three, tied a bedsheet around his neck and was left hanging for 13 minutes because only one jail staffer worked that night and doubled as a dispatcher. Policy prohibited the guard from entering the cell until another worker arrived, says Dave O’Brien, a lawyer for the family, which last year won a $500,000 settlement. Both Slinker’s father and a doctor warned jail officials he was depressed and withdrawing from drugs. Slinker told a jail official he was delusional and taking an antidepressant, but the booking officer inexplicably answered “no” on an admissions form when asked about those very things. “Any reasonable person would have not missed those signs that he was a mental health risk,” O’Brien says, noting Slinker would have been monitored more carefully with the right classification. The jail has nearly doubled its surveillance cameras. In Lake County, California, Elizabeth Gaunt, a 56-year-old former social worker, was jailed after acting erratically but never charged. Gaunt, who had mental health and substance abuse problems, was placed in a cell with a surveillance camera and was supposed to be checked every 15 minutes. Over 25 hours, she begged for a doctor, repeatedly screamed “help me,” tore a blanket into strips, checked their strength on a sink and toilet, and used them to kill herself. A guard who looked in through a cell window noted in an observation log all was OK. Dane Shikman, Gaunt’s son, says his mother should have been taken to a mental health center, not jail, and believes the guards didn’t care enough to intervene. The county settled a wrongful death lawsuit for $2 million. “It is a failure of humanity and of our institutions that causes these tragedies,” Shikman says. “When they see someone who looks like they’re struggling, they don’t say, ‘Let me step in. This is someone’s mom.’… They think this is a woman on drugs doing whatever she’s going to do, she’ll shut up.” In Delaware County, Pennsylvania, 35-year-old Janene Wallace, who suffered from mental illness and paranoia, was in jail for a probation violation and held in solitary 51 of 52 days. She was locked up 23 hours a day at the George W. Hill Correctional Facility. When she threatened to choke herself in 2015, a guard told her to go ahead. She did. The guard went to lunch without checking on her and was among three workers fired. “She needed treatment,” says David Inscho, an attorney for the family, which won a $7 million settlement. “They gave her the opposite.” Other cases detail how similar callousness or poor judgment can turn deadly: In Knox County, Tennessee, an inmate who tried to kill himself with a razor six months earlier was given another one when readmitted on theft charges. A guard allegedly said he should “have done the job right” the first time. The inmate slit his throat. Sheriffs frequently complain they don’t have enough money to hire mental health workers, train guards and make needed improvements to enhance inmate monitoring. Mahoney, the Dane County, Wisconsin, sheriff, has no separate housing for inmates with certain severe behavioral, medical or mental health problems, so they’re confined to solitary, where they’ll spend 23 hours a day in a 6-by-9 cell with the lights on nonstop. “It’s inhumane,” he says. “But we’re forced into a situation to keep these people alive.” Mahoney is trying to secure funding to replace a 66-year-old jail with one that will have a hospital-like wing. But seeking more dollars isn’t a popular request. “When … we’re answering to the taxpayers, do we want to say we’re putting that money toward improving your roads, your schools … or we’re putting it toward making inmates more comfortable?” says Christine Tartaro, a criminal justice professor at Stockton University and author of “Suicide and Self-Harm in Prisons and Jails.” The problem extends beyond budgets. Asking a jail to hold inmates awaiting trial and those serving short sentences, and also act as de facto mental health and drug treatment centers, she says, is too great a burden. “How much,” she asks, “are we expected to get out of one institution?” Fillmore wasn’t the first person to die inside the Duchesne County Jail. Inmates killed themselves in 2013 and 2015, and a week after Fillmore’s death, Madison Jensen, a 21-year-old withdrawing from heroin, was found dead in her cell. The cause: a probable cardiac arrhythmia caused by severe dehydration. She’d lost 17 pounds in four days, according to a lawsuit filed against the county, the sheriff at the time and jail officials including Clyde, the nurse in Fillmore’s case. Jensen, who’d been arrested on drug charges, was too weak to stand at times, vomited and had diarrhea repeatedly, the lawsuit says. The Utah attorney general’s office charged Clyde with negligent homicide. A magistrate threw out the case, but an appeals court reversed the ruling, paving the way for Clyde to face trial. The decision notes that other than checking on Jensen’s blood pressure and giving her a sports drink, Clyde didn’t take her vital signs, perform other tests or contact the physician’s assistant even after Jensen filled out a medical request form. Clyde told investigators she wasn’t aware of the severity of Jensen’s illness. Frank Mylar, her lawyer, says “based on the knowledge she had, she believed she did the best she could. After the fact, would she have done something different? Absolutely.” Duchesne County Sheriff Travis Tucker, who took office in January, declined to discuss either case but says jail policy does provide for some prescription medicines. He also says a seven-bed medical wing is being added to cope with what he estimates is a tripling of inmates in the last decade, many of them mentally ill or addicted. Registered nurses have been added, as well. Tucker notes the state has a higher-than-average suicide rate, “so if it’s that way on the outside, what makes you think it isn’t going to be that way on the inside?” He’s part of a statewide group exploring how Utah jails can better prevent suicides. Last year, state lawmakers passed a measure requiring an accounting of jail deaths — a demand initially met with “a lack of cooperation” among some sheriffs, according to Sen. Todd Weiler, the sponsor. But they did comply. In November, the Utah Commission on Criminal and Juvenile Justice reported 71 people died in Utah jails from 2013 to 2017. More than half — 38 — were suicides. There’s no single fix for this, but sheriffs, lawmakers and advocates have some possible answers. Some jails have improved training, added mental health staff and placed suicide-resistant mattresses in cells. In Lake County, California, where there was that $2 million settlement, Sheriff Brian Martin initiated reforms including installing a larger surveillance monitor for guards to watch cells holding troubled inmates. The jail also replaced blankets with tear-resistant ones; gave staff four more hours of suicide prevention training; added a registered nurse; and replaced paper logs with an electronic system to track cell checks. All jail clocks were synchronized, too, so inmates are monitored at the correct intervals. “We don’t want this to ever happen again,” Martin says. In Texas, the Sandra Bland Act became law in 2017, mandating mental health training for law enforcement and making it easier for those arrested to receive a personal bond if they have a mental illness or substance abuse problem. The measure is named after a black woman who killed herself in 2015 after being jailed in Waller County for a minor traffic violation. Other Texas counties have implemented changes. In Bexar County, home to San Antonio, 21 