Mental Health Association of Portland

By Erin Fenner, Willamette Week, March 6, 2013

Dr. Gary Oxman

Dr. Gary Oxman spent his career trying to save people who don’t care whether they live or die.

Oxman—who just retired as health officer for Multnomah, Clackamas and Washington counties—has long wanted to do more to rescue drug users.

He was one of the earliest supporters in Portland of free needle exchanges, aimed at stopping the spread of HIV among addicts who share syringes. That idea, first floated in the late 1980s, was often met with derision: Why should we condone the use of dangerous drugs by making it safer for addicts to keep shooting up?

Oxman helped champion a needle-exchange program in Portland, and he says it’s the reason the city never saw the explosion of HIV among drug users as other communities did.

“Pure and simple,” Oxman says. “Something that went very right.”

But Oxman, who retired last month, has been unable to reverse another epidemic: opiate addiction.

In Oregon, unintentional drug overdoses now kill more people than car accidents. The drugs that are driving up those numbers and killing most often are opiates—heroin and prescription pain medication, including methadone. In 2011, Oregon saw nearly 300 people die because of opiate overdoses—the highest year yet for heroin deaths. The rate of people dying from opiate-related overdoses has more than tripled in the past decade.

In fact, Oregon has the highest rate of opiate abuse among people under 25 than anywhere else in the country.

More than half the drug overdose deaths in Oregon are linked to prescription opiates such as OxyContin and Vicodin.

In Multnomah County, the top killer is heroin. Nearly half of drug users addicted to heroin here say they got hooked first by taking prescription pain pills.

Gov. John Kitzhaber has called the state’s addiction to these drugs “calamitous.”

Oregon has tried to battle drug addiction with education and treatment programs.

But Oxman wants the state to go further.

He wants to expand the use of another drug that will snap users out of an overdose of heroin, methadone or pain pills.

It’s commonly called Narcan, and for more than four decades paramedics and emergency-room personnel have injected it into people dying of opiate overdoses to give them a chance to hang on.

Across the country, recovery agencies and treatment centers have been making Narcan (also known by its generic name, naloxone) available to drug users’ friends, families, counselors and even addicts themselves—giving them a chance to deliver a life-saving dose before paramedics arrive.

Considered radical when it started, the wider use of Narcan has saved as many as 10,000 lives by reversing the effect of overdoses.

But Oregon—once in the forefront of helping protect the health of drug addicts—has not joined in.

Now, Oregon senators are considering a bill to make it easier to distribute Narcan. By doing so, lawmakers will shift the state’s efforts to fight drug overdoses not just with education, prevention and treatment, but by giving addicts a safety net even as they practice self-destructive behavior.

“These overdoses are individual and community tragedies,” Oxman says. “They can be treated, and so we don’t need to have people dying needlessly.”

A native of Minneapolis, Oxman came to Oregon after graduating from the University of Minnesota Medical School in 1978. When he was in private practice in the early 1980s, he recalls seeing patients he suspected were describing problems with pain that didn’t exist.

“They were trying to manipulate me into giving them opiates,” Oxman, 60, says. “That’s always been there in the community. It’s just way worse now than it was a few decades ago.”

Oxman was named Multnomah County medical director in 1984, and the county’s public health officer three years later. Around 2000, Oxman helped reverse the spike in heroin deaths, in part by targeting addicts themselves with information about how to use the drug more safely.

The overdoses the Portland area sees now are not driven by heroin alone. The long line of drug deaths often begin at the prescription pads of doctors.

Nearly half of the prescriptions tracked by state officials last year were for opiates. That amounted to 3.7 million painkiller prescriptions—nearly one for every resident of Oregon.

Drug users say painkillers lead to addiction—43 percent of heroin users in Multnomah County say they were first hooked on prescription painkillers. (Heroin is often cheaper and easier to get than prescription drugs.)

These drugs have created a widespread occasion of death. More than 60 percent of current opiate abusers say they’ve seen someone overdose in the past year.

“The docs are sort of trapped in this situation where patients are in pain and there’s no logical alternative,” Oxman says. “It’s not bad doctors. It’s the structure of the health-care system that’s really driving this.”

Tom Burns, director of pharmacy programs for the Oregon Health Authority, says in many cases physicians and dentists overprescribe pain meds to avoid having to write repeat prescriptions.

But Burns says the state has no intention of challenging physicians’ autonomy when it comes to making medical decisions. “We’re not Big Brother,” Burns says.

Instead, the state has tried educating doctors. In 2009, the Oregon Legislature created the Oregon Prescription Drug Monitoring Program, intended to help physicians track their patients’ prescriptions, no matter who writes them. A medical professional who’s concerned about a patient’s use of OxyContin, for example, can log on and see if the patient has been “doctor shopping” by getting prescriptions from other sources.

Ryan Lufkin is a deputy district attorney in Multnomah County who focuses primarily on drug crimes—he estimates he’s handled 1,100 drug cases in the last three years. He says too little money spent on recovery and treatment programs makes matters worse.

“The solution that seems to be the gold standard from a criminal-justice perspective is a treatment bed straight from a jail bed,” Lufkin says. “The ultimate goal is not conviction, but treatment.”

Last fall, Vero Majano came to Portland to help organize a film festival at the national convention of the Harm Reduction Coalition, an organization that works to help protect the health—and the rights—of people who use drugs.

Majano manages a drop-in center for the homeless in the Mission District of San Francisco. A social activist for years, Majano says most people don’t understand the goal of harm reduction—in part because they demonize the drug-using community.

“There’s this thing around drug use being evil,” she says. “So the idea is that drug users are also bad. If people were to look at trauma, how people self-medicate—people use [drugs] for good reasons.”

Majano’s views reflected the message at the conference, which drew hundreds from around the country: Drug users should have no fewer rights to have their health and welfare protected than anyone else.

Yet proponents say society should do more than simply jail people who use drugs, or try to combat addiction through education and treatment programs. It also means helping keep addicts alive and healthy, even when they show no signs of stopping their drug use.

Jake Rhew

Take the case of Jake Rhew.

Rhew was born in Pullman, Wash., in 1982, and attended Sam Barlow High School in Gresham. His family recalls Jake as a kid who loved to fish, raft the Clackamas River and stood up for people who were powerless—even as a kindergartner, he protected other kids from school bullies.

“He had a good heart—a compassionate soul,” Rhew’s stepmother, Kathy Thomes-Rhew, says.

