Beatrice case stirs old anger

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When Paula DiStefano walked her 10-year-old son into Children's Hospital, a call immediately went out to police.

Bruises like overripe plums surrounded both eyes, with lighter purple shadowing his jaw. His eyes were swollen shut.

"I did not do this to him," DiStefano told the Omaha officer who arrived 10 minutes later.

Jonathan Allen suffered the injuries 32 years ago at the Beatrice State Developmental Center, the state institution for children and adults with profound developmental disabilities.

When new allegations of abuse at the center surfaced recently, DiStefano couldn't help but think about what happened to her son in 1979.

No charges ever were filed in that case, and that's not unusual. Although federal inspections identified multiple examples of abuse and neglect at the facility over the past decade, it appears few, if any, charges were filed.

Until now.

Gage County Attorney Roger Harris has charged five staff members with felonies that include abuse of vulnerable adults and strangulation. Harris said he likely will file misdemeanor charges against additional employees for failing to report abuse and neglect.

Certainly, the center isn't the only institution of its kind nationally that's dealing with matters of abuse. But the prosecutions represent a first in the recent history of the 126-year-old Beatrice center, said Bruce Mason, litigation director with Nebraska Advocacy Services, a watchdog organization for people with developmental disabilities.

"This is the first time that I can remember criminal charges of this significant nature being filed," said Mason, who has four decades of experience in the field.

Some reasons for a lack of charges in the past are understandable, but some are shameful, Mason said.

For example, he said, investigators and prosecutors face the challenge of dealing with victims who may be unable to talk, communicate logically or testify at a trial.

But the lack of prosecution also could be traced to a lack of respect for people with severe developmental disabilities, Mason said. In the past, the developmentally disabled were out of sight and seemed beyond concern.

"The sensibilities toward individuals with disabilities has changed over the decades. As we see their humanity, stereotypes are slowly being eliminated.

"I think there's a greater sensitivity and awareness that (abuse) occurs, and when it does, you have to send the message it won't be tolerated."

A message left with the Gage County attorney Friday was not immediately returned.

Randy Ritnour, who served as Gage County attorney from 2007 to 2010, said pursuing allegations of abuse at the center was difficult during his tenure. A prosecutor must prove criminal intent, which can be difficult in an environment where residents sometimes initiate violence, said Ritnour, who now has a private law practice in Lincoln.

Ritnour said he saw several video recordings of violent episodes involving out-of-control residents.

"It was a melee," he said. "You can't tell whether an assault is going on or whether the employee was being beaten."

Filing blanket charges against staff members to see what sticks violates professional ethics, he said.

"If you don't think you can prove it, you have no business bringing it. For prosecutors, the whole goal is justice, not winning."

The Nebraska Department of Health and Human Services doesn't track the number of employees charged criminally with abusing residents at state-run homes, said Jeanne Atkinson, a department spokeswoman. Officials recall a few such cases "over a wide span of years," she said.

Nevertheless, a lack of criminal charges doesn't translate to zero incidents of abuse and neglect at a center that is home to 150 people and the workplace for 600.

In 2011, the department has disciplined 11 staff members who work at Beatrice and at a related program called Bridges in Hastings for abuse and neglect against patients. Seven employees lost their jobs; four were placed on six-month probation.

The department also has started disciplinary action against 13 staff members in connection with the alleged abuse that led to the criminal charges.

Jodi Fenner, director of developmental disabilities for the department, said the state disciplines employees for abuse and neglect that might not rise to the level of a criminal violation. In 2009, center leaders worked with the Gage County Attorney's Office to develop a protocol for the reporting of potential criminal abuse and neglect.

That protocol, she said, led to the investigation that resulted in the recent charges.

"We are overly cautious" in what is reported to law enforcement authorities, she said. "We over-report."

As contract administrator for the Nebraska Association of Public Employees, the union that represents workers at the state's 24-hour care facilities, Ted Buri has insight into how discipline cases are handled.

Buri said the Beatrice cases on which he has worked over the past decade involved allegations of abuse much less serious than the punching, pushing and choking alleged in the recent criminal filings.

"Maybe there aren't that many situations akin to the ones we're seeing there," he said.

Despite the problems at the Beatrice center, many family members and guardians of residents say most of the staff members genuinely care about those in their care. Last week, State Sen. Colby Coash of Lincoln wrote to the center's employees thanking them for their service and saying the recent events have overshadowed their good work.

"I ask that you continue to do the right thing and take the steps necessary to report and bring to attention any abuse," he wrote. "I have every confidence that you know and will do the right thing when necessary."

For the mother and sister of Jonathan Allen, it's too late for the right thing.

Paula DiStefano, 66, now of Plattsmouth, said her son suffered from Sanfilippo syndrome, a genetic disorder that stopped the normal development of his brain and made him hyperactive.

He couldn't communicate and learn like other 10-year-olds, but he could run. He loved to be chased and would laugh and giggle at his pursuer, said DiStefano. But take your eye off Jonathan, and he'd be gone. Out of bed, through the door, down the street.

It was too much for his mother to handle.

She got Jonathan on a waiting list for a group home in Omaha but had to place him in the Beatrice center for a few months before he could be transferred.

He was there five weeks when she got the call. A staff member told her he fell but was being treated in the infirmary and would be OK.

After a couple of days, however, she decided to drive to Beatrice. When she arrived, DiStefano said, the home's officials appeared surprised and said she couldn't visit without a prior appointment.

She insisted.

An overwhelming mixture of anger and guilt washed over her when she walked into the infirmary and saw his face. DiStefano said officials told her Jonathan had an adverse reaction to his medication.

She didn't believe them and she took him home.

At Children's Hospital in Omaha, Jonathan was seen by his regular doctor, Paul J. Nelson, who also consulted on hundreds of child abuse cases for Douglas County's Child Protective Services Division.

Nelson believed the injuries clearly were caused by abuse, but a sheriff's investigator said he found no evidence to support the doctor's opinion.

DiStefano later learned that one of the care workers assigned to her son left the center the same day the boy was hurt. She moved to Oklahoma, where she was questioned but said she didn't know what happened to Jonathan.

Center officials said the employee had given her two-week notice and her final day coincidentally occurred when Jonathan was injured.

News coverage of the case made DiStefano a de facto advocate for residents and their families. She said she heard from families who were afraid to speak out because they had nowhere else to put their loved ones.

She sued the state for $1 million and hoped to shut down the center. But after three years, she couldn't fight anymore. She received an $8,000 settlement and used it to buy a bath lift for the Omaha home where her son lived after leaving Beatrice.

He died in 1991, a week before his 22nd birthday, from complications of Sanfilippo syndrome.

Jonathan's sister, Jolene Penton, 47, of Plattsmouth, said she is angered by the recent news of abuse at the center.

As a girl, she helped care for her brother when he lived at home. She is still haunted by the day she saw him at Children's Hospital.

"I just kept thinking he had to have been thinking to himself 'Where's my mom and where is my sister? Where are the people who are supposed to be taking care of me? Why am I here?'"

Contact the writer:

402-473-9587, joe.duggan@owh.com

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