Vietnam veterans pushing recognition of post-traumatic stress for Iraq war soldiers
By James Fuller, Daily Herald Staff Writer
Published: 11/12/2007
When Larry Van Meter returned from his first tour of duty in the Iraq war this summer, he had the pictures to prove it.
During his time in the Anbar province, he'd snapped many shots of pictures drawn in the sand, local children they gave candy to and picturesque sunsets during sandstorms.
The 20-year-old Villa Park native-turned-Marine craved views of large bodies of water and the smell of grass as his parents visited with him in San Diego, near Camp Pendleton.
And yet there was something about the pictures.
Van Meter's mom, Martha Geiseman, views them as the unseen and unappreciated aspects of Iraqi life that her maturing son is learning to appreciate. But Van Meter's dad, Dennis Geiseman, finds himself uneasy about the amount of time his son spent talking about the war during their time together.
"He was constantly showing us the pictures," Geiseman said. "Some of it was not normal, not natural. It was like he couldn't let go of it."
Geiseman would know. He's a Vietnam War veteran, only recently diagnosed as suffering from lingering effects associated with his exposure to Agent Orange.
Van Meter will return to Iraq for his second tour in January. Because of what he'll likely experience, and because of the experiences of his dad before him, veterans in Villa Park are making a pre-emptive strike.
Instead of a flag-raising today, the Villa Park Veterans of Foreign Wars post will host an information session on post-traumatic stress disorder with doctors accustomed to working with veterans.
The session comes about as Vietnam veterans ascend into leadership roles at local VFW and American Legion posts.
Terry Owens, president of the DuPage County Veterans Memorial, said perhaps unlike their World War II predecessors, they understand the danger of internalizing post-traumatic stress when coming home from an unpopular war. Owens is a Vietnam veteran.
"The one thing that emerged from Vietnam was post-traumatic stress, or at least the label of post-traumatic stress," Owens said. "It's a little more understood. Part of the mission of Vietnam veterans now is not to let what happened to us happen to these kids today. We already know the pitfalls and how awkward and uncomfortable it is to admit you've got a problem."
Indeed, the National Center for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder has an online database already filled with 140 medical studies, essays and books written about post-traumatic stress disorder experienced by Iraq veterans.
It's a phenomenon Bob Adams already is preparing himself to see more of at the Midwest Shelter for Homeless Veterans. Adams is a licensed clinical social worker at the Wheaton-based shelter. Half the veterans the shelter helps have had issues with post-traumatic stress.
Adams said Iraq veterans may have the toughest struggle with post-traumatic stress because they are spending more time in combat than veterans in any war since World War II.
Admitting the problem, Adams said, is half the battle. Post-traumatic stress has a stigma attached to it because it's a psychological condition, and soldiers are trained to not admit a weakness.
"Very often in combat, the only way for people to survive is to bury those feelings," Adams said. "That's the belief. You have to pack that stuff away and keep it there. It's then hard to admit to yourself, or anyone else, that you have a problem."
Adams said family and friends of veterans should approach the topic of post-traumatic stress with a sense of genuine concern.
"Make no judgment about the behavior you see," Adams said. "Talk about yourself and what you see happening. Say, 'This is what you're doing. It concerns me. It frightens me.' But some people won't respond to anything you try."
The Villa Park VFW's session will have similar information and advice for attendees at its Veterans Day session. The event runs from 5 to 8 p.m. today at VFW Post 2801, 39 E. St. Charles Road in Villa Park.
Martha and Dennis Geiseman will be there so they can support Larry when he comes home. Until then, Martha is gearing up for her son to head back to combat and collect more pictures and war experiences along the way.
"He's OK about going back," Martha said. "He's never once said 'I don't want to go,' or 'I'm not going.' He's very positive about it. And I'm OK because he's OK."
Stressed?
Have you ever had any experience that was so frightening, horrible or upsetting that in the past month, you …
1. Have had nightmares about it or thought about it when you did not want to?
2. Tried hard not to think about it or went out of your way to avoid situations that reminded you of it?
3. Were constantly on guard, watchful or easily startled?
4. Felt numb or detached from others, activities or your surroundings?
If you answered "yes" to at least three of the questions, you may have post-traumatic stress disorder.
Saturday
A taste of Wheaton (all of it, actually)
Sunday September 16 2007
By James Fuller, Daily Herald Staff Writer
If you're an adult, you attend summer festivals for one of two reasons: For the family activity or the endless supply of foods in little booths waiting to harden your arteries.
I'm not a glutton, but I'm fascinated by the warm glow of satisfaction festival food-lovers have in the summer.
That in mind, I hit Wheaton's Autumnfest on Saturday with one goal: Eat one thing from each food booth.
I set one rule. I must eat all of my order and take whatever the vendors offer.
You should know that I'm about 5'9" and 155 pounds. I'm also training for a 12-mile race next month, so I haven't eaten anything that tastes good in awhile.
I find six booths at the fest.
The first booth is Genoa Pizza, where I grab a slice of pepperoni that represents about 25 percent of a large, thin-crust pizza. I add to this the only thing the second booth sells, a 16-ounce apple-cherry fruit juice concoction.
Normally this would satisfy me, but I'm on a mission.
Next is a Bangkok chicken breast from the Pad Thai booth. It comes on a stick, so it must be good.
I'm halfway through. Next up is a booth labeled simply "Greek Food." I order a kabob, but they're out. The chef suggests a chicken gyro.
Remember, I must eat whatever is offered to me. So chicken gyro it is.
"Green peppers?"
"Yes, please."
"Onions?"
"OK."
"Salad?"
"Sure."
"Cream sauce?"
I pause. I'm already staring at an entire chicken with various greens on it. But rules are rules.
"OK, put some on there."
I walk away wishing I had a team of oxen to pull my plate. I find a good seat for the Magic Matt stage performance and dig in.
Half way through the gyro I'm pretty sure my heart stops, but I push on feeling the glow that only too much meat can provide. But by the end, my tasty gyro is a chore to eat. I'm laboring and starting to sweat. Somehow I find room for the whole thing.
Two booths to go, and already I'm Thanksgiving full.
Next up is Pancho's Mexican Food. I scan the menu for something good, but light. They offer one steak taco for $2. I place my order.
"You want the three tacos for $5 special?"
My own rule will kill me.
"Uh, sure," I say while taking a deep breath. I walk away and find a seat by the men's room just in case. The tacos are good, but I'm so full.
One down. Two down.
By the third I'm on the verge of delirium. Somehow I'm floating while feeling the heaviest I've ever been. I take a walk in hope of finding some room in my belly. I complete a full circuit of the fest, and my third taco. At this point I truly am Jim "Fuller" for there is no one alive who is as full as I am.
The last booth also is the largest. It advertises everything from elephant ears to full slabs of ribs. I consider my options, and my gut, and order the coup de grace - a lemon shake-up.
OK. Fine. I admit it. I failed. I wimped out. You don't have to rub it in. A real festival food fan would've gotten the ribs. But as much as I found a love for fest food, it didn't override my dread of bursting at the seams. Hey, there's always next summer.
By James Fuller, Daily Herald Staff Writer
If you're an adult, you attend summer festivals for one of two reasons: For the family activity or the endless supply of foods in little booths waiting to harden your arteries.
I'm not a glutton, but I'm fascinated by the warm glow of satisfaction festival food-lovers have in the summer.
That in mind, I hit Wheaton's Autumnfest on Saturday with one goal: Eat one thing from each food booth.
I set one rule. I must eat all of my order and take whatever the vendors offer.
You should know that I'm about 5'9" and 155 pounds. I'm also training for a 12-mile race next month, so I haven't eaten anything that tastes good in awhile.
I find six booths at the fest.
The first booth is Genoa Pizza, where I grab a slice of pepperoni that represents about 25 percent of a large, thin-crust pizza. I add to this the only thing the second booth sells, a 16-ounce apple-cherry fruit juice concoction.
Normally this would satisfy me, but I'm on a mission.
Next is a Bangkok chicken breast from the Pad Thai booth. It comes on a stick, so it must be good.
I'm halfway through. Next up is a booth labeled simply "Greek Food." I order a kabob, but they're out. The chef suggests a chicken gyro.
Remember, I must eat whatever is offered to me. So chicken gyro it is.
"Green peppers?"
"Yes, please."
"Onions?"
"OK."
"Salad?"
"Sure."
"Cream sauce?"
I pause. I'm already staring at an entire chicken with various greens on it. But rules are rules.
"OK, put some on there."
I walk away wishing I had a team of oxen to pull my plate. I find a good seat for the Magic Matt stage performance and dig in.
Half way through the gyro I'm pretty sure my heart stops, but I push on feeling the glow that only too much meat can provide. But by the end, my tasty gyro is a chore to eat. I'm laboring and starting to sweat. Somehow I find room for the whole thing.
Two booths to go, and already I'm Thanksgiving full.
Next up is Pancho's Mexican Food. I scan the menu for something good, but light. They offer one steak taco for $2. I place my order.
"You want the three tacos for $5 special?"
My own rule will kill me.
"Uh, sure," I say while taking a deep breath. I walk away and find a seat by the men's room just in case. The tacos are good, but I'm so full.
One down. Two down.
By the third I'm on the verge of delirium. Somehow I'm floating while feeling the heaviest I've ever been. I take a walk in hope of finding some room in my belly. I complete a full circuit of the fest, and my third taco. At this point I truly am Jim "Fuller" for there is no one alive who is as full as I am.
The last booth also is the largest. It advertises everything from elephant ears to full slabs of ribs. I consider my options, and my gut, and order the coup de grace - a lemon shake-up.
OK. Fine. I admit it. I failed. I wimped out. You don't have to rub it in. A real festival food fan would've gotten the ribs. But as much as I found a love for fest food, it didn't override my dread of bursting at the seams. Hey, there's always next summer.
Friday
Q&A with Jerry B. Jenkins
You asked for it, so here it is. The full Jerry B. Jenkins interview, complete with the questions and answers that didn't make the newspaper article.
Listen to the interview here!
A conversation with “Left Behind” author Jerry B. Jenkins
BY JAMES FULLER
jfuller@dailyherald.com
Estimates say about one in eight Americans have read at least one book of the “Left Behind” series of Christian novels about the end of the world.
That means a lot of people know how the series ends, but maybe not much about how it began or the men be-hind it.
Jerry B. Jenkins wrote the words. Tim LaHaye provided the Biblical background and context.
Jenkins returned to some of his local roots Thursday night when he spoke at a fund-raiser for Wheaton Christian Grammar School. The cam-pus will soon relocate to a new, $20 million expanded facility.
Jenkins spoke on behalf of the value of a Christian education. Before his appearance, he took time out for some questions with Daily Herald Reporter James Fuller.
Q. There are at least 65 mil-lion readers of the “Left Be-hind” series. Out of those, how many of them becoming Christian believers would it take for you to feel fulfilled by your work?
A. Well, any would’ve been great. We don’t know how many, but between Dr. (Tim) LaHaye and me we’ve heard from more than 3,000 who tell us. And that’s personally. They tell us either by phone, or in person, or by e-mail. And we assume that repre-sents a lot more who just never have a chance to tell us.
We’ve never apologized for the fact that, it’s fiction, but we believe it’s really going to happen some day. It is a mes-sage.
Q. “Left Behind” has spurned a lot of the ancillary marketing gimmicks like mugs and pens. But you guys did decide to go ahead and do a video game. It’s got all sorts of reactions, some negative. I’m wondering if you wish that you’d just stayed out of it.
A. We had the fear that people would think it was frivolous. One of the things that we always said anytime people came to us with ideas they wanted to do candles and mugs and pens. If it doesn’t have the message in it, we’re not doing it just to get more royalties. For one thing, we don’t need that, and that’s not what we’re about.
The game manufacturers said they would make sure they got the message in there.
I suggested at one point that you can’t have too tame a video game. I’ve got kids and grandkids and I know that those games are about shoot ‘em ups and who are you going to kill in this game. My suggestion was I think people would accept it if they shot demons and sent them back to Hell. As it turns out, they used the anti-Christ forces. But then this rumor came out that anybody that disagreed with the Christians or didn’t become a believer got killed.
Q. People who had never played the game?
A. Obviously. And it was just asinine. We’d never be involved with something like that. But that has been an impossible rumor to kill. I still hear it. All you can do is say, ‘Read the books, and check out the game.’
Q. How does it feel to leave behind “Left Behind.” Is it really over?
A. Sometimes you wonder. We were afraid that Tyndale (House Publishers) would ask for a book for every year of the millennial kingdom. The first one came out in the fall of ’95. So after 12 years, it was sort of a melancholy thing to write the last one and be done with it. But it was time to move on. It’s been great. It totally changed my life.
Q. You’re a sports fan. You’ve written several auto-biographies with athletes. I know you’re a local guy, so I’ve got to ask you. Are you a Bears fan?
A. I’m a Bears fan, and I’m a Cub fan. I figure any team can have a bad century. Now you’ve heard the rumor that they’re going to move the Cubs to the Philippines, and call them the Manila Folders, right?
Q. Of all the athletes you worked with on those books, who impressed you the most?
A. It’s hard to decide. I got to work with so many impressive people, Hank Aaron and Walter Payton, (Orel) Hershiser, (Nolan) Ryan.
Mike Singletary is pretty impressive. He’s such a quiet guy, and not as huge as you’d think. He wasn’t that huge, but so intense. One of the things that I didn’t realize about Mike is that he’s hard of hearing and uses hearing aids. So to interview him I had to sit next to him instead of across a desk like you normally would. It sort of changes what questions you ask when you’re sitting right next to a guy that intense. He’s one of my favorites.
Q. Was it your love of sports that also got you involved with the comic strip Gil Thorp?
A. It was. In fact, I did that for about eight years. I don’t do it anymore. The guy that did that (Jack Berrill) read some of my kids sports books, and he called me. I think he actually wanted me to write some Gil Thorp books. It never came to that, but he would call every few months. I never met him. We would just talk about Gil Thorpe, and I had been reading it since I was a kid in Kalamazoo, Mich.
When he died, (in 1996) his wife left word with the Tribune Company that he wanted me to take it over. I thought that was a mistake. I had thought he wanted me to write books. I remember asking him about it, how he did it and what the philosophy was. Of course I don’t draw. They had to have somebody else draw it. But I was really honored to be asked. It was a fun period to write those.
Q. You spent more than a year working with the Rev. Billy Graham working on his autobiography. How did that change you?
A. He’s probably the most impressive person I’ve ever met. That was the privilege of a lifetime. It really was. And he’s the same behind closed doors as he is in public. He’s a fantastic man.
