Elder abuse cases highlight system gaps

SRS says its hands often tied, despite grave concerns

They didn’t want help.

Not Timothy and Berdella Harrell, who turned away a social worker because they thought they could care for Timothy’s elderly father by themselves. Not Shirley Griffith, who kicked social workers out of her home as they tried to tell her she might be vulnerable to financial exploitation.

In both cases, social workers from the state’s Department of Social and Rehabilitation Services tried — but failed — to intervene in what appeared to be a potential case of abuse or neglect of senior citizens in Lawrence. And both cases eventually wound up as examples of types of crimes expected to become more common as the elderly population grows.

In the Harrells’ case, 84-year-old Henry F. Harrell wasted away, developed deep, infected bed sores and died a year ago. Now Timothy Harrell is charged with murdering his father by neglect.

In Shirley Griffith’s case, the person she appeared to trust more than anyone with her money — her in-home caregiver, Melody McKenzie — was busy bilking Griffith and her husband, retired Kansas University professor William J. Griffith, out of more than $70,000.

Is SRS working?

The fact that both the Harrells and Griffiths were on the state’s radar screen at one time raises questions about how well SRS’ Adult-Protective Services division is doing its job. But SRS officials say there is only so much they can do when people turn them away.

“I don’t want to take over people’s right to choose,” said Mary Transue, Adult-Protective Services supervisor for the Lawrence area. “I really think people have the right to make poor choices, and I want to protect that right as much as I want to keep them safe.”

Transue said her workers — who investigate allegations of abuse or neglect against seniors outside nursing homes — are required by law to report to police any time they suspect a crime has been committed. Douglas County Dist. Atty. Christine Kenney said that as far as she knew, that part of the system was working smoothly.

“I don’t personally have knowledge of SRS being reluctant to report to law enforcement,” Kenney said.

Getting help

Molly Wood, an elder-law attorney who represented the now-deceased Griffiths, doesn’t blame SRS for what happened to them.

McKenzie, a 43-year-old certified nurse aide, began working as an in-home caregiver in spring 2001. Friends of the Griffiths grew worried and filed a complaint when McKenzie and a group of associates moved in with the couple and appeared to exert influence over Shirley Griffith, who handled the couple’s finances.

The key to understanding the case, Wood said, was that Shirley Griffith was “only marginally impaired.” That meant nobody could force her to have a conservator appointed to handle her finances.

“I think SRS did what they were mandated to do, which was to go out and talk to Mrs. Griffith,” Wood said. “Mrs. Griffith told them to take a hike more than once.”

The financial bleeding of the Griffiths stopped — and the abuse came to light — only after Wood convinced Shirley Griffith to sign a voluntary conservatorship, which turned her finances over to a trust officer at CornerBank. In the May 2002 document, Shirley Griffith admitted she needed someone to handle her finances because “my ability to remember and coordinate the decisions I make regarding the disposition of my property is impaired, and I have become concerned about whether I am vulnerable to the undue influence of others.”

A gray area

The CornerBank official, Barbara Braa, then reported to police what she saw as she combed through the Griffiths’ finances. Without that hard evidence, it would have been difficult for anyone, including social workers, to confirm the Griffiths were being exploited, officials said.

At McKenzie’s sentencing Wednesday, her attorney argued SRS had undertaken three investigations and hadn’t found any wrongdoing. Douglas County District Judge Paula Martin wasn’t swayed, and gave McKenzie the maximum possible sentence: four years in jail.

When Adult-Protective Services investigates a complaint of abuse or neglect of a senior, it’s charged with making one of two findings: confirmed or unconfirmed. But it’s not always that simple.

In fall 2001, Adult Protective Services social worker Myron Dunavan was assigned to investigate an allegation that Henry Harrell’s caretakers were neglecting him after he wandered away from Lawrence and wound up in Franklin County. Dunavan interviewed Harrell and his caretakers — his son, Timothy, 44, and daughter-in-law, Berdella, 41 — and found that the allegation fell into a gray area: what the agency designates as unconfirmed with “potential risk” to Henry Harrell.

Agency’s function

Under state law, Dunavan couldn’t force the family to do anything. When he tried to help Timothy and Berdella Harrell arrange for a nursing home, they rejected the help, saying Berdella Harrell, a certified nurse aide, would stay at home full time.

Dunavan closed the case and didn’t come back for a follow-up visit to see about the care Henry Harrell was receiving. An SRS official said that was to be expected.

“That type of case management is beyond the scope of the agency’s protective-service function, as well as our authority in the matter,” said Dennis Priest, an SRS administrator in Topeka.

In fact, SRS didn’t have any more contact with the Harrells until Henry Harrell was admitted to Lawrence Memorial Hospital, near death. Timothy Harrell is set to stand trial early next year for second-degree murder; Berdella Harrell was sentenced to a year in jail for mistreating a dependent adult.

Problem with law

Had Dunavan come back for a follow-up, there’s no guarantee it would have caused events to turn out differently because, according to testimony, Harrell’s bed sores easily could have developed in the last few months of his life.

But Arthurine Criswell, an official at the Lawrence-area SRS office, said she didn’t like the “potential risk” designation and has complained about it to policy-makers in Topeka.

“If I’m going to say that there’s potential risk there, I feel an obligation as a social worker to ensure that there’s an effort to do something,” she said. “We confirm. We substantiate. We don’t have that in-between kind of thing.”

If someone rejects help, a social worker might leave contact information and refer the family to another agency. The bottom line, however, is that if a family doesn’t want help, the Adult-Protective Services case probably will be closed without follow-up visits.

The agency simply isn’t intended by law, Priest said, to monitor people over a long period of time if there hasn’t been a confirmed problem.

Criswell and Priest characterized the agency’s workers as committed, caring people who were limited by the fact that — absent convincing proof of specific elder abuse — they can only help people who want to be helped.

“This is, by and large, a tenacious type of group,” he said. “Often times they don’t back away until they’ve tried their utmost.”