The Battle of Their Lives
Staff and residents' families in Missouri and Washington state, at two centers for the developmentally disabled, used mutual respect and teamwork to overcome threats of imminent closure.
By Susan Ellen Holleran
ST. LOUIS
When Betty Coll heard newly elected Gov. Matt Blunt (R) declare that the Bellefontaine Habilitation Center here would be shut down by July 2005 (see Public Employee, May/June 2005, Page 7), she went into high gear. Coll's son, Patrick, is a long-time Bellefontaine resident.
A leader in the Parents' Association — she and her late husband had both served as president — Coll knew what was at stake. "I pop in and see Patrick all the time," she says. "If he could make it in the community, I'd have him at home with me. The staff is unbelievable. They save lives out here at Bellefontaine." Armed with that knowledge and a network of activist supporters, she prepared to do battle with Blunt.
The governor's announcement came during his state-of-the-state address. One of his first official acts as governor was to strip state employees of their collective bargaining rights. He obviously thought that would make them easy pickin's.
He hadn't counted on the families' outrage or on Bellefontaine staff's dedication, sta-mina and creativity. Workers and families have always been close, providing a support network for the residents. So they were ready to put everything on the line to make sure that high-quality care would continue. Theirs was a campaign fueled by love.
MORE THAN A JOB. Patrick Coll holds a special place in James Biggs' heart. Biggs has been a Bellefontaine development assistant for five years, and many of the residents he cur-rently works with are autistic. The severely retarded Patrick is unable to express his needs or his pain. "That's one of the worst things," says Biggs. "I would like him to communicate and tell me where he hurts, but he can't. He acts out, and he's as strong as a bull." Like Patrick, most of Bellefontaine's residents are either extremely fragile or exhibit a variety of physical and behavioral problems. Residents who were able to function well in the community were moved out years ago.
Biggs can't imagine how Patrick could survive in the group homes that are cropping up across the state — with undertrained, minimum-wage workers. "Recently, we've had several residents leave the facility and then return." Biggs knows of two who moved to a group home two hours distant and now return on a regular basis for Bellefontaine's programs.
A steward for Local 2730 (Council 72), Biggs organized with the Parents' Association to combat Blunt's plan, while he and his co-workers mobilized to protect their clients.
TRUTH VS. POWER. "We have great parents here," says Biggs. "They do so much." In addition to being integrally involved in their own children's care, members of the close-knit, volunteer group raise up to $50,000 annually. The money covers "homey things" that don't make it into the state budget — like Christmas gifts, birthday presents and individually decorated cakes. The group also buys televisions and DVDs for the cottages, and finances recreational activities. Their organizing and community-involvement skills brought added strength to the fight-back effort.
Workers and families rallied in Jefferson City and St. Louis, and testified before the legislature. They invited Blunt to visit so he would understand how important the facility was to its residents.
To make sure the public and their legislative representatives learn the facts, the coalition reached out to the media. Blunt had boasted that closing Bellefontaine would save the state almost $20 million, but that was not true. The state contributes only $2.3 million to running the center; federal and private funds cover the rest of the facility's annual $25.4 million budget. Resettling the residents would be more costly for the state, and there is no system in place to hold group homes to the same high standards.
The governor refused to listen, but the legislature did. State Sen. Tim Green (D) filibustered for 14 hours when the funding cuts came to the floor. According to reports, he mentioned Bellefontaine at least 100 times during his presentation. Finally, funding was extended — at least temporarily. Families and staff bought more time to make their case and help their residents remain in the only home most of them can remember. They're all in it for the long haul.
SHORELINE, WASHINGTON
Adrienne Fraley-Monillas will never forget Washington's most recent effort to close Fircrest School. "The state was moving my clients out willy-nilly," says the attendant-counselor manager, who has worked there for 28 years. "It was like having them ripped out of our arms. They were losing their 'family,' and we were losing them." That pain energized the nearly 900 members of Local 341 (Council 28) to gear up for a massive — and successful — fight-back strategy.
Fircrest School's nursing facility is among the top 10 in the nation. But its employees and residents' families have nonetheless been forced to wage a decades-long battle just to keep the center operating. Now they have won a resounding victory: first by reaching out to the public and the legislature to slow and then reverse the momentum toward closure; second by electing Christine Gregoire (D) as governor. Throughout the campaign, Gregoire pledged to support and strengthen necessary services, and she has kept her word.
CLIENT-BASED SERVICE. Fraley-Monillas knows first hand that many people with developmental delays do well in the community. Her teenage son, Dominick, has Down syndrome and lives at home. But she realizes that current residents would lose ground without Fircrest's services and programs. And — although management tries to keep it a secret — there is a long waiting list to get in.
According to Local 341 activist Robert Hay, anti-Fircrest attacks over the past couple of years have brought the school "nearer to closure than it ever has been." State Sen. Darlene Fairley (D) led the charge in the state legislature, and former-Gov. Gary Locke, another Democrat, cut funding. Fairley's switch from being pro-worker, sensitive to her constituents' needs and concerns, deeply disappointed AFSCME members who had campaigned for her.
"She was on the wrong side," says Fraley-Monillas. "She seems to believe that people who live in the community have rights, but our residents didn't matter to her. She didn't care that she was taking them from the only home they knew."
SEEING IS BELIEVING. Coalition members asked the legislators to do one thing before they decided to close the school: Visit Fircrest, meet the residents and see what the staff accomplishes every day. Legislators responded, coming in twos and threes. Local 341 often furnished dinner — pizza and soft drinks — while the officials spoke with family members and workers. Then they toured the center and met the residents. The lawmakers learned about the specialized care many residents needed. They realized that the resources available on the campus would be difficult to replicate in group homes.
"We explained that we couldn't place many of these clients in the community," says Hay. As legislators began to understand, they reconsidered their positions. "Once the momentum started to turn in Olympia, more officials changed sides. Things started moving in our direction," he says. "When Gregoire became governor, we knew that a big part of the state capitol favored keeping the school open."
Although Fircrest has come through this battle, the final decision about Washington's five regional centers needs to be worked out. Fortunately, representatives of the workers and the residents will have a seat at the table. Governor Gregoire has set up a 13-member commission to review the needs of the state's developmentally disabled citizens and recommend the best ways to meet those needs.
A lot of work remains to be done, but the Fircrest staff and families have already proved that they can handle it.