Q. His wife, Ruth, recently passed. Obviously he’s get-ting on in years and had some poor health recently. What do you think the impact will be to the Christian faithful when he passes?
A. I think it’s going to surprise the secular world. They’re going to have to have memorials in various cities like Wheaton, Minneapolis, Charlotte. And I think they’re going to be incredibly at-tended, like for a president. I think it’ll really surprise the press and secular world. He’s just been a giant. Anytime you raise his name, some-body in the crowd will tell you they became a believer through Graham somehow.
Q. It takes you six to eight weeks to write a book. What are your daily writing goals when you’re working on a novel?
A. I do work fairly quickly because I got my start in newspapers and you didn’t have time to mess around. I create at the keyboard. I only write when I’m on deadline. I don’t write everyday of the year like Stephen King does.
When I have a deadline, I figure out how many days I have and how many pages per day I need to write. Usu-ally it’s between 10 and 20 finished pages per day, which is pretty fast. And yet I never turn in a manuscript that I’m not totally happy with.
So I write my 10 or 20 pages, the next day I do a real heavy edit of those and write the next 10 or 20. And then when I’m done I go through the whole thing again until I’m happy with it. So I do work fast, but I tend to compartmentalize. When I’m writing, that’s all I’m doing. I get away in the mountains in Colorado, and I only write.
Q. Religion is always a touchy subject. People have differing beliefs. How do you respond to people who think that you’ve just gotten Jesus’ message wrong?
A. Well, the only time it bothers me is when they question our motives. There are people who disagree, and there are people that we ad-mire and respect, and people who we believe are believers who disagree with us. And that’s OK.
We live in a free country, and we’re just competing in the marketplace of ideas. Our feeling is if you disagree, write your own book, and get it out there, and see what the market decides. I know my motive, and I know Dr. LaHaye’s motive, and it’s simply to try to tell people what’s coming.
If people disagree, or scoff, or laugh, or reject it, that’s their right. And we’re not going to fly airplanes into buildings because people disagree with us. We’re not going to kill people. We’re supposed to love people, even our enemies. So my goal would be to say, ‘Look, we’re just sharing this, and what you do with it is up to you.’
Q. Nicolae Carpathia is your favorite character in the Left Behind series. Why? And do you think that would be shocking to fans of the series given his character’s role?
A. He’s the ultimate villain. You can’t have a better villain than the anti-Christ. I think the most fun part of him was, for the first three-and-a-half years, until he showed his true colors, he’s going to be so impressive that people will think he’s God incarnate.
I remember one of my sons was in high school, and I’d finished the first manuscript. He’s reading the manuscript and he’s about halfway through and he said, ‘I hope this Carpathia guy isn’t the anti-Christ because I really like him. And I thought, well then, we really nailed him because he has to be that impressive.
I clearly don’t like the anti-Christ, what he’s up to, but it’s a novelist’s dream to write with a villain like that.
Q. There’s a lot of people out there who read the Bible and struggle with various parts of it. What are the parts of the Bible that you struggle with, and what are the parts that strengthen you?
A. I get a lot of strength from the Psalms and Proverbs and the New Testament, a lot of writings of Paul and the Gospels. But Revelations was always the toughest one for me, too, because it always seemed like it was so symbolic and figurative. Any time I’d ever heard anybody speak of it, they always tried to do it allegorically.
When I met Dr. LaHaye, he said, ‘Look, I’m not a wooden literalist. I don’t believe everything that it says is literal like Jesus will slay people with a sword from his mouth. Clearly that’s the word. But where you can take it literally, do it, and see how it makes sense.’
Using that, I wrote the nov-els that way. When John the Revelator, instead of com-paring and saying like unto or as unto, he just says I looked, and I saw this, and it was hail and fire and blood from the sky. We used that, literally, and put the characters in the way of that. And millions of people said it just came to life for us for the first time. In-stead of trying to figure out 200 different ways to inter-pret it, just take it literally where you can.
Thursday
Doctors who err still get clean bill of health
This one is a blast from the past, but it's still one of the articles I've written that I'm most proud of. I accomplished it as A Chicago Sun-Times intern while attending graduate school in 2001.
Chicago Sun-Times, Jun 24, 2001 by JAMES FULLER
SPRINGFIELD When you're ailing, you hope the doctor will cure you, not scramble your internal organs or prescribe radiation treatment for a cancer you do not have.
And if the doctor does do something horrific, you can sue. The doctor might have to pay for the mistake, and it will become a matter of public record, albeit filed away in a courthouse somewhere.
Yet physicians who hurt patients are rarely if ever punished-or even mildly reprimanded-by the state agency that licenses and monitors doctors, the Illinois Department of Professional Regulation.
The doctors' transgressions, though they may have led to a court judgment or an out-of-court settlement, are not posted on the state Web site, and the agency will refuse to reveal such information even if you call to ask.
"It utterly confounds logic," said Gail Siegel, executive director of the Coalition for Consumer Rights, a watchdog group that identified cases of malpractice for the Sun-Times. "Not only do we have incompetent doctors practicing incompetence on people, but we have a culture of incompetence at the regulatory agency that's supposed to be protecting patients."
When to sanction
An analysis of state, federal and court records showed that 85 doctors in Illinois have been hit with malpractice awards of more than $2 million since 1991. Of those, only seven have been disciplined by the state.
In five of the seven discipline cases, the punishments meted out by the nine-member Medical Disciplinary Board were so mild-a reprimand or probation-that the doctors continued to work without interruption.
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Of the 85 cases, six doctors had multiple settlements or judgments against them. Yet none received as much as a slap on the wrist.
"If that was you or I driving, our licenses would be revoked," said Rep. Mary Flowers (D-Chicago), chairwoman of the legislative House Health Care Availability and Access Committee.
In defense of its policies, DPR points out that juries in malpractice cases operate under far less stringent standards than state regulators. It's easier to win a six-figure malpractice award than to identify clear violations of state law.
"Somebody was in contact with a doctor, something didn't go right, and someone has a . . . substantial problem as a result," said DPR Director Leonard Sherman. "But that doesn't, by any means, (make) a violation of the Medical Practice Act."
The law outlines 43 instances under which the state can recommend sanctions against a doctor's medical license, including the charge of "gross negligence." Ultimately, the semi-autonomous Medical Disciplinary Board makes the call. Since 1991, the board has revoked 68 doctor licenses, suspended 255 others and issued 258 reprimands.
Physicians have been sanctioned for owing back taxes and child support, failing to repay student loans, misdiagnosing ailments and demonstrating incompetence.
But consider the cases in which the state stood silent:
A 55-year-old Joliet woman undergoing surgery in 1992 for a bowel obstruction had her bowel punctured by mistake-an error her physician neglected to tell her about. For 10 days, Arlene Johnson's stool seeped out of her surgical incision at a rate that approached 8 liters per day. Yet Robert Chambers dismissed the secretions as a normal part of the healing process. Subsequent surgeries by other doctors could not correct Chambers' mistake, and Johnson died.
"In my eye, in my family's eye, it was murder," said Johnson's daughter, Cheryl Ryan. "Dr. Chambers just left her to lay there and die. You don't let somebody's bowels ooze into their bodies and think that they are going to heal themselves."
Chambers, now practicing in North Dakota, declined to discuss the case, other than to say: "The state was very aware of what was going on. The state medical board looked at it and did not feel that there was any reason to have concern." He was not disciplined. Johnson's family was awarded $5.2 million in 1995.
Suffering pain in her pelvis, 52-year-old Ruta Ivey of Zion underwent radiation and chemotherapy after Alfonso Mellijor incorrectly diagnosed the return of cervical cancer. Mellijor made the diagnosis without taking a biopsy.
As a result of the treatment, a severe ulcer developed on Ivey's buttocks, and her pelvic pain continued.
Finally, a Wisconsin surgeon, while preparing to amputate her left leg and part of her pelvis, discovered the true source of her pain: two sponges left inside her from an earlier hysterectomy or ulcer surgery. Neither of the earlier surgeries involved Mellijor.
A jury awarded Ivey $6 million in 1995 for Mellijor's botched cancer diagnosis, but the state DPR took no action against him.
Ivey's attorney, James H. Canel, acknowledges that Mellijor had no way of knowing about the sponges. "On the flip side, you say, `Wait a minute, you took this patient and you assumed she had a recurrence of cancer and exposed her to all sorts of bad things, radiation and chemotherapy.' Clearly a jury thought that that was negligent."
While declining to comment on specific cases, the Illinois State Medical Society-the voice of doctors in Springfield-said it favors sanctions against incompetent doctors. At the same time, the group says, it's not uncommon for doctors in high-risk fields to be sued multiple times because they take on cases where the outcomes are far from certain.
"Filing a suit is easy, but proving that there's true malpractice is another story," said Dr. Ronald L. Reucker, the group's president. "Malpractice isn't the same as bad medicine."
Secret findings
Although Illinois law requires insurance companies to report all malpractice judgments to DPR, a 1997 report by Auditor General William Holland showed that most of these cases never were investigated.
When the DPR does investigate a malpractice case, it keeps its findings secret unless the investigation leads to a formal complaint or disciplinary action. These cases are posted on DPR's Web site, www.dpr.state.il.us.
For more details, a consumer may have to check court records in 102 county courthouses, assuming the doctor has practiced only in Illinois. Or pay $200 for access to the National Practitioners Database, which contains information about the malpractice suits filed in a particular state. Or rely on the Jury Verdict Reporter, a publication of Law Bulletin Publishing that provides summaries of some malpractice cases for $645 a year.
Flowers, the state lawmaker from Chicago, pushed legislation last spring requiring DPR to compile physician profiles so people could compare doctors.
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The profile would list criminal charges, disciplinary actions, hospital privilege revocations and medical malpractice awards.
Flowers' bill was never voted on by the full House, in large part because of opposition from the Illinois State Medical Society and, initially, DPR. The agency now is neutral on the issue.
-30-
Chicago Sun-Times, Jun 24, 2001 by JAMES FULLER
SPRINGFIELD When you're ailing, you hope the doctor will cure you, not scramble your internal organs or prescribe radiation treatment for a cancer you do not have.
And if the doctor does do something horrific, you can sue. The doctor might have to pay for the mistake, and it will become a matter of public record, albeit filed away in a courthouse somewhere.
Yet physicians who hurt patients are rarely if ever punished-or even mildly reprimanded-by the state agency that licenses and monitors doctors, the Illinois Department of Professional Regulation.
The doctors' transgressions, though they may have led to a court judgment or an out-of-court settlement, are not posted on the state Web site, and the agency will refuse to reveal such information even if you call to ask.
"It utterly confounds logic," said Gail Siegel, executive director of the Coalition for Consumer Rights, a watchdog group that identified cases of malpractice for the Sun-Times. "Not only do we have incompetent doctors practicing incompetence on people, but we have a culture of incompetence at the regulatory agency that's supposed to be protecting patients."
When to sanction
An analysis of state, federal and court records showed that 85 doctors in Illinois have been hit with malpractice awards of more than $2 million since 1991. Of those, only seven have been disciplined by the state.
In five of the seven discipline cases, the punishments meted out by the nine-member Medical Disciplinary Board were so mild-a reprimand or probation-that the doctors continued to work without interruption.
Advertisement
Of the 85 cases, six doctors had multiple settlements or judgments against them. Yet none received as much as a slap on the wrist.
"If that was you or I driving, our licenses would be revoked," said Rep. Mary Flowers (D-Chicago), chairwoman of the legislative House Health Care Availability and Access Committee.
In defense of its policies, DPR points out that juries in malpractice cases operate under far less stringent standards than state regulators. It's easier to win a six-figure malpractice award than to identify clear violations of state law.
"Somebody was in contact with a doctor, something didn't go right, and someone has a . . . substantial problem as a result," said DPR Director Leonard Sherman. "But that doesn't, by any means, (make) a violation of the Medical Practice Act."
The law outlines 43 instances under which the state can recommend sanctions against a doctor's medical license, including the charge of "gross negligence." Ultimately, the semi-autonomous Medical Disciplinary Board makes the call. Since 1991, the board has revoked 68 doctor licenses, suspended 255 others and issued 258 reprimands.
Physicians have been sanctioned for owing back taxes and child support, failing to repay student loans, misdiagnosing ailments and demonstrating incompetence.
But consider the cases in which the state stood silent:
A 55-year-old Joliet woman undergoing surgery in 1992 for a bowel obstruction had her bowel punctured by mistake-an error her physician neglected to tell her about. For 10 days, Arlene Johnson's stool seeped out of her surgical incision at a rate that approached 8 liters per day. Yet Robert Chambers dismissed the secretions as a normal part of the healing process. Subsequent surgeries by other doctors could not correct Chambers' mistake, and Johnson died.
"In my eye, in my family's eye, it was murder," said Johnson's daughter, Cheryl Ryan. "Dr. Chambers just left her to lay there and die. You don't let somebody's bowels ooze into their bodies and think that they are going to heal themselves."
Chambers, now practicing in North Dakota, declined to discuss the case, other than to say: "The state was very aware of what was going on. The state medical board looked at it and did not feel that there was any reason to have concern." He was not disciplined. Johnson's family was awarded $5.2 million in 1995.
Suffering pain in her pelvis, 52-year-old Ruta Ivey of Zion underwent radiation and chemotherapy after Alfonso Mellijor incorrectly diagnosed the return of cervical cancer. Mellijor made the diagnosis without taking a biopsy.
As a result of the treatment, a severe ulcer developed on Ivey's buttocks, and her pelvic pain continued.
Finally, a Wisconsin surgeon, while preparing to amputate her left leg and part of her pelvis, discovered the true source of her pain: two sponges left inside her from an earlier hysterectomy or ulcer surgery. Neither of the earlier surgeries involved Mellijor.
A jury awarded Ivey $6 million in 1995 for Mellijor's botched cancer diagnosis, but the state DPR took no action against him.
Ivey's attorney, James H. Canel, acknowledges that Mellijor had no way of knowing about the sponges. "On the flip side, you say, `Wait a minute, you took this patient and you assumed she had a recurrence of cancer and exposed her to all sorts of bad things, radiation and chemotherapy.' Clearly a jury thought that that was negligent."
While declining to comment on specific cases, the Illinois State Medical Society-the voice of doctors in Springfield-said it favors sanctions against incompetent doctors. At the same time, the group says, it's not uncommon for doctors in high-risk fields to be sued multiple times because they take on cases where the outcomes are far from certain.
