Wrong-way driver kills 4 on Loop 820
FORT WORTH, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) - Four people were killed early Sunday when a wrong-way driver slammed into another vehicle on East Loop 820, Fort Worth police said.
The accident happened around 1:30 a.m. at Sun Valley Drive near the Interstate 20 intersection.
According to investigators, the intoxicated driver of the first car, whose name was not available, was headed down the highway in the wrong direction when he struck the second vehicle.
Four occupants of the second vehicle were killed. The Tarrant County Medical Examiner said two of the victims died at the scene; two others died later at John Peter Smith Hospital.
The medical examiner's office identified three of the dead as:
• Charles Tate, 19, of Fort Worth
• Carl Field, 14, of Fort Worth
• Jeffrey Muriel, 19, of Fort Worth
The fourth victim's name was not released.
Police said charges were pending against the alleged drunk driver, who was not seriously hurt in the wreck.
News from the Lone Star State
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TexasStooge
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Apartment residents overcome by fumes
DALLAS, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) - Thirteen people were hospitalized Sunday morning after being overcome by carbon monoxide fumes from a gasoline-powered generator inside an apartment building in the South Oak Cliff section of Dallas.
Building 104 at the Parkwood Apartments in the 2800 block of Groveview Drive was evacuated.
Dallas Fire-Rescue took 13 residents—including two children and two teenagers—to local hospitals; others were treated at the scene.
Two of the tenants—an 18-year-old woman and a 25-year-old man sleeping in the room where the generator was running—were reported in serious condition. The other victims were said to be in stable condition.
Investigators said a tenant who had recently lost power to his apartment unit had been using a gas generator in a bedroom to run fans to keep cool.
Carbon monoxide fumes from the generator then spread to other apartments in the building through air conditioning ducts, doors and windows.
Firefighters wearing oxygen tanks had to break in to at least one unit to rescue its tenant.
DALLAS, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) - Thirteen people were hospitalized Sunday morning after being overcome by carbon monoxide fumes from a gasoline-powered generator inside an apartment building in the South Oak Cliff section of Dallas.
Building 104 at the Parkwood Apartments in the 2800 block of Groveview Drive was evacuated.
Dallas Fire-Rescue took 13 residents—including two children and two teenagers—to local hospitals; others were treated at the scene.
Two of the tenants—an 18-year-old woman and a 25-year-old man sleeping in the room where the generator was running—were reported in serious condition. The other victims were said to be in stable condition.
Investigators said a tenant who had recently lost power to his apartment unit had been using a gas generator in a bedroom to run fans to keep cool.
Carbon monoxide fumes from the generator then spread to other apartments in the building through air conditioning ducts, doors and windows.
Firefighters wearing oxygen tanks had to break in to at least one unit to rescue its tenant.
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Mom faces charges in Keller girl's death
By BERT LOZANO / WFAA ABC 8
KELLER, Texas - A Keller mother who lived through her end of a murder-suicide attempt was facing charges in the death of her daughter.
Police said the death of 11-year-old Kelsey Roberts was a tragic end to a bitter custody battle.
Norma Roberts will be charged with suffocating her daughter. Kelsey's father found the two inside Norma Roberts' home on Friday night.
Keller police said the child's mother had some superficial wounds to her wrists. She was hospitalized Saturday night.
Investigators think a pending divorce and a child custody battle over Kelsey drove Norma Roberts to allegedly commit the crime.
Beth Roser, a neighbor, was grieving over Kelsey's death. "I think it's sad that people get to the point where they're so desperate that this is a potential solution," she said.
Kelsey had been scheduled to start classes at South Keller Intermediate school on Monday. Counselors will be on hand for students and staffers.
When Norma Roberts regains full consciousness, she will have to answer to a police officer posted outside her hospital room.
WFAA-TV photojournalist Mike Zukerman contributed to this report.
By BERT LOZANO / WFAA ABC 8
KELLER, Texas - A Keller mother who lived through her end of a murder-suicide attempt was facing charges in the death of her daughter.
Police said the death of 11-year-old Kelsey Roberts was a tragic end to a bitter custody battle.
Norma Roberts will be charged with suffocating her daughter. Kelsey's father found the two inside Norma Roberts' home on Friday night.
Keller police said the child's mother had some superficial wounds to her wrists. She was hospitalized Saturday night.
Investigators think a pending divorce and a child custody battle over Kelsey drove Norma Roberts to allegedly commit the crime.
Beth Roser, a neighbor, was grieving over Kelsey's death. "I think it's sad that people get to the point where they're so desperate that this is a potential solution," she said.
Kelsey had been scheduled to start classes at South Keller Intermediate school on Monday. Counselors will be on hand for students and staffers.
When Norma Roberts regains full consciousness, she will have to answer to a police officer posted outside her hospital room.
WFAA-TV photojournalist Mike Zukerman contributed to this report.
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County losing track of crooks
Exclusive: Dallas County can't account for 10,000 probationers
By BROOKS EGERTON / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - It's 10 p.m. Do we know where our criminals are?
Dallas County probation officials increasingly don't. They lost track last year of more than 10,000 people they were supposed to be supervising, according to a new study obtained by The Dallas Morning News. Half of them had committed felonies.
The number of probationers who are unaccounted for is up 65 percent since 2000. It also represents roughly a quarter of all people in the county who were on probation in 2004 – one of the worst rates in Texas, although other big counties have nothing to brag about.
"This is a law and order story," said probation officer Kurt Kuehl. "Everybody's at risk."
Dallas County's 15 felony court judges oversee the probation department and commissioned the study. Presiding Judge John Creuzot said they would have no comment on it until after a meeting Thursday.
"We're going to develop a direction that we would like to see the department go in," he said.
The study does not lay specific blame. Rather, it paints a broad picture of an overloaded, fragmented system.
Managing probationers is key to preventing more crime, experts say. About one-third of all people arrested in Texas are on probation at the time police detain them, according to the most recent numbers a study co-author was familiar with.
Such statistics feed the concerns of people like Dallas Police Chief David Kunkle. He says his department cannot, by itself, slash the city's crime rate – which is the highest among the nation's cities with more than 1 million residents.
"We're arresting people to the point that all the jails and detention centers are full," the chief said. "All parts of the criminal justice system are going to have to work as efficiently as possible."
Budget constraints mean Dallas County's caseloads are high and getting higher. Probation officers typically are assigned to supervise about 140 people apiece, said Dr. Jim Mills, the Community Supervision and Corrections Department's interim director. The goal, according to the study, should be 60.
The volume of work keeps most officers stuck at their desks. That's the only place they see most probationers. There's little surveillance of the places the offenders say they live and work.
And those desks? There aren't enough to go around, so some officers do computer work at home two days a week.