inmates killed themselves from 2011 to 2018. Now, a special team of deputies roams the jail to identify inmates who may be suicidal. The sheriff also is working with county officials to secure the release of nonviolent mentally ill inmates who may languish in jail because they can’t afford a $250 bond. In Harris County, home to Houston, the sheriff’s office teamed up last year with mental health officials for a pilot program to give inmates access to a suicide hotline. “It acted like a pressure valve,” says Sheriff’s Major Mike Lee. The program is expected to become permanent. “The solutions … don’t involve reinventing the wheel,” says Aaron Fischer of Disability Rights California. His group spent 2½ years investigating San Diego County jails, where there were 17 suicides from 2014 to 2016, and issued a report criticizing the system for excessive use of solitary confinement and punitive treatment of the mentally ill. San Diego officials say they are investing resources into training and recruiting. Fischer says it’s important to demystify mental illness to a public that may mistakenly believe inmates who kill themselves are “wholly to blame” or deserve what happens to them if they end up in jail. “These are people who had families, people who had dreams and strengths and weaknesses,” he says, “humans placed in an extremely harsh and punitive setting and denied care that they needed, leading to a death that didn’t need to occur.” Tanna Jo Fillmore had dreamed of rebuilding her life. Five days after her death, her mother got a call from the residential treatment center her daughter had planned to enter. It was her check-in day, and the caller wondered why she wasn’t there. Her mother relayed the news. More than two years later, Fillmore’s mother still grieves. On Easter she visited the cemetery, polishing her daughter’s headstone, putting down flowers and propping up family photos. The tears flowed, as they do whenever she visits. When she stopped crying, she stood at the grave and in a strong, clear voice spoke to her lost daughter: “Dear Jo-Jo,” she said, “we love you and we miss you and we think about you every single day. Keep dancing in the sky.”
20 Jun 19
Ticket News Source

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20 Jun 19
WOODTV.com
(AP) — The last time Tanna Jo Fillmore talked with her mother, she was in a Utah jail, angry, pleading and desperate. She’d called every day that past week, begging for help. I need my medicine, she demanded. I have to get out of here! she screamed. Fillmore was in the Duchesne County Jail on a charge of violating probation in a drug case; she had reportedly failed to report a change of address. At 25, she’d struggled with mental illness for years, but Xanax and hyperactivity medication had stabilized her. Now, she told her mother, the jail’s nurse was denying her those pills — and she couldn’t take it any longer. That November day, she phoned her mother, Melany Zoumadakis, three times over an hour. In their final conversation, Fillmore’s voice was raw with rage. She blamed her mom, a nurse herself, for not doing more. She threatened to kill herself, warning that if she did: “‘You’re going to be the worst mother in the world.'” Then she hung up. Zoumadakis called her daughter’s probation officer and told him she feared her daughter would die in jail, but he assured her Fillmore was being monitored. The next day, Thanksgiving 2016, Fillmore’s sister, Calley Clark, received a Facebook message. “I’m so sorry,” a friend wrote. Then another note arrived: “Please tell me it isn’t true.” In Texas for the holiday, Clark had an uneasy feeling and asked her boyfriend to call the jail. He returned with the news. Clark dialed her mother, gasping so hard she could barely speak, and asked if she’d talked with Tanna that day. She hadn’t. “Mom,” she cried, “she’s dead!” On her ninth day in the Duchesne County Jail, Tanna Jo Fillmore hanged herself in her cell. She never did get her meds. Read the headlines on any given day across America and you’ll find evidence of a crisis roiling the criminal justice system: “Suicide leading cause of death in Utah jails.” ”San Diego County inmate suicide rate ‘staggeringly’ high.” ”Attempted suicides at Cuyahoga County Jail tripled over three-year span.” Stories like Fillmore’s have been told time and again, and yet the deaths continue in jails large and small. Suicide, long the leading cause of death in U.S. jails, hit a high of 50 deaths for every 100,000 inmates in 2014, the latest year for which the government has released data. That’s 2½ times the rate of suicides in state prisons and about 3½ times that of the general population. It’s a problem commonly blamed on the mere fact that more mentally ill people are landing behind bars, a trend that started after state psychiatric hospitals began closing in the 1970s and promised alternatives failed to emerge. More recently, jails have been overwhelmed with those addicted to opioids or meth, many of whom wrestle with depression and withdrawal. Increasingly, troubling questions are being raised about the treatment of inmates in many jails, possible patterns of neglect — and whether better care could have stopped suicides. A joint investigation by The Associated Press and the University of Maryland’s Capital News Service finds that scores of jails have been sued or investigated in recent years for allegedly refusing inmates medication, ignoring their cries for help, failing to monitor them despite warnings they might harm themselves, or imposing such harsh conditions that the sick got sicker. Reporters spent months examining hundreds of cases in local news reports, reviewing investigations of specific jails, and compiling a database of more than 400 lawsuits filed in the last five years over alleged mistreatment of inmates, most of whom were mentally ill. Some 40 percent of those lawsuits involved suicides in local jails — 135 deaths and 30 attempts. The court files contain thousands of pages of allegations and valuable clues about how and why this problem persists. For example: — About a third of jail inmates who attempted suicide or took their lives did so after staff allegedly failed to provide prescription medicines used to manage mental illness. Some jail officials say withholding medications for a short period isn’t harmful and that some inmates try to manipulate the system to get drugs. David Mahoney, a Wisconsin sheriff, disagrees. If inmates are taking psychotropic drugs, he says, “we have a moral and ethical responsibility to continue them.” — The first week of an inmate’s detention is critical. In the jail lawsuits, more than half of suicides or attempts occurred during the first seven days, and many of those were within the first 48 hours after intake. Those early days are marked by the sudden stress of confinement when inmates worry about losing jobs, family reaction and an uncertain future. — Inmates frequently used clothing, bedsheets or shower curtains to hang themselves. The review also revealed instances of inmates being given razors, despite clear warnings they might harm themselves. — Many inmates weren’t checked regularly — usually every 15-30 minutes — because of staffing shortages or inadequate training. Of the 165 jail suicides and attempts, about 80 percent of inmates were awaiting trial. These lawsuits represent a tiny fraction of the problem. An exclusive 50-state reporting effort to collect recent data found more than 300 suicides in local jails from 2015 to 2017 — in just nine states. The others did not provide numbers or offered incomplete data, an issue prompting some