Before he was out of high school, Rhew got hooked on pain pills and stole medication from his family.

Rhew earned a GED diploma and enlisted in the Army National Guard, only to get kicked out. He moved to his father’s house in Troutdale, stole to buy drugs, and tried to hide track marks on his arms. From 2009 to 2011, Rhew was arrested and charged five times for theft and once for possessing heroin.

“Jake was desperate,” Thomes-Rhew says. “It wasn’t the Jake we knew, and that’s what heroin can do to a person.”

Rhew often recorded his battle with drugs on his Facebook page. “5 months sober,” he wrote in June 2010. Two weeks before his last overdose, he wrote, “Damn going to sleep is a lot harder then [sic] passing out.” And three days before he died, he posted a photo of himself: short-cropped blond hair, broad nose, clean white T-shirt, cautious smile. “Lookin’ good Jake,” a friend wrote.

On Aug. 23, 2011, Rhew, 29, was living at the men’s residence center run by Volunteers of America in Northeast Portland when he and another client slipped into a bathroom to shoot heroin. Rhew was already in full nod by the time the center’s staff found him.

They couldn’t revive him and he choked on his vomit. It’s the center’s only death.

“The counselors did everything that could be done,” Thomes-Rhew says, but the staff didn’t have access to Narcan. “At least he would have had a chance.”

Greg Meenahan, director of development and communications for Volunteers of America, said medical privacy rules prevented him from talking about Rhew’s death. But he says he would want Narcan in the hands of the organization’s staff.

“We view this as a life-saving medication,” Meenahan says. “If we were able to have it, there’s little doubt that we would use it.”

Narcan is a brand name for naloxone, developed in New York in 1960 by researchers who found the drug had a remarkable ability to block the effects of heroin and other opiates.

The use of Narcan isn’t quite as dramatic as perhaps the most famous scene of reviving someone in the throes of a drug overdose: the stabbing of Uma Thurman’s character in the heart with an adrenalin-filled hypodermic needle in Quentin Tarantino’s Pulp Fiction.

The drug is often injected into the skin or a muscle, such as the biceps or thigh, and also comes as a nasal spray. Narcan throws the overdose into reverse—people can go from being blue and not breathing, to gasping for air in an instant withdrawal.

John Sanborn (who asked that his face not be photographed)

John Sanborn knows how it feels.

He says he’s been “Narcanned” by paramedics during heroin overdoses. Like the time he cooked up shot after shot in a Portland State University restroom. Or the time other junkies dragged him into a downtown apartment hallway and left him for dead.

“It’s horrible if you’re living with an addiction,” Sanborn says of Narcan’s effects. “It brings you right down to where you were before you started shooting.”

Narcan, Sanborn says, gave him a new chance at recovery. He’s currently in Central City Concern’s Community Engagement Program and is reconnecting with his 9-year-old son. “I realized that if I ever wanted to have any kind of a life,” he says, “I was going to have to stop using drugs.”

Sanborn got Narcan the way almost everyone in Oregon does: from a medical professional. But nearly 20 years ago, activists in other states realized the greater potential of the drug to save lives.

Dan Bigg, executive director of Chicago Recovery Alliance, says his organization had already seen harm-reduction strategies work with needle exchanges, slowing the AIDS epidemic among IV drug users.

“[We] turn to the next big issue, which is overdose,” Bigg says. “Why not use the existing pathways to get [Narcan] into the hands of people who overdose?”

In 1996, Bigg’s organization began to train and distribute naloxone to laypeople. He says he has administered naloxone to an overdosing person at least six times.

In 2010, Illinois finally made it legal to do what Bigg’s group had been practicing, but he says he’s frustrated that other parts of the country are behind.

“It’s a pure antidote,” Bigg says, “and you’d think it’d be available to scores of people suffering from premature death.”

By that time, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the use of Narcan by nonmedical professionals had broadened: Nearly 200 programs in 15 states and the District of Columbia were making Narcan more available. A 2012 CDC report said these programs helped reverse the effects of drug overdoses in more than 10,000 cases.

The CDC also found “many states with high drug-overdose death rates have no opioid-overdose prevention programs that distribute naloxone.” That includes Oregon.

Allan Clear, executive director of the Harm Reduction Coalition in New York, says Narcan should be ubiquitous, especially in a city like Portland that has an opiate-overdose problem and has been a leader in needle exchanges.

“Overall, nationally, it’s not that well-known as a community intervention program,” Clear says. “In New York City and San Francisco—when the health department got on board—it really added that level of legitimacy to it. There’s always been this level of caution because naloxone is one of those drugs you prescribe to use on someone else.”

Dr. Sharon Stancliff, medical director of the Harm Reduction Coalition, says Narcan hasn’t proved controversial in many communities.

“In New York, we actually have it set up so different kinds of agencies can distribute it to whoever they want,” she says. “It has gone from being this sort of edgy thing to really becoming mainstream.”

Dr. Sandro Galea, chairman of the epidemiology department at Columbia University, says Narcan was controversial in New York because people believed making it widely available would encourage drug users to indulge in opiates.

Galea’s studies showed that drug users were not encouraged to be more reckless with heroin by having Narcan handy.

“There is no excuse for not making naloxone widely available to the [drug-using] community,” Galea says.

If drug-overdose deaths are so common here, why is Oregon so far behind in the movement toward Narcan?

Oxman says cities and states that moved ahead with making Narcan more available also have more vocal and organized groups advocating for the welfare of drug users.

“I think when you get a critical mass of folks who believe in a particular issue, that makes organized action easier,” Oxman says. “It’s not that Portland lacks the drug users—we have lots and lots of drug users.

“Government is not in a position to be the leaders of harm reduction. It’s really a community activity. And it is really bewildering why that hasn’t been more prominent here.”

Kathy Oliver, executive director of Outside In

In Portland, the organization that helped pioneer the needle-exchange program, Outside In, has been the obvious place to experiment with making Narcan more available.

Outside In works with homeless youth and what it calls “marginalized people.” Kathy Oliver, Outside In’s executive director, says health-care workers in the organization’s clinic on Southwest 13th Avenue near Main Street are allowed to both inject and prescribe Narcan to people for use only on themselves.

Oliver would like to see Narcan more widely available. “The reason I want to do it is the same reason I wanted to open the syringe-exchange program,” she says. “Death by overdose is preventable, so giving people the means to protect themselves makes sense.”