"Filing a suit is easy, but proving that there's true malpractice is another story," said Dr. Ronald L. Reucker, the group's president. "Malpractice isn't the same as bad medicine."
Secret findings
Although Illinois law requires insurance companies to report all malpractice judgments to DPR, a 1997 report by Auditor General William Holland showed that most of these cases never were investigated.
When the DPR does investigate a malpractice case, it keeps its findings secret unless the investigation leads to a formal complaint or disciplinary action. These cases are posted on DPR's Web site, www.dpr.state.il.us.
For more details, a consumer may have to check court records in 102 county courthouses, assuming the doctor has practiced only in Illinois. Or pay $200 for access to the National Practitioners Database, which contains information about the malpractice suits filed in a particular state. Or rely on the Jury Verdict Reporter, a publication of Law Bulletin Publishing that provides summaries of some malpractice cases for $645 a year.
Flowers, the state lawmaker from Chicago, pushed legislation last spring requiring DPR to compile physician profiles so people could compare doctors.
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The profile would list criminal charges, disciplinary actions, hospital privilege revocations and medical malpractice awards.
Flowers' bill was never voted on by the full House, in large part because of opposition from the Illinois State Medical Society and, initially, DPR. The agency now is neutral on the issue.
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Religious and gay: A two-part series
Part 2: Proud to be ordained -- and gay
Published: 9/25/2007 12:03 AM
By James Fuller
Jay Johnson once lived a secret existence he didn't even have the words to describe.
On the outside in 1980, he was a Wheaton College freshman who represented all the ideals of the Christian community he grew up in, right down to thoughts of wearing a collar himself someday.
On the inside, confusing thoughts and impulses haunted him. He knew he wasn't like his peers, but couldn't figure out why.
Johnson had a loving family. He attended the local schools, dated the local girls. His father was a member of the Wheaton College faculty.
And yet, that freshman year he began living two lives. He even kept two separate journals. One was about his everyday life. He locked the other in a drawer in his dorm room.
"I posed a lot of questions to God in that journal," Johnson recalled. "What's wrong with me? Why is this happening?"
He felt increasingly isolated. Then, sophomore year, he was called into a counselor's office.
Johnson was not getting along with his roommate, so he wasn't surprised when the counselor told him the living arrangement wasn't working.
Then, out of a desk drawer, the counselor pulled out photocopied pages of Johnson's locked-away journal.
"It was akin to finding yourself naked on stage in front of a whole auditorium of people," Johnson said. "I thought my life was over."
Johnson had been outed by his roommate. The journal recorded inquiries about why his relationships with women were unfulfilling.
"I thought it was a phase, and sooner or later the light switch will flip on," Johnson said. "I thought I was just sort of late. No one talked about it."
The counselor sent Johnson to therapy.
"I thought maybe there is a problem that can be identified and fixed," Johnson said.
He dedicated himself to a cure by taking his secret journal and setting it on fire. He would burn his thoughts and, he hoped, his problems with them.
It was too late. His secrets were no longer hidden. Summer plans to backpack through Europe ended when two students said they no longer wanted to travel with him.
"I was not defensive, but I was certainly hurt," Johnson said. "I just completely acquiesced as if it was a natural thing for people to not want to be around me. I was terribly sad. I was isolated and alone."
Six months of therapy did not flip the switch as Johnson had hoped.
"I still walked out of there with the idea that this is a problem that needs to be fixed," Johnson said. "The good news was I was not alone. The bad news was I've got a serious problem that needs to be fixed."
Johnson knew the college had a policy against being a practicing homosexual, but no one ever checked in with him to see the results of his therapy. He decided to pursue answers to his questions on his own.
That's when Johnson was invited to go to church by a resident assistant in his dorm. It wasn't his regular Sunday church outing. This was Mass at St. Barnabas in Glen Ellyn, an Episcopal church.
Johnson found several other Wheaton College students attending the church and was hooked by the active participation and enthusiasm. He had found a new social outlet in these friends.
Johnson didn't come out and say he was gay in those conversations. That didn't happen until spring of his senior year. By then he decided it was time to tell someone about his feelings. He chose a friend he'd known since junior high. Turns out, both were gay.
Still, the conflict between his sexuality and religion was strong. Abandoning his faith was not an option. He was even majoring in theological and biblical studies, where he found a talent for ministry work. At the same time, Johnson believed abandoning his sexuality would be akin to cutting off a leg in an effort to be a better dancer.
"There was no sense that I could get rid of one in favor of the other," he said.
So even though his Wheaton College education gave him all the academic and critical thinking tools and spirituality to examine the texts and traditions of his Christian faith, the key to solving his struggle did not come in his college years. But those tools would come in handy later.
Six months after graduation, Johnson decided to go back to therapy. This time it would be with a therapist of his choosing. By now, he'd decided he wasn't looking for a cure, but a way to put all the facets of his life in harmony.
He believed he'd also found his calling. He entered the process of ordination in the Episcopal Diocese of Chicago. The process begins at the parish level. That meant interviewing with his local rector and being honest about his sexual thoughts.
It would be a big risk. Coming out at his church meant possibly alienating himself from his spiritual home.
The reaction was better than he'd hoped.
"It was supportive and encouraging," Johnson said. "But the rector did think it was important that I promise to be celibate in order to move forward in the ordination process."
A lifetime of celibacy did not seem unreasonable at that moment.
"I did not recognize that this was a false choice that was put in front of me," Johnson said. "I believe there are some people who are simply called to be celibate, but I think that's a very small number."
Johnson's path to ordination began. In the fall of 1985, he was off to a theological seminary in Wisconsin.
There he met another gay man. Through their conversations, Johnson realized he needed to go to confession.
"I needed to confess my sin of not appreciating God's gift of sexuality," Johnson said. "I realized not accepting and receiving this gift of sexuality was actually sinful."
Johnson had always considered his sexuality a thorn in his side, a birth defect, but now realized he could be wrong. It was a revelation that allowed him to feel happy in his own skin for the first time.
A visitor to Johnson's room at that point would have seen evidence of that revelation in a bumper sticker that he cherished. It read, "What causes heterosexuality?" It was a bizarre twist on the question he asked himself even before he knew he was gay.
"Sexuality is far too complex to reduce to any one cause," Johnson said.
The next step was making sure his beliefs were compatible with his calling by coming out to his bishop. Johnson wanted there to be no questions about him going through the ordination process.
The bishop told him to worry about his sexuality only insofar as necessary to integrate that sexuality into the rest of his life. Concealing his urges from the world would only wreck havoc in Johnson's life, he said.
The bishop behind that advice was Frank Griswold, who went on to become the presiding bishop and chief pastor for the Episcopalian Church. Griswold is now retired.
Johnson was ordained in June 1988 and served as curate at St. Simon's Episcopal Church in Arlington Heights. He made the decision to not make himself known as a gay man while in the parish. He was still afraid.
"While I was not engaging in outright deception, it did start to feel like leading a double life, which eventually takes a heavy toll," Johnson said. "The folks at St. Simon's were great, and I loved working with them, but I made the decision after my three years there never to closet myself again."
And he never did.
In 1991, Johnson began a doctoral program in Berkeley, Calif., and fell in love with the Bay area. He is currently the acting executive director of The Center for Lesbian and Gay Studies in Religion and Ministry at Pacific School of Religion in Berkeley. Since achieving that position, he's begun to focus his research on integrating spirituality and sexuality, not only as a gay man, but as a Christian.
"Christian churches don't know what to say about sex except who to do it with and when," Johnson said. "By focusing on a very few biblical passages that supposedly condemn gay and lesbian relationships, Christians are missing the forest for the trees."
Instead, Johnson focuses on biblical sources and historical theological traditions where he said he's found the language of erotic desire and homosexuality to be comparable to the language used to talk about human desires for God, as well as God's desires for us.
This language doesn't relate to literal sexual attraction to God, but rather a deep desire for communion. Such language gets to the root of man not being meant to live alone, Johnson said.
He's taken steps to help ensure other Wheaton College students and alumni aren't alone as he was in his struggles on campus. Johnson is active in the college's gay alumni association. And, he recently returned to the college to take part in a panel discussion where he told current students it's OK to be gay and Christian.
"I'm very happily a gay man, and I'm not grudgingly a Christian," Johnson added. "This is not a thorn in my flesh. In fact, if I were presented with a pill that would 'cure' my sexuality I would pretty likely not take it. This is who I am."
Religious and gay: A two-part series
Part 1: Leaving the gay lifestyle behind
Published: 9/25/2007 12:03 AM
By James Fuller
The last time Angela Yuan saw her son was when he threw her out of his house. It was Christopher's retribution. His parents cast him out of the family after he announced he was gay. Angela prayed every day for God to save her son.
Now they reunited inside prison walls. They were still separated by the bulletproof glass, but joined in prayer for the first time. She didn't know the dark path her son had walked. He didn't know her prayers were about to be answered.
Thou shalt not covet
Christopher Yuan's first sexual thoughts came at age 9, when he found a trove of adult magazines in a friend's bathroom cabinet.
"It was that rush of doing something wrong," he said.
With the rush came the realization he felt attracted to both genders. When puberty hit, Yuan bought his own adult magazines.
The attraction to men felt instinctual. At 16, he met an older man at a gay social club and had his first sexual experience.
When his mother found out about it, she forced Christopher into counseling.
"We thought I was fixed after that," Yuan recalled. "Basically, we just didn't talk about it."
He tried dating girls, but was still attracted to men. After finishing Hinsdale Central High School, he sought a rugged image to squelch his thoughts and joined the Marine reserves.
It wasn't a cure. The weekend training sessions in Gary, Ind., took him away from the watchful eyes of his parents. After training, he'd rush to Chicago's gay clubs.
"I decided, 'I've just got these urges, and I'm just going to satisfy them,' " Yuan said.
He decided to become a dentist like his father. He enrolled at Louisville University in 1992, where gay bars were just blocks from campus.
"For me, that was just like freedom." Yuan said. "I felt like I belonged. I was in school. I was smart. I was in shape. I was a Marine."
With all that going for him, it was easy to tell his parents he was gay.
Angela recalls it well. It was "worse than receiving news of his death."
Her life was crumbling. Her son rejected her. Her marriage was failing. At night she'd tape her eyelids to control the swelling caused by her tears. She decided to visit Christopher.
Then she'd kill herself.
Before boarding a train to Louisville, Angela visited a chaplain for advice. She left town with just a purse and a pamphlet. It told her God loves all sinners. He hates only sin itself. For the first time she believed she could love her son even if he were gay.
Christopher was shocked by the transformation.
"All I remembered is them kicking me out of the family," he said. "I really thought she'd just flipped her lid."
No gods before me
Yuan was deeply rooted in the gay community by then. Much of his social life was at gay clubs. That's where he discovered drugs, but didn't have much cash now that he was cut off from his family. So he started selling to friends to support his habit.
He soon found he could sell up to 100 hits of Ecstasy in just one weekend at the clubs. He quickly added his classmates and even one of his professors to his clientele.
Being the man everyone came to for a good time was addictive. The money was fast and easy. Yuan used the business skills he'd learned at his dad's dental office. He began flying to other states to buy and sell more drugs.
Yuan's schoolwork did not improve with his travels. The university decided to expel him for his absences and poor grades. Yuan asked his parents to convince the university to let him stay on.
"By then I was just praying to God to do whatever was necessary -- that could even mean death -- to make him do right," Angela said.
Yuan's parents supported the expulsion. He was furious. It was another reason to disown them.
He moved to Atlanta, and gained a foothold in the gay club scene by dealing drugs. He sold Special K, cocaine, marijuana, LSD, mushrooms, steroids, Ecstasy and a pure form of methamphetamine known as "ice."
It was a Hollywood lifestyle: all the drugs he wanted, a new sports car, an expensive apartment with a pool, his own personal bodyguards.
"I had become God," Yuan said. "I would walk into a club and, literally, a sea of people would come up to me."
Honor thy mother
Angela didn't know about the drugs. She just knew her son wasn't living right.
She'd play Christian songs on Christopher's answering machine. She'd mail cards every other week. Every space on all four sides was filled with her words. They all ended with "Love you forever, Mom."
On holidays, she'd send Yuan a plane ticket home and wait for him at the airport. He'd never show up. He'd never call.
So his parents went to him.
"All I wanted to do was have sex and do drugs and sell drugs, and they didn't fit into that schedule," Yuan said.
He kicked them out after a couple days, but his dad left him a Bible. When the door closed, Yuan threw it away.
He was now at the peak of his drug-dealing and using. He'd burn 10 days in a row smoking ice, not eating or sleeping until he'd pass out from exhaustion. He dropped from 180 to 130 pounds.
Yuan was also at the height of his promiscuity, sleeping with multiple partners in a day, often not knowing their names.
To make his life seem legitimate, he became a promoter, coordinating parties at clubs. The club would supply the bartenders. He'd supply the drugs and DJs.
"I thought I was invincible," Yuan said.
At home, Angela swooned in spiritual devotion. She fasted 39 days in a row, living only on vegetable juice. Her prayers were desperate requests for her son's salvation.
In 1998, she believes God answered her prayer.
Prodigal son
Yuan was sorting a large drug shipment on his kitchen table when a dozen U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency officers, Atlanta police and two German shepherds arrived.
Drug orders were coming over the fax and phone even as agents stormed through. Yuan ran his drug deals like a business. He kept every receipt and had a ledger detailing all transactions.
Jackpot.
The agents took everything. All told, the DEA busted Yuan with various drugs having an estimated street value of nearly $11 million today.
He began calling friends to bail him out. None of the 20 people he tried took his call.
There was one number left.
Angela Yuan was walking in the door from her Bible study group when her phone rang.
She flew to Atlanta the next day. She saw her son behind a thick pane of glass.
She asked Christopher if he would allow her to pray for him. She pressed her hand to the glass. Yuan met her palm with his own. It was the first time he ever prayed.
Two days later, Yuan paced the facility, beginning to realize his mistakes.
On top of a garbage pile was a pocket-sized Gideon's New Testament. He took the book back to his cell.
"It began to change me," he said. "If I knew that, I wouldn't have picked it up."
There was a lot to change.
"I thought I'd probably stop selling, but not doing drugs or going to clubs," he said. "I didn't even consider giving up the gay lifestyle."
Yuan cut a deal to testify against other drug dealers the government had built a case against because of Yuan's files. He got six years.
"I was just crushed," Yuan said. "I was going to be ancient when I got out."
He was 28.
Yet, a new low was coming.