The study says the judges, despite their management responsibility, don't function as a team. They have a jumble of policies for monitoring the people they sentence, records show.
One major area of difference is judges' response to offenders who fail to check in at probation offices. Several jurists tell officers not to file a violation report if someone fails to report once. Some say to wait until there have been three straight failures.
Probation officers generally don't hunt for the absconders. Instead, the violation report can lead a judge to issue an arrest warrant, which becomes the sheriff's problem.
The sheriff's warrant division has a staff of 60 and about 170,000 pending warrants of all types, Sgt. Don Peritz said.
How many of the unaccounted-for probationers were caught last year? If caught, were they locked up or just put back on probation? How many committed new crimes while on the lam?
The study doesn't address these questions. State and local officials said they didn't know the answers.
But the problem of absconders is a long-standing one, stressed Dr. Mills, who became the county's interim director several months ago after longtime head Ron Goethals retired.
"We've got drawers full of people that absconded years ago," Dr. Mills said. He declined to comment on the study until the judges had.
The study
MGT of America, a Florida-based consulting firm that focuses on public-sector clients, compiled the study based on government records and extensive interviews in Dallas. Head consultants were Dr. Tony Fabelo, who was executive director of the Texas Criminal Justice Policy Council under the Perry, Bush and Richards administrations; and Ken McGinnis, former director of prison systems in Michigan and Illinois.
Probation is a huge and historically neglected piece of the criminal justice system, Dr. Fabelo and current officials said. They described Dallas County's problems as similar to – if somewhat worse than – those around the state.
"You're always triaging," said Bonita White, a former West Texas probation officer who now runs the state's Community Justice Assistance Division. "There's not enough time to do what you really need to do."
Texas has about 420,000 people on probation. That's almost twice the number of all state prisoners and parolees combined.
Chief Kunkle said he knew little about the probation system and didn't think his department worked closely with it. Such coordination could pay off, the new study suggests.
"More than 50 percent of felony probationers with addresses in the city of Dallas reside in less than 5 percent of the city's neighborhood areas," it says. Further study, it adds, could lead probation officers to target these areas, working with law enforcement, other government agencies and community groups.
Texas law requires the judges to create a team that monitors the probation department's effectiveness and gives policy guidance. The team should include representatives from the Dallas Police Department, the City Council, county commissioners, state legislators, the sheriff's office and the school district.
But such a group "has not met in at least three years to develop a meaningful plan," the study concludes.
Budgets
Dr. Fabelo said the pressure on probation departments will only grow as judges, responding to the prison space crunch, sentence more high-risk offenders to supervision outside lockups. But do the departments have the money to cope?
About half of their budgets come from fees probationers pay. Most of the rest comes from the state – and until this year, Ms. White said, legislators had not increased probation funding for a decade. There also had been a decline in programs, such as inpatient drug treatment, that can help people complete probation successfully.
Legislators recently approved increases that should begin turning things around, Ms. White said. Departments that receive the funds, she said, will be required to reduce caseloads and make other changes.
Dallas County's department managers decided last year to move from a narrow emphasis on enforcement to a broader goal of rehabilitation, using research-tested strategies.
But it isn't clear whether judges support the idea, the study says, and the department "is not organizationally prepared to make this shift."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By The Numbers:
40,481: People Dallas County probation officers were supposed to supervise last year
10,249: People who went missing
5,240: Missing people who were on probation for felonies
140: People each officer is assigned to supervise, on average
420,000: People on probation in Texas
151,000: Texas prison population
SOURCES: Texas Department of Criminal Justice; Dallas Morning News research
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A PROBATION PRIMER:
How people get put on probation, which is technically called community supervision:
1. The defendant is convicted of a crime and sentenced to 10 years or less of incarceration. The judge suspends the sentence and places the person under community supervision for the same period of time. The judge attaches various conditions, such as not committing new crimes, not using drugs, submitting to urine tests and regularly visiting a probation officer. Judges can send defendants to jail or prison if they violate the conditions.
OR
2. A judge finds that there is ample evidence to convict but doesn't do so. This is commonly called "deferred adjudication." The defendant is placed under community supervision, as above, and ends up with no criminal record if he or she completes the term successfully.
NOTE: People convicted of certain felonies, such as murder and aggravated sexual assault, are not eligible for probation. There are fewer limitations on whom a judge may sentence to deferred-adjudication probation.
Definitions
Felonies – the most serious crimes, such as murder or aggravated sexual assault, with the shortest prison sentence being 180 days in a state jail.
Misdemeanors – less serious crimes, such as traffic tickets, many of which are punished with fines only or short county jail terms; the maximum punishment is a year in jail
SOURCE: Dallas Morning News research
Exclusive: Dallas County can't account for 10,000 probationers
By BROOKS EGERTON / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - It's 10 p.m. Do we know where our criminals are?
Dallas County probation officials increasingly don't. They lost track last year of more than 10,000 people they were supposed to be supervising, according to a new study obtained by The Dallas Morning News. Half of them had committed felonies.
The number of probationers who are unaccounted for is up 65 percent since 2000. It also represents roughly a quarter of all people in the county who were on probation in 2004 – one of the worst rates in Texas, although other big counties have nothing to brag about.
"This is a law and order story," said probation officer Kurt Kuehl. "Everybody's at risk."
Dallas County's 15 felony court judges oversee the probation department and commissioned the study. Presiding Judge John Creuzot said they would have no comment on it until after a meeting Thursday.
"We're going to develop a direction that we would like to see the department go in," he said.
The study does not lay specific blame. Rather, it paints a broad picture of an overloaded, fragmented system.
Managing probationers is key to preventing more crime, experts say. About one-third of all people arrested in Texas are on probation at the time police detain them, according to the most recent numbers a study co-author was familiar with.
Such statistics feed the concerns of people like Dallas Police Chief David Kunkle. He says his department cannot, by itself, slash the city's crime rate – which is the highest among the nation's cities with more than 1 million residents.
"We're arresting people to the point that all the jails and detention centers are full," the chief said. "All parts of the criminal justice system are going to have to work as efficiently as possible."
Budget constraints mean Dallas County's caseloads are high and getting higher. Probation officers typically are assigned to supervise about 140 people apiece, said Dr. Jim Mills, the Community Supervision and Corrections Department's interim director. The goal, according to the study, should be 60.
The volume of work keeps most officers stuck at their desks. That's the only place they see most probationers. There's little surveillance of the places the offenders say they live and work.
And those desks? There aren't enough to go around, so some officers do computer work at home two days a week.
The study says the judges, despite their management responsibility, don't function as a team. They have a jumble of policies for monitoring the people they sentence, records show.
One major area of difference is judges' response to offenders who fail to check in at probation offices. Several jurists tell officers not to file a violation report if someone fails to report once. Some say to wait until there have been three straight failures.