But Outside In has been largely silent on the issue, despite the high overdose rates in Multnomah County. Oliver says she’s aware that scores of other organizations like hers around the country have distributed Narcan or promoted its use.

“We did think the best way to achieve [a community pathway for naloxone] would be through the legislative and not through Outside In being a political advocate,” she says.

In Salem, state Sen. Alan Bates (D-Medford) has introduced a bill to expand access to Narcan. Jackson County, where Bates lives, saw 30 people die in 2012 from opiate drug overdoses, according to Dr. Jim Shames, the county health officer.

Ashland, a community known for staging the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, was stunned recently by the death of three men within six weeks of each other—all from opiate overdoses.

Maxwell Pinsky, 25, the son of a local blues musician, died Jan. 15 of a suspected opiate overdose; the Jackson County sheriff’s office says the toxicology reports aren’t finished yet. A month earlier, Ashland had two heroin-overdose deaths within a day of each other: Pinsky’s friend Jordan Roth, 34, the son of a retired physician; and Colin McKean, 36, son of actor Michael McKean.

Bates’ bill would make Narcan a drug that anyone—from social workers to drug users—can get training to use and be able to purchase to have with them in the case of an emergency. Part of the bill also makes people who administer Narcan in an overdose situation immune from civil prosecution.

Emergency-room physicians have warned legislators the drug can cause a powerful reaction in people coming out of an overdose if the dosing isn’t done properly.

“It’s still a large question as to whether the public should have access to this powerful drug,” says Jim Anderson, lobbyist for the Oregon Chapter of the American College of Emergency Physicians. “We have mixed emotions about it.”

Oxman says passage of the bill will mark a big step in Oregon moving toward accepting the idea that government has a role to play in helping drug users stay alive, regardless of whether they stop using.

“I think people have really come around,” he says, “to seeing what we’re trying to do is help people who have problems with drug abuse, and there’s a variety of different pathways to get there.”

From the Medford Mail Tribune, January 27, 2013

Journal entries penned a year before Rachel Rice‘s death tell the tale of a loving mother struggling with serious mental illness, and of a failed mental health care system, her daughter says.

“Many unfortunate local events have stemmed from mental illness, and especially from lack of care,” says Lindsey Rice-Meilicke. “This puts the person suffering in danger and, in extreme cases, others as well.”

Judges, county mental health directors and local police agree and say they are pushing for change.

A fledgling mental health court is taking wing. Properly staffed centers designed to provide wraparound services and a sense of community are in the works to replace those shuttered in recent months. And police are being better trained in handling the mentally ill, as law enforcement officers often are the first responders for those experiencing a mental health crisis, says Stacy Brubaker, the new division manager at Jackson County Mental Health.

The county’s new $28.5 million, 86,000-square-foot, two-story health services complex will handle a caseload that is expected to rise from the current 23,000 clients to 45,000 by the time it opens in 2014. Mental health, alcohol and drug programs, immunizations, vital records, food licenses and disability services all would be available in the new health building, officials have said.

Brubaker was hired as the crisis manager for the county’s Health and Human Services Department in August, and promoted to mental health division manager in mid-November, she says.

“It is really up to us to deliver good services and coordinated care,” Brubaker says. “And I truly believe people are best treated in their own communities.”

Rice-Meilicke is hoping changes are on the way. And that sharing her mother’s story will help take the stigma off of mental illness and persuade legislators and the community to fund and support programs that care for those afflicted. Short-shrifting the mentally ill puts “a huge emotional and financial strain on everyone,” Rice-Meilicke says.

“I wish people would see that. See the realities of what is happening,” she says.

Rachel Rice graduated with honors from Crater High School in 1977. She loved cheerleading, baking, crocheting, making people laugh and being a mother. But for the last two decades of her life, the 46-year-old also battled paranoid schizophrenia. Frightened and delusional when in the grips of her illness, Rice was last seen by a high school friend, walking barefoot on Old Stage Road on Aug. 2, 2005. Moments later she melted away into the Central Point hillside and was lost forever, her daughter says.

“She had a tendency to walk from her troubles when she was scared,” Rice-Meilicke says, adding her mother had a history of running away, but that she was never out of contact for more than a few days.

For seven long years, Rice’s family had little hope she was alive but no closure. Then, on Jan. 5, a miner discovered Rice’s remains in a remote area off Old Military Road. Police found no evidence of foul play. Rice likely died of dehydration and heat exhaustion either around or on that hot summer’s day, Rice-Meilicke says.

“We need to pay more attention to why this is happening and what we can do to help, instead of waiting until things are already happening. And then there’s a crisis that can’t be undone,” she says.

Rice-Meilicke, now 32, was just 7 years old when her mother was diagnosed. Her brother and only sibling, Steve Rice, now 31, was even younger. Before she hit her teens, Rice-Meilicke had learned the hard truth about trying keep her mother safe: There aren’t enough advocates for the mentally ill. Consequently, there aren’t enough beds, there aren’t enough programs, there aren’t enough laws and support systems in place to protect those who need it most. And that needs to change, she says.

“I was about 10 or 12 years old. And I would be in the hospital room with my mother, who would be saying and doing all sorts of crazy things, and they’d be working on paperwork to release her,” Rice-Meilicke says. “How crazy is that?”

Having a mentally ill person civilly committed to care is difficult because of Oregon laws, says Jackson County Circuit Court Judge Lisa Greif. Even when there are good reasons to believe a person would benefit from being placed in a care facility, the legal standard for commitment remains extremely high, she says.

All too often those battling mental illness will end up in the criminal court system — usually not the most appropriate remedy, the former defense attorney says.

“Our options are the state mental hospital, jail or prison,” Greif says, adding the “revolving door” aspects between the mentally ill, police and justice officers had everyone wondering, “What can we do better?”

Rice-Meilicke was disappointed to discover Jackson County’s two client-run, drop-in day centers for the mentally ill, DASIL and Hawthorne House, closed last fall. She had hoped, in lieu of flowers, people might send a check to Hawthorne House.

“She worked in the kitchen and baked cookies there,” Rice-Meilicke says. “People who struggle with mental illness don’t want to focus on that aspect of their lives. They want to have fun and be productive, if they can, and be in a place where they are not judged. They need to have a sense of community.”