Hope and a future
Yuan found himself one morning shackled in front of a prison nurse. He saw tears in her eyes as she gave him a piece of paper. It read:
"HIV +"
It was a death sentence on top of his prison stay.
Back in his cell, Yuan gazed at the empty bunk above his own. Etched into the frame was a message: "If you're bored, read Jeremiah 29:11."
The verse speaks of God's plan of peace and happiness for everyone.
"God really used that verse to speak to me," Yuan said. "Regardless of who I was, or what I'd done, he had a plan for me."
Yuan used that hope to conquer the sins he believed led him to ruin: drugs, greed and homosexuality.
He started with support groups, but couldn't accept the ideology of forever being an addict even once he was clean.
"One of God's most important messages is you can be completely changed," Yuan said. "You should never identify yourself by your struggles. My rebellion does not constitute who I am. I don't consider myself an addict anymore."
Yuan made God his addiction. The cravings vanished.
Next was letting go of the drug dealer lifestyle. His prison sentence was enough to convince him to quit.
Sex was last. He hoped to balance homosexuality with the Bible, but only found an ultimatum.
Yuan was not instantly cured of his attraction to men. But he decided his sexual thoughts would no longer define him. He didn't believe thinking about men made him a homosexual any more than occasional murderous thoughts made someone a murderer. Yuan decided to follow God by committing to celibacy.
"People say, 'How can you live without having sex?' " Yuan said. "Well, it's possible. It's not even an aspect of who I am."
The cleansing was complete. It was time to start his second chance at life.
Paroled to God
Federal agents used Yuan's drug files to nail a key figure they'd long sought. Yuan was the star witness.
Testifying risked his safety. In prison, only a child molester is lower than a snitch.
Yuan's new faith became his courage on the witness stand.
In exchange for his testimony, his sentence was cut to three years. He'd already served nearly two. He had to figure out what to do with his second chance. The Bible and ministering to others were all he cared about.
He decided to enroll in the only Bible college he'd ever heard of, Chicago's Moody Bible Institute.
Yuan needed letters of recommendation from people who knew him for at least one year as a practicing Christian. That meant slim pickings. He eventually secured letters from a prison chaplain, a guard and a fellow inmate.
Yuan left the rest to God.
He didn't wait long. Yuan was accepted to Moody after his release in July 2001.
He graduated in May 2005 and was accepted at Wheaton College's graduate school to learn biblical exegesis --a systematic study of the Bible.
He now teaches at Moody and shares his life story with whatever church congregation will hear it, including South Barrington's influential Willow Creek Community Church. He travels around the world in good health thanks to checkups every three months.
Yuan's life is not free from temptations, but he believes his faith continues to deliver him from evil. He rejects the sexual labels of homo, hetero and bi-sexuality. He says God has even opened his heart to female relationships and marriage now.
"Not everything that feels good is right," Yuan said. "Attraction is not a choice, but acting on those attractions is. Acting on same-sex attraction is not encoded into DNA like ethnicity or skin color. Black people can't wake up one day and say, 'I'm no longer black.'
"Gay people can wake up and say, 'I'm no longer gay.'
"I'm living proof of that."
Sidebar: Therapy optional for adult sex offenders
Published: 9/17/2007 6:01 AM
By James Fuller
One of the ironies of Illinois' correctional system results in some sex offenders never receiving a minute of corrective therapy to ward off repeat offenses.
State guidelines call for every sex offender who commits a crime as a minor to receive mandatory therapy while incarcerated. But there's no such rule for adult sex offenders. Therapy for them is optional in prison.
Many of the adult inmates who refuse treatment may be the most likely to commit another crime, said Alyssa Williams-Schafer, state corrections department sex offender services coordinator.
"A lot of these offenders are in denial," Williams-Schafer said. "Some of them don't want to have to deal with their offense."
Many offenders are so adamant in their belief that they've done nothing wrong that they forego the favorable chance at early parole therapy gives them and serve their full sentences, said Dr. Mark Brenzinger, a clinical psychologist in Schaumburg who's treated and evaluated sex offenders.
Illinois' rules only mandate sex offenders on parole to receive psychological treatment. But offenders who've served their full sentence can get out of prison without ever addressing or recognizing their crimes in therapy.
Brenzinger said even the sex offenders who do enter therapy are tough cases.
"Many will tell you whatever it takes just to get back into the community," he said. "Talk therapy just doesn't work for everybody," he added. "And there's a high failure rate because this is a tough population to treat."
By James Fuller
One of the ironies of Illinois' correctional system results in some sex offenders never receiving a minute of corrective therapy to ward off repeat offenses.
State guidelines call for every sex offender who commits a crime as a minor to receive mandatory therapy while incarcerated. But there's no such rule for adult sex offenders. Therapy for them is optional in prison.
Many of the adult inmates who refuse treatment may be the most likely to commit another crime, said Alyssa Williams-Schafer, state corrections department sex offender services coordinator.
"A lot of these offenders are in denial," Williams-Schafer said. "Some of them don't want to have to deal with their offense."
Many offenders are so adamant in their belief that they've done nothing wrong that they forego the favorable chance at early parole therapy gives them and serve their full sentences, said Dr. Mark Brenzinger, a clinical psychologist in Schaumburg who's treated and evaluated sex offenders.
Illinois' rules only mandate sex offenders on parole to receive psychological treatment. But offenders who've served their full sentence can get out of prison without ever addressing or recognizing their crimes in therapy.
Brenzinger said even the sex offenders who do enter therapy are tough cases.
"Many will tell you whatever it takes just to get back into the community," he said. "Talk therapy just doesn't work for everybody," he added. "And there's a high failure rate because this is a tough population to treat."
Investigative: Sex offenders at large?
Published: 9/17/2007 6:01 AM
Some manage to elude police struggling to keep track of them
By James Fuller
The whereabouts of more than 8 percent of the sex offenders in Illinois -- and a good portion of those in the suburbs -- is uncertain, a Daily Herald analysis shows.
An examination of the state's sex offender database showed 1,667 registered sex offenders living in 99 suburbs in the newspaper's circulation area.
In a one-day snapshot, authorities listed 143 of those offenders "non-compliant," meaning they're missing or failed to hit their deadline to check in with police.
The number of non-compliant offenders ranges from only 10, or 3.3 percent, in DuPage County to 865, or 20 percent, in Cook County.
In Lake County, it's 15.2 percent; in Kane County, 6.9 percent; and in McHenry County, 6.2 percent.
Joseph Birkett, DuPage County state's attorney, said those figures are worrisome.
"The bottom line is they are within a group of very dangerous people who are very likely to re-offend," he said. "We need to know who they are and where they are."
All adult sex offenders in Illinois are listed on the Internet with a photo and address. But sex offenders tend to be highly transient because of the stigma attached to their crimes.
It's tough for many offenders to find housing. And because of the sheer number of offenders police are asked to track, some sex offenders vanish into the shadows.
Statewide, there are more than 22,000 registered sex offenders. Of the 1,794 who are non-compliant, roughly 20 percent are classified as sexual predators, sexually dangerous or sexually violent, or are convicted murderers of children.
No home, more roam
Tracking problems begin even before sex offenders are released from Illinois prisons.
The state bans them from living within 500 feet of schools and other places children gather, resulting in a backlog of inmates seeking legal housing. Thus, some sex offenders ready for parole and mandatory psychological therapy are kept in prison until their sentence expires.
"It would be better to have them out in the community, having them monitored, rather than stay with us and get out with absolutely nothing," said Alyssa Williams-Schafer, state corrections department sex offender services coordinator.
The inability to find legal housing may be one reason sex offenders vanish.
For example, when Iowa increased its 500-foot law to 2,000 feet, registration compliance fell from 90 percent to 50 percent.
Which way did he go?
Once sex offenders are released, more problems begin.
On the streets, the offender is either on electronic monitoring, released on parole without monitoring, or on his own after serving a full prison term.
The Illinois Department of Corrections and probation officers oversee about 5,200 sex offenders on the streets. Roughly 90 percent of them are tracked by a GPS device, which makes a big difference, Williams-Schafer said.
"Our sex offenders rarely disappear," she said.
GPS monitoring is gaining popularity in some states, such as California. It's not foolproof; many GPS devices rely on sex offenders to recharge the battery each night.
Birkett said he favors widespread and long-term use of GPS to track sex offenders. It hasn't happened in Illinois because the devices are expensive, and the bulky device tends to be a scarlet letter.
Still, Birkett said GPS will gain popularity if the state forces the offenders to pay for the devices. That's roughly $7 to $10 a day.
Beating the system
All the remaining sex offenders in Illinois are monitored by local police. The most dangerous offenders must register every three months and whenever they move or change jobs. Yet it's still at this level where most sex offenders go missing.
"I'd like to tell you that every person that's been convicted and needs to register has registered, but that's probably not true," said detective Sgt. Dan Cott of the Geneva Police Department.
The state sex offender Web site shows Geneva had 31 registered sex offenders, with eight non-compliant.
Cott said that's misleading because the Kane County jail is in Geneva and that may be an offender's last valid address. That said, Geneva police conduct regular spot checks, but there are ways to beat the system.
For example, some of the spot checks involve only calling a landlord to ask if a person is still a registered tenant at an address. There may be no face-to-face confirmation that the sex offender is actually there.
There are other gaps.
"Is it possible they can change their jobs and not notify us? Sure. That's kind of a loophole," Cott said.
Waukegan's sex offender numbers also stand out. The city has some of the highest totals of non-compliant sex offenders in the state. Out of Waukegan's 159 sex offenders, 40 are non-compliant. In comparison, Aurora has twice the population, but only seven of its 181 sex offenders are non-compliant.
"We're one of the largest cities in the county; we're the county seat, and we've got the jail," Waukegan Deputy Chief Mark McCormick said. "A lot of people get paroled here."
Despite the department's active sex offender registration unit, Waukegan sees many sex offenders fall off the map when they move and don't tell the police where they're going. By the time a sex offender misses his registration date, it may be long after he's gone.
"I think that's pretty common," McCormick said. "There's a label and stigma that's attached to the sex offense itself. They don't want that label to follow them. They think they can escape it. And we go out and obtain warrants on these people."
Birkett said a recurring problem in DuPage County is sex offenders getting their names legally changed, making them harder to track. His office is investigating how to close that loophole.
Short on tools
Some local police departments are also at a technological disadvantage to their peers in other states.
No local police department interviewed had a system that allows it to run searches to see where sex offenders may establish water, electrical or other utility service for a new residence.
But state police have the ability to use credit, employment and utility searches to track offenders. Still, it can take hours or years to find them, said Craig Burge, of the Illinois State Police.
"Imagine taking a segment of the population around 22,000 people and trying to monitor and track their every movement, every employment, every school they enroll at," Burge said. "It becomes overwhelming at times."
State police post the names and photos of missing sex offenders on the Internet specifically to cause concern among the general public.
"A lot of our tracking and monitoring is based on the general public," Burge said. "They know more about their communities than we'll ever know."
But a missing sex offender poses the greatest risk of attacking another child, said Dr. Mark Brenzinger, a clinical psychologist in Schaumburg who's treated and evaluated sex offenders.
Brenzinger favors a biometric identification system for sex offenders, such as retina scans, that police could use to pull up criminal history and registration status during traffic stops or arrests.
"We have a very reactive system," Brenzinger said. "We need to be proactive. There's a lot of work that needs to be done on the beginning end of the criminal justice system. We can't reward sex offenders when they break the law by giving them extended registration requirements or probation or a slap on the wrist.
"They need to feel the full weight of the government."
Some manage to elude police struggling to keep track of them
By James Fuller
The whereabouts of more than 8 percent of the sex offenders in Illinois -- and a good portion of those in the suburbs -- is uncertain, a Daily Herald analysis shows.
An examination of the state's sex offender database showed 1,667 registered sex offenders living in 99 suburbs in the newspaper's circulation area.
In a one-day snapshot, authorities listed 143 of those offenders "non-compliant," meaning they're missing or failed to hit their deadline to check in with police.
The number of non-compliant offenders ranges from only 10, or 3.3 percent, in DuPage County to 865, or 20 percent, in Cook County.
In Lake County, it's 15.2 percent; in Kane County, 6.9 percent; and in McHenry County, 6.2 percent.
Joseph Birkett, DuPage County state's attorney, said those figures are worrisome.
"The bottom line is they are within a group of very dangerous people who are very likely to re-offend," he said. "We need to know who they are and where they are."
All adult sex offenders in Illinois are listed on the Internet with a photo and address. But sex offenders tend to be highly transient because of the stigma attached to their crimes.
It's tough for many offenders to find housing. And because of the sheer number of offenders police are asked to track, some sex offenders vanish into the shadows.
Statewide, there are more than 22,000 registered sex offenders. Of the 1,794 who are non-compliant, roughly 20 percent are classified as sexual predators, sexually dangerous or sexually violent, or are convicted murderers of children.
No home, more roam
Tracking problems begin even before sex offenders are released from Illinois prisons.
The state bans them from living within 500 feet of schools and other places children gather, resulting in a backlog of inmates seeking legal housing. Thus, some sex offenders ready for parole and mandatory psychological therapy are kept in prison until their sentence expires.
"It would be better to have them out in the community, having them monitored, rather than stay with us and get out with absolutely nothing," said Alyssa Williams-Schafer, state corrections department sex offender services coordinator.
The inability to find legal housing may be one reason sex offenders vanish.
For example, when Iowa increased its 500-foot law to 2,000 feet, registration compliance fell from 90 percent to 50 percent.
Which way did he go?
Once sex offenders are released, more problems begin.
On the streets, the offender is either on electronic monitoring, released on parole without monitoring, or on his own after serving a full prison term.
The Illinois Department of Corrections and probation officers oversee about 5,200 sex offenders on the streets. Roughly 90 percent of them are tracked by a GPS device, which makes a big difference, Williams-Schafer said.
"Our sex offenders rarely disappear," she said.
GPS monitoring is gaining popularity in some states, such as California. It's not foolproof; many GPS devices rely on sex offenders to recharge the battery each night.
Birkett said he favors widespread and long-term use of GPS to track sex offenders. It hasn't happened in Illinois because the devices are expensive, and the bulky device tends to be a scarlet letter.
Still, Birkett said GPS will gain popularity if the state forces the offenders to pay for the devices. That's roughly $7 to $10 a day.
Beating the system
All the remaining sex offenders in Illinois are monitored by local police. The most dangerous offenders must register every three months and whenever they move or change jobs. Yet it's still at this level where most sex offenders go missing.
"I'd like to tell you that every person that's been convicted and needs to register has registered, but that's probably not true," said detective Sgt. Dan Cott of the Geneva Police Department.