Probation officers generally don't hunt for the absconders. Instead, the violation report can lead a judge to issue an arrest warrant, which becomes the sheriff's problem.
The sheriff's warrant division has a staff of 60 and about 170,000 pending warrants of all types, Sgt. Don Peritz said.
How many of the unaccounted-for probationers were caught last year? If caught, were they locked up or just put back on probation? How many committed new crimes while on the lam?
The study doesn't address these questions. State and local officials said they didn't know the answers.
But the problem of absconders is a long-standing one, stressed Dr. Mills, who became the county's interim director several months ago after longtime head Ron Goethals retired.
"We've got drawers full of people that absconded years ago," Dr. Mills said. He declined to comment on the study until the judges had.
The study
MGT of America, a Florida-based consulting firm that focuses on public-sector clients, compiled the study based on government records and extensive interviews in Dallas. Head consultants were Dr. Tony Fabelo, who was executive director of the Texas Criminal Justice Policy Council under the Perry, Bush and Richards administrations; and Ken McGinnis, former director of prison systems in Michigan and Illinois.
Probation is a huge and historically neglected piece of the criminal justice system, Dr. Fabelo and current officials said. They described Dallas County's problems as similar to – if somewhat worse than – those around the state.
"You're always triaging," said Bonita White, a former West Texas probation officer who now runs the state's Community Justice Assistance Division. "There's not enough time to do what you really need to do."
Texas has about 420,000 people on probation. That's almost twice the number of all state prisoners and parolees combined.
Chief Kunkle said he knew little about the probation system and didn't think his department worked closely with it. Such coordination could pay off, the new study suggests.
"More than 50 percent of felony probationers with addresses in the city of Dallas reside in less than 5 percent of the city's neighborhood areas," it says. Further study, it adds, could lead probation officers to target these areas, working with law enforcement, other government agencies and community groups.
Texas law requires the judges to create a team that monitors the probation department's effectiveness and gives policy guidance. The team should include representatives from the Dallas Police Department, the City Council, county commissioners, state legislators, the sheriff's office and the school district.
But such a group "has not met in at least three years to develop a meaningful plan," the study concludes.
Budgets
Dr. Fabelo said the pressure on probation departments will only grow as judges, responding to the prison space crunch, sentence more high-risk offenders to supervision outside lockups. But do the departments have the money to cope?
About half of their budgets come from fees probationers pay. Most of the rest comes from the state – and until this year, Ms. White said, legislators had not increased probation funding for a decade. There also had been a decline in programs, such as inpatient drug treatment, that can help people complete probation successfully.
Legislators recently approved increases that should begin turning things around, Ms. White said. Departments that receive the funds, she said, will be required to reduce caseloads and make other changes.
Dallas County's department managers decided last year to move from a narrow emphasis on enforcement to a broader goal of rehabilitation, using research-tested strategies.
But it isn't clear whether judges support the idea, the study says, and the department "is not organizationally prepared to make this shift."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By The Numbers:
40,481: People Dallas County probation officers were supposed to supervise last year
10,249: People who went missing
5,240: Missing people who were on probation for felonies
140: People each officer is assigned to supervise, on average
420,000: People on probation in Texas
151,000: Texas prison population
SOURCES: Texas Department of Criminal Justice; Dallas Morning News research
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A PROBATION PRIMER:
How people get put on probation, which is technically called community supervision:
1. The defendant is convicted of a crime and sentenced to 10 years or less of incarceration. The judge suspends the sentence and places the person under community supervision for the same period of time. The judge attaches various conditions, such as not committing new crimes, not using drugs, submitting to urine tests and regularly visiting a probation officer. Judges can send defendants to jail or prison if they violate the conditions.
OR
2. A judge finds that there is ample evidence to convict but doesn't do so. This is commonly called "deferred adjudication." The defendant is placed under community supervision, as above, and ends up with no criminal record if he or she completes the term successfully.
NOTE: People convicted of certain felonies, such as murder and aggravated sexual assault, are not eligible for probation. There are fewer limitations on whom a judge may sentence to deferred-adjudication probation.
Definitions
Felonies – the most serious crimes, such as murder or aggravated sexual assault, with the shortest prison sentence being 180 days in a state jail.
Misdemeanors – less serious crimes, such as traffic tickets, many of which are punished with fines only or short county jail terms; the maximum punishment is a year in jail
SOURCE: Dallas Morning News research
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More on the floor
Park Place dealership arrives with art, leather, plasma TV
By TERRY BOX / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - Never mind the Macore wood, the leather-covered walls or the Van der Rohe chairs inside the Park Place Dealerships' ultra-chic new facility on Lemmon Avenue.
The best measure of this lavish 75,000-square-foot dealership – the nicest anywhere, some say – may ultimately be found in the service department: All 146 mechanic bays have tasteful matching gray toolboxes and work tables.
"It's a new benchmark," says Drew Campbell, president of the New Car Dealers Association of Metropolitan Dallas.
The dealerships, which open Monday morning, cover 11 acres in the 6100 block of Lemmon formerly occupied by Haggar Corp. Until this weekend, both were in a cramped, 50-year-old building on Oak Lawn Avenue. Park Place Motorcars, the Mercedes-Benz franchise, is on one side of the property, and Park Place Porsche is on the other.
A three-story, 390,000-square-foot parking garage rises behind the two, capable of providing covered storage for 800 vehicles.
Park Place founder and chairman Ken Schnitzer, who also owns Lexus, Bentley and Rolls-Royce dealerships in the area, declined to say what the huge facility cost. Other dealers estimated it at $30 million to $40 million – an enormous amount for a car dealership.
But it may be an outlay that makes sense, Mr. Schnitzer says. Although the mainstream auto industry is more competitive than ever – forcing deep cuts in costs – the luxury car segment remains solidly profitable.
"We've got a 20-year horizon with this facility," he said. "Over the years that we expect to be here, we will be selling to baby boomers, Gen X and Gen Y, and we think there are elements here that will appeal to each of them."
Park Place dealership arrives with art, leather, plasma TV
By TERRY BOX / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - Never mind the Macore wood, the leather-covered walls or the Van der Rohe chairs inside the Park Place Dealerships' ultra-chic new facility on Lemmon Avenue.
The best measure of this lavish 75,000-square-foot dealership – the nicest anywhere, some say – may ultimately be found in the service department: All 146 mechanic bays have tasteful matching gray toolboxes and work tables.
"It's a new benchmark," says Drew Campbell, president of the New Car Dealers Association of Metropolitan Dallas.