Brubaker agreed having to permanently shutter the county-run Hawthorne House was “discouraging.” But plans are in the works to create a better “club house model” area at the new health complex that will be similar to Hawthorne House. It will offer attendees a sense of community in a stable, “peer-supported” manner, and also provide education assistance and job training opportunities, she says.

“We all need a place to be. And when you don’t have a place to be, life gets harder,” Brubaker says.

The county also plans to provide a crisis intervention service center that can care for up to five people at a time, she says.

“It will provide people a chance to feel supported and regroup,” Brubaker says.

Just five months before her final disappearance, Rice was “kicked out of foster home after foster home due to her medications not stabilizing her,” Rice-Meilicke says, adding Jackson County Mental Health workers told her they had “no further options.”

Rice was housed in an apartment and expected to manage her own medication — more than a dozen prescriptions in four or five daily doses, her daughter says.

“It was a recipe for disaster,” Rice-Meilicke says.

Medical records show Rice sought treatment at local emergency rooms half a dozen times in the space of one month. Numerous times, Rice became hysterical and called 911, her daughter says.

“The majority of times when somebody is sick, but not getting the help they need, it puts a huge strain on everyone, including the police,” Rice-Meilicke says.

Brubaker’s goal over the next three years is for every law enforcement officer in Jackson County to receive training in crisis response to the mentally ill. Brubaker and a staff member, along with two Medford police officers and a representative of the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department, will attend a weeklong “empathy-based” training in Utah soon, she says.

The five who attend the February sessions will become trainers for the rest of the county’s law enforcement officers, she says.

All but three members of the Ashland Police Department have received the training, as have several others in departments throughout the valley, she says.

Medford police Chief Tim George says he fully supports the mental health training for his officers. A lack of services because of budget cuts has collided with increased need and burgeoning drug and alcohol issues, he says.

“There’s been a huge snowball effect,” George says, adding mental health calls have jumped 25 to 50 percent in the past two years.

His officers responded to 664 mental health calls in 2012. Of those, 344 were suicide threats or attempts, he says, and officers had to put someone in temporary, protective custody 397 times.

“This can create a serious officer safety issue,” George says. “Any time we can get better training, it helps us get better at what we do. It benefits our officers, and the community we serve.”

There are a dozen beds in the only psychiatric unit in Jackson County. The hospital ward does what it can, but it can only triage those experiencing the most critical mental health crisis. The minimal space available means that often the person whom police brought to the hospital is released before the officer has finished writing up the paperwork on the case, George says.

“We see them walking across the hospital parking lot,” George says. “There’s only so much capacity. When there’s no room at the inn, and someone is having a mental health crisis, what are you going to do?”

George credits the William Moore sobering center at Addictions Recovery Center for providing a stopgap temporary “safety valve.” Dual diagnosis is common in the mentally ill, which brings addiction issues to the fore, he says.

Police officers rely upon the ARC’s sobering services to provide a safe haven for those who cannot be legally or professionally evaluated for mental illness because they also are under the influence of intoxicants, George says.

Sometimes, when that facility also is full, George’s officers have been known to drive mentally impaired citizens around in their police vehicles for a time, or bring them to the police station “for a cup of coffee,” he says.

“It helps us buy time, keep them safe, and try to find a relative or someone who might be able to help,” he says.

Greif, George and others on the county’s public health safety panel have begun identifying “frequent fliers” who are shuttled in and out of the criminal justice system fundamentally because of mental health issues.

With no budget and no formal courtroom, Greif volunteered this summer to perform early morning informal hearings with one woman who was at the top of the list, whom she declined to identify.

“I would definitely consider taking on another individual or two,” Greif says, adding she is hoping to lay a framework for creating a mental health court, similar to the county’s successful family and drug courts, when state and county budgets improve.

“It’s a great start,” Greif says. “And the more we can put our heads together, the better for our whole community.”

The woman, her public defender, her mental health worker, the district attorney and Greif have been meeting regularly. They have created an action plan for her and provided wraparound services to ensure she is getting medical and dental care, and proper housing. The one-on-one attention from a judge and the other collaborators has connected this woman to her community — and changed her life, Greif says.

“She has had no contact with police and no complaints since September,” Greif says.

Rice-Meilicke says she will advocate for the mental health court and the other changes.

“This is all very encouraging,” Rice-Meilicke says.

Rice-Meilicke recently discovered her mother’s journal and a long-lost letter her mother had written to her. Rice writes about being frustrated and afraid, and also about being strong and hopeful, Rice-Meilicke says.

Rice acknowledges she appears to have gone “downhill” to some, countering that she is gaining insights into her own strengths as well, her daughter says.

“She did feel strong,” Rice-Meilicke says. “But she didn’t understand why (her mental illness) had to be happening. She wrote, ‘I’m hoping there’s a reason for all this.’”

Bipolar man dies in police custody

From the Medford Tribune, September 7, 2012

Talent resident stops breathing after being Tasered and subdued

A Talent [Oregon] man reported to have bipolar disorder died Wednesday night, shortly after being Tasered, subdued and handcuffed by Jackson County sheriff’s deputies at a home in the 6800 block of Wagner Creek Road.

The Jackson County Sheriff’s Department was called at 10:20 p.m. to respond to an “unknown medical reaction” suffered by 23-year-old Christopher Ladue, a news release said.

Police said Ladue was in his parents’ backyard, on his back, flailing his arms. Family members brought him into the house where he “mildly assaulted” his father, and broke a porch railing and flowerpot before running off.

He then ran to a neighbor’s home and tried to get in, police said. Talent and Phoenix police found him and tried to make an arrest.

Police said Ladue resisted, and each officer used a Taser with a dart pack to subdue him. The darts struck Ladue but had no effect, police said.

He ran back into the road and confronted officers again, prompting a fight, the news release said. Officers said they again fired Taser darts at him with no effect. They also applied a Taser to him directly and used pepper spray unsuccessfully, police said.

While held on the ground with the three officers on top of him, Ladue struggled and was attempting to get up, police said. After a short struggle, officers overpowered and handcuffed him.

Ladue’s heart stopped shortly afterward. Nearby medical personnel, who had come to the initial call for help and had been standing by, immediately attempted to resuscitate Ladue before transporting him to Rogue Regional Medical Center in an ambulance. He died an hour later, police said.

“We’re assuming it’s medical at this point,” said Capt. Monte Holloway of the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department. “There are too many variables and unknowns right now.”

Court records show Ladue had no prior criminal history in Jackson County.