The state sex offender Web site shows Geneva had 31 registered sex offenders, with eight non-compliant.
Cott said that's misleading because the Kane County jail is in Geneva and that may be an offender's last valid address. That said, Geneva police conduct regular spot checks, but there are ways to beat the system.
For example, some of the spot checks involve only calling a landlord to ask if a person is still a registered tenant at an address. There may be no face-to-face confirmation that the sex offender is actually there.
There are other gaps.
"Is it possible they can change their jobs and not notify us? Sure. That's kind of a loophole," Cott said.
Waukegan's sex offender numbers also stand out. The city has some of the highest totals of non-compliant sex offenders in the state. Out of Waukegan's 159 sex offenders, 40 are non-compliant. In comparison, Aurora has twice the population, but only seven of its 181 sex offenders are non-compliant.
"We're one of the largest cities in the county; we're the county seat, and we've got the jail," Waukegan Deputy Chief Mark McCormick said. "A lot of people get paroled here."
Despite the department's active sex offender registration unit, Waukegan sees many sex offenders fall off the map when they move and don't tell the police where they're going. By the time a sex offender misses his registration date, it may be long after he's gone.
"I think that's pretty common," McCormick said. "There's a label and stigma that's attached to the sex offense itself. They don't want that label to follow them. They think they can escape it. And we go out and obtain warrants on these people."
Birkett said a recurring problem in DuPage County is sex offenders getting their names legally changed, making them harder to track. His office is investigating how to close that loophole.
Short on tools
Some local police departments are also at a technological disadvantage to their peers in other states.
No local police department interviewed had a system that allows it to run searches to see where sex offenders may establish water, electrical or other utility service for a new residence.
But state police have the ability to use credit, employment and utility searches to track offenders. Still, it can take hours or years to find them, said Craig Burge, of the Illinois State Police.
"Imagine taking a segment of the population around 22,000 people and trying to monitor and track their every movement, every employment, every school they enroll at," Burge said. "It becomes overwhelming at times."
State police post the names and photos of missing sex offenders on the Internet specifically to cause concern among the general public.
"A lot of our tracking and monitoring is based on the general public," Burge said. "They know more about their communities than we'll ever know."
But a missing sex offender poses the greatest risk of attacking another child, said Dr. Mark Brenzinger, a clinical psychologist in Schaumburg who's treated and evaluated sex offenders.
Brenzinger favors a biometric identification system for sex offenders, such as retina scans, that police could use to pull up criminal history and registration status during traffic stops or arrests.
"We have a very reactive system," Brenzinger said. "We need to be proactive. There's a lot of work that needs to be done on the beginning end of the criminal justice system. We can't reward sex offenders when they break the law by giving them extended registration requirements or probation or a slap on the wrist.
"They need to feel the full weight of the government."
Descriptive: Making the band High school musicians took to the field - and the heat - before school began
September 03 2007
By James Fuller
Daily Herald Staff Writer
None of these teenagers need to be here. Yet something keeps them coming back to suffer with a smile.
All summer they've practiced their portions of songs like "Brickhouse" and "Bohemian Rhapsody" instead of lounging at the beach.
At Wheaton North High School, students fill four rows of blue chairs and gaze at music sheets and a dry erase board filled with notes.
Similar scenes are occurring simultaneously at high schools all over DuPage County in early August, when marching bands began preparations for the school year.
This is weeks before the start of school. There are no lights on. Temperatures outside are in the mid-90s. A handful of moms fill a freezer in back of the room with Popsicles to fight off the brain baking that is yet to come.
Outside, in the parking lot, are drum sets and what appears to be a gong, reminiscent of the old TV show. In a nearby hallway, dance music energizes the flag-wielding color guard performers.
For now, the focus is on the brass and wind instruments in Jon Noworyta's Wheaton North band room. It's 11:57 a.m. and teens in T-shirts, shorts and caps create the chaotic jazz of awakening instruments.
This is the second of two weeklong camps for the band. They know the routine.
With a simple, "OK!," from Noworyta, there is silence.
"Good morning."
Not good enough.
"Good morning, Mr. Noworyta!"
That's more like it.
"We will work you hard, but not until you drop," Noworyta tells them. The band members smile knowingly.
"Somewhere over the Rainbow" is first on the set list. The meandering tune is a test of lung power.
"You have to blow aaalll the way through the long notes," Noworyta instructs. "It's non-negotiable."
Noworyta is firm and commanding in his direction. He must be. A successful band camp is crucial. The two weeks of training is one-third of the marching band's total rehearsal time for the season.
That makes for intense sessions for students like Mark Weeden, who wields the tuba.
Weeden is in his third year with the band. He describes his extracurricular choice as "harder than wrestling."
That wouldn't be the common perception, at least from the outside.
The "American Pie" trilogy linked the words "band camp" to an endless combination of jokes and ridicule.
Those comedians probably never carried a tuba like Weeden, or marched in the sun for nearly eight hours a day while trying to memorize choreographed steps.
"It's fun," Weeden said.
And that's what keeps people like Anhad Jolly involved through all four years at the school. Jolly plays percussion after discovering a love for drums in the fifth grade.
"It's sweet," Jolly said of his choice of instrument. "It sounds cool."
Coming to marching band camp his first time was supposed to be a recreational part of summer.
"I was actually expecting it to be really, really easy," Jolly said of his first band camp experience four years ago. "Band class is (considered) kind of like a blow-off class."
Jolly soon found band camp would sooner blow him up than let him blow it off. Now much has changed.
The tail-busting begins when it's time to head out to the football field.
As the band hits the 50-yard line, the heat is already oppressive.
Each band member lugs out their own gallon-sized jug of water to replace what they're already sweating out.
"Caliente!" shrieks a member of the color guard. "Aye yi yi!" Comes back the reply.
It starts with stretching: quads, delts, triceps, hamstrings, abductors and wrists all get some blood circulating through them.
Then it's time for the 68 members to assume their places for the choreographed marching that comprises their performances.
The band members hold their hands high, simulating the instruments they'll eventually hold. A tapping, like a metronome, bangs out on a plastic container to mark the timing.
"Dut, dut, dut, dut," the band members chant in rhythm to the tapping.
The movements begin in sets of up to 16 counts. The marching involves exaggerated heel-to-toe steps of precise lengths. Many of the steps are performed with blind movement backward or diagonal. One person's screw up can throw off the whole formation, or cause comical, but disastrous, collisions.
The coordination is not unlike running a football or basketball play. Everyone has a role and a place as an individual. It takes everyone to succeed collectively for the band to succeed.
Jen Johnson is such a pro at this now that it almost looks like there's two of her on the field. In fact, there is.
Johnson is one of the two "things" in the band for today's practice, or at least that's what the tag on the front of her shirt says.
Everyone, including Noworyta, has someone dressed as close to identical as possible for the training session. It's called twin day, a team building exercise that unites two band members in a special camaraderie.
There are other exercises the band will undergo with the same goal of jelling into a second family, such as the Rookie Talent Show, where all the new members and coaches must perform something that shows what they bring to the team.
Today, the band is just concerned with surviving the sun and showing they have the acumen to memorize more than 20 sets of movements that make up their show. The first few runs of the day by the Wheaton North marching band shows a little rust.
"Be honest," Noworyta says at the end of one set. "This is the sixth day of camp."
At least a dozen band members hit the grass in recognition of their mistake and bang out six push-ups.
"This is simple review; that's all we're doing," Noworyta says in half encouragement, half come-on-already fashion. "We're not fixing things. When you start talking, you don't listen to me."
If Noworyta is the heavy hand, then Ryan McCann is the tickle that comes with it. McCann, a Wheaton College senior, is one of the coaches who supervises individual sections looking for mistakes and correcting them - with a smile and his "I'm with stoopid" T-shirt.
"The kids know that we mean business when we're out on the field, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun while doing it," McCann said.
Shirts are soaked with sweat, water jugs are drying up with an hour of field practice left. The mental burden never leaves them. Band members check the set books that hang from their necks showing them exactly where they should be vs. where they are.
There are nine sets still to memorize. But the band is now in a groove. Noworyta can end a set, call out "back four" and members race back to their exact starting positions from four sets ago.
"You guys are rockin' today," Noworyta tells them. "See how much faster we are today? You're learning."
The band memorizes six more sets in 40 minutes.
"There's 20 minutes, three sets," Noworyta tells them. "Can it be done?"
"Yes, Mr. Noworyta," echoes the reply.
But 10 minutes later things start to break down.
"Do you want to make it to the end?" Noworyta asks.
"Yes, Mr. Noworyta."
"If you don't want to make it to the end, that's fine," Noworyta tells them, not meaning it for a second. "Do you want to make it?"
The rest of the practice is performed without error.
"YES!" Noworyta tells them in reward. "Good job. Are you excited to be done?"
"Yes!"
"Good, put that excitement into your feet and reset. Time to do it in live time."
There's a tense confidence as the band resets for the big test of the day. One continuous set from first movement to the end, the whole show in one try.
"Dut. Dut. Dut. Dut."
What once was stilted flows like they've never moved any other way. The sense of accomplishment fills the air, but is soon replaced by water balloons. It's a surprise cooling off for the band and a symbol of their achievement, comparable to a Super Bowl Gatorade dunking for the coach.
The morning practice ends with the Popsicles stored away many hours ago.
Looking down the hallways lined with teenagers with plates of watermelon, Noworyta knows he's ended the day with a paint-by-numbers sketch of his season in place. All that's left is filling in the color in the right spots.
Sometimes that takes nurturing. Sometimes a crack of the whip.
"I do what I do to help the kids be successful," Noworyta says. "Regardless of the style, whatever it is, my expectations are high. I will not lower them for the kids. They know what is good enough for today won't be good enough tomorrow. A champion is a champion because that's all that they've got to give."
By that axiom, having fun is paramount. And the most fun of all is winning.
This is Natalie Edwards' last band camp. She's a graduating senior with four camps to her credit. Looking back, she can see a lot of the mistakes she made as a rookie marching band member in the new class.
But she also sees the process that brought her unforgettable memories and friends still at work. Soon the band will form a new family once again.
"I'm gonna miss it," she said. "I'll miss the people."
By James Fuller
Daily Herald Staff Writer
None of these teenagers need to be here. Yet something keeps them coming back to suffer with a smile.
All summer they've practiced their portions of songs like "Brickhouse" and "Bohemian Rhapsody" instead of lounging at the beach.
At Wheaton North High School, students fill four rows of blue chairs and gaze at music sheets and a dry erase board filled with notes.
Similar scenes are occurring simultaneously at high schools all over DuPage County in early August, when marching bands began preparations for the school year.
This is weeks before the start of school. There are no lights on. Temperatures outside are in the mid-90s. A handful of moms fill a freezer in back of the room with Popsicles to fight off the brain baking that is yet to come.
Outside, in the parking lot, are drum sets and what appears to be a gong, reminiscent of the old TV show. In a nearby hallway, dance music energizes the flag-wielding color guard performers.
For now, the focus is on the brass and wind instruments in Jon Noworyta's Wheaton North band room. It's 11:57 a.m. and teens in T-shirts, shorts and caps create the chaotic jazz of awakening instruments.
This is the second of two weeklong camps for the band. They know the routine.
With a simple, "OK!," from Noworyta, there is silence.
"Good morning."
Not good enough.
"Good morning, Mr. Noworyta!"
That's more like it.
"We will work you hard, but not until you drop," Noworyta tells them. The band members smile knowingly.
"Somewhere over the Rainbow" is first on the set list. The meandering tune is a test of lung power.
"You have to blow aaalll the way through the long notes," Noworyta instructs. "It's non-negotiable."
Noworyta is firm and commanding in his direction. He must be. A successful band camp is crucial. The two weeks of training is one-third of the marching band's total rehearsal time for the season.
That makes for intense sessions for students like Mark Weeden, who wields the tuba.
Weeden is in his third year with the band. He describes his extracurricular choice as "harder than wrestling."
That wouldn't be the common perception, at least from the outside.
The "American Pie" trilogy linked the words "band camp" to an endless combination of jokes and ridicule.
Those comedians probably never carried a tuba like Weeden, or marched in the sun for nearly eight hours a day while trying to memorize choreographed steps.
"It's fun," Weeden said.
And that's what keeps people like Anhad Jolly involved through all four years at the school. Jolly plays percussion after discovering a love for drums in the fifth grade.
"It's sweet," Jolly said of his choice of instrument. "It sounds cool."
Coming to marching band camp his first time was supposed to be a recreational part of summer.
"I was actually expecting it to be really, really easy," Jolly said of his first band camp experience four years ago. "Band class is (considered) kind of like a blow-off class."
Jolly soon found band camp would sooner blow him up than let him blow it off. Now much has changed.
The tail-busting begins when it's time to head out to the football field.
As the band hits the 50-yard line, the heat is already oppressive.
Each band member lugs out their own gallon-sized jug of water to replace what they're already sweating out.
"Caliente!" shrieks a member of the color guard. "Aye yi yi!" Comes back the reply.
It starts with stretching: quads, delts, triceps, hamstrings, abductors and wrists all get some blood circulating through them.
Then it's time for the 68 members to assume their places for the choreographed marching that comprises their performances.
The band members hold their hands high, simulating the instruments they'll eventually hold. A tapping, like a metronome, bangs out on a plastic container to mark the timing.
"Dut, dut, dut, dut," the band members chant in rhythm to the tapping.
The movements begin in sets of up to 16 counts. The marching involves exaggerated heel-to-toe steps of precise lengths. Many of the steps are performed with blind movement backward or diagonal. One person's screw up can throw off the whole formation, or cause comical, but disastrous, collisions.
The coordination is not unlike running a football or basketball play. Everyone has a role and a place as an individual. It takes everyone to succeed collectively for the band to succeed.
Jen Johnson is such a pro at this now that it almost looks like there's two of her on the field. In fact, there is.
Johnson is one of the two "things" in the band for today's practice, or at least that's what the tag on the front of her shirt says.
Everyone, including Noworyta, has someone dressed as close to identical as possible for the training session. It's called twin day, a team building exercise that unites two band members in a special camaraderie.
There are other exercises the band will undergo with the same goal of jelling into a second family, such as the Rookie Talent Show, where all the new members and coaches must perform something that shows what they bring to the team.
Today, the band is just concerned with surviving the sun and showing they have the acumen to memorize more than 20 sets of movements that make up their show. The first few runs of the day by the Wheaton North marching band shows a little rust.
"Be honest," Noworyta says at the end of one set. "This is the sixth day of camp."
