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Ricky, a 39 year old man from
Hartford, Connecticut has left us in a tragic way.
Our memory of him is powerful because he stood strong for what he believed in. Ricky was a self-advocate leader for people with disabilities. His life was filled with gifts to us. He earned the Peter Kirsche Award for Self-Advocacy from The Arc/Connecticut, Inc. Members of the national self-advocacy movement called Self-Advocates Becoming Empowered wish to share what we remember of Ricky, how we all feel about his life, and, about his sudden reason for leaving us. Below are a series of letters, articles* and tributes to Ricky. *Please note that some of what you read is not of
"People First" language. |
| Hartford
Courant http://www.ctnow.com/hc-ricky0419.artapr19.story Life On His Own, Cruelly Ended By MATT BURGARD And MARK PAZNIOKAS Courant Staff Writers April 19 2003 Two days after Ricky Whistnant was savagely attacked by a group of teenagers in his Hartford apartment building, the mentally retarded man's family found a chicken on his stove - a meal he had prepared for himself but never got to eat. For the loved ones left to ponder Whistnant's death in the April 5 attack, the cooled chicken was a heartbreaking reminder of everything he strove for yet was never able to accomplish completely. In his quest to live as independently as possible, Whistnant, 39, exemplified the greatest aspirations and greatest challenges of integrating mentally retarded people into the community. He had for years been held up as a model in the nationwide push to remove mentally retarded people from state institutions and allow them to live on their own. In the 10 years since moving out of a state group home, he had been able to cook for himself, maintain his apartment and make friends among the people he encountered in daily life. But he still stood out. Last year, he was asked to leave an apartment in Manchester because of his repeated arguments with a neighbor, a woman intimidated by his size and his animated, even aggressive way of talking. When the social services agency responsible for monitoring Whistnant agreed with his decision to move to an apartment building on Elliott Street in Hartford, his problems continued. Although he made new friends, his habit of wearing a Batman costume and confronting people walking in front of the building also made him a target. After cooking his chicken dinner two weeks ago, Whistnant went out to buy some soda from a nearby corner market. There, he encountered a group of teenage boys who started mocking him and followed him back to his building. One of the boys hurled a soda bottle at Whistnant's head, sending the heavyset man to the ground. He struck his head on a windowsill. Police say the boys, three of whom have been charged in the attack, continued kicking and taunting him. He died a short time later in the hospital. To family members and advocates for the mentally retarded, Whistnant's death sent a cautionary message that the battle to integrate the mentally retarded into society has not yet been won. Two state investigations are also underway into whether Whistnant received enough supervision, and whether he should have been placed in the Elliott Street building. "He wanted to live independently, and he should have been able to, but he shouldn't have been placed in that building," said Melinda McGloin, a former sister-in-law who accompanied Whistnant's mother and brother as they gathered some of his belongings last week. "This didn't have to happen." Seeking Dignity Like thousands of other mentally retarded people in the state who have pushed for more independence, Whistnant insisted on a life of dignity but relied heavily on others. He couldn't hold down a job, and he needed help from the state and other agencies to pay his rent and keep him focused on meeting his daily obligations. He depended heavily on the companionship and assistance of caseworkers and often ached with loneliness for the camaraderie of the institution where he used to live, according to family, friends and caregivers. It was Whistnant himself who chose to move to the building on Elliott Street, which in recent years has become home to more and more mentally retarded tenants despite its history of drug trafficking and other criminal activity. The neighborhood where the building is located, Barry Square, ranked among the top neighborhoods in the city for crime last year. Whistnant had been placed in the apartment building on a "temporary emergency basis" about four months ago by Community Enterprises Inc., a private social services agency paid $2.1 million this year by the state Department of Mental Retardation to help retarded people live independent lives. The agency's caseworkers were responsible for helping 120 clients such as Whistnant live as independently as possible. The state assigned Community Enterprises to handle Whistnant's integration into the mainstream community eight years ago, when he was released from Southbury Training School, a state home for mentally retarded people. Whistnant had been living at Southbury since 1982, when his mother checked him into the home because of emotional