legislatures to consider bills that would require jails to provide better information about those dying behind bars. The 2014 federal statistics reported 372 suicides among some 3,000 jails surveyed. What’s most disturbing about these deaths, lawyers and civil rights advocates say, is they’re largely avoidable. “The vast majority are foreseeable and preventable,” says Lori Rifkin, a California prisoners’ rights attorney. “But they continue to happen because, overall, I think there is a cultural dismissiveness toward both the signs that help us predict suicide — and toward the steps necessary to prevent them.” Jonathan Thompson, head of the National Sheriffs’ Association, calls that assessment absurd and says while jail officials must take every step to protect inmates, they’ve been placed in an impossible situation. “We’re not the nation’s psychologists,” he says. “We have decided that as a society let’s just warehouse the mentally ill in a jail … which is neither equipped for, trained to handle or able to be most efficient and effective at solving the problem. “The failure here isn’t just what a deputy or an officer in a jail does or doesn’t do. The failure is that these people are being put in a criminal environment for mental illness.” Tanna Jo Fillmore had a troubled history. Jo-Jo or TJ, as her family called her, was a fearless girl, competing in rodeo barrel races and riding her horses through the woods into the rugged Uinta mountains. Her mother dubbed her “the horse whisperer.” Problems started cropping up, though, during adolescence when she gained weight and classmates taunted her. She’d cry but would forgive. “She wanted to be accepted by everyone so much, even if they were mean to her,” says her sister, Calley Clark. Clark says her sister struggled with depression as a teen, but no one really addressed it. When Fillmore dropped out of high school just shy of graduation to care for her ailing father, Clark adds, “all her plans and dreams went away.” She was later diagnosed with post-traumatic stress, anxiety, panic disorder and depression, and was prescribed Xanax and the stimulant D-amphetamine sulfate, according to a civil rights lawsuit filed against Duchesne County. Fillmore married at age 21, and around then, her family says, she started using methamphetamines and developed a reputation as a “druggie” in their tiny eastern Utah community, Tabiona. In 2013, according to court records, Fillmore pleaded guilty to drug charges and was placed on probation. Two years later, Clark says she still appeared to be using meth, though she flushed her drugs down the toilet and vowed to quit. By November 2016, Fillmore, long separated from her husband, had moved to Salt Lake City to live with her mother. She was talking about a fresh start and waiting for an open bed in residential drug treatment. The family’s lawyer, Tyler Ayres, says Fillmore didn’t report her change of address to her probation officer. That led her to the Duchesne County Jail where, according to the lawsuit, she told the booking clerk about her prescriptions but, despite repeated requests, was denied them by Jana Clyde, a licensed practical nurse who allegedly called her a “drug addict.” The complaint claims Clyde, who can’t legally prescribe drugs, didn’t “fulfill her gatekeeper role” by contacting the jail doctor. Dr. Kennon Tubbs, who contracts with the county, told the AP he didn’t receive any request for medication for Fillmore. Tubbs’ physician assistant makes a weekly visit, but there’s no indication Fillmore saw medical staff while locked up. Clyde did not respond to a message sent to her through the county. Ayres, the family’s lawyer, says Fillmore wasn’t suicidal and flourished while taking medication: “All they had to do was give it to her. … They have an obligation to provide adequate medical care.” The lawsuit notes Fillmore also may have feared facing a lengthy sentence for her probation violation, although her court-appointed lawyer told the AP the chances of that were exceedingly low. Fillmore hanged herself with a bedsheet. Her court hearing was four days away. Nationwide, jail suicide cases are leading to substantial settlements over faulty policies or neglect; some lawsuits were brought by families who’d tried warning jailers of a loved one’s condition. In Grundy County, Iowa, Jared Slinker, a 26-year-old mentally ill father of three, tied a bedsheet around his neck and was left hanging for 13 minutes because only one jail staffer worked that night and doubled as a dispatcher. Policy prohibited the guard from entering the cell until another worker arrived, says Dave O’Brien, a lawyer for the family, which last year won a $500,000 settlement. Both Slinker’s father and a doctor warned jail officials he was depressed and withdrawing from drugs. Slinker told a jail official he was delusional and taking an antidepressant, but the booking officer inexplicably answered “no” on an admissions form when asked about those very things. “Any reasonable person would have not missed those signs that he was a mental health risk,” O’Brien says, noting Slinker would have been monitored more carefully with the right classification. The jail has nearly doubled its surveillance cameras. In Lake County, California, Elizabeth Gaunt, a 56-year-old former social worker, was jailed after acting erratically but never charged. Gaunt, who had mental health and substance abuse problems, was placed in a cell with a surveillance camera and was supposed to be checked every 15 minutes. Over 25 hours, she begged for a doctor, repeatedly screamed “help me,” tore a blanket into strips, checked their strength on a sink and toilet, and used them to kill herself. A guard who looked in through a cell window noted in an observation log all was OK. Dane Shikman, Gaunt’s son, says his mother should have been taken to a mental health center, not jail, and believes the guards didn’t care enough to intervene. The county settled a wrongful death lawsuit for $2 million. “It is a failure of humanity and of our institutions that causes these tragedies,” Shikman says. “When they see someone who looks like they’re struggling, they don’t say, ‘Let me step in. This is someone’s mom.’… They think this is a woman on drugs doing whatever she’s going to do, she’ll shut up.” In Delaware County, Pennsylvania, 35-year-old Janene Wallace, who suffered from mental illness and paranoia, was in jail for a probation violation and held in solitary 51 of 52 days. She was locked up 23 hours a day at the George W. Hill Correctional Facility. When she threatened to choke herself in 2015, a guard told her to go ahead. She did. The guard went to lunch without checking on her and was among three workers fired. “She needed treatment,” says David Inscho, an attorney for the family, which won a $7 million settlement. “They gave her the opposite.” Other cases detail how similar callousness or poor judgment can turn deadly: In Knox County, Tennessee, an inmate who tried to kill himself with a razor six months earlier was given another one when readmitted on theft charges. A guard allegedly said he should “have done the job right” the first time. The inmate slit his throat. Sheriffs frequently complain they don’t have enough money to hire mental health workers, train guards and make needed improvements to enhance inmate monitoring. Mahoney, the Dane County, Wisconsin, sheriff, has no separate housing for inmates with certain severe behavioral, medical or mental health problems, so they’re confined to solitary, where they’ll spend 23 hours a day in a 6-by-9 cell with the lights on nonstop. “It’s inhumane,” he