And you don't hear the success stories, either. You are not supposed to know that for the past 21/2 years, the state of Arizona has paid close to (if not more than) a quarter-million dollars a year for Alex Varlotta's treatment in two different residential facilities in Texas. And that doesn't count the plane tickets the judge ordered CPS to pay for, so Alex and his family can be reunited on occasion, or the four lawyers hired to represent Alex, Niki, Greg, and the county.
So far, that money is doing its job. Alex may never live independently, but he's not headed for a correctional facility. Not now, anyway. For now, Alex's medications keep his behavior stable, and he and his family are safe. He's even made a few short trips home.
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The Lost Kids:
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It sounds odd to say it, but in many ways, the Varlottas lucked out. They landed a sympathetic judge and a kind CPS caseworker. Niki and Greg can't technically make decisions regarding Alex's care and treatment, but they've been invited into the process because the court has deemed that's in the best interest of the child. (With a few exceptions, it's worked out well.)
For their part, the Varlottas have invited New Times to observe their progress — or, at times, the lack thereof. Niki Varlotta first contacted me in spring 2007, a couple of months before she finally gave up and had Alex arrested. She and Greg agreed to let the paper follow their family as they searched for help for their son. I was not able to visit Alex in detention, and the judge wouldn't grant permission to cover court hearings. But I did see Alex during one of his hospital stays; traveled with Niki, Alex, and Alex's CPS caseworker to Texas for his initial placement; spent time at the Varlottas' home; and spent hours with Niki, as she told and retold the story of Alex. She shared thousands of pages of documents, including medical, school, police, and court records — as well as family photographs and Alex's artwork.
It's a grim picture, and an incomplete one when you consider it's impossible to get at just how many kids are in a similar (and possibly much worse) situation. Greg Taylor, spokesman for Magellan, the for-profit agency that contracts with the state of Arizona to provide mental-health care in Maricopa County, volunteers that Magellan currently serves about 22,000 kids, including seven who are treated out of state. (That's just 0.0003 percent, he adds quickly — clearly worried about public reaction.) But his agency won't provide figures — or even an estimate — of how many of those kids had to be relinquished by their parents to qualify for care.
Even the federal Government Accounting Office hasn't been able to quantify it. In 2003, the GAO published a study identifying the voluntary-custody issue as a national problem, and calling on agencies, including the departments of Health and Human Services, Justice, and Education, to work together to provide "wrap-around services" to mentally ill kids. But the report didn't have much oomph because the numbers were so unreliable; the GAO estimated more than 12,000 children were in the child welfare system in 2001, solely to get mental-health services, but many states — including Arizona — claimed they couldn't provide data.
In 2005, the federal government passed legislation designed to give parents of seriously mentally ill kids access to state Medicaid programs, but it was left up to the states to implement it. Laurel Stine, director of federal relations for the Bazelon Center for Mental Health Law in Washington, D.C., says just a few states have taken action; Arizona isn't one of them.
Chick Arnold is the godfather of Arizona's mental-health system — his ongoing lawsuit, Arnold vs. Sarn, has been a largely failed but well-meaning attempt to get adults adequate mental-health services. For decades, he's represented adults and children in Maricopa County's justice system, trying to get them help.
For 15 years, he says, he's persuaded judges to put seriously mentally ill kids in CPS custody. Arnold finds it effective, he says, to call CPS directly (the Varlottas tried that — twice — with no success) and avoid having to have the kid arrested. In any case, Arnold says, "the fact is, you've got to use the court as an advocate to help negotiate these systems."
And of Niki Varlotta, Arnold sighs, "Think of the kids who don't have parents as great as she is."
The truth is, there are a lot of great parents out there having trouble getting care for their seriously mentally ill kids — particularly in Arizona.
"The models are already out there. It's not like we need to reinvent the wheel," says Sherri Walton, a local mental-health advocate and board member of the Arizona affiliate of Mental Health America. She's right; Vermont, Rhode Island, and New Jersey have streamlined services in the wake of the GAO report on custody issues. It wasn't a problem for the Varlottas when they lived in California — there, they were able to get state assistance even though they weren't destitute.
What happened to the Varlottas when they moved here should never happen to any family, Walton says.