At least a dozen band members hit the grass in recognition of their mistake and bang out six push-ups.
"This is simple review; that's all we're doing," Noworyta says in half encouragement, half come-on-already fashion. "We're not fixing things. When you start talking, you don't listen to me."
If Noworyta is the heavy hand, then Ryan McCann is the tickle that comes with it. McCann, a Wheaton College senior, is one of the coaches who supervises individual sections looking for mistakes and correcting them - with a smile and his "I'm with stoopid" T-shirt.
"The kids know that we mean business when we're out on the field, but that doesn't mean we can't have fun while doing it," McCann said.
Shirts are soaked with sweat, water jugs are drying up with an hour of field practice left. The mental burden never leaves them. Band members check the set books that hang from their necks showing them exactly where they should be vs. where they are.
There are nine sets still to memorize. But the band is now in a groove. Noworyta can end a set, call out "back four" and members race back to their exact starting positions from four sets ago.
"You guys are rockin' today," Noworyta tells them. "See how much faster we are today? You're learning."
The band memorizes six more sets in 40 minutes.
"There's 20 minutes, three sets," Noworyta tells them. "Can it be done?"
"Yes, Mr. Noworyta," echoes the reply.
But 10 minutes later things start to break down.
"Do you want to make it to the end?" Noworyta asks.
"Yes, Mr. Noworyta."
"If you don't want to make it to the end, that's fine," Noworyta tells them, not meaning it for a second. "Do you want to make it?"
The rest of the practice is performed without error.
"YES!" Noworyta tells them in reward. "Good job. Are you excited to be done?"
"Yes!"
"Good, put that excitement into your feet and reset. Time to do it in live time."
There's a tense confidence as the band resets for the big test of the day. One continuous set from first movement to the end, the whole show in one try.
"Dut. Dut. Dut. Dut."
What once was stilted flows like they've never moved any other way. The sense of accomplishment fills the air, but is soon replaced by water balloons. It's a surprise cooling off for the band and a symbol of their achievement, comparable to a Super Bowl Gatorade dunking for the coach.
The morning practice ends with the Popsicles stored away many hours ago.
Looking down the hallways lined with teenagers with plates of watermelon, Noworyta knows he's ended the day with a paint-by-numbers sketch of his season in place. All that's left is filling in the color in the right spots.
Sometimes that takes nurturing. Sometimes a crack of the whip.
"I do what I do to help the kids be successful," Noworyta says. "Regardless of the style, whatever it is, my expectations are high. I will not lower them for the kids. They know what is good enough for today won't be good enough tomorrow. A champion is a champion because that's all that they've got to give."
By that axiom, having fun is paramount. And the most fun of all is winning.
This is Natalie Edwards' last band camp. She's a graduating senior with four camps to her credit. Looking back, she can see a lot of the mistakes she made as a rookie marching band member in the new class.
But she also sees the process that brought her unforgettable memories and friends still at work. Soon the band will form a new family once again.
"I'm gonna miss it," she said. "I'll miss the people."
Alternative story form: 7 festivals, 7 hours Our fearless reporter hits 7 communities to find some fun
Sunday July 15 2007
By James Fuller
To start, I'll just put it out there - I'm not the biggest fan of suburban summer festivals. Maybe it's because I grew up in Chicago, and my idea of a summer festival is the Taste of Chicago, or the Chicago Blues Festival.
Still, I'm a suburbanite now. And at least once during the summer I venture out to the land of corn dogs and elephant ears. The question is always, which fest to go to.
Saturday posed a rare opportunity. Seven communities, seven different festivals, all on the same day. Driving directions in hand, I set out at 9 a.m. to set a personal fest-a-thon record.
Fest one: I had to pick a festival to get me started on the right track. Naturally, that meant Railroad Days.
I pulled into the parking lot at Reed-Keppler Park in West Chicago shortly after 9 a.m. Railroad Days was an immediate disappointment.
It was early, perhaps too early. Most rides were idle, and unattended. The ticket booths were empty. And the morning's stiff breeze carried no hint of funnel cake.
Referee whistles, however, called me to the unique Railroad Days offering of mud volleyball. Six courts, squared off by sandbags and filled with ankle-deep mud. It's good mud, like the kind in Jeep commercials. Ten minutes of watching some of the best belly flops I've ever seen brightened my attitude.
To those volleyball athletes, here's mud in your eye.
Fest two: From there, I figure that if I can't get a corn dog, then I'll get some culture. Time to hit the first art-themed fest of the day, Wheaton's Fine Art Fair.
In general, my appreciation for art lies with the bizarre, or something that, when I see it, I know it'll stay rattling in my head for a while.
George Bucher's sculptures ended my quest for the bizarre. How often do you find a bust of Benjamin Franklin made of twine next to a twine lady smoking a cigarette?
"I don't make stuff they teach in school," Bucher said.
Then, as Bucher began picking at a homemade 5-string banjo, I knew I'd also found someone that would stay rattling around in my head. This would not be topped. So on to the next fest.
Fest three: Sticking with the art theme, I head over to the Women's Club Art Fair at Naper Settlement. Again, I'm looking for the bizarre. And, again, I find it quickly in what looks like a 10-foot-tall dragon or dinosaur, complete with claws and spiked tail. It's made entirely of scrap metal.
Indeed, all the art created by Allen and Teri Miles has a prehistoric/industrial feel. There's a piranha made partially of what looks like saw blades. And there's a chopper with real chompers courtesy of a large animal skull being used as the fuel tank.
"Our stuff can stay outside in all seasons," Allen Miles explains. You'd be hard-pressed to find a spot for it inside. On to the next fest.
Fest four: Ah, the Fine Craft Exhibition at the Oakbrook Center mall. I'm not sure it qualifies as a festival, but what the heck. Compared to the Wheaton and Naper Settlement fests, this is somewhat boring. Most booths display things you can find other places in the mall. Except for maybe the Herb Johnson booth displaying a giant metal hummingbird with jewel eyes gazing over a cache of metal daisies. There are metal dragonflies, fish and moths to match. I'm not sure why they appeal to me other than their rarity/oddity. I've found a new appreciation for heavy metal.
Fest five: It's well into the afternoon now, and I can't believe I haven't even seen a ridiculously large pile of greasy French fries yet, much less eaten one. So it's on to day three of Itasca Fest. When I arrive, I'm stunned. An entire line of food booths with no lines at all. Pulled pork sandwich, deep-fried chips and lemonade, here I come. Once done, one attraction draws me in. There are free stilt-walking lessons. The key is to keep your balance on a much narrower base than you're used to, with no help from your arms because you must hold onto the stilts. I do OK, but maybe Ishould've gone to the learn-to-make-giant bubbles tent instead. With all the reader e-mails I get about being full of hot air, I'd have natural talent. But the day is growing short. On to the next fest.
Fest six: At Summerfest in Glendale Heights, I follow the crowd to the source of audible laughter. Ah, yes. Teams of children are wearing helmets with cups glued to the top. Adults fill the cups with water and the kids walk a line and empty the cup into a bucket without removing the helmet. The result is lots of water on the kids, not so much in the buckets. There's nothing quite like watching adults laugh and point at kids to put the world in perspective. After laughing at the adults who are laughing at the kids, I decide it's time to wrap the fest-a-thon up with a grand finale.
Fest seven: The last fest is Glen Ellyn's inaugural jazz fest. It's been in the works for three years. With that much planning, I'm expecting something special. As I arrive, Paulinho Garcia and John Moulder are playing a Bossa Nova appropriate for their Brazilian style. Jazz fans have packed Main Street for a full downtown block.
As I sit and listen I decide the fest has a decidedly Ravinia feel to it, except there's asphalt under us instead of grass and table cloths instead of picnic blankets. It has a soothing impact, perfect to end the day.
By James Fuller
To start, I'll just put it out there - I'm not the biggest fan of suburban summer festivals. Maybe it's because I grew up in Chicago, and my idea of a summer festival is the Taste of Chicago, or the Chicago Blues Festival.
Still, I'm a suburbanite now. And at least once during the summer I venture out to the land of corn dogs and elephant ears. The question is always, which fest to go to.
Saturday posed a rare opportunity. Seven communities, seven different festivals, all on the same day. Driving directions in hand, I set out at 9 a.m. to set a personal fest-a-thon record.
Fest one: I had to pick a festival to get me started on the right track. Naturally, that meant Railroad Days.
I pulled into the parking lot at Reed-Keppler Park in West Chicago shortly after 9 a.m. Railroad Days was an immediate disappointment.
It was early, perhaps too early. Most rides were idle, and unattended. The ticket booths were empty. And the morning's stiff breeze carried no hint of funnel cake.
Referee whistles, however, called me to the unique Railroad Days offering of mud volleyball. Six courts, squared off by sandbags and filled with ankle-deep mud. It's good mud, like the kind in Jeep commercials. Ten minutes of watching some of the best belly flops I've ever seen brightened my attitude.
To those volleyball athletes, here's mud in your eye.
Fest two: From there, I figure that if I can't get a corn dog, then I'll get some culture. Time to hit the first art-themed fest of the day, Wheaton's Fine Art Fair.
In general, my appreciation for art lies with the bizarre, or something that, when I see it, I know it'll stay rattling in my head for a while.
George Bucher's sculptures ended my quest for the bizarre. How often do you find a bust of Benjamin Franklin made of twine next to a twine lady smoking a cigarette?
"I don't make stuff they teach in school," Bucher said.
Then, as Bucher began picking at a homemade 5-string banjo, I knew I'd also found someone that would stay rattling around in my head. This would not be topped. So on to the next fest.
Fest three: Sticking with the art theme, I head over to the Women's Club Art Fair at Naper Settlement. Again, I'm looking for the bizarre. And, again, I find it quickly in what looks like a 10-foot-tall dragon or dinosaur, complete with claws and spiked tail. It's made entirely of scrap metal.
Indeed, all the art created by Allen and Teri Miles has a prehistoric/industrial feel. There's a piranha made partially of what looks like saw blades. And there's a chopper with real chompers courtesy of a large animal skull being used as the fuel tank.
"Our stuff can stay outside in all seasons," Allen Miles explains. You'd be hard-pressed to find a spot for it inside. On to the next fest.
Fest four: Ah, the Fine Craft Exhibition at the Oakbrook Center mall. I'm not sure it qualifies as a festival, but what the heck. Compared to the Wheaton and Naper Settlement fests, this is somewhat boring. Most booths display things you can find other places in the mall. Except for maybe the Herb Johnson booth displaying a giant metal hummingbird with jewel eyes gazing over a cache of metal daisies. There are metal dragonflies, fish and moths to match. I'm not sure why they appeal to me other than their rarity/oddity. I've found a new appreciation for heavy metal.
Fest five: It's well into the afternoon now, and I can't believe I haven't even seen a ridiculously large pile of greasy French fries yet, much less eaten one. So it's on to day three of Itasca Fest. When I arrive, I'm stunned. An entire line of food booths with no lines at all. Pulled pork sandwich, deep-fried chips and lemonade, here I come. Once done, one attraction draws me in. There are free stilt-walking lessons. The key is to keep your balance on a much narrower base than you're used to, with no help from your arms because you must hold onto the stilts. I do OK, but maybe Ishould've gone to the learn-to-make-giant bubbles tent instead. With all the reader e-mails I get about being full of hot air, I'd have natural talent. But the day is growing short. On to the next fest.
Fest six: At Summerfest in Glendale Heights, I follow the crowd to the source of audible laughter. Ah, yes. Teams of children are wearing helmets with cups glued to the top. Adults fill the cups with water and the kids walk a line and empty the cup into a bucket without removing the helmet. The result is lots of water on the kids, not so much in the buckets. There's nothing quite like watching adults laugh and point at kids to put the world in perspective. After laughing at the adults who are laughing at the kids, I decide it's time to wrap the fest-a-thon up with a grand finale.
Fest seven: The last fest is Glen Ellyn's inaugural jazz fest. It's been in the works for three years. With that much planning, I'm expecting something special. As I arrive, Paulinho Garcia and John Moulder are playing a Bossa Nova appropriate for their Brazilian style. Jazz fans have packed Main Street for a full downtown block.
As I sit and listen I decide the fest has a decidedly Ravinia feel to it, except there's asphalt under us instead of grass and table cloths instead of picnic blankets. It has a soothing impact, perfect to end the day.
Friday
Transportation:Chicago tests airport ruling
Chicago does tree work in expansion area
Listen to WBBM780 interview me about this story!
By James Fuller
Less than a day after a DuPage County judge temporarily blocked demolition of Bensenville properties for O'Hare International Airport expansion, Chicago officials face allegations of violating the restraining order.
Construction crews trimmed and cleared trees Thursday morning from at least three properties on the 200 block of Orchard Road near the airport fence.
Bensenville attorney Joseph Karaganis said the heavy equipment used for the clearing damaged property and uprooted soil. DuPage Circuit Judge Kenneth Popejoy told city of Chicago attorneys on Wednesday not to disturb any soil at the site until environmental testing occurs.
"The whole premise of the injunction was based on expert opinion that there may be contamination in the soil," Karaganis said. "Don't disturb the soil until the testing is done, and Chicago proceeded to disturb the hell out of it."
O'Hare Modernization Program Executive Director Rosemarie Andolino said Bensenville is blowing things out of proportion. She said the tree trimming and clearing is comparable to everyday landscaping activities at the airport.
In this case, she said, the trimmings occurred to make expansion property owned by the city more visible to airport security patrolling the fence line and property managers overseeing vacant houses.
"We have every right to be on our property, making sure we provide a secure and safe property," Andolino said. "There are a lot of places that people can wander to, a lot of trees that people can hide behind."
Andolino said plans for further security measures at the 500 parcels Chicago controls are in place, including the installation of fencing. She said fencing could begin as early as today along with more tree clearing.
But first, Popejoy will decide if such activity violates the restraining order he has in place. A hearing is planned for this morning.
Chicago attorneys asked Popejoy for permission to erect fences at the last court hearing on Wednesday. Popejoy refused to give an impromptu ruling at the time.
Listen to WBBM780 interview me about this story!
By James Fuller
Less than a day after a DuPage County judge temporarily blocked demolition of Bensenville properties for O'Hare International Airport expansion, Chicago officials face allegations of violating the restraining order.
Construction crews trimmed and cleared trees Thursday morning from at least three properties on the 200 block of Orchard Road near the airport fence.
Bensenville attorney Joseph Karaganis said the heavy equipment used for the clearing damaged property and uprooted soil. DuPage Circuit Judge Kenneth Popejoy told city of Chicago attorneys on Wednesday not to disturb any soil at the site until environmental testing occurs.