The case is under investigation by Major Assault Death Investigation Unit detectives. An autopsy was scheduled for today.

A woman who answered the phone at the Ladue home Thursday morning said the family was “devastated” over the incident but did not wish to comment further.

This is the second death of a person in police custody in a week. Joseph Matthew Vavrosky, 42, died Aug. 28 after an Oregon State Police trooper pulled him over during an interagency drunken driving operation. Vavrosky ran from the vehicle, crossing the Interstate 5 viaduct and running toward Biddle Road. Officers pursuing him attempted to shoot their Tasers, which they said missed. Vavrosky was arrested by Medford police near McAndrews Road as he hid in bike path bushes. He collapsed shortly after his arrest and died. An autopsy to determine the cause of his death was inconclusive.

Scott Chappell, 44, of Eagle Point, also died shortly after police used a Taser on him in June. A veteran of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, Chappell reportedly suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder. He, too, was Tasered and wrestled to the ground by police officers before being subdued.

The use of Tasers in law enforcement has come under scrutiny in the past few years nationally, though no definite conclusions have been drawn. The advocacy group Amnesty International says about 500 people nationwide have been killed by Taser use since 2001 and a study by the American Heart Association said Tasers can cause cardiac arrest.

However, a study from the National Institute of Justice, released in 2010, found that “while exposure to conducted energy devices (such as Tasers) is not risk-free, there is no conclusive medical evidence that indicates a high risk of serious injury or death from the direct effects of CEDs.”

Third In-Custody Death This Year [for Jackson County, Oregon]

From KDRV.com, September 7, 2012

Police were forced to deploy a taser in an effort to restrain a 23-year-old Talent man Wednesday night. After that, Christopher Ladue, Jr. was pronounced dead on the way to a local hospital. Wednesday night’s incident marks the third in-custody death in Jackson County this year.

Christopher Ladue, Jr. became erratic and police struggled to get him in handcuffs, forcing officers to use a taser twice. Back on June 13th, a man police believed suffering from a mental episode became “erratic”.

An Eagle Point officer fired a stun gun to Scott Chappell, he died in the ambulance on the way to a hospital. On August 29th, a man reportedly running from Medford Police officers collapsed in their arms after being handcuffed. A taser was deployed but police don’t know if it hit Joseph Vavrovsky.

Jackson County Captain Monty Holloway doesn’t believe this is an unusual amount of in custody deaths for the area over the course of a year. Holloway also says these events don’t impact their attempts to control people who are a danger to officers and the public. He says it’s only speculative to draw any similarities between these three incidents. Holloway also added, part of training for Jackson County officers involves experiencing a taser deployment first hand.

Talent Man With Bipolar Disorder Dies In Police Custody

From thedove.us, September 7, 2012 – interesting: this post is a rehash of articles above, possibly content generated by something like http://journatic.com/

A 23-year old Talent resident with bipolar disorder died in police custody last night. Authorities responded to a medical call at 10:18 p.m. on Wagner Creek Road after Christopher Ladue Jr. had an unknown medical reaction. He was lying on his back in the backyard flailing his arms. His parents and a friend brought him inside. The younger Ladue assaulted his father, broke a porch railing and flower pot, and ran away.

He tried entering a neighbor’s home, and about that police confronted Ladue. He refused to comply, and a taser was used on Ladue, with no initial effect.

After running from the property out on to Wagner Creek Road, a struggled ensued between Ladue and police, with more taser darts fired.

Shortly after police handcuffed, Ladue reportedly coded. Paramedics who were already on the scene for a medical call, administered aid, including CPR.

The Jackson County Sheriff’s Department learned later that Ladue died at RVMC after being transported to the hospital by ambulance. An autopsy is scheduled, and detectives are investigating the case. Ladue had no police record.

Investigation Under Way Into Police-Custody Death

From OPB.org, September 7, 2012

The Jackson County Sheriff’s office says it could be six to eight weeks before a toxicology report comes back on a Talent man who died in police custody this week.

Christopher Ladue’s heart stopped beating shortly after he was arrested on Wednesday night.

According to police, Ladue’s parents called when the 23 year old had a bad reaction after smoking an unidentified substance. The parents told police their son had schizophrenia and bipolar disorder.

Andrea Carlson, the public information officer for the Jackson County Sheriff’s Office, says police caught up with Ladue some time later.

“They tried to get him under control and to help him and he was not compliant,” Carlson says. “So a Taser was used from both officers using dart packs. And despite direct hits from both of those packs, neither had any effect on him.”

Carlson says Ladue ran. After police caught up with him they used pepper spray and a second round of Tasers.

Ladue’s heart stopped beating shortly after he was taken into custody. Efforts to resuscitate Ladue were unsuccessful.

Carlson says the case is now under investigation by Jackson County Major Assault Death Investigation Unit.

By Nick Budnick, The Oregonian, Friday, March 02, 2012

Psychiatrist Curt Sturos tends to troubled kids in southern Oregon and considers himself part of a growing awareness that mental health drugs may be overused.

So it was a surprise to find himself exhibit A in a recent letter from a powerful U.S. Senator, demanding to know what Oregon is doing to crack down on doctors who overprescribe.

State Medicaid records show Sturos authorized more of the mental health drug Abilify for the last three years than any other Oregon doctor. A letter to the Oregon Health Authority from Sen. Chuck Grassley, R-Iowa, who wants to curb Medicaid spending nationwide, called the rate “shocking.”

While Sturos calls the letter unfair, and an Oregon Health Authority review found nothing wrong, his situation shows how psychiatrists and other doctors face increasing scrutiny of their prescribing, particularly when it comes to children. Yet doctors in Oregon say the state lacks options beyond drugs to treat severely troubled children.

Ajit Jetmalani, M.D.

Young brains are considered more vulnerable and few drug safety studies exist due to ethical concerns about testing children, said Dr. Ajit Jetmalani, director of the Oregon Health & Science University’s Child Psychiatry Program. He also believes the mental health system needs more non-drug alternatives.

“If we’re all expecting medical providers to write prescriptions – and are not willing to invest in alternatives – then we’re going to get more prescriptions,” he said. “I think that is a duty of medical providers to push back.”

Pushing Begins

Earlier this week, the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry issued cautious new prescribing guidelines for child welfare agencies. And a December federal report found that foster kids in five states, including Oregon, were more likely to be prescribed psychiatric medication — including at levels not considered safe.