The dealerships, which open Monday morning, cover 11 acres in the 6100 block of Lemmon formerly occupied by Haggar Corp. Until this weekend, both were in a cramped, 50-year-old building on Oak Lawn Avenue. Park Place Motorcars, the Mercedes-Benz franchise, is on one side of the property, and Park Place Porsche is on the other.
A three-story, 390,000-square-foot parking garage rises behind the two, capable of providing covered storage for 800 vehicles.
Park Place founder and chairman Ken Schnitzer, who also owns Lexus, Bentley and Rolls-Royce dealerships in the area, declined to say what the huge facility cost. Other dealers estimated it at $30 million to $40 million – an enormous amount for a car dealership.
But it may be an outlay that makes sense, Mr. Schnitzer says. Although the mainstream auto industry is more competitive than ever – forcing deep cuts in costs – the luxury car segment remains solidly profitable.
"We've got a 20-year horizon with this facility," he said. "Over the years that we expect to be here, we will be selling to baby boomers, Gen X and Gen Y, and we think there are elements here that will appeal to each of them."
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Armed man holds Plano police at bay
By CYNTHIA VEGA / WFAA ABC 8
PLANO, Texas — Police were at an impasse with a barricaded man early Monday.
It all started late Sunday night after what police described as a domestic argument at a house on Treehouse Lane, near the intersection of Parker and Custer roads.
The man's wife and daughter fled the home and told police that he was heavily armed, depressed and possibly suicidal.
Negotiations continued for more than six hours without a resolution. No shots had been fired.
Plano police said they hoped to convince the man to surrender before daybreak, when neighborhood children were scheduled to return to school.
"We also have our emergency response team here to contain the area," said Plano police spokesman Ofc. Carl Duke. "We're starting to look at the school situation ... so we're forming a plan to work with the ISD on that."
By CYNTHIA VEGA / WFAA ABC 8
PLANO, Texas — Police were at an impasse with a barricaded man early Monday.
It all started late Sunday night after what police described as a domestic argument at a house on Treehouse Lane, near the intersection of Parker and Custer roads.
The man's wife and daughter fled the home and told police that he was heavily armed, depressed and possibly suicidal.
Negotiations continued for more than six hours without a resolution. No shots had been fired.
Plano police said they hoped to convince the man to surrender before daybreak, when neighborhood children were scheduled to return to school.
"We also have our emergency response team here to contain the area," said Plano police spokesman Ofc. Carl Duke. "We're starting to look at the school situation ... so we're forming a plan to work with the ISD on that."
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Family of brain-dead man protest Allen police
By MARY ANN RAZZUK / WFAA ABC 8
ALLEN, Texas - The family of Edgar Vera has been by his side at the hospital after a struggle with Allen police left him brain-dead Thursday. However, Sunday they left his side so that they could demand answers on the steps of the Allen Police Department.
While doctors have expressed little hope for recovery, Vera's son said he has not given up on his father.
"I hope he comes back," said Edgar Vera Jr. "I believe in God and miracles."
Despite doctors putting his father on a respirator and declaring him brain-dead, he continues to find signs of hope.
"He has grabbed my hand," he said. "He has held it. He is trying to fight it."
All the emotion and anger of Vera's state poured out in front of the Allen Police Department, where friends and family demanded answers about the incident. Some carried signs and another waved the Mexican flag, but they all chanted the words "justice" at the department's door.
An Allen resident said she saw two Allen officers struggling with Vera as they tried to arrest him on a warrant for an unpaid traffic ticket.
"In the middle of the road he started to scream and say, 'no, no officer please don't do this to me,'" said neighbor Donna Logan.
According to police, he resisted arrest and officers used a form of pepper spray to control the situation that they said went on for at least several minutes.
After being sprayed, Vera stopped breathing and was rushed to the hospital.
"I heard when he said 'help, help,'" Logan said. "And those were the last words I heard from him."
While police said pepper spray was needed to control Vera, family and friends differ.
"The police don't have to be that brutal," said Dr. Victor Alvarez, a family friend. "That's the only word I know - brutal."
Friends and family said Vera is claustrophobic and likely resisted out of fear of being confined in the back of a patrol unit. They also said they believe there could have been another way.
"From the injuries that occurred and for a person to be in a coma seems unreasonable," said Steve Salazar, the family attorney.
The Allen Police Department has said that a "preliminary investigation reveals that nothing was done outside of procedure and policy."
Family and friends of Edgar Vera gather at the Allen Police Department to protest.
By MARY ANN RAZZUK / WFAA ABC 8
ALLEN, Texas - The family of Edgar Vera has been by his side at the hospital after a struggle with Allen police left him brain-dead Thursday. However, Sunday they left his side so that they could demand answers on the steps of the Allen Police Department.
While doctors have expressed little hope for recovery, Vera's son said he has not given up on his father.
"I hope he comes back," said Edgar Vera Jr. "I believe in God and miracles."
Despite doctors putting his father on a respirator and declaring him brain-dead, he continues to find signs of hope.
"He has grabbed my hand," he said. "He has held it. He is trying to fight it."
All the emotion and anger of Vera's state poured out in front of the Allen Police Department, where friends and family demanded answers about the incident. Some carried signs and another waved the Mexican flag, but they all chanted the words "justice" at the department's door.
An Allen resident said she saw two Allen officers struggling with Vera as they tried to arrest him on a warrant for an unpaid traffic ticket.
"In the middle of the road he started to scream and say, 'no, no officer please don't do this to me,'" said neighbor Donna Logan.
According to police, he resisted arrest and officers used a form of pepper spray to control the situation that they said went on for at least several minutes.
After being sprayed, Vera stopped breathing and was rushed to the hospital.
"I heard when he said 'help, help,'" Logan said. "And those were the last words I heard from him."
While police said pepper spray was needed to control Vera, family and friends differ.
"The police don't have to be that brutal," said Dr. Victor Alvarez, a family friend. "That's the only word I know - brutal."
Friends and family said Vera is claustrophobic and likely resisted out of fear of being confined in the back of a patrol unit. They also said they believe there could have been another way.
"From the injuries that occurred and for a person to be in a coma seems unreasonable," said Steve Salazar, the family attorney.
The Allen Police Department has said that a "preliminary investigation reveals that nothing was done outside of procedure and policy."
Family and friends of Edgar Vera gather at the Allen Police Department to protest.
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TexasStooge
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Missing boy reunited with father
FORT WORTH, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) — Police called it a "tragedy waiting to happen."
Around 2 a.m. Monday, a woman at a gas station at Ephriham Ave. and Azle Ave. spotted a two-year-old boy wandering in the middle of the road.
The boy was shoeless and shirtless.
The woman called police. At the same time, the boy's father called 911 to report that his son was missing.
The two were reunited a short time later.
"The child's been returned to the father at this point," said Fort Worth police spokesman Lt. Ed Daniels. "Child Protective Services and Crimes Against Children will follow up on this later in the day."
