By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
"Wrap that up with compassion and understanding and you have a remarkable person. When Kay takes up someone's struggle, she doesn't need something for herself in the process, like so many do in this business. She's always taught us lessons in courage, and that the value of the struggle goes beyond your personal stake. And she also has a great sense of humor."
Rauth-Farley isn't afraid to stand up to the big boys. In 1996, for example, she wrote a letter berating County Attorney Rick Romley for what she called a "cavalier approach" toward child pornography cases. The doctor says the clash marked "the biggest nightmare" of her nine years in Phoenix, and that her relationship with Romley's office never has quite mended.
Rauth-Farley is direct with everyone, and rarely, if ever, goes along to get along--even with cops.
"We try to be helpful," she says, "but we're here to heal kids, not to be an arm of law enforcement."
Phoenix sex-crimes detective Judy Townsend has had no problem with that.
"Here's an example," Townsend says. "There was a little girl of 6 or 7 whose mother took her to the ER. The doctor over there examined her and said she'd been sexually assaulted. Dad had custody of the kid, but Mom had her on weekends. I talked to her and she insisted that nothing had happened, and she seemed as happy as any other child.
"The guy probably would have been arrested that night. But Kay examined the girl, and she concluded it was a dermatology-type disease that appears like massive bruising. The other doctor was furious at me for letting the girl go home with her dad. If Kay hadn't been there, this guy conceivably could have ended up in prison. She's done more to help make our cases and to set us straight than anyone I know."
Young doctors could do no better than to emulate Kay Rauth-Farley.
"She's got the most integrity of anybody I've ever known," says Wendy Dutton, a forensic interviewer who has worked with Rauth-Farley since 1992. "She's straight-up, honest, and you know where you stand with her at all times."
Rauth-Farley's son views his mother through a different prism.
"My mom had a day named after her, okay?" says Michael Farley, a recent Brophy Prep graduate, referring to a proclamation in May from Governor Jane Hull. "Steven Seagal got a day, my mom got a day. How many moms get their own day? My mom is exceptional."
Those in her inner circle also know how exceptionally stubborn Rauth-Farley can be. Says her mother, Betty Rauth, "Kay once told me, 'You can make all the suggestions you want [about child-rearing], but I may not take them.'"
Rauth answers quickly when asked if she challenged her daughter on that point: "Wouldn't think of it."
Rauth-Farley's daughter, Megan: "My friends all ask me, 'Why do you have to get home by midnight? You're almost 20 years old.' I tell them, 'Trust me. You don't want to fight with my mom when she thinks something should be a certain way.'"
Rauth-Farley will leave the Valley soon to join her husband of 22 years, Mark, in Missouri. (Her successor at St. Joseph's Hospital will be Kathy Coffman, a New Jersey pediatrician.) A golf professional who now works for Karsten Manufacturing, Mark Farley moved back there months ago.
"Mark has moved three times for me since we got married," she says. "Now it's time for me to move for him."
Rauth-Farley is thinking about a half-time job with a Kansas City hospital, as she insists to family and friends that she wants to "slow down" for a while.
Her husband doesn't buy it.
"She's still a go-getter in a field where people burn out," says Mark Farley. "When I tell people what she does, it's like, 'She does what with kids?' She's in this taboo area. I couldn't do her job--I'd be in jail for killing someone who beats up their kid. I don't know how she does it."
A person is a person, no matter how small
--caption added to a self-portrait by 6-year-old victim Amber Bass, on Dr. Rauth-Farley's office wall
"I'm Kay Farley and I'm a pediatrician," the doctor tells a gathering of attorneys at a Maricopa County Bar Association meeting. "I'm also very uncomfortable in a roomful of attorneys."
Most in the audience are criminal-defense attorneys.
She's a few inches over five feet tall, and is a few pounds over her fighting weight, literally. (The doctor was nearly a black belt in tae kwon do before getting hooked on scuba diving a few years ago and switching hobbies.)
Rauth-Farley first discusses the medical evidence of child abuse--or lack of it--in criminal and custody-dispute cases. She provides a chronology of what happens at the clinic when a child is referred there for an exam.
"What the child is telling you is the most important," Rauth-Farley says, "but I'm not the one who interviews the children about the allegations. That's Wendy Dutton's job."
As the clinic's gatekeeper, the doctor explains, Dutton hears what a child has to say about when and if she (a majority of the kids seen at the clinic are female) was abused. Dutton reports her findings to Rauth-Farley, who decides if a physical exam is called for.