Sturos cares for 250-300 People — about 200 are children or teens, he said. Many are foster kids and autistic with significant behavioral problems. He favors Abilify, a drug the Food and Drug Administration has approved for children 10 and above with bipolar disorder and other mental health conditions, because of fewer side effects than comparable drugs, including less weight gain.

In 2009, Sturos wrote 1,104 prescriptions costing Oregon’s Medicaid program $457,335, nearly twice the next highest prescriber, records show. In 2010 he wrote more than 1,000 compared to 666 for No. 2. In 2011, his total grew to 1,243 prescriptions, though Sturos says some of these were written to help a colleague in training.

“On a weekly basis I am working with our teams to try to provide the best access to non-medication treatments for kids with various conditions such as depression, schizophrenia, PTSD, bipolar disorder,” he said.

Prompted by Grassley’s letter – versions of which went to other states – the Oregon Health Authority in January reviewed Sturos’ numbers. “We do not feel this doctor’s prescribing practices are out of line,” wrote Tom Burns, director of pharmaceutical programs for the Oregon Health Authority, in a Feb. 9 reply.

Little Tested

Last year, Harvard researchers evaluating the scientific evidence for long-term use of Abilify for bipolar disorder essentially found only one clinical trial met scientific standards but a design flaw may have made the drug appear more effective.

“Frankly, I think it’s an embarrassment to the profession that (Abilify) has been accepted so uncritically for this indication,” one of the professors told CNN.

Terry Lee, an instructor at the University of Washington, treats kids in the state’s foster care and the juvenile justice systems. He often weans his less-troubled kids off Abilify and other medications, finding psychotherapy, anger management and social skills training is what’s needed. “They lose weight, they report feeling more alert, more awake and less sedated,” he said.

Similarly, psychologist Peter Sprengelmeyer says children often improve with scaled-back medications.

“I think sometimes what we’re doing is medicating for a chaotic environment,” says Sprengelmeyer, who heads OSLC Community Programs, a Eugene nonprofit that provides mental health care to kids in foster homes and the juvenile justice system.

Other states do more than Oregon to oversee prescribing to kids, experts say.

In Illinois, for instance, youths in foster care or state custody receive an independent medication review by a state psychiatrist, and the drugs’ effects are tracked over time, says Dr. Michael Naylor, who heads the program. He says medication should be only part of treatment — but qualified people to provide psychotherapy for kids are hard to find.

Jetmalani of OHSU says good things are happening in Oregon, including a new hotline to help primary care physicians make better prescribing decisions for children. And state health reform could result in a better, team-based approach to children’s mental health.

Meanwhile, though Sturos was supported by the state, his prescribing practices are now being reviewed by Jefferson Behavioral Health, which manages prescribing practices for Jackson County and several others. Sturos says it’s good to ask questions, and he has nothing to hide.

“If Senator Grassley or any state officials wish to come and look at the details of what we’re doing I’d be happy to show them,” he says.

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By Damian Mann, Mail Tribune, February 23, 2012

A memorial in front of Ellias Ruiz's west Medford home appeared soon after the shooting. (File Photo)

An 18-year-old west Medford man shot and killed by police Jan. 22 after he charged them with a knife had been arrested five weeks earlier in Santa Cruz, Calif., on suspicion of assault.

“He used a baseball bat and hit his father,” said Jesus Delgadillo, assistant district attorney in Santa Cruz County, adding the injuries did not appear to be serious.

A little more than a month later, Elias Angel Ruiz came out the front door of his house in the 800 block of Pennsylvania Avenue and attempted to slash officers with a butcher knife, causing one of the officers to open fire. Ruiz was pronounced dead at the scene.

What prompted Ruiz to confront police is unknown. But details of his recent past — including that he may have been bullied at school and had occasional outbursts at home — and the chaos that surrounded those few seconds are revealed in a Medford police investigation, obtained recently by the Mail Tribune.

Officers and witnesses described a wild scene in which two bullets whizzed down a residential street, striking a neighbor’s Mazda Miata and a concrete porch. In the midst of the confusion, a police officer mistakenly feared he had been wounded by a stray bullet after he fell to the ground, injuring his hip.

“I think I’ve been hit,” Medford Officer Brian Hall told another officer shortly after he fired Taser darts at Ruiz while falling to the ground.

The darts didn’t stop Ruiz, who was wearing a bulletproof vest under his clothing.

Officer Jason Antley fired six rounds from his .40-caliber Glock handgun at Ruiz. Five rounds penetrated Ruiz’s body.

Hall told investigators he felt the energy of the shots from Antley’s gun blasting past his face, but he was not struck. He told another officer at the scene he was fearful that Ruiz was going to stab him.

Hall and Antley were the only officers who approached the front door of the Ruiz house. According to police reports, the confrontation between the officers and Ruiz took place within a 6-foot area. After Antley fired his gun, he also fell backwards while retreating, the reports said.

Antley said later he had worried about crossfire because of his close proximity to Hall, who was attempting to pull his gun out of his holster while he was on the ground.

Prior to the Medford shooting, Ruiz had been arguing with his mother, Maria Alejandra Ruiz, according to police reports.

A neighbor, Evonne Maxine Hubbard, said the mother told her a dispute erupted inside the house when the Ruiz family was preparing dinner. Hubbard said the mother took a meat cleaver away from her son, who then smashed a picture frame over his head.

Hubbard said Ruiz’s mother told her she initially didn’t want to call police because it would make the situation worse. Police responded to 9-1-1 calls from Ruiz and his mother.

Hubbard told police there had been a lot of conflict in the family and Elias Ruiz had been bullied at school, but did not elaborate further.

Hubbard indicated she overheard an officer apologizing to Ruiz’s mother shortly after the shooting. “I’m sorry,” the officer reportedly said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”

Medford police Lt. Curtis Whipple said he observed Ruiz’s mother yelling at Antley, asking him why he had shot her son. Whipple took Antley from the scene to avoid any further volatility, his report said.

At police headquarters, Ruiz’s mother declined medical assistance, Whipple said. “She was emotional and advised she did not want any additional help from MPD because she did not want to be shot,” he said. He said a private party took the mother to Rogue Valley Medical Center.

Lt. Mike Budreau, Public Information Officer, said in an interview he couldn’t see any other course of action the officers could have taken that would have avoided the shooting. Prior to knocking on the front door, the officers attempted to call Ruiz by cellphone.