The father said their house had been so hot, he left the window open, and the child apparently crawled out.
FORT WORTH, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) — Police called it a "tragedy waiting to happen."
Around 2 a.m. Monday, a woman at a gas station at Ephriham Ave. and Azle Ave. spotted a two-year-old boy wandering in the middle of the road.
The boy was shoeless and shirtless.
The woman called police. At the same time, the boy's father called 911 to report that his son was missing.
The two were reunited a short time later.
"The child's been returned to the father at this point," said Fort Worth police spokesman Lt. Ed Daniels. "Child Protective Services and Crimes Against Children will follow up on this later in the day."
The father said their house had been so hot, he left the window open, and the child apparently crawled out.
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TexasStooge
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Suspected drunk driver who kills 4 dies
By BERT LOZANO / WFAA ABC 8
FORT WORTH, Texas - Four people were killed early Sunday when a wrong-way driver suspected of intoxication slammed into another vehicle on East Loop 820, Fort Worth police said. The driver died Sunday night from his injuries sustained in the accident.
Police said the suspect faced up to four counts of intoxication manslaughter had he survived.
The accident happened around 1:30 a.m. at Sun Valley Drive near the Interstate 20 intersection.
According to investigators, a 47-year-old man was intoxicated while headed down the highway in the wrong direction when he struck a vehicle head-on that was carrying four teenage boys.
Fourteen-year-old Carl Field and 19-year-olds Charles Tate, Jr., Jeffrey Muriel and Donald Cain were killed. The Tarrant County Medical Examiner said two of the victims died at the scene; two others died later at John Peter Smith Hospital.
Around 200 friends and family gathered Sunday night at Dunbar High School where the teens went to school to grieve together. They also expressed their pain and outrage that the intoxicated man got behind the wheel.
"For a guy to get behind the wheel knowing he is drunk," said George Bell, Muriel's father. "You know, our son was taken away from us. You can't replace it."
Muriel's family said they are devastated the teen, who played basketball for Texas A&M Corpus Christi on a full scholarship, had his life taken away from him so early.
"So many lives are ruined," said Sonya Bell, Muriel's mother. "So many people will never be the same including me. That was my son."
Carl Field would have turned 15 next week and his grandmother, Alberta Walker, said she planned to make him a cake.
"He was a good child," Walker said. "He wasn't disobedient. He wasn't sassy. He loved his grandmother."
The brother of Cain said he was crushed and wants justice for the lives lost, including Tate who had a newborn baby girl.
"He took my heart," he said. "I've been raising my brother since he was young."
The victim's family and friends said the emotional healing could take a long time.
"As long as we stick together we'll make it through this," Bell said.
By BERT LOZANO / WFAA ABC 8
FORT WORTH, Texas - Four people were killed early Sunday when a wrong-way driver suspected of intoxication slammed into another vehicle on East Loop 820, Fort Worth police said. The driver died Sunday night from his injuries sustained in the accident.
Police said the suspect faced up to four counts of intoxication manslaughter had he survived.
The accident happened around 1:30 a.m. at Sun Valley Drive near the Interstate 20 intersection.
According to investigators, a 47-year-old man was intoxicated while headed down the highway in the wrong direction when he struck a vehicle head-on that was carrying four teenage boys.
Fourteen-year-old Carl Field and 19-year-olds Charles Tate, Jr., Jeffrey Muriel and Donald Cain were killed. The Tarrant County Medical Examiner said two of the victims died at the scene; two others died later at John Peter Smith Hospital.
Around 200 friends and family gathered Sunday night at Dunbar High School where the teens went to school to grieve together. They also expressed their pain and outrage that the intoxicated man got behind the wheel.
"For a guy to get behind the wheel knowing he is drunk," said George Bell, Muriel's father. "You know, our son was taken away from us. You can't replace it."
Muriel's family said they are devastated the teen, who played basketball for Texas A&M Corpus Christi on a full scholarship, had his life taken away from him so early.
"So many lives are ruined," said Sonya Bell, Muriel's mother. "So many people will never be the same including me. That was my son."
Carl Field would have turned 15 next week and his grandmother, Alberta Walker, said she planned to make him a cake.
"He was a good child," Walker said. "He wasn't disobedient. He wasn't sassy. He loved his grandmother."
The brother of Cain said he was crushed and wants justice for the lives lost, including Tate who had a newborn baby girl.
"He took my heart," he said. "I've been raising my brother since he was young."
The victim's family and friends said the emotional healing could take a long time.
"As long as we stick together we'll make it through this," Bell said.
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TexasStooge
- Category 5
- Posts: 38127
- Joined: Tue Mar 25, 2003 1:22 pm
- Location: Irving (Dallas County), TX
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Man killed after club altercation
ARLINGTON, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) - Arlington police are searching for a murder suspect after 19-year-old Rigoberto Rios was killed during a fight outside a night club near Six Flags Mall around 2:30 Sunday morning.
Police said there was an altercation inside the Rodeo de Media Noche club on the 2900 block of East Division Street. After Rios was asked to leave the club, a fight broke out. Someone in the crowd fired shots; however police said that was not what killed Rios.
Police said the man died after he was hit by a car. Investigators said they are now looking at surveillance tape and the tire marks left at the scene.
Alington police are searching for a murder suspect after 19-year-old Rigoberto Rios was killed during a fight outside a night club near Six Flags Mall around 2:30 Sunday morning.
Police said there was an altercation inside the Rodeo de Media Noche club on the 2900 block of East Division Street. After Rios was asked to leave the club, a fight broke out. Someone in the crowd fired shots; however police said that was not what killed Rios.
Police said the man died after he was hit by a car. Investigators said they are now looking at surveillance tape and the tire marks left at the scene.
ARLINGTON, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) - Arlington police are searching for a murder suspect after 19-year-old Rigoberto Rios was killed during a fight outside a night club near Six Flags Mall around 2:30 Sunday morning.
Police said there was an altercation inside the Rodeo de Media Noche club on the 2900 block of East Division Street. After Rios was asked to leave the club, a fight broke out. Someone in the crowd fired shots; however police said that was not what killed Rios.
Police said the man died after he was hit by a car. Investigators said they are now looking at surveillance tape and the tire marks left at the scene.
Alington police are searching for a murder suspect after 19-year-old Rigoberto Rios was killed during a fight outside a night club near Six Flags Mall around 2:30 Sunday morning.
Police said there was an altercation inside the Rodeo de Media Noche club on the 2900 block of East Division Street. After Rios was asked to leave the club, a fight broke out. Someone in the crowd fired shots; however police said that was not what killed Rios.
Police said the man died after he was hit by a car. Investigators said they are now looking at surveillance tape and the tire marks left at the scene.