says. “But we’re forced into a situation to keep these people alive.” Mahoney is trying to secure funding to replace a 66-year-old jail with one that will have a hospital-like wing. But seeking more dollars isn’t a popular request. “When … we’re answering to the taxpayers, do we want to say we’re putting that money toward improving your roads, your schools … or we’re putting it toward making inmates more comfortable?” says Christine Tartaro, a criminal justice professor at Stockton University and author of “Suicide and Self-Harm in Prisons and Jails.” The problem extends beyond budgets. Asking a jail to hold inmates awaiting trial and those serving short sentences, and also act as de facto mental health and drug treatment centers, she says, is too great a burden. “How much,” she asks, “are we expected to get out of one institution?” Fillmore wasn’t the first person to die inside the Duchesne County Jail. Inmates killed themselves in 2013 and 2015, and a week after Fillmore’s death, Madison Jensen, a 21-year-old withdrawing from heroin, was found dead in her cell. The cause: a probable cardiac arrhythmia caused by severe dehydration. She’d lost 17 pounds in four days, according to a lawsuit filed against the county, the sheriff at the time and jail officials including Clyde, the nurse in Fillmore’s case. Jensen, who’d been arrested on drug charges, was too weak to stand at times, vomited and had diarrhea repeatedly, the lawsuit says. The Utah attorney general’s office charged Clyde with negligent homicide. A magistrate threw out the case, but an appeals court reversed the ruling, paving the way for Clyde to face trial. The decision notes that other than checking on Jensen’s blood pressure and giving her a sports drink, Clyde didn’t take her vital signs, perform other tests or contact the physician’s assistant even after Jensen filled out a medical request form. Clyde told investigators she wasn’t aware of the severity of Jensen’s illness. Frank Mylar, her lawyer, says “based on the knowledge she had, she believed she did the best she could. After the fact, would she have done something different? Absolutely.” Duchesne County Sheriff Travis Tucker, who took office in January, declined to discuss either case but says jail policy does provide for some prescription medicines. He also says a seven-bed medical wing is being added to cope with what he estimates is a tripling of inmates in the last decade, many of them mentally ill or addicted. Registered nurses have been added, as well. Tucker notes the state has a higher-than-average suicide rate, “so if it’s that way on the outside, what makes you think it isn’t going to be that way on the inside?” He’s part of a statewide group exploring how Utah jails can better prevent suicides. Last year, state lawmakers passed a measure requiring an accounting of jail deaths — a demand initially met with “a lack of cooperation” among some sheriffs, according to Sen. Todd Weiler, the sponsor. But they did comply. In November, the Utah Commission on Criminal and Juvenile Justice reported 71 people died in Utah jails from 2013 to 2017. More than half — 38 — were suicides. There’s no single fix for this, but sheriffs, lawmakers and advocates have some possible answers. Some jails have improved training, added mental health staff and placed suicide-resistant mattresses in cells. In Lake County, California, where there was that $2 million settlement, Sheriff Brian Martin initiated reforms including installing a larger surveillance monitor for guards to watch cells holding troubled inmates. The jail also replaced blankets with tear-resistant ones; gave staff four more hours of suicide prevention training; added a registered nurse; and replaced paper logs with an electronic system to track cell checks. All jail clocks were synchronized, too, so inmates are monitored at the correct intervals. “We don’t want this to ever happen again,” Martin says. In Texas, the Sandra Bland Act became law in 2017, mandating mental health training for law enforcement and making it easier for those arrested to receive a personal bond if they have a mental illness or substance abuse problem. The measure is named after a black woman who killed herself in 2015 after being jailed in Waller County for a minor traffic violation. Other Texas counties have implemented changes. In Bexar County, home to San Antonio, 21 inmates killed themselves from 2011 to 2018. Now, a special team of deputies roams the jail to identify inmates who may be suicidal. The sheriff also is working with county officials to secure the release of nonviolent mentally ill inmates who may languish in jail because they can’t afford a $250 bond. In Harris County, home to Houston, the sheriff’s office teamed up last year with mental health officials for a pilot program to give inmates access to a suicide hotline. “It acted like a pressure valve,” says Sheriff’s Major Mike Lee. The program is expected to become permanent. “The solutions … don’t involve reinventing the wheel,” says Aaron Fischer of Disability Rights California. His group spent 2½ years investigating San Diego County jails, where there were 17 suicides from 2014 to 2016, and issued a report criticizing the system for excessive use of solitary confinement and punitive treatment of the mentally ill. San Diego officials say they are investing resources into training and recruiting. Fischer says it’s important to demystify mental illness to a public that may mistakenly believe inmates who kill themselves are “wholly to blame” or deserve what happens to them if they end up in jail. “These are people who had families, people who had dreams and strengths and weaknesses,” he says, “humans placed in an extremely harsh and punitive setting and denied care that they needed, leading to a death that didn’t need to occur.” Tanna Jo Fillmore had dreamed of rebuilding her life. Five days after her death, her mother got a call from the residential treatment center her daughter had planned to enter. It was her check-in day, and the caller wondered why she wasn’t there. Her mother relayed the news. More than two years later, Fillmore’s mother still grieves. On Easter she visited the cemetery, polishing her daughter’s headstone, putting down flowers and propping up family photos. The tears flowed, as they do whenever she visits. When she stopped crying, she stood at the grave and in a strong, clear voice spoke to her lost daughter: “Dear Jo-Jo,” she said, “we love you and we miss you and we think about you every single day. Keep dancing in the sky.” Melany Zoumadakis arranges photos and flowers that she brought to the grave of her daughter, Tanna Jo Fillmore, on April 26, 2019, in Salt Lake City. Fillmore killed herself in 2016 while being held on a probation violation. She had threatened to harm herself after she told her mother she was being denied her prescription medicines. Her mother has filed suit. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer) Cohen, an AP national writer, reported from Chicago. She may be reached at Twitter https://twitter.com/scohenAP or scohen@ap.org. Eckert is a reporter with the University of Maryland’s Capital News Service. Also contributing to the data analysis were Capital News Service reporters Riin Aljas, James Crabtree-Hannigan, Elliott Davis, Theresa Diffendal, Jessica Feldman, Hannah Gaskill, Samantha Hawkins and Roxanne Ready. Read more on the issue of jail suicides here: https://www.apnews.com/DeathBehindBars
20 Jun 19
WOODTV.com

Read the headlines on any given day across America and you’ll find evidence of a crisis roiling the criminal justice system.

