State of Abuse: Courting help

Mary Utter-Fludd had to pay $52.50 a week in child support.

But when her two teenage daughters moved out of their father's house, she assumed her obligation to the state was finished.

She was wrong.

Money had been tight for years. In 1993, she spent a little time in jail for writing bad checks and lost custody of the girls. She remarried in 1995 and found work as an electrician.

Then, starting in 2001, a string of misfortune: She lost her mother, she lost her job, and then her father died.

At the beginning of 2009, the authorities caught up with her. She was $6,400 in arrears, and in April last year she found herself in jail again for three days, booked for noncompliance.

Behind bars, Utter-Fludd, 39, began to minister to fellow members of Faith Assembly Church in Summerville. That's when it occurred to her that maybe God was calling her to take better care of herself.

Thanks to a new initiative at Family Court, Utter-Fludd finally was able to put her child support debt behind her and start a new life. She is one of many Charleston County residents to benefit from recent innovations.

In an effort to unclog dockets and move cases more efficiently through the system, especially during a period of harsh budget cuts, court officials, attorneys and volunteers have instituted a variety of programs:

--Family Recovery Court now is eight years old. Managed by a nonprofit, it offers defendants a closely monitored substance-abuse treatment program that, if followed correctly, enables parents to get their children out of foster care faster.

--A partnership with the South Carolina departments of Employment and Workforce and Vocational Rehabilitation makes it easier for defendants like Utter-Fludd who are delinquent with child-support payments to get back on track.

--A Juvenile Drug Court, started in 1997 by former Judge Charlie Segars-Andrews, monitors young drug offenders weekly to ensure that they have passed screenings, attended counseling and avoided disciplinary action at school.

--And a mediation initiative for abuse and neglect cases, also started by Segars-Andrews and supported by Judge Paul W. Garfinkel, gets parents, lawyers, social service caseworkers and guardians ad litem to hash out disagreements so treatment follow-through is more likely.

These programs, none mandated by state law and some relying on volunteers, have made it more likely that drug addicts and abusive and deadbeat parents will get themselves on a road to recovery and reunion, according to administrators.

Budget pressures and the recent removal of Segars-Andrews from the bench, however, have put these programs at risk.

Child supporters

Utter-Fludd returned to Family Court in October, this time appearing before Garfinkel.

He asked her why she wasn't working full-time. She said she worked as a part-time electrician, volunteered two days a week at the church's pregnancy center, took care of a granddaughter and looked after two children at home with her husband, Daniel.

The explanation did not appease the judge. "It looks like the Charleston County jail is going to be supplying your needs," he said, sentencing her to 90 days, but suspending the sentence on the condition that she find a full-time job.

"If you don't comply with this order," he said, "I will add one year to your sentence."

So Utter-Fludd made an appointment with Employment and Workforce agent Stacey Manigault who, thanks to Garfinkel's initiative, was stationed at the courthouse.

Garfinkel said money prompted the idea for this solution.

On Wednesdays, he presides over child support cases, and typically he hears two excuses from deadbeat mothers and fathers -- they are out of work or they are disabled.

"One day I turned to the clerk of court with all the paperwork and asked her, 'If we collected all the (unpaid) money of every case we heard on a normal July (day), how much would be collected?"

On one July 2009 day in Charleston County, $1,896,000 in child support payments were owed, partly because of a heavier-than-usual caseload and accumulated delinquencies, Garfinkel said.

On an average Wednesday, Charleston County is owed anywhere from about $100,000 to $900,000, according to Clerk of Court Julie Armstrong. During the last fiscal year, the county collected $31.4 million in child support payments.

For the past few years, its portion of the amount in arrears statewide has hovered around 10 percent.

Garfinkel said he was disheartened by these figures and called officials at the Employment and Workforce Department and the Vocational Rehabilitation Department. At a meeting two days later, the judge asked for agents from both departments to spend each Wednesday not in their offices but at court.

That way, when defendants made their excuses, Garfinkel could point them to "door number one" or "door number two."

It was an easy fix to a persistent problem. Compliance has improved, Garfinkel said. With state help, defendants find jobs or become eligible for disability. If they adhere to the program, the judge suspends the sentence. If they don't, Garfinkel sends them to jail.

Defendants are required to check in with the court after three months. If they are employed, a child support payment plan is established.

"I'm not Walmart," Garfinkel said. "I don't want repeat business."

Recovery court

Many child abuse and neglect cases involve alcohol or drugs. Most court-mandated treatment plans place the burden on the defendant. There is little oversight; Department of Social Services and Family Court officials provide parents with treatment information, then mostly leave them to their own devices.

About eight years ago, then-Family Court Judge Deadra Jefferson helped get a federal grant to set up an oversight program modeled after successful efforts in other states.

The idea was to give substance abusers a better chance to kick the habit and to get their children out of foster care faster by relying on volunteers who would spend Tuesday evenings in court.

When Jefferson was elected to circuit court, she dropped off a thick blue notebook with Garfinkel. "Here Paul," she said. "This is right up your alley."

Garfinkel had heard of similar programs and knew they were effective. He took the reins enthusiastically, finishing the evaluation and setting up the pilot program, he said.

For the first three years, they held staff meetings after hours. The case worker, guardian ad litem, social workers, treatment provider and volunteer attorneys would reach a consensus on the treatment plan, and get the judge to sign off on it.

The recovery program, which lasts about a year and involves frequent and random drug testing, is divided into three phases. Initially, participants appear in court every week. Later, they come before the judge every two weeks. By the end of the year they show up once a month.

"Recovery Court keeps people under a microscope," Garfinkel said.

The routine can be extended to 18 months if defendants demonstrate a high likelihood they will complete the program, he said. Foster care, which typically has a one-year limit, can be extended by six months if necessary.

The program is not obligatory; participants can quit or get kicked out if they don't comply with the rules, he said.

"You either get your children back quicker or lose them quicker," Garfinkel said. "It is going to be up to you which path you take."

At any given time, there are five to 12 families involved in the program, he said. Statistics were unavailable, but Garfinkel said that about half of the participants do well, which is twice the success rate of regular court treatment injunctions.

Eager to help

Erika Gaines, a 38-year-old mother of an adult son, a daughter and two young boys, has been through Recovery Court twice.

The program requires its participants to take the initiative and report regularly at court, she said.

She "graduated" the first time in 2005 and avoided cocaine, marijuana and alcohol for four years before relapsing, she said.

"I thought I had dealt with (my problems)," she said, "but was only stuffing them away."

When the Department of Social Services and law enforcement took her two boys away last spring, she called Recovery Court administrator Merry Boxx, full of guilt and shame.

"I felt I had disappointed my family and friends," Gaines said.

Boxx got her back in the program, which required her to attend Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous meetings, and show up for morning mediation sessions downtown.

She said she used the day care at Charleston Center, the county's drug and alcohol treatment facility, and took three buses to get to her appointments, then three buses to get back home.

Gaines said the system works best when participants are serious about recovery and when program administrators encourage mutual trust.

"The biggest thing I learned: Even though I have people there to help me, it's really all up to myself," Gaines said.

She's been working hard at confronting her demons, she said, at striking "a balance between emotion and logic." She said she was lucky that her young children were placed in the care of good foster parents, and she praised the Recovery Court program for enabling her to visit her sons, first an hour at a time, then more and more frequently.

Until she graduated this month, she had to check in by phone every morning, she said. If she failed, she got two hours of community service.

Her mother, Gloria Gaines, bedridden with ill health and requiring her daughter's daily attention, said this second experience with Recovery Court has been much different.

The first time, her daughter remained aloof, Gloria Gaines said. "This time, I think she made up her mind to turn around, so I told her whatever she wants I would be behind her, good or bad." The support goes both ways. "I'm surprised at how helpful she's been."

Dana Wine, an attorney with a client in the program, is the newly appointed chairwoman of the nonprofit Family Recovery Court of Charleston Inc., a small volunteer operation that raises money to cover the cost of treatments (no state money can be used).

Wine said Recovery Court is effective because of its multidisciplinary approach and motivated participants.

"Not everyone is willing to put themselves in front of a judge every week," she said.

Its legal component assures that every parent gets representation. A judge follows a case he or she is familiar with. Addiction counselors, mental health experts and treatment providers are made available at little or no cost to the client. And the DSS finds it easier to track the progress of each case.

"If one of us sees a problem in one area, the others are informed," Wine said. Because of this level of communication, she said, issues don't usually fall into the cracks of an overburdened system.

Juvenile Drug Court

Former Judge Segars-Andrews, who left the bench at the end of June after an ethics controversy, has had a hand in several creative initiatives.

She worked on a program for truant students. She started the Second Chance Program with a priest from her church, St. Andrews-Mount Pleasant, a project that assists jailed fathers, some with addictions, who are behind in child support payments. And she helped design a court program to help families cope with divorce.

Segars-Andrews is perhaps best known for presiding over the county's Juvenile Drug Court, which started in 1997, and for helping establish an effective mediation process for abuse and neglect cases two years ago.

The drug court is an intensive form of probation for youths, ages 13 to 18, who have pleaded guilty or have been convicted. The program requires these teenagers to get drug counseling, attend school, meet with mentors and role models, take frequent drug tests and generate some income.

Young offenders, along with their parents or guardians, appear before the judge weekly to demonstrate compliance. If they follow the rules, their efforts are acknowledged by the judge with praise and even a retail gift card, she said.

"The best way to change behavior is through rewards, not punishment," she said.

With Segars-Andrews off the bench, the program's fate will depend on the level of support it receives from her replacement and other Family Court judges.

Mediation

Two years ago, when Segars-Andrews became chief administrative judge, the docket was so clogged with abuse and neglect cases that she decided to take action, she said.

She had learned about a mediation pilot program in Horry County that helped move things along, so, with cooperation from the DSS, she arranged to implement it in Charleston County.

With abuse and neglect cases, a probable cause hearing is supposed to be held within 48 hours of intervention and a merits hearing within 30 days, she said. But with such high case loads, these requirements are difficult to meet.

Segars-Andrews said the goal of mediation was to get children available for adoption faster or back in their homes faster. Dozens of local lawyers were asked to volunteer their time for the program, which expedites the resolution of high-conflict abuse and neglect cases, saving the state money and freeing up court time.

Each week, several mediations are scheduled, giving attorneys and guardians on all sides of the case a chance to reconcile their treatment recommendations before they appear in court to ask the judge to endorse the plan.

The assigned mediator helps minimize conflicts of interest and offers ideas lawyers might not have considered, according to Greg Forman, a Family Court attorney and volunteer mediator.

Successful mediation can lead to a faster settlement, avoiding trial, Forman said.

"The nice thing about mediation," he said, "is that people come in having lost control; mediation gives some control back."

Life change

After Garfinkel admonished Utter-Fludd to get a job so she could afford to pay child support, he suspended her 90-day sentence.

The Employment and Workforce Department agent pulled up three electrician jobs -- one in Africa, one that required extensive travel and one she applied for but didn't get.

"Maybe the Lord is telling you to do something else?" a friend suggested.

"Like what?"

"How about nursing?"

This made sense. Utter-Fludd wanted to help others. She had gone on mission trips organized by Faith Assembly Church. She was volunteering at the Alpha Pregnancy Center.

She enrolled at Trident Technical College, attending classes at night, working and volunteering by day, keeping current on her payments and checking in with the judge.

"Keep up the good work," Garfinkel told her.