"The whole premise of the injunction was based on expert opinion that there may be contamination in the soil," Karaganis said. "Don't disturb the soil until the testing is done, and Chicago proceeded to disturb the hell out of it."
O'Hare Modernization Program Executive Director Rosemarie Andolino said Bensenville is blowing things out of proportion. She said the tree trimming and clearing is comparable to everyday landscaping activities at the airport.
In this case, she said, the trimmings occurred to make expansion property owned by the city more visible to airport security patrolling the fence line and property managers overseeing vacant houses.
"We have every right to be on our property, making sure we provide a secure and safe property," Andolino said. "There are a lot of places that people can wander to, a lot of trees that people can hide behind."
Andolino said plans for further security measures at the 500 parcels Chicago controls are in place, including the installation of fencing. She said fencing could begin as early as today along with more tree clearing.
But first, Popejoy will decide if such activity violates the restraining order he has in place. A hearing is planned for this morning.
Chicago attorneys asked Popejoy for permission to erect fences at the last court hearing on Wednesday. Popejoy refused to give an impromptu ruling at the time.
Hard news: Mixed O’Hare ruling
By James Fuller and Justin Kmitch
jfuller@dailyherald.com jkmitch@dailyherald.com
Posted Thursday, July 26, 2007
Bulldozers could raze Bensenville homes in the area proposed for expanding O’Hare International Airport, but not until the city of Chicago completes environmental testing ordered Wednesday by a DuPage County judge.
The decision by DuPage Circuit Judge Kenneth Popejoy signaled a partial victory for Bensenville officials. It creates a further delay to the demolition work they have opposed for some time.
It’s unclear how long the environmental tests would take. Popejoy said he wants to see the results of the testing before allowing demolition to proceed.
Bensenville submitted sworn affidavits by experts indicating the likelihood of toxic chemicals being present on various parts of the expansion site, such as the old Nelson Steel and Wire Co. property.
“I am not going to risk the residents of Bensenville and the other residents in the surrounding area,” Popejoy said.
Last week, Republican U.S. Rep. Peter Roskam urged the FAA and U.S. Environmental Protection Agency to conduct a thorough study to examine the risks of exposure to toxic substances during the proposed demolition. Roskam called Wednesday’s ruling a “step in the right direction.”
“This decision is in concert with what I was arguing for,” he said. “My constituents need to be protected from these unknown risks.”
But not all of Popejoy’s decisions went Bensenville’s way.
Bensenville had planned to issue stop work orders to any demolition crew and to arrest anyone who ignored them.
But Popejoy ruled Bensenville’s local laws requiring village approval of demolition applications don’t apply to the O’Hare expansion project.
Popejoy emphasized Bensenville’s lack of authority to hinder the expansion. He said he’ll clear his schedule to review the results of the environmental tests to prevent further delays.
That indicates demolition ultimately will proceed. It’s just a matter of when.
Still, Bensenville attorney Joseph Karaganis emphasized his disbelief that full funding of any phase of the expansion will occur.
Karaganis said he believes Chicago to be between $1.5 billion and $2.1 billion short of paying for the initial $8 billion phase.
Earlier this year, project leaders disclosed a $400 million cost overrun and a new projected deadline — pushing the cost from $7.5 billion to nearly $8 billion and setting back completion from 2013 to 2014. They also pushed back the opening of O’Hare’s first new runway by one year.
If demolition proceeds but funding stalls, Bensenville would be stuck with a vast dirt plain.
“Many people, including the media, believe that we are pursuing a lost cause because Chicago is moving some dirt around on the airport grounds,” Village President John Geils said in a prepared statement. “Chicago is engaged in a dangerous and costly game in which they are already spending untold millions before the most important issues are settled.
“If the courts rule against Chicago — and we’re confident that when they follow the rule of law, they will — Daley will need to do some serious explaining to taxpayers why he pursued this folly.”
Chicago’s attorneys declined comment after Wednesday’s hearing and calls placed to O’Hare Modernization Program officials weren’t returned.
Monday
Trend in video games targets the Christian audience
BY JAMES FULLER
Mario, Sonic the Hedgehog, Pac-Man and Jesus Christ could be the faces of the video game industry's Mount Rushmore if Christian game developers have a say.
The video game industry saw record sales of $13.5 billion last year. No Christian games cracked the Top 10 sales lists, but gamers at this weekend's 2007 Christian Game Developers Conference pray that soon will change.
They're starting not just with Best Buy and Circuit City outlets near you, but also in the churches and youth ministries in your neighborhood.
Teaching tools
Parents at St. Thomas the Apostle Church in Naperville are using "Gospel Champions" to supplement summer Bible readings. The church lets parishioners download the game from its Web site right onto their home computers and activate it with an access code for the church's licensed copy.
The game changes monthly to match Bible readings. July's reading is the Good Samaritan story. Characters in the game controlled by kids act out a computerized version of the parable, complete with rehearsing basic Christian prayers in various spots."As a parent, and knowing how much kids are on the computer, I thought this was something that we actually want kids to know," said Patti Dougherty, the parish's religious education director.
The popularity of "Gospel Champions" is unknown, but interest seems to be growing.
Armageddon on PC
On a national level, the "Left Behind: Eternal Forces" game is arguably the Christian game that's attracted the most interest.
The electronic adventure is modeled after the best-selling Christian book series about the aftermath of the Rapture - when God takes all faithful Christians from the earth.
"Eternal Forces" lets players lead a group of Christian forces against demonic soldiers resembling United Nations Peacekeepers in hopes of converting them. There's no blood, and prayer is the best weapon against guns, an aspect of the game that stifled most, but not all, Christian fears about violence in the game.
Lake Villa's Cheryl Gress founded the Web site Christ Centered Game Reviews after encountering too many games with "cult" themes that she felt uncomfortable playing after being inadequately warned by the game labels.
Gress said "Eternal Forces" probably had the biggest budget, name recognition and marketing effort of any Christian-themed game she's reviewed.
Indeed, Left Behind Games, which is tied to Carol Stream's Tyndale Publishers, reports more than 1 million requests for pass-it-on trial versions of the game from churches and ministries.
Still, Gress slammed the game in her personal review, as did most of the national video game press.
"I just found it really hard," Gress said. "And the online help community is not exactly there for it, because it's not a mainstream game."
Finding an audience
The challenge facing developers of Christian-themed video games is difficult, according to Bill Bean, president of the Association of Christian Entertainment, one of the organizations behind this year's Christian gaming conference.
They must create a game capable of not only making it to store shelves - but selling once it gets there.
"No one's looking at our packages and saying, 'Wow, that's good, and look, it says God on the box,'" Bean said. "We, as Christian game developers, need to provide games that are really fun to play, have a message in it and are reasonably priced."
Price is part of the reason John's Christian Stores throughout the suburbs aren't selling nearly as many video games as they do music CDs.
Brian Cook, a buyer for the chain, said his stores have only sold two copies of "Eternal Forces" since it hit the shelves in time for Christmas last year. The $59.95 price tag is one of the reasons.
"The quality doesn't match what you would expect to get out of a $60 game," Cook said. "But it's a unique market. There are very little Christian games, and there are always customers looking for it."
If a developer produces a Christian game that's both high quality and decently priced, Cook predicts the product would sell well.
"There's definitely people out there waiting for something," he said.
A dancing success
One Christian-themed game has sold out at John's Christian Stores.
It's called "Dance Praise Party." And Steve and Katie Willemssen count themselves among the fans of the Christian clone of the popular "Dance Dance Revolution."
Every Friday night at the their Aurora home, the couple and many of their 30-something friends gather around the television for a "Dance Praise Party" contest.
Only they're not bringing "SexyBack" with Justin Timberlake. Instead, they're getting down to Audio Adrenaline, a Christian band.
Steve Willemssen is the decided John Travolta of the group - wowing the crowd whenever it's his turn on the dance mat.
"We probably wouldn't have gotten one if it wasn't Christian, because the music these days is horrible," Katie Willemssen said. "The lyrics today, we would never appreciate something like that. So it's cool that the Christian market is coming up with something - that kids and adults now have an alternative to DDR."
Bean is one of the creators of "Dance Praise Party." He said the reason for the product's success is a lot of time spent on his knees asking God for guidance.
"You really want to make sure that this is what the Lord wants you to do," Bean said.
To that end, Bean said the future for Christian video game makers is to produce products for the big console systems like PlayStation 3 and Xbox 360.
"You ask yourself: What Christian titles have come out that have used good technology, had a good story and glued together good activities with a subtle message?" Bean said. "Is the product of equal quality as the same non-Christian games released at the same time, or did they do a value job on a Christian product?"
So where can Christians find those games?
"I haven't seen it," Bean confessed. "But I'd like to see it."
Mario, Sonic the Hedgehog, Pac-Man and Jesus Christ could be the faces of the video game industry's Mount Rushmore if Christian game developers have a say.
The video game industry saw record sales of $13.5 billion last year. No Christian games cracked the Top 10 sales lists, but gamers at this weekend's 2007 Christian Game Developers Conference pray that soon will change.
They're starting not just with Best Buy and Circuit City outlets near you, but also in the churches and youth ministries in your neighborhood.
Teaching tools
Parents at St. Thomas the Apostle Church in Naperville are using "Gospel Champions" to supplement summer Bible readings. The church lets parishioners download the game from its Web site right onto their home computers and activate it with an access code for the church's licensed copy.
The game changes monthly to match Bible readings. July's reading is the Good Samaritan story. Characters in the game controlled by kids act out a computerized version of the parable, complete with rehearsing basic Christian prayers in various spots."As a parent, and knowing how much kids are on the computer, I thought this was something that we actually want kids to know," said Patti Dougherty, the parish's religious education director.
The popularity of "Gospel Champions" is unknown, but interest seems to be growing.
Armageddon on PC
On a national level, the "Left Behind: Eternal Forces" game is arguably the Christian game that's attracted the most interest.
The electronic adventure is modeled after the best-selling Christian book series about the aftermath of the Rapture - when God takes all faithful Christians from the earth.
"Eternal Forces" lets players lead a group of Christian forces against demonic soldiers resembling United Nations Peacekeepers in hopes of converting them. There's no blood, and prayer is the best weapon against guns, an aspect of the game that stifled most, but not all, Christian fears about violence in the game.
Lake Villa's Cheryl Gress founded the Web site Christ Centered Game Reviews after encountering too many games with "cult" themes that she felt uncomfortable playing after being inadequately warned by the game labels.
Gress said "Eternal Forces" probably had the biggest budget, name recognition and marketing effort of any Christian-themed game she's reviewed.
Indeed, Left Behind Games, which is tied to Carol Stream's Tyndale Publishers, reports more than 1 million requests for pass-it-on trial versions of the game from churches and ministries.
Still, Gress slammed the game in her personal review, as did most of the national video game press.
"I just found it really hard," Gress said. "And the online help community is not exactly there for it, because it's not a mainstream game."
Finding an audience
The challenge facing developers of Christian-themed video games is difficult, according to Bill Bean, president of the Association of Christian Entertainment, one of the organizations behind this year's Christian gaming conference.
They must create a game capable of not only making it to store shelves - but selling once it gets there.
"No one's looking at our packages and saying, 'Wow, that's good, and look, it says God on the box,'" Bean said. "We, as Christian game developers, need to provide games that are really fun to play, have a message in it and are reasonably priced."
Price is part of the reason John's Christian Stores throughout the suburbs aren't selling nearly as many video games as they do music CDs.
Brian Cook, a buyer for the chain, said his stores have only sold two copies of "Eternal Forces" since it hit the shelves in time for Christmas last year. The $59.95 price tag is one of the reasons.
"The quality doesn't match what you would expect to get out of a $60 game," Cook said. "But it's a unique market. There are very little Christian games, and there are always customers looking for it."
If a developer produces a Christian game that's both high quality and decently priced, Cook predicts the product would sell well.
"There's definitely people out there waiting for something," he said.
A dancing success
One Christian-themed game has sold out at John's Christian Stores.
It's called "Dance Praise Party." And Steve and Katie Willemssen count themselves among the fans of the Christian clone of the popular "Dance Dance Revolution."
Every Friday night at the their Aurora home, the couple and many of their 30-something friends gather around the television for a "Dance Praise Party" contest.
Only they're not bringing "SexyBack" with Justin Timberlake. Instead, they're getting down to Audio Adrenaline, a Christian band.
Steve Willemssen is the decided John Travolta of the group - wowing the crowd whenever it's his turn on the dance mat.
"We probably wouldn't have gotten one if it wasn't Christian, because the music these days is horrible," Katie Willemssen said. "The lyrics today, we would never appreciate something like that. So it's cool that the Christian market is coming up with something - that kids and adults now have an alternative to DDR."
Bean is one of the creators of "Dance Praise Party." He said the reason for the product's success is a lot of time spent on his knees asking God for guidance.
"You really want to make sure that this is what the Lord wants you to do," Bean said.
To that end, Bean said the future for Christian video game makers is to produce products for the big console systems like PlayStation 3 and Xbox 360.
"You ask yourself: What Christian titles have come out that have used good technology, had a good story and glued together good activities with a subtle message?" Bean said. "Is the product of equal quality as the same non-Christian games released at the same time, or did they do a value job on a Christian product?"
So where can Christians find those games?
"I haven't seen it," Bean confessed. "But I'd like to see it."
Tuesday
Fans back Floyd Landis in Wheaton, but ...
They wouldn't be surprised if cyclist is found to have cheated in 2006 Tour de France
BY JAMES FULLER
jfuller@dailyherald.com
(Tanit Jarusan/tjarusan@dailyherald.com)
Floyd Landis emerged from last year's Tour de France with both a yellow jersey and a heap of controversy about doping on his shoulders, but local cycling fans stood by him Monday even while bracing for disappointment.
Landis appeared at Borders in Wheaton Monday to sign his new book, "Positively False."Not one person would say Landis was, no doubt, a cheater in a non-scientific poll of people coming to see Landis.
That's not a shocking outcome for a crowd that gave Landis a standing ovation, bought every copy of the book in the store and then waited in line more than two hours to have it signed.
Perhaps more interesting was why they support Landis.
A good portion of the crowd, especially enthusiasts who turned out in bicycle shorts, believe there were flawed methods in the doping test Landis failed.
That's the same argument Landis has put forward for the past year. Some fans had other theories.
Tom Johnson, of Wheaton, said he'd believe in Landis' innocence even if Landis had illegal drugs in his system.
"It wouldn't shock me if someone put something in his drinks without him knowing," Johnson said. "It's not like the stuff is hard to come by. Someone probably did it in exchange for $25."
Kellyanne Thomas' view was similar to many others in that, as a fan, she wants to believe Landis is innocent. But she wouldn't be shocked if Landis was guilty.
Indeed, the names of Sammy Sosa and Barry Bonds came up more than once, indicating cynicism about baseball's steroid scandal has already numbed fans to the possible fall of another sports hero.
Thomas, of LaGrange, cited Landis' visible anger when he crossed the finish line and immediately after as very counter to the man she met at the book signing, and a possible sign of " 'roid rage."
"It's the only thing that, if I hadn't seen that, I'd have no reason for suspicion," Thomas said.
Others said there's so much confusion now that there's no way anyone will ever know for sure if Landis cheated or not.
Steve Lindeen of Wheaton said Landis has given the testing methods enough of a black eye with his accusations of shoddy labs and tainted measurements that even a final court ruling against Landis can't be trusted. A ruling in favor of Landis wouldn't be definitive, either, but decidedly better for cycling, he said.
"He says he's innocent," Lindeen said. "For the good of the sport, I think that it's very important he's innocent because he's said he is."
BY JAMES FULLER
jfuller@dailyherald.com
(Tanit Jarusan/tjarusan@dailyherald.com)
Floyd Landis emerged from last year's Tour de France with both a yellow jersey and a heap of controversy about doping on his shoulders, but local cycling fans stood by him Monday even while bracing for disappointment.
Landis appeared at Borders in Wheaton Monday to sign his new book, "Positively False."Not one person would say Landis was, no doubt, a cheater in a non-scientific poll of people coming to see Landis.
That's not a shocking outcome for a crowd that gave Landis a standing ovation, bought every copy of the book in the store and then waited in line more than two hours to have it signed.
Perhaps more interesting was why they support Landis.
A good portion of the crowd, especially enthusiasts who turned out in bicycle shorts, believe there were flawed methods in the doping test Landis failed.
That's the same argument Landis has put forward for the past year. Some fans had other theories.
Tom Johnson, of Wheaton, said he'd believe in Landis' innocence even if Landis had illegal drugs in his system.
"It wouldn't shock me if someone put something in his drinks without him knowing," Johnson said. "It's not like the stuff is hard to come by. Someone probably did it in exchange for $25."
Kellyanne Thomas' view was similar to many others in that, as a fan, she wants to believe Landis is innocent. But she wouldn't be shocked if Landis was guilty.
Indeed, the names of Sammy Sosa and Barry Bonds came up more than once, indicating cynicism about baseball's steroid scandal has already numbed fans to the possible fall of another sports hero.
Thomas, of LaGrange, cited Landis' visible anger when he crossed the finish line and immediately after as very counter to the man she met at the book signing, and a possible sign of " 'roid rage."
"It's the only thing that, if I hadn't seen that, I'd have no reason for suspicion," Thomas said.
Others said there's so much confusion now that there's no way anyone will ever know for sure if Landis cheated or not.
Steve Lindeen of Wheaton said Landis has given the testing methods enough of a black eye with his accusations of shoddy labs and tainted measurements that even a final court ruling against Landis can't be trusted. A ruling in favor of Landis wouldn't be definitive, either, but decidedly better for cycling, he said.
"He says he's innocent," Lindeen said. "For the good of the sport, I think that it's very important he's innocent because he's said he is."
Monday
‘So many times they wrote him off’
Aid for Villa Park boy overcoming premature birth might be running out
By James Fuller
jfuller@dailyherald.com
Kelly Walker felt the warm glow of motherhood as she left her doctor’s office the afternoon of Jan. 3, 2004. Her ultrasound showed healthy twins.
A mounting terror erased that feeling when she went into labor at 11 p.m. that night. Mason and Grace weren’t due until April 11, Easter weekend.
“I thought, ‘There’s no way this is happening. They’re three months early. How can they live?’” Walker recalled.
Three years later, Walker finds herself asking that question about Mason again. The family’s insurance is tapped out. Mason no longer qualifies for nursing care through public aid. Soon, all the help Mason needs may vanish.
Now the Walkers are hoping a bowling fundraiser next weekend will help keep Mason moving forward.
Baby steps
Grace triggered the premature birth. Her placenta was 30 percent detached, torn and filling with blood. It was either birth or death.
Hours later, Mason and Grace entered the world in miniature. Their footprints were the length of two quarters with little nubs for toes.
Despite their size, there was relief.
The twins survived their tumultuous birth. The worst seemed to be over as the twins began their incubator lives and the path to going home to Villa Park.
Grace took that path. Mason followed another.
A week into Mason’s life he developed a bruise on the top of his right foot. Doctors attributed it to an awkward sleeping position.
A few days later, when it appeared to worsen, the bruise was traced to needle pokes Mason received during his care. His foot was treated with cream and wrapped in gauze.
It didn’t help. Mason’s tiny body swelled with so much infection his father, Joe, feared his skin would burst. Mason ballooned from a 2-pound premie into 10 pounds of sick child.
Doctors determined Mason had an E. coli infection stemming from a small hole in his intestines.
The mysterious hole healed, but the infection was so severe that medical staff told the Walkers they should take their son’s toys home and prepare for his death.
“They told me they’d never seen anyone that sick live,” Kelly Walker said.
Mason’s body wasn’t ridding itself of the toxins. He hadn’t urinated in a week. That’s when Kelly Walker had an idea.
She told the doctors to try putting his hand in a cup of warm water. After some hesitancy, the staff gave it a shot and Mason responded just like one of Kelly’s friends had done at an ill-fated teenage sleepover.
Mason’s swelling ebbed, but his right foot grew ever worse, eventually tearing open in several places. He received a pig skin graft to close the wounds, but the infection spread to his hip.
A year’s worth of failed attempts to save Mason’s foot followed.
“It was a mangled mess,” Kelly Walker said.
Amputation was the only option left. The infection also stunted the formation of Mason’s hip socket. His right leg would grow at a far slower rate than his left, requiring a prosthesis that makes it look like Mason’s calf was amputated as well.
Now the boy who shouldn’t be alive is 3 years old.
“So many times they wrote him off, and so many times he’s proven them wrong,” Kelly Walker said.
Helping hands
Mason is looking to prove everyone wrong again by learning to walk on his own with the help of therapists at Easter Seals and his nurse, Kathleen Brannon.
It’s Tuesday and that means speech, physical and occupational therapy.
A web of eight bungee cords strapped to a cage on one end and a harness on the other holds Mason upright. Mary Wyler coaxes Mason to perform various exercises while also finding enough entertainment to soothe the rambunctious toddler.
“I want No. 5,” Mason says.
It’s a reference to the “Thomas the Tank Engine” children’s show that Mason currently is obsessed with.
“No. 5 is James,” Mason says. Indeed, he knows all the characters by their names, numbers and faces.
Wyler strategically places the toy train so Mason must lean back and do a sit-up to reach it. Mason’s muscles are underdeveloped. He uses a walker pushed mostly with his left leg to get around. He can’t stand on his own. Yet.
“Are you gonna walk, Mr. Walker?” Brannon asks, shifting Mason over to a treadmill.
“I’m ready,” he replies.
The treadmill also has a harness. It lowers Mason to a standing position on the tread, which moves as slowly as 0.1 mph. Mason intersperses walking with other exercises, such as kicking toy police cars off the treadmill with his prosthetic leg.
This is remarkable progress for Mason. When he first started therapy he was so weak that sometimes he’d stop breathing while trying to lift his head.
Now he’s a little Godzilla on the treadmill, deflecting all would-be objects near his legs.
Once complete, it’s time for Linda Merry to concentrate on some of Mason’s fine motor skills. Mason’s nervous system also is underdeveloped. For instance, he began with no instinctual concept of the danger of letting go while swinging on a swing. Climbing over balls and mats requires a thought process Mason still is developing.
His nerves also are hypersensitive. Touching something like grass or clay can feel so unusual to Mason that it scares him.
“OK, big guy,” Merry says to Mason. “Are you ready to play?”
“OK,” Mason responds. It’s his favorite reply, even when it’s obvious he’d rather not do the requested activity. It’s also not unusual for him to request a hug now and then.
Mason concentrates on twisting lids, drawing vertical lines and pulling putty apart, all of which require coordinated muscle use.
“It’s not all about the legs,” Merry said. “It’s about maximizing strengths to minimize his weaknesses.”
Financial obstacles
Mason is much more capable than he would be otherwise thanks to all the care he receives.
But he’ll still need a lifetime of therapy.
Without some financial help, backward steps may be the first he takes.
One of the first things he’ll lose is Brannon, his nurse. Public aid won’t pay for her anymore because Mason is healthy enough to avoid a hospital stay without her. All told, it’s a $3,600-a-month cost the Walkers can’t afford.
“Without a doubt, if he didn’t have the therapy and extra help that he gets, he would just crumble and not be the same as he is today,” Kelly Walker said. “He has come so far. He’s come from the dead. It crushes me to think that he could go completely backward.”
By James Fuller
jfuller@dailyherald.com
Kelly Walker felt the warm glow of motherhood as she left her doctor’s office the afternoon of Jan. 3, 2004. Her ultrasound showed healthy twins.
A mounting terror erased that feeling when she went into labor at 11 p.m. that night. Mason and Grace weren’t due until April 11, Easter weekend.
“I thought, ‘There’s no way this is happening. They’re three months early. How can they live?’” Walker recalled.
Three years later, Walker finds herself asking that question about Mason again. The family’s insurance is tapped out. Mason no longer qualifies for nursing care through public aid. Soon, all the help Mason needs may vanish.
Now the Walkers are hoping a bowling fundraiser next weekend will help keep Mason moving forward.
Baby steps
Grace triggered the premature birth. Her placenta was 30 percent detached, torn and filling with blood. It was either birth or death.
Hours later, Mason and Grace entered the world in miniature. Their footprints were the length of two quarters with little nubs for toes.
Despite their size, there was relief.
The twins survived their tumultuous birth. The worst seemed to be over as the twins began their incubator lives and the path to going home to Villa Park.
Grace took that path. Mason followed another.
A week into Mason’s life he developed a bruise on the top of his right foot. Doctors attributed it to an awkward sleeping position.
A few days later, when it appeared to worsen, the bruise was traced to needle pokes Mason received during his care. His foot was treated with cream and wrapped in gauze.
It didn’t help. Mason’s tiny body swelled with so much infection his father, Joe, feared his skin would burst. Mason ballooned from a 2-pound premie into 10 pounds of sick child.
Doctors determined Mason had an E. coli infection stemming from a small hole in his intestines.
The mysterious hole healed, but the infection was so severe that medical staff told the Walkers they should take their son’s toys home and prepare for his death.
“They told me they’d never seen anyone that sick live,” Kelly Walker said.
Mason’s body wasn’t ridding itself of the toxins. He hadn’t urinated in a week. That’s when Kelly Walker had an idea.
She told the doctors to try putting his hand in a cup of warm water. After some hesitancy, the staff gave it a shot and Mason responded just like one of Kelly’s friends had done at an ill-fated teenage sleepover.
Mason’s swelling ebbed, but his right foot grew ever worse, eventually tearing open in several places. He received a pig skin graft to close the wounds, but the infection spread to his hip.
A year’s worth of failed attempts to save Mason’s foot followed.
“It was a mangled mess,” Kelly Walker said.
Amputation was the only option left. The infection also stunted the formation of Mason’s hip socket. His right leg would grow at a far slower rate than his left, requiring a prosthesis that makes it look like Mason’s calf was amputated as well.
Now the boy who shouldn’t be alive is 3 years old.
“So many times they wrote him off, and so many times he’s proven them wrong,” Kelly Walker said.
Helping hands
Mason is looking to prove everyone wrong again by learning to walk on his own with the help of therapists at Easter Seals and his nurse, Kathleen Brannon.
It’s Tuesday and that means speech, physical and occupational therapy.
A web of eight bungee cords strapped to a cage on one end and a harness on the other holds Mason upright. Mary Wyler coaxes Mason to perform various exercises while also finding enough entertainment to soothe the rambunctious toddler.
“I want No. 5,” Mason says.
It’s a reference to the “Thomas the Tank Engine” children’s show that Mason currently is obsessed with.
“No. 5 is James,” Mason says. Indeed, he knows all the characters by their names, numbers and faces.
Wyler strategically places the toy train so Mason must lean back and do a sit-up to reach it. Mason’s muscles are underdeveloped. He uses a walker pushed mostly with his left leg to get around. He can’t stand on his own. Yet.
“Are you gonna walk, Mr. Walker?” Brannon asks, shifting Mason over to a treadmill.
“I’m ready,” he replies.
The treadmill also has a harness. It lowers Mason to a standing position on the tread, which moves as slowly as 0.1 mph. Mason intersperses walking with other exercises, such as kicking toy police cars off the treadmill with his prosthetic leg.
This is remarkable progress for Mason. When he first started therapy he was so weak that sometimes he’d stop breathing while trying to lift his head.
Now he’s a little Godzilla on the treadmill, deflecting all would-be objects near his legs.
Once complete, it’s time for Linda Merry to concentrate on some of Mason’s fine motor skills. Mason’s nervous system also is underdeveloped. For instance, he began with no instinctual concept of the danger of letting go while swinging on a swing. Climbing over balls and mats requires a thought process Mason still is developing.
His nerves also are hypersensitive. Touching something like grass or clay can feel so unusual to Mason that it scares him.
“OK, big guy,” Merry says to Mason. “Are you ready to play?”
“OK,” Mason responds. It’s his favorite reply, even when it’s obvious he’d rather not do the requested activity. It’s also not unusual for him to request a hug now and then.
Mason concentrates on twisting lids, drawing vertical lines and pulling putty apart, all of which require coordinated muscle use.
“It’s not all about the legs,” Merry said. “It’s about maximizing strengths to minimize his weaknesses.”
Financial obstacles
Mason is much more capable than he would be otherwise thanks to all the care he receives.
But he’ll still need a lifetime of therapy.
Without some financial help, backward steps may be the first he takes.
One of the first things he’ll lose is Brannon, his nurse. Public aid won’t pay for her anymore because Mason is healthy enough to avoid a hospital stay without her. All told, it’s a $3,600-a-month cost the Walkers can’t afford.
“Without a doubt, if he didn’t have the therapy and extra help that he gets, he would just crumble and not be the same as he is today,” Kelly Walker said. “He has come so far. He’s come from the dead. It crushes me to think that he could go completely backward.”
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