19 Jun 19
Sterling Journal-Advocate
The African folktale version of the 1989 Central Park gang-rape has swept the populace! The mob thirsts for vengeance against evil spirits, like Linda Fairstein. Fairstein, the head of the sex crimes unit of the Manhattan District Attorney’s office during the trials of the accused rapists, has been exiled from society, like an albino chased from the village at the instigation of witch doctors. In a matter of days, she’s been forced off of a half-dozen corporate boards, dropped by her publisher and dumped by her talent agency. The people doing the ostracizing are full of crap, have no idea what they’re talking about, and get all their information about the case from Hollywood fantasy movies — most recently, the Netflix TV series “When They See Us” by Ava DuVernay, a major beneficiary of the #OscarsSoWhite campaign. The actual evidence against the five boys convicted of the rape was overwhelming. Nothing has changed that. This week, we’ll look not at the proof of their guilt, but at the proof of their alleged “exonerations.” In 2002, the convictions of the five Central Park rapists were vacated on the word of a psychopath, Matias Reyes, who suddenly announced that he, too, raped the jogger — not a surprise — and also that he’d acted alone — not possible. The real reason the convictions were vacated was that the sainted Robert Morgenthau, Manhattan D.A. since the Fillmore administration, discovered that, during his tenure in office, the slaves had been freed and given the vote. The only facts he cared about were: 1) an election was coming; and 2) so was his impending death. Overturning those convictions would assure him both re-election and an adulatory New York Times obituary. The media demanded a rewrite, and Morgenthau was just the man to do it. Reyes’ “confession” changed nothing about the evidence presented at trial. It was always known that other rapists got away: A small sample of semen on the jogger’s sock and cervix did not match any of the defendants’. That’s why, in her summation, prosecutor Elizabeth Lederer told the jury: “Others who were not caught raped her and got away.” Now we know: Reyes was one of those who “got away.” Unlike the confessions of the boys convicted of the attack, Reyes’ confession would result in no punishment. To the contrary, he was rewarded with a highly desirable prison transfer. Coincidentally, his conscience struck only after he was imprisoned with one of the convicted Central Park rapists, Kharey Wise, who happened to be the leader of a prison gang. To be extra sure that the psychopath was telling the truth: • Reyes was never given a polygraph test. • The police were prohibited from interviewing him. • In fact, the police were prevented from even reviewing transcripts of the D.A.’s interviews with Reyes. • The police were further barred from interviewing Reyes’ prison acquaintances — who said he’d admitted to joining a rape already in progress after hearing the jogger’s screams. Ah, the argy-bargy of our hallowed adversary system of justice! The maniacally repeated claim that “there was no physical evidence to tie the boys to the crime” is utter nonsense intended to fool the stupid. What “physical evidence” were they expecting? There were no tire tracks, footprints, bullet casings or gun powder residue to be tested. The jogger’s pulverized body was found lying in a puddle of mud. The only conceivable “physical evidence” would be DNA. But the use of DNA to solve crimes was nearly unheard of in 1989. No police force in the country would look for DNA to make a case. It was only about a year earlier that DNA had been used for the first time in any criminal court in the U.S. (Florida). The very month that the jogger was attacked, newspapers were excitedly reporting on a novel forensic technique, a “still unfolding laboratory discovery, a genetic ‘fingerprint’ created from the body’s deoxyribonucleic acid, or DNA” — as the Chicago Tribune put it. Even five years later, DNA evidence wasn’t enough to convict O.J. Simpson. Remember Robert Chambers, the “Preppie Killer”? He killed Jennifer Levin in Central Park three years before the Central Park wilding. Guess what? There was no “physical evidence” tying Chambers to Levin’s murder, either. Police solved it the same way they solved the Central Park rape case: circumstantial evidence and a confession. Does anyone think Chambers is innocent? (No — he’s white.) Which reminds me: There was no “physical evidence” tying David Berkowitz to the Son of Sam killings. Nor was there any “physical evidence” tying John Gotti to the murder of Paul Castellano. There was no “physical evidence” tying Lee Harvey Oswald to President Kennedy’s assassination. Are they all innocent, too? Hard to believe, but it was possible for crimes to be solved before 2001! (That’s about when the use of DNA in criminal cases became widespread.) What the police had against the Central Park Five were detailed confessions, on videotape, given in the presence of their parents or adult relatives; the deeply incriminating statements of at least a half-dozen of their friends and acquaintances; and the defendants’ knowledge of facts about the crime that only the perpetrators would know. Andrews McMeel Syndication
18 Jun 19
KTLA

The last time Tanna Jo Fillmore talked with her mother, she was in a Utah jail, angry, pleading and desperate. She’d called every day that past week, begging for help. I need my medicine, she demanded. I have to get out of here! she screamed. Fillmore was in the Duchesne County Jail on a charge […]

18 Jun 19
WJBF
The last time Tanna Jo Fillmore talked with her mother, she was in a Utah jail, angry and desperate. She’d called every day that week, begging for help. I need my medicine, she demanded. At 25, Fillmore had long struggled with mental illness, but medication had stabilized her. Now, she was locked up on a probation violation, and she told her mother the jail nurse was refusing to provide her pills. In their final conversation, Fillmore threatened to kill herself. And on Thanksgiving 2016, a day after that threat, Fillmore hanged herself in the Duchesne County Jail. Her case is not isolated. Increasingly, troubling questions are being raised about the treatment of mentally ill inmates in the nation’s 3,100 local jails, possible patterns of neglect — and whether better care could have saved lives. A joint investigation by The Associated Press and the University of Maryland’s Capital News Service finds many jails have been sued or investigated in recent years for allegedly refusing inmates medication to help manage mental illness, ignoring cries for help, failing to properly monitor them, or imposing excessively harsh conditions. A review of 165 lawsuits that specifically involved suicides or attempts in local jails found: — In about a third of the cases, staff allegedly failed to provide prescription medicines. — Many inmates weren’t checked regularly — usually every 15-30 minutes — because of staffing shortages or inadequate training. — More than half the suicides or attempts occurred during the first week, a stressful time for those coping with sudden confinement, and about 80 percent of the inmates were awaiting trial. — Clothing, bedsheets or shower curtains were frequently used; some inmates were given razors, despite warnings to staff that they might harm themselves. These lawsuits represent a tiny fraction of the problem. Suicide, long the leading cause of death in U.S. jails, hit a high of 50 deaths for every 100,000 inmates in 2014, the latest government dataavailable. That’s 2½ times the rate of suicides in state prisons and about 3½ times that of the general population. The total number of suicides in 2014 was 372, according to federal statistics. An exclusive 50-state reporting effort to collect recent statistics found more than 300 suicides in local jails from 2015 to 2017 — in just nine states. The others did not provide numbers or offered incomplete data, an issue prompting some legislatures to consider bills that would require jails to provide better information about those dying behind bars. It’s a problem commonly blamed on the fact more mentally ill people are being jailed, a trend that started after state psychiatric hospitals began closing in the 1970s. More recently, jails have been overwhelmed with opioid or meth users, many of whom also wrestle with depression. Lori Rifkin, a California prisoners’ rights attorney, argues the vast majority of these suicides “are foreseeable and preventable.” “I think there is a cultural dismissiveness toward both the signs that help us predict suicide — and toward the steps necessary to prevent them,” she adds. Jonathan Thompson, head of the National Sheriffs’ Association, calls that absurd and says while jail officials must safeguard inmates, “we’re not the nation’s psychologists. We have decided that as a society let’s just warehouse the mentally ill in a jail … which is neither equipped for, trained to handle or able to be most efficient and effective at solving the problem.” Sheriff Brian Martin looks at a video monitor in a control area of the Lake County Jail in Lakeport, Calif. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg) Some cases have resulted in substantial settlements over faulty policies or neglect. In Lake County, California, Elizabeth Gaunt, a 56-year-old former social worker with a psychiatric history, was jailed after acting erratically but never charged. Over 25 hours, she begged for a doctor, repeatedly screamed “help me,” tore a blanket into strips and then killed herself. A guard didn’t enter her cell during a check but noted in an observation log all was OK. The county settled a wrongful death lawsuit for $2 million. Dane Shikman, Gaunt’s son, says his mother belonged in a mental health center, not jail, and believes guards were negligent. “When they see someone who looks like they’re struggling,” he says, “they don’t say, ‘Let me step in. This is someone’s mom.’… They think this is a woman on drugs doing whatever she’s going to do, she’ll shut up.” Sheriff Brian Martin implemented reforms that included installing a larger surveillance monitor, replacing blankets with tear-resistant ones and giving staff more suicide-prevention training. In Fillmore’s case, a lawsuit is pending against Duchesne County, the former sheriff and others, including the jail nurse. Fillmore had been diagnosed years earlier with post-traumatic stress, anxiety, panic disorder and depression. She also had a history of drug use, but attorney Tyler Ayres says she wasn’t suicidal and just needed her medication. “They have an obligation to provide adequate medical care,” he says. Fillmore was jailed, Ayres adds, for failing to provide a change of address to a probation officer. Sheriff Travis Tucker, who took office in January, declined comment on the case but noted a jail wing is being built to serve mentally ill and addicted inmates. When she died, Fillmore was waiting to enter a residential drug program. Five days later, on what would have been check-in day, her mother got a call asking why Fillmore hadn’t shown up. She relayed the news. Then she prepared to bury her daughter.
18 Jun 19
BCNN1 WP

The last time Tanna Jo Fillmore talked with her mother, she was in a Utah jail, angry and desperate. She’d called every day that week, begging for help.

18 Jun 19
ABC 4
DUCHESNE COUNTY, Utah (AP) The last time Tanna Jo Fillmore talked with her mother, she was in a Utah jail, angry and desperate. She’d called every day that week, begging for help. I need my medicine, she demanded. At 25, Fillmore had long struggled with mental illness, but medication had stabilized her. Now, she was locked up on a probation violation, and she told her mother the jail nurse was refusing to provide her pills. In their final conversation, Fillmore threatened to kill herself. And on Thanksgiving 2016, a day after that threat, Fillmore hanged herself in the Duchesne County Jail. Her case is not isolated. Increasingly, troubling questions are being raised about the treatment of mentally ill inmates in the nation’s 3,100 local jails, possible patterns of neglect — and whether better care could have saved lives. A joint investigation by The Associated Press and the University of Maryland’s Capital News Service finds many jails have been sued or investigated in recent years for allegedly refusing inmates medication to help manage mental illness, ignoring cries for help, failing to properly monitor them, or imposing excessively harsh conditions. A review of 165 lawsuits that specifically involved suicides or attempts in local jails found: — In about a third of the cases, staff allegedly failed to provide prescription medicines. — Many inmates weren’t checked regularly — usually every 15-30 minutes — because of staffing shortages or inadequate training. — More than half the suicides or attempts occurred during the first week, a stressful time for those coping with sudden confinement, and about 80 percent of the inmates were awaiting trial. — Clothing, bedsheets or shower curtains were frequently used; some inmates were given razors, despite warnings to staff that they might harm themselves. These lawsuits represent a tiny fraction of the problem. Suicide, long the leading cause of death in U.S. jails, hit a high of 50 deaths for every 100,000 inmates in 2014, the latest government data available. That’s 2½ times the rate of suicides in state prisons and about 3½ times that of the general population. Melany Zoumadakis clutches a photo of her daughter, Tanna Jo Fillmore, on Friday, April 26, 2019, in Salt Lake City. Fillmore killed herself in the Duchesne County Jail in 2016, after repeatedly calling her mother, saying she was being denied her prescription medicines that had stabilized her. Her mother has filed suit. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer)An arrangement of photos, flowers and Easter eggs surrounds the grave of Tanna Jo Fillmore on Friday, April 26, 2019, in Salt Lake City. Fillmore, who had a history of mental problems, killed herself in Duchesne County jail in 2016 while locked up on a probation violation. She told her mother she was being denied her prescription medicines that had stabilized her. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer)Melany Zoumadakis wipes a tear while visiting the grave of her daughter, Tanna Jo Fillmore, on Friday, April 26, 2019, in Salt Lake City. More than two years after her daughter’s suicide, her mother says she still grieves and thinks about her constantly. Fillmore told her mother she desperately needed her prescription medicines, but a jail nurse wouldn’t provide them. Her mother has filed sued. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer)Melany Zoumadakis arranges photos and flowers that she brought to the grave of her daughter, Tanna Jo Fillmore, on April 26, 2019, in Salt Lake City. Fillmore killed herself in 2016 while being held on a probation violation. She had threatened to harm herself after she told her mother she was being denied her prescription medicines. Her mother has filed suit. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer)This undated photo provided by the family in 2019 shows Tanna Jo Fillmore as a girl. Jo-Jo or TJ, as her family called her, competed in rodeo barrel races while growing up in Utah. Fillmore, who had a history of mental problems, killed herself in 2016 at the Duchesne County Jail. Her mother, who has filed suit, says her daughter was denied her prescription medications and had threatened to harm herself when they spoke the day before her death. (Courtesy Melany Zoumadakis via AP)Melany Zoumadakis holds a crucifix while talking about her daughter, Tanna Jo Fillmore, at her home on Wednesday, April 24, 2019, in Salt Lake City. Fillmore, who had a history of mental problems, killed herself in 2016 at the Duchesne County Jail in Utah. Her mother, who has filed a lawsuit, says her daughter was denied her prescription medications and had threatened to harm herself when they spoke the day before her death. (AP Photo/Rick Bowmer)An inmate is shown covered in a tear-resistant blanket sleeps at the Lake County Jail in Lakeport , Calif., on Tuesday, April 16, 2019. These blankets were one of the many changes and reforms made at the norther California jail after a 2015 suicide there resulted in a $2 million wrongful death settlement. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)This Tuesday, April 16, 2019 photo shows an exterior view of the Lake County Jail in Lakeport, Calif. After a 2015 suicide at the jail resulted in a $2 million settlement in a wrongful death lawsuit, several changes were made, including adding a larger surveillance monitor, to prevent further tragedies. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)In this Tuesday, April 16, 2019, photo, Emma Elwood, a nurse at the Lake County Jail in Lakeport, Calif., checks the vitals of a woman in the booking area. A series of changes, including adding a registered nurse, were made at the jail following the 2015 suicide of Elizabeth Gaunt, a former social worker who had repeatedly cried for help while locked in a cell. A wrongful death lawsuit resulted in a $2 million settlement. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)Corrections officer William Tinkler prepares to hand out tear-resistant security blankets at the Lake County Jail in Lakeport , Calif., on Tuesday, April 16, 2019. The blankets were part of a series of changes and reforms made at the jail following the 2015 suicide of Elizabeth Gaunt, who had repeatedly cried for help while locked in a cell. A wrongful death lawsuit resulted in a $2 million settlement. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)Surveillance cameras show holding cells seen on monitors in the booking area of the Lake County Jail in Lakeport, Calif., on Tuesday, April 16, 2019. At center is the holding area where a woman killed herself in 2015, leading to a $2 million settlement and a series of reforms at the jail. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)Dane Shikman sits by a photograph showing him with mother, Elizabeth Gaunt, at his home in San Francisco on Friday, April 19, 2019. Shikman’s mother killed herself in 2015 at the Lake County, Calif., jail, after she was picked up for acting erratically. Gaunt, who had a history of mental health and substance abuse problems, had repeatedly screamed for help and pleaded to see a doctor. Her son’s wrongful death lawsuit resulted in a $2 million county settlement. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)Dane Shikman stands by a photo showing where the ashes of his mother, Elizabeth Gaunt, were scattered in Ireland, while at his home in San Francisco on April 19, 2019. Shikman’s mother, a former social worker with mental health and substance abuse problems, killed herself in 2015 at the Lake County, Calif, jail, after pleading to see a doctor and repeatedly begging for help. Her son’s wrongful death t resulted in a $2 million county settlement. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)Dane Shikman holds a rock from the beach where the ashes of his mother, Elizabeth Gaunt, were scattered in Ireland along with a pair of cufflinks she had made for him as he sits at his home in San Francisco on Friday, April 19, 2019. His mother, who had a history of mental health and substance abuse problems, killed herself at the Lake County, Calif, jail in 2015, after she repeatedly cried for help. Her son’s wrongful death lawsuit resulted in a $2 million settlement. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)Dane Shikman holds a photograph showing him with his mother, Elizabeth Gaunt, at his home in San Francisco on Friday, April 19, 2019. Gaunt, a former social worker with a history of mental health and substance abuse problems, killed herself in 2015 in the Lake County Jail in northern California. Her son’s wrongful death lawsuit resulted in a $2 million settlement. Changes also were made at the jail. (AP Photo/Eric Risberg)This undated photo provided by the family in May 2019 shows Janene Wallace, who killed herself in 2015 in a Delaware County, Pa., jail. The 35-year-old Wallace, who suffered from mental illness and paranoia, was in solitary 51 of 52 days for a probation violation. When she threatened to choke herself, a guard told her to go ahead. The family won a $7 million settlement. (Courtesy Susanne Wallace via AP)FILE – In this July 10, 2015 image made from dashcam video provided by the Texas Department of Public Safety, trooper Brian Encinia arrests Sandra Bland after she became combative during a routine traffic stop in Waller County, Texas. Bland was taken to the Waller County Jail that day and was found dead in her cell on July 13. (Texas Department of Public Safety via AP)FILE – In this Sunday, July 26, 2015 file photo, Margaret Hilaire bows her head in prayer during a demonstration calling for the firing and indictment of Texas State Trooper Brian Encinia in Katy, Texas. Sandra Bland was found dead in her cell on July 13 in the Waller County Jail, just days after being arrested by Encinia during a traffic stop. Authorities determined through an autopsy that Bland hanged herself with a plastic bag. (Brett Coomer/Houston Chronicle via AP)FILE – This July 22, 2015 file photo shows the Waller County jail cell in Hempstead, Texas, where Sandra Bland was found dead. In Texas, the Sandra Bland Act became law in 2017, mandating mental health training for law enforcement and making it easier for those arrested to receive a personal bond if they have a mental illness or substance abuse problem. Bland killed herself after being jailed for a minor traffic violation. (AP Photo/Pat Sullivan, File)Dane County, Wis., Sheriff David Mahoney stands in a solitary confinement cell at the county jail. An advocate for the mentally ill, Mahoney says he sometimes has to lock certain inmates in these cells even though he calls the conditions “inhumane.” Mahoney hopes to secure funding to replace the jail with one that will have a hospital-like wing. (AP Photo/Morry Gash)Dane County, Wis., Sheriff David Mahoney looks through a small window in a solitary confinement cell at the county jail in Madison. Mahoney says he has no separate housing for inmates with certain behavioral, medical or mental health problems, so he has to put them in these cells even though he says it’s “inhumane. But we’re forced into a situation to keep these people alive.” (AP Photo/Morry Gash) The total number of suicides in 2014 was 372, according to federal statistics. An exclusive 50-state reporting effort to collect recent statistics found more than 300 suicides in local jails from 2015 to 2017 — in just nine states. The others did not provide numbers or offered incomplete data, an issue prompting some legislatures to consider bills that would require jails to provide better information about those dying behind bars. It’s a problem commonly blamed on the fact more mentally ill people are being jailed, a trend that started after state psychiatric hospitals began closing in the 1970s. More recently, jails have been overwhelmed with opioid or meth users, many of whom also wrestle with depression. Lori Rifkin, a California prisoners’ rights attorney, argues the vast majority of these suicides “are foreseeable and preventable.” “I think there is a cultural dismissiveness toward both the signs that help us predict suicide — and toward the steps necessary to prevent them,” she adds. Jonathan Thompson, head of the National Sheriffs’ Association, calls that absurd and says while jail officials must safeguard inmates, “we’re not the nation’s psychologists. We have decided that as a society let’s just warehouse the mentally ill in a jail … which is neither equipped for, trained to handle or able to be most efficient and effective at solving the problem.” Some cases have resulted in substantial settlements over faulty policies or neglect. In Lake County, California, Elizabeth Gaunt, a 56-year-old former social worker with a psychiatric history, was jailed after acting erratically but never charged. Over 25 hours, she begged for a doctor, repeatedly screamed “help me,” tore a blanket into strips and then killed herself. A guard didn’t enter her cell during a check but noted in an observation log all was OK. The county settled a wrongful death lawsuit for $2 million. Dane Shikman, Gaunt’s son, says his mother belonged in a mental health center, not jail, and believes guards were negligent. “When they see someone who looks like they’re struggling,” he says, “they don’t say, ‘Let me step in. This is someone’s mom.’… They think this is a woman on drugs doing whatever she’s going to do, she’ll shut up.” Sheriff Brian Martin implemented reforms that included installing a larger surveillance monitor, replacing blankets with tear-resistant ones and giving staff more suicide-prevention training. In Fillmore’s case, a lawsuit is pending against Duchesne County, the former sheriff and others, including the jail nurse. Fillmore had been diagnosed years earlier with post-traumatic stress, anxiety, panic disorder and depression. She also had a history of drug use, but attorney Tyler Ayres says she wasn’t suicidal and just needed her medication. “They have an obligation to provide adequate medical care,” he says. Fillmore was jailed, Ayres adds, for failing to provide a change of address to a probation officer. Sheriff Travis Tucker, who took office in January, declined comment on the case but noted a jail wing is being built to serve mentally ill and addicted inmates. When she died, Fillmore was waiting to enter a residential drug program. Five days later, on what would have been check-in day, her mother got a call asking why Fillmore hadn’t shown up. She relayed the news. Then she prepared to bury her daughter. Cohen, an AP national writer, reported from Chicago. She may be reached at scohen@ap.org or Twitter at https://twitter.com/scohenAP. Eckert is a reporter with the University of Maryland’s Capital News Service. Also contributing to the data analysis were Capital News Service reporters Riin Aljas, James Crabtree-Hannigan, Elliott Davis, Theresa Diffendal, Jessica Feldman, Hannah Gaskill, Samantha Hawkins and Roxanne Ready. To read more about Fillmore’s case and others across the U.S., click here: https://tinyurl.com/y3rbf926 What others are reading: The dangers motorcycle riders face on Utah roads Man found hours after Utah issues first Silver Alert A Holladay house fire sends one person to the hospital in critical condition