problems he was having over the violent deaths of two brothers, one of whom was killed in an accident and the other murdered. By the late 1980s, Southbury officials were praising Whistnant for overcoming a history of defiance and occasional violence. He began speaking up for the rights of mentally retarded people to live on their own and even questioned Gov. John G. Rowland about his position on the issue during a forum when Rowland first ran for governor in 1989. "He really impressed Rowland, as he did with most people Ricky met," said Jean Bowen, executive director of the Western Connecticut Association for the Handicapped and Retarded, who became one of Whistnant's most ardent advocates. "He became one of our greatest success stories." In many ways, Whistnant was typical of the 17,000 clients served by DMR. He lived independently, supported by one of 140 vendors hired by a state that has largely privatized and decentralized its care of the retarded. About 9,000 of the agency's clients either live on their own or with relatives. Thousands of others live in a network of 747 group homes, most run privately. Only 900 clients still live in state facilities, including the last large institution, Southbury Training School. "The system has evolved to one that is community based, both for us and the private sector," said Kathryn duPree, the deputy commissioner of mental retardation. On His Own In May 2000, after convincing state officials to free him from his mother's guardianship, Whistnant moved into an apartment in Manchester and took on a volunteer job in the mail room of the local police department. He even won a statewide award for being a role model in the movement to allow retarded people to live on their own. His rent was covered with assistance from the DMR, as well as monthly payments from Social Security and the state Department of Social Services. Everything looked good for Whistnant, but then he started getting into arguments with the woman who lived in his building, and by late last year, the building management asked him to leave. Family members and those who provided services for Whistnant acknowledged that he could be an intimidating presence. Weighing over 300 pounds and struggling with mental illness in addition to mental retardation, he liked to badger and provoke people, and that's what contributed to his situation in Manchester, they said. "He could be mouthy and he knew how to use his size to put a scare in you. If you didn't know him better, you could think he was dangerous," said Peg Dignoti, who helped Whistnant as executive director of Connecticut Association for Retarded Citizens Inc., a state advocacy group. "But he was a teddy bear underneath." Susan Cauley, vice president of Connecticut operations for Community Enterprises, based in Massachusetts, said Whistnant's caseworkers showed him a variety of properties where he could have moved after leaving the Manchester building. But he chose the building on Elliott Street, and the agency was obligated to respect that, she said. "It's his name on the lease," she said, adding that she and others in the agency were too distraught over Whistnant's death to comment extensively. Safety was supposed to be one criterion that Community Enterprises considered when helping find places for Whistnant and other clients to live. Some of Whistnant's family members, while expressing gratitude for the help provided by Community Enterprises, said the Elliott Street building should never have been among the options presented to Whistnant. "Even if Ricky said he wanted to live there, somebody should have stepped up and told him it wasn't the best place for him," said Marvin Whistnant, Ricky's younger brother. "You have to wonder why someone didn't at least advise him that this wasn't appropriate." Marvin Whistnant emphasized that Community Enterprises had done an "outstanding" job working with his brother over the years. In particular, he praised caseworkers for encouraging him to find work and showing compassion and patience whenever his brother became irritable with them. "Ricky wasn't perfect by a long stretch," he said. "He could be a challenge, but that's why it wasn't maybe the best idea to place him in that building." Trying To Connect At Elliott Street, Whistnant reached out to other tenants in the building in an effort to make friends. Most responded with tolerance, urging him to get back to his apartment or rolling their eyes when they found him talking loudly in the lobby, where he liked to greet people as they came in. Whistnant also liked to confront people out on the sidewalks, sometimes getting into arguments and drawing bewildered stares as he "patrolled" the apartment grounds in a makeshift Batman costume. "He stood out like sore thumb in that place," his brother said. "It was inevitable that he was going to draw attention to himself." Family members said they were not sure how often Community Enterprises caseworkers visited Whistnant while he lived on Elliott Street, but said he was supposed to be monitored at least twice a day. The agency's scope of services and performance standards are tailored to each of its clients and are protected by federal privacy laws. Each service plan is devised by a team of experts, duPree said. Cauley and other officials with Community Enterprises declined to comment further on Whistnant's case. DMR officials also declined to discuss the specifics of Whistnant's care, citing federal privacy laws and the ongoing police investigation. Instead of placing him in the Elliott Street building, family members said, he should have been placed in a building that offered more supervision and more people with disabilities similar to his. The DMR deputy commissioner, duPree, said the department tries to reach a balance. If too many clients are placed in the same building, it becomes a more institutionalized setting. The department's goal is independence in a true community setting. "There are a lot of other properties in the area that would have been more suitable for him, and I know because I work for DMR," said McGloin, Whistnant's former sister-in-law. McGloin said Whistnant would have been an ideal fit at facilities such as a DMR-operated apartment building on Wilson Street in Hartford, where clients have their own apartments but receive steady assistance from on-site staff. Two Investigations Peter O'Meara, the DMR commissioner, said his agency has launched an investigation to determine how Whistnant was placed in the Elliott Street building and whether the placement and supervision violated the state's contract with Community Enterprises. Also, James McGaughey, executive director of the state Office of Protection and Advocacy for Persons with Disabilities, said a separate investigation has been opened to review the state's role in placing mentally retarded people in apartment buildings. McGaughey said the probe is being conducted by the Fatality Review Board for Persons with Disabilities, a panel Rowland created a year ago in response to reports of widespread abuse of retarded people in state institutions. He said the panel will submit a report with its findings in a matter of weeks, adding that his agency will also be monitoring the DMR investigation. Gary Friedle, a New Britain lawyer hired to represent the Whistnant family, said the investigations will be crucial in determining any legal action the family pursues. "We have a lot of questions such as whether the placement was proper and whether there was enough supervision," he said. "But we don't know the answers yet, and the family is still grieving too much to dwell on it right now." Copyright 2003, Hartford Courant |
| The following is a
letter written by friends within Region 8 of Self-Advocates Becoming
Empowered. Region 8 includes all of the New England states and
New York. The letter was submitted to several newspapers in
Connecticut.
Dear Editor, Ricky Whistnant was killed because he was different. We find this whole tragedy absolutely uncalled for. It makes us angry and hurt because we thought the world had grown up. It's not like we're living in medieval times when people with disabilities were always being made fun of and experienced segregation and discrimination. We need to advocate for living together in peace. If we lived in harmony and peace Ricky would have been more accepted in his community. We have to make our streets and homes safe. And get tougher hate crime legislation so this doesn't happen to people with disabilities. It doesn't make any sense. We can't believe nobody knew what was going on, that people were harassing him. The guy was just out buying his groceries. We can't believe nobody helped him. We are sorry for Ricky's family and friends. We are sorry for their lose. We think that people with disabilities need to set an example for the community by how we treat each other. We need to make sure our government and programs that look out for people's lives do not cut supports for people with disabilities. We have to seriously look at how society is treating people with disabilities. We want justice. We have the right to not be beaten up, picked on, called names and murdered. We want people to be nice to us and if something is wrong sit down and talk about the problem. We want to believe that if we report that something is wrong that people will listen and take action. This kind of behavior cannot be tolerated. People have the right to be safe. Society needs to be completely educated on what having a disability is like. We want to educate the public, especially teenagers and children, that people with disabilities are people first. Carol Grabbe and Chad Sinanian from People First of Connecticut Ed Bielecki, Anne Fracht, Bonnie Forsyth and Douglas Russell from Massachusetts Advocates Standing Strong Sherry Howes, Jodi Benvie, Laura Antranigian, Gayna Cook, Maryanne Preble and Marie Fearon from Speaking Up For Us of Maine Tammy Mills, Roberta Gallant, Janet Hunt-Hawkins and Bob Getchell from People First of New Hampshire Chester Finn and Clint Perrin from Self-Advocacy Association of New York Deb Griffin Kney, Kevin McHale, and Dianne Ross from Advocates In Action of Rhode Island Dawn Arsenault, Patty Grassette and Karen Topper from Green Mountain Self-Advocates of Vermont |
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This page was last updated on Monday, September 05, 2005