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TexasStooge
- Category 5
- Posts: 38127
- Joined: Tue Mar 25, 2003 1:22 pm
- Location: Irving (Dallas County), TX
- Contact:
5 people sent to hospital after police chase
DALLAS, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) - Five people were sent to the hospital after a robbery and police chase ended in a wreck early Sunday morning.
Police responded to a call that accused a suspect of stealing over-the-counter medications and personal hygiene products from a Walgreens on the 400 block of Illinois Avenue.
The suspect exited the back of the store and fled when police approached him. A car chase then began between police and the suspect.
When police caught up with the suspect at the intersections of Illinois Avenue and Corinth Street, the suspect then hit two other vehicles.
The suspect and four others suffered non-life threatening injuries. While the suspect was sent to Parkland Memorial Hospital, the other four injured were sent to Methodist Central Hospital. Police said the suspect will be charged once released from the hospital.
DALLAS, Texas (WFAA ABC 8) - Five people were sent to the hospital after a robbery and police chase ended in a wreck early Sunday morning.
Police responded to a call that accused a suspect of stealing over-the-counter medications and personal hygiene products from a Walgreens on the 400 block of Illinois Avenue.
The suspect exited the back of the store and fled when police approached him. A car chase then began between police and the suspect.
When police caught up with the suspect at the intersections of Illinois Avenue and Corinth Street, the suspect then hit two other vehicles.
The suspect and four others suffered non-life threatening injuries. While the suspect was sent to Parkland Memorial Hospital, the other four injured were sent to Methodist Central Hospital. Police said the suspect will be charged once released from the hospital.
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TexasStooge
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- Location: Irving (Dallas County), TX
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Area to drill for disaster
N. Texas: Thousands to test response to faux bioterror attack
By JAMES M. O'NEILL / The Dallas Morning News
Thousands of volunteers and medical staff will mobilize across seven North Texas counties on Tuesday to participate in one of the nation's largest drills to test plans developed to handle a bioterror attack.
The daylong drill is designed to test how effectively medications from a national stockpile can be received locally and dispensed to mass populations. Officials from the state and the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention will monitor the event.
In Dallas County, about 1,500 volunteers will converge on Reunion Arena to play victims of the mock attack.
"People have been lulled to sleep about the possibility of terrorism since 9-11 because nothing has happened here," said Zachary S. Thompson, director of Dallas County Health and Human Services. "We'll learn some things from this exercise."
The event will include at least 1,000 volunteers each in seven counties, including Tarrant, Collin and Denton, as well as five regional hospitals.
"This is the first time we've ever done a drill like this in Texas, and it's going to be one of the largest ever conducted in the nation," said Emily Palmer, spokeswoman for the Texas Department of State Health Services.
She said that Oklahoma and Louisiana conducted similar drills in the past year and that CDC wants every state to run such a drill eventually.
Local officials, including Dallas County Judge Margaret Keliher, will act out the responsibilities they would shoulder in a real biological emergency.
They would communicate with the federal government to seek emergency medical supplies and coordinate delivery of the supplies to county clinics.
"Public health used to be about food-borne illnesses and dog bites," Mr. Thompson said. "Now we must be ready for West Nile virus, avian flu and bioterrorism."
In Reunion Arena, about 1,500 volunteers will file through emergency stations to register and receive mock medications from a cadre of medical staff and others who have been trained for such events. The "victims" will cycle through repeatedly during the day to simulate the large numbers who would have to be treated with preventive medications in a widespread bioterror event.
The disasters on Sept. 11, 2001, freed up money for regional health departments to plan for biological attacks, Mr. Thompson said.
"The health department is the backbone to the response to any biological event," he said.
Early detection of a biological agent's release and spread is key. Mr. Thompson said the health department is developing computer links with school districts, doctors and hospitals so they can share information and track reports of communicable diseases, to identify biological attacks or epidemics.
Since 2001, the county health department has received $3.3 million in federal money to boost its bioterrorism response. It has added six doctors, four epidemiologists, four public health nurses and two microbiologists.
The department has identified 35 sites where clinics could be set up to dispense medications within 48 hours of an attack.
The department also contracted with UT Southwestern Medical Center to develop a bioterror training curriculum for local disease specialists who would help out in an emergency.
The health department lab performed more than 2,000 sample tests during the national anthrax scares of 2001, and the lab can test for plague and tularemia.
The lab's value extends beyond bioterror hazards. It can now test mosquitoes for West Nile virus with a 24- to 36-hour turnaround, eliminating a seven- to 10-day wait period. That lets the county launch mosquito abatement procedures more quickly.
During a real biological attack, the health department's team of epidemiologists would collect data and conduct lab tests.
After the team confirmed that a biological agent had been released, it would contact the county judge, who has the authority to ask the CDC to send medical supplies from a national stockpile stored in warehouses. The judge could also declare a quarantine of affected neighborhoods or ZIP codes.
The CDC could send the supplies within 12 hours.
In the meantime, the county's health department would tap into its own smaller stockpile, designed to get through the first day or so of such an emergency. The initial focus would be to treat first responders – police, firefighters and medical staff who would be assisting the general public.
The health department would also set up the emergency clinics to dispense medication to a wide swath of the general population to prevent them from getting sick.
Tuesday's drill will involve real trucks transporting mock medical supplies to hospitals and sites in each of the seven counties, to ensure that drivers have correct maps and that the designated distribution routes are appropriate for quick delivery and unloading supplies, Ms. Palmer said.
The drill will bring emergency and health care groups together, including Dallas County's new cadre of health department volunteers.
In 2002, the county created a Medical Reserve Corps, a group of volunteers who have been trained to help out during a bioterror attack or other public health emergency. The county has trained 1,200 and hopes to sign up about 10,000. For information go to dfwmrc.com.
Lee Arning Jr., who heads the county's bioterrorism preparedness division, has worked on Tuesday's drill for months. The walls in his division are covered with giant maps of Reunion Arena.
"Participating in this drill will help volunteers know their role," he said, "and learn to perform in a stressful and chaotic situation."
N. Texas: Thousands to test response to faux bioterror attack
By JAMES M. O'NEILL / The Dallas Morning News
Thousands of volunteers and medical staff will mobilize across seven North Texas counties on Tuesday to participate in one of the nation's largest drills to test plans developed to handle a bioterror attack.
The daylong drill is designed to test how effectively medications from a national stockpile can be received locally and dispensed to mass populations. Officials from the state and the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention will monitor the event.
In Dallas County, about 1,500 volunteers will converge on Reunion Arena to play victims of the mock attack.
"People have been lulled to sleep about the possibility of terrorism since 9-11 because nothing has happened here," said Zachary S. Thompson, director of Dallas County Health and Human Services. "We'll learn some things from this exercise."
The event will include at least 1,000 volunteers each in seven counties, including Tarrant, Collin and Denton, as well as five regional hospitals.
"This is the first time we've ever done a drill like this in Texas, and it's going to be one of the largest ever conducted in the nation," said Emily Palmer, spokeswoman for the Texas Department of State Health Services.
She said that Oklahoma and Louisiana conducted similar drills in the past year and that CDC wants every state to run such a drill eventually.
Local officials, including Dallas County Judge Margaret Keliher, will act out the responsibilities they would shoulder in a real biological emergency.
They would communicate with the federal government to seek emergency medical supplies and coordinate delivery of the supplies to county clinics.
"Public health used to be about food-borne illnesses and dog bites," Mr. Thompson said. "Now we must be ready for West Nile virus, avian flu and bioterrorism."
In Reunion Arena, about 1,500 volunteers will file through emergency stations to register and receive mock medications from a cadre of medical staff and others who have been trained for such events. The "victims" will cycle through repeatedly during the day to simulate the large numbers who would have to be treated with preventive medications in a widespread bioterror event.
The disasters on Sept. 11, 2001, freed up money for regional health departments to plan for biological attacks, Mr. Thompson said.
"The health department is the backbone to the response to any biological event," he said.
Early detection of a biological agent's release and spread is key. Mr. Thompson said the health department is developing computer links with school districts, doctors and hospitals so they can share information and track reports of communicable diseases, to identify biological attacks or epidemics.
Since 2001, the county health department has received $3.3 million in federal money to boost its bioterrorism response. It has added six doctors, four epidemiologists, four public health nurses and two microbiologists.
The department has identified 35 sites where clinics could be set up to dispense medications within 48 hours of an attack.
The department also contracted with UT Southwestern Medical Center to develop a bioterror training curriculum for local disease specialists who would help out in an emergency.
The health department lab performed more than 2,000 sample tests during the national anthrax scares of 2001, and the lab can test for plague and tularemia.
The lab's value extends beyond bioterror hazards. It can now test mosquitoes for West Nile virus with a 24- to 36-hour turnaround, eliminating a seven- to 10-day wait period. That lets the county launch mosquito abatement procedures more quickly.
During a real biological attack, the health department's team of epidemiologists would collect data and conduct lab tests.
After the team confirmed that a biological agent had been released, it would contact the county judge, who has the authority to ask the CDC to send medical supplies from a national stockpile stored in warehouses. The judge could also declare a quarantine of affected neighborhoods or ZIP codes.
The CDC could send the supplies within 12 hours.
In the meantime, the county's health department would tap into its own smaller stockpile, designed to get through the first day or so of such an emergency. The initial focus would be to treat first responders – police, firefighters and medical staff who would be assisting the general public.
The health department would also set up the emergency clinics to dispense medication to a wide swath of the general population to prevent them from getting sick.
Tuesday's drill will involve real trucks transporting mock medical supplies to hospitals and sites in each of the seven counties, to ensure that drivers have correct maps and that the designated distribution routes are appropriate for quick delivery and unloading supplies, Ms. Palmer said.
The drill will bring emergency and health care groups together, including Dallas County's new cadre of health department volunteers.
In 2002, the county created a Medical Reserve Corps, a group of volunteers who have been trained to help out during a bioterror attack or other public health emergency. The county has trained 1,200 and hopes to sign up about 10,000. For information go to dfwmrc.com.
Lee Arning Jr., who heads the county's bioterrorism preparedness division, has worked on Tuesday's drill for months. The walls in his division are covered with giant maps of Reunion Arena.
"Participating in this drill will help volunteers know their role," he said, "and learn to perform in a stressful and chaotic situation."
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TexasStooge
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- Location: Irving (Dallas County), TX
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Tulsa tolls could set example for N. Texas
With growing toll road network, area could follow a similar path
By LEE POWELL / The Dallas Morning News
TULSA, Okla./PLANO, Texas – Getting around Green Country takes its toll.
This region's nickname plays off its lush vegetation (for Oklahoma), but it could just as well be talking about toll road cash.
Go any distance here, and it costs. Freeways morph into turnpikes, toll booths fill out the roadside landscape. Seven pay-as-you-go thoroughfares snake through the region, making it tough to leave Tulsa without tossing quarters.
North Texas could soon take a similar route. Collin County entities are deciding whether to bless plans rebuilding State Highway 121 as a toll road. Elected officials in Plano vote on the matter tonight; the city of Allen and county commissioners consider it Tuesday.
In addition, two other toll roads are proposed: the Southwest Parkway is slated for Fort Worth, and downtown Dallas will get the Trinity Parkway. There are already two toll roads in the area north of Dallas.
Charging tolls means roads like State Highway 121 get a makeover more quickly, transportation officials say.
But many motorists grumble. If Highway 121 turns to tolls, Plano could be surrounded on three sides by such routes.
Tulsa has lived with turnpikes for decades: the route to Oklahoma City opened in 1953.
Voters soon endorsed more. The state now has more than 600 miles of toll roads, second-highest in the nation after New York. They're as much a part of the Sooner State as wicked springtime weather or a Garth Brooks tune.
Folks just passing through do not seem to mind the fees. They rack it up as just another travel expense, like regular unleaded or a gulp of soda.
"Easy on, easy off. You pay for what you get," said Craig Cantrill from Phoenix, visiting the Oklahoma Aquarium in Jenks with family. "They should do the same thing with sports stadiums. Have a toll."
Among locals, turnpikes are cursed for their limited on and off ramps, for promises broken long ago about tolls disappearing after concrete was paid for. Still, the pricey paths have found acceptance – more than 124 million transactions last year.
"I'm a firm believer in them," said Jerry Naifeh, CEO of a Sapulpa distributing company whose trucks rack up the miles. "I feel like we would not have decent roads if not for tolls."
For all the costly miles around Tulsa, community backers say turnpikes have not deadened economic development prospects. The once-proclaimed Oil Capital of the World has diversified; American Airlines is the largest employer, with a big maintenance base.
Inner-city throughways are still free, except for one urban turnpike. South of the city, the Creek Turnpike runs along a growth arc, from Sapulpa through Jenks to Broken Arrow.
Rooftops rise, and big box retail marks some intersections. Jenks, more than 10,000 people and growing, is fashioning itself into a tourist draw. Sharks swim at the Oklahoma Aquarium; a clutch of restaurants and shops line the Arkansas River nearby. All sit within the shadow of the Creek Turnpike, providing an easy off-ramp.
"The turnpike didn't hurt," Jenks Mayor Vic Vreeland said.
The aquarium opened in 2003 and is averaging 500,000 visitors a year. It located here knowing the Creek Turnpike would become a major thoroughfare around Tulsa, said Susan Bramsch of the aquarium.
"People don't really mind paying," she said. "Very rarely do I hear people complain."
A little ways down the Creek Turnpike, development thins out. At times, traveling down the road at speed is lonely, with not a vehicle in sight. The route is a bypass for travelers going from Oklahoma City toward Missouri; most truck traffic has stayed on the free interstates through Tulsa.
The Oklahoma Transportation Authority oversees the turnpike system. It is a creation of the Legislature, overseen by a six-member board.
Toll collections cover maintenance, operations and construction debt; revenue is rising, with last year's haul at $186 million. There is a state fuel tax, which will increase if voters give their OK this fall. But it goes toward state highways and bridges; turnpikes get none of it. The system is self-supporting.
"The reality being a majority of these roads, if not all these roads, would not be in place without the toll system we have in Oklahoma," said Tim Stewart, the transportation authority's deputy director. "We believe the state would not have adequate funds to construct those."
Plans call for widening portions of the Creek and Turner turnpikes near Tulsa. Come 2028, Oklahoma could go without toll roads after they're paid off, according to its legislation.
Tulsa lawyer Gary Richardson made banishing turnpikes part of his platform for governor in 2002. He even put up billboards – on the Turner Turnpike – promising toll freedom. The independent candidate lost, but he struck a political nerve.
"Like I said during the campaign, it's a cancer on the state; it's a scam," Mr. Richardson said. "A lot of people are making a lot of money, but it's not the people in the state of Oklahoma."
Turnpikes have hit rural Oklahoma hard, reducing land values that then reduce the tax base, Mr. Richardson says.
For some road warriors, Tulsa travels are all about plotting routes avoiding the pikes. It might take longer, burn more gas, but beating the system brings satisfaction.
"Tell me a place to get to with a toll road, I'll tell you a way around it," said trucker Jon Lancaster of Tulsa, before offering detailed directions to Joplin, Mo. ("It takes 12 minutes more.")
When toll rates rose, some trucking outfits vowed to drive around Oklahoma. Big rigs ring up toll charges: travel is constant, and axle count (determining the toll) is high. All of this significantly adds to the cost of doing business, the Oklahoma Trucking Association says.
"What we want to see is fair tolls," executive director Dan Case said. "We really think the tolls are too high here."
Ernest Salcido of Claremore, Okla., delivers bread. As an independent operator, he pays tolls out of his pocket. He can almost do all his traveling without paying. He considers the turnpikes one of Oklahoma's shames, wondering why the landscaping is not better for all the dollars collected.
"Every time you get on them, ca-ching!" Mr. Salcido said while gassing up his delivery truck just off Interstate 44 on Tulsa's east side.
With growing toll road network, area could follow a similar path
By LEE POWELL / The Dallas Morning News
TULSA, Okla./PLANO, Texas – Getting around Green Country takes its toll.
This region's nickname plays off its lush vegetation (for Oklahoma), but it could just as well be talking about toll road cash.
Go any distance here, and it costs. Freeways morph into turnpikes, toll booths fill out the roadside landscape. Seven pay-as-you-go thoroughfares snake through the region, making it tough to leave Tulsa without tossing quarters.
North Texas could soon take a similar route. Collin County entities are deciding whether to bless plans rebuilding State Highway 121 as a toll road. Elected officials in Plano vote on the matter tonight; the city of Allen and county commissioners consider it Tuesday.
In addition, two other toll roads are proposed: the Southwest Parkway is slated for Fort Worth, and downtown Dallas will get the Trinity Parkway. There are already two toll roads in the area north of Dallas.
Charging tolls means roads like State Highway 121 get a makeover more quickly, transportation officials say.
But many motorists grumble. If Highway 121 turns to tolls, Plano could be surrounded on three sides by such routes.
Tulsa has lived with turnpikes for decades: the route to Oklahoma City opened in 1953.
Voters soon endorsed more. The state now has more than 600 miles of toll roads, second-highest in the nation after New York. They're as much a part of the Sooner State as wicked springtime weather or a Garth Brooks tune.
Folks just passing through do not seem to mind the fees. They rack it up as just another travel expense, like regular unleaded or a gulp of soda.
"Easy on, easy off. You pay for what you get," said Craig Cantrill from Phoenix, visiting the Oklahoma Aquarium in Jenks with family. "They should do the same thing with sports stadiums. Have a toll."
Among locals, turnpikes are cursed for their limited on and off ramps, for promises broken long ago about tolls disappearing after concrete was paid for. Still, the pricey paths have found acceptance – more than 124 million transactions last year.
"I'm a firm believer in them," said Jerry Naifeh, CEO of a Sapulpa distributing company whose trucks rack up the miles. "I feel like we would not have decent roads if not for tolls."
For all the costly miles around Tulsa, community backers say turnpikes have not deadened economic development prospects. The once-proclaimed Oil Capital of the World has diversified; American Airlines is the largest employer, with a big maintenance base.
Inner-city throughways are still free, except for one urban turnpike. South of the city, the Creek Turnpike runs along a growth arc, from Sapulpa through Jenks to Broken Arrow.
Rooftops rise, and big box retail marks some intersections. Jenks, more than 10,000 people and growing, is fashioning itself into a tourist draw. Sharks swim at the Oklahoma Aquarium; a clutch of restaurants and shops line the Arkansas River nearby. All sit within the shadow of the Creek Turnpike, providing an easy off-ramp.
"The turnpike didn't hurt," Jenks Mayor Vic Vreeland said.
The aquarium opened in 2003 and is averaging 500,000 visitors a year. It located here knowing the Creek Turnpike would become a major thoroughfare around Tulsa, said Susan Bramsch of the aquarium.
"People don't really mind paying," she said. "Very rarely do I hear people complain."
A little ways down the Creek Turnpike, development thins out. At times, traveling down the road at speed is lonely, with not a vehicle in sight. The route is a bypass for travelers going from Oklahoma City toward Missouri; most truck traffic has stayed on the free interstates through Tulsa.
The Oklahoma Transportation Authority oversees the turnpike system. It is a creation of the Legislature, overseen by a six-member board.
Toll collections cover maintenance, operations and construction debt; revenue is rising, with last year's haul at $186 million. There is a state fuel tax, which will increase if voters give their OK this fall. But it goes toward state highways and bridges; turnpikes get none of it. The system is self-supporting.
"The reality being a majority of these roads, if not all these roads, would not be in place without the toll system we have in Oklahoma," said Tim Stewart, the transportation authority's deputy director. "We believe the state would not have adequate funds to construct those."
Plans call for widening portions of the Creek and Turner turnpikes near Tulsa. Come 2028, Oklahoma could go without toll roads after they're paid off, according to its legislation.
Tulsa lