Home invasion: The Arizona Training Program at Coolidge is the only home some developmentally disabled people have known

More than 100 of the people who live here are diagnosed with severe or profound disabilities, and therapy like this is how the staff keeps them active. No one spends all day in any one room. They all go to work, their retirement program, or therapy every weekday.

A tour of several of the living cottages reveals clean quarters, where most clients have their bedrooms decorated however they want (Spider-Man is popular here). Each room feels individualized with photos, some over 50 years old, of family members, and personal belongings such as china dolls (in a glass case) purchased for the residents. The facility just bought a $10,000, high-tech bathtub to help caretakers bathe their fragile clients. One cottage is outfitted for the sight-impaired. Three-wheeled bikes are parked outside others.

In the living room of one of the homes, a woman named Margie sits at a piano. Margie is thought to have autism, though no diagnosis was made when she was a little girl. If she'd been born today and treated with modern methods, her life could have been much different, staffers say.

Margie is probably a genius. She reportedly started playing the piano by ear when she was 2. She can play any song after hearing it once, the staff says. She has a piano at ATPC, but she wants a new one. Hers isn't tuned right, Margie says. The family and friends support group is saving to buy her a replacement.

On that same March afternoon, Margie sits on the bench, fingers poised on the keys. She has quite an audience today — five strangers on a tour and a few familiar faces. She grins and settles in to play.

As her audience quiets down, Margie presses the keys. The song is "Amazing Grace," and she performs every verse perfectly.

In light of how familial ATPC feels, it's easier to understand why parents, guardians — and some others — are so insistent it stay open.

Elliot Gory, the psychologist who has worked part time at Coolidge for 30 years, says the clients here are safe. He wonders if it might damage them to move so late in life.

"I get into every nook and cranny. The staff is caring, gentle, and they're skilled. I talk with staff who have known the client I'm working with for 20 years," he says. "There's always the risk of trauma if you relocate someone who is older. There are negative health effects and on top of that, these are people with developmental disabilities who are not resilient. They have difficulty accepting change."

A visit to Hacienda de Los Angeles, the only other large Intermediate Care Facility for the Mentally Retarded in the state, shows a place similar to ATPC. It's newer; one wing was just completed last year. It's also a lot smaller. The facility near South Mountain has 60 beds; 39 are full.

Residents at Hacienda all share bedrooms, most of which are considerably less personalized than the rooms at Coolidge, though no less efficient. The age range at Hacienda is different as well; it has residents as young as 6 and is equipped to take care of babies.

In the early afternoon, all residents are split into small groups to listen to music and work on arts and crafts. The facility has a playground adapted so that even wheelchairs can be placed on the swings. There's a pool, and a local Kiwanis club funded the construction of an apartment where family members can stay when visiting.

Aside from the location and the number of beds, it's not much different from Coolidge. But no one is trying to shut Hacienda down.

Hacienda's executive director, Bill Timmons, has led the effort at the Legislature to close ATPC.

"I don't think the Coolidge staff are mistreating the residents. I believe their heart is in the right place," he says. "But I also don't believe these Arizona citizens should have to live in a place that's not a community. Secondary to that, it costs so much money."

He does make some good points. Though the core staff at Coolidge has been there a long time, only 12 full-time nurses work there. Timmons, who runs a nurse-registry service, says that's not enough. His registry provides nurses to ATPC sometimes, and he says they often have a hard time covering the third shift and weekends.

He may be biased, but there is some truth to what he says. He also points out the state Department of Health Services licensing violations that ATPC has accumulated over the past few years, even going so far as to put them in a binder for a reporter (though he didn't provide the same information on his own facility).

On the surface it appears to be a lot. Some of the violations are mundane: a door wedged open with a dustpan or too much dust on the fan blades. Some are important but not life-threatening: a resident being fed instead of being encouraged to feed himself, for example.

But others are less disturbing if you know the backstory. In a November 2007 report, DHS inspectors found that the facility "failed to monitor three individuals' fluid intake and output, bowel movements, and failed to provide medical studies (colon­oscopy for one individual). Individual numbers 2, 6, and 14 subsequently required hospitalization."