“If he is actively hurting himself, there’s got to be some attempt to try and save him,” he said. “I don’t see any Monday morning quarterbacking about how we could do things differently.”

In many other calls, officers have saved lives by intervening in suicide attempts, he said.

“Not responding is not an option,” Budreau said. “He could still die while they are outside waiting. Most of the time, we are able to talk people out of it and into medical attention.”

Budreau said one of the biggest surprises for officers in the shooting was the bulletproof vest Ruiz wore under his clothes.

The vest was traced to Florida but is the same type issued to Medford police, though officers also insert trauma plates into pockets on the vest for additional protection. Police said they don’t know how Ruiz obtained the vest.

The hollow-tipped bullets used by police are generally designed to hit a target, then mushroom out so they don’t come out the other side and injure a bystander, Budreau said.

One of the five bullets that hit Ruiz apparently exited his body and flew down the street, though investigators haven’t determined which one.

Budreau said one of the stray bullets dented the driver’s side rear quarter panel of the Mazda Miata. The bullet bounced off the car, ending up a few feet from the car, he said.

The investigation into the shooting has concluded, Budreau said, though investigators are still awaiting completion of the toxicology report on Ruiz to determine if he was drinking or using drugs.

The Ruiz family could not be reached, but the family has hired the firm of Kafoury & McDougal to investigate whether the police response was excessive.

The Ruiz family had earlier called the shooting unjustified, though a Jackson County grand jury determined on Feb. 8 it was justified.

The Santa Cruz District Attorney’s Office said Ruiz did not resist arrest when a deputy from Santa Cruz County Sheriff’s Office responded to reports of a fight at 8:24 a.m. Dec. 16 in a residential neighborhood about a mile from the Pacific Ocean.

The father’s injuries didn’t require medical treatment, according to Delgadillo. Ramiro Adame Ruiz told police he and his son had been arguing prior to the assault, Delgadillo said.

Delgadillo said he found no information that Ruiz was involved in any gang activity.

Reach reporter Damian Mann at 541-776-4476, or email dmann@mailtribune.com.

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By Chris Conrad, Mail Tribune, Thursday, February 09, 2012

Mail Tribune / Julia Moore
From left, Oregon State Police Detective Bryan Scott, Jackson County Senior Deputy District Attorney Terri Smith-Norton and Medford Police Chief Tim George hold a press conference regarding the police shooting of Elias Angel Ruiz Wednesday at Oregon State Police headquarters in Central Point.

After a five-hour hearing, it took a grand jury just six minutes to rule that Medford police were justified in the shooting of 18-year-old Elias Angel Ruiz outside his mother’s home Jan. 22.

The Jackson County grand jury heard testimony Wednesday from 14 witnesses, including the two officers who said they were charged by the knife-wielding Ruiz outside the home in the 800 block of Pennsylvania Avenue.

The investigation into the shooting was described to the grand jury, which deliberated in the time it takes for a coffee break before entering its verdict. “The grand jury determined the shooting was in accordance with Oregon law,” Jackson County Senior Deputy District Attorney Terry Smith-Norton said.

Medford police said they responded to Ruiz’s home after dispatch received a 9-1-1 call from the residence, in which the caller hung up after a dispatcher heard a voice in the background yelling, “Help, help.”

A dispatcher reported calling back and speaking with an emotional Alejandra Ruiz, who said her son had armed himself with a knife and was destroying items inside the home.

She also said that, before locking himself in a room, Ruiz said he wanted to stab himself. Police said she told them that he had struck his head several times with a picture frame.

Shortly thereafter, Medford Officers Jason Antley and Brian Hall arrived on the scene and approached the front door.

Another officer positioned himself in the back of the residence.

Smith-Norton said Antley and Hall told the grand jury they tried to call Ruiz on his phone but received no response. They tried to open the door and found that it was locked, so they began knocking while announcing themselves as police.

At some point, Antley had drawn his gun, while Hall had drawn a Taser, Medford Police Chief Tim George said in an interview after the grand jury decision. “They had both levels of force ready, because they weren’t sure of the situation at that point,” George said.

After several minutes of repeated knocking, Smith-Norton said, the door “flew” open and Ruiz charged the officers while making slashing motions with a large knife.

Antley and Hall said they retreated as Ruiz approached them. Both officers fell down, at which time Antley fired his gun at Ruiz, striking him five times.

Investigators determined Ruiz was between two and six feet from the officers when the shots were fired. Ruiz was hit in the left armpit, left bicep, twice in the upper left leg and once at the base of the neck.

In all, Antley fired six shots from his .40-caliber Glock handgun. One of the rounds struck a nearby car, while another hit a concrete porch near the same car.

Hall had fired his Taser at nearly the same time Antley fired his gun. The Taser’s prongs struck Ruiz. After firing the Taser, Hall testified, he scrambled to pull his gun, but Ruiz already was on the ground.

Both officers testified the encounter lasted only a few seconds and there wasn’t time to order Ruiz to disarm and stop advancing.

Another officer approached Ruiz as he lay on the ground and put him in handcuffs. The officer removed the knife from Ruiz’s hand before paramedics attempted to revive him. He was soon pronounced dead at the scene.

Medford police say they found these three knives on Elias Ruiz following his shooting by a police officer.

Investigators saw a second knife protruding from Ruiz’s pants pocket and later found a “butterfly knife” in another pocket. The knife he had in his hands during the incident had an 8-inch blade.

“This was a weapon that could have done serious or deadly damage to these officers,” George said.

Ruiz was wearing a bulletproof vest underneath his large flannel shirt. The vest was a Safariland brand, which was issued to a police agency in Florida in 2006.

Investigators were not able to determine how Ruiz obtained the vest.

Oregon State Police Detective Bryan Scott conducted the investigation. He said a toxicology test was performed on Ruiz, but the results were not yet available.

“Those can take several weeks to return,” Scott said.

Ruiz’s mother was not available for comment Wednesday, but she did approve a statement through an attorney the family hired to investigate the death.

The firm of Kafoury & McDougal specializes in excessive-force complaints against police. Jason Kafoury, an attorney at the firm, said the family expected the grand jury to rule the shooting was justified.

“Indictments are rarely handed down in police shootings,” Kafoury said. “The district attorney has selectively released grand jury testimony, and the family demands they release all the grand jury testimony.”

In a written statement, the firm criticized the grand jury process as secretive and one-sided in favor of the police.

Kafoury said the firm will request the complete police report and will talk to witnesses before proceeding with their case. Kafoury did not comment on what the family is seeking and would not speak to specifics of the firm’s investigation.

“There’s a lot to do on this,” Kafoury said.

Kafoury did say that Ruiz sometimes wore the bulletproof vest in his home because he feared gang violence and the police.

Antley has been with the Medford Police Department for nine years. He is a defensive-tactics instructor and has been trained in suicide prevention.

Hall is a 17-year officer, who has been a member of the SWAT team for 13 years. He also has extensive training in suicide prevention, George said.

“These are both tenured, experienced officers,” George said. “Their training took over in this case, otherwise they could have lost their lives.”

A memorial service for Ruiz is planned for Saturday at Kids Unlimited, 821 N. Riverside Ave., in Medford. The event is open to the public and will begin at 6:30 p.m.

Reach reporter Chris Conrad at 541-776-4471 or email cconrad@mailtribune.com.

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By Damian Mann, Mail Tribune, January 23, 2012

A west Medford neighborhood is reeling after a police officer shot to death an 18-year-old Sunday after he brandished a butcher knife on his front porch — the second time law enforcement has used deadly force in a little more than two weeks.

Bob Pennell
Clinton McDonald describes the scene outside his window Sunday afternoon after Medford police shot and killed a young man on Medford’s Pennsylvania Street. “I don’t know how many shots maybe more than six,” said McDonald.

Elias Angel Ruiz, who police said couldn’t be subdued with a stun gun, was pronounced dead at the scene at 812 Pennsylvania St., after officers responded to a domestic disturbance call at 2:21 p.m., according to Medford Police Chief Tim George.

An officer was treated and released after falling to the ground, injuring his hip.

Neighbors say multiple shots were fired, though the exact number hasn’t been confirmed by Medford police yet.

“I don’t know how many shots — maybe more than six,” said Clinton McDonald, a 31-year-old father who lives on nearby Summit Avenue.

He said Ruiz’s mother, who was standing outside his house, cried out, “Why did you shoot my son?”

According to Jackson County records, the house was purchased in 1994 by Ramiro and Alejandra Ruiz.

View Full Size     (Bob Pennell / Mail Tribune photo)

Medford's Pennsylvania Street was blocked to traffic as police investigate the shooting.

McDonald said he pulled his daughter out of a baby swing next to a window when the gunshots started, fearing one of them would strike her.

“I think it is very unfortunate that they were shooting down a street in a neighborhood,” he said.

This is the second law enforcement shooting in recent weeks. On Jan. 5, 20-year-old fugitive James “Jimmy” Georgeson was shot by U.S. Marshals outside a west Medford grocery store. Georgeson was a career criminal with drug and mental health problems and had a history of assaulting police officers, according to criminal records.

The investigation into the shooting of Ruiz will follow procedures laid out in the Jackson County Deadly Force Plan.

Under the plan, all responding officers at the shooting surrender weapons to an evidence officer. An autopsy must be performed on the victim. Police officers have video cameras that also are reviewed as part of the investigation.

George said an investigation is under way to determine how many shots were fired and in what direction. The investigation will be conducted to determine if only one officer fired his weapon, he said. George said he wouldn’t disclose the names of the two officers directly involved, but said they would be placed on mandatory administrative leave until the case is presented to a Jackson County grand jury.

Separate 9-1-1 calls came in from both the mother and son, George said, so police still are trying to determine the events surrounding the dispute.

George said Ruiz was making suicidal threats to police dispatch. Ruiz was screaming for help, and the mother was heard crying, George said.

As many as four officers responded to the scene after dispatchers said Ruiz had armed himself with a knife, locked himself inside the house and struck himself with an unknown object, George said.

The mother and her 13-year-old son had left the house before officers arrived, George said. Officers attempted to call Ruiz at the scene. They found the front door locked, George said.

When Ruiz appeared on the front porch, he brandished a butcher knife and an officer attempted to use a stun gun, George said. He said he couldn’t confirm how far the officer was standing from Ruiz. Stun guns used by police can either be used up close or from a distance of about 15 feet away.

When the stun proved unsuccessful, George said a second officer used deadly force. George didn’t reveal the names of the officers.

“This is traumatic for the family members, and for everybody else involved in this,” George said.

The entire confrontation took place between the sidewalk and front porch, he said. Officers are authorized to use deadly force if the circumstances for that type of force are reasonable, George said.

He said he wouldn’t speculate on the distance an officer could be standing from someone who is brandishing a knife in order to justify using deadly force.

“These are complex, lengthy and detailed investigations,” he said.

An unsuccessful attempt to resuscitate Ruiz was made after the shooting, George said.

The Oregon State Police is the lead agency involved, but other local jurisdictions have been called in as well. The Jackson County Major Assault and Death Investigation Unit is investigating the shooting.

Investigators worked into Sunday night, erecting a canopy over the death scene, while a police van was stationed at the street. They will continue the investigation today.

Police cars buzzed through the neighborhood during the day and crime scene tape blocked off a portion of Pennsylvania St.

Joyce Snell, a 65-year-old neighbor, said the shooting has set her and her husband on edge because they are already concerned about people coming to their house at night.

“We keep our doors locked, and we don’t answer after dark,” she said.

She said she heard noises sometime after 2 p.m, but thought the wind had picked up a trash can, making it rattle across the street.

“We heard four loud noises right in a row,” she said.

Snell, like other neighbors, didn’t know the Ruiz family, but she said she’d never heard any other disturbances from the house.

Lee Teague, a 59-year-old neighbor, said he was a little concerned because he didn’t see or hear anything until he saw police cars roaming through the neighborhood.

“I’m really shaken by the fact that I didn’t hear it,” he said.

Teague said he doesn’t understand why anyone would threaten an officer.

“You don’t assault police officers — they’ve got guns,” he said. “I’m just sad people are making decisions to put their own lives in danger.”

Kathy Cupp, a 54-year-old neighbor, said the neighborhood is usually very quiet, and she never heard any other disturbances at the Ruiz household.

“It’s sad,” she said. “You hate to hear it’s a kid.”

Cupp said she thinks several gunshots were fired.

“I heard a pop, pop, pop, and then I saw the police running everywhere,” she said.

Cupp said she thinks the police are trying to do the best they can in a dangerous situation.

“I feel bad for the policeman,” she said. “I feel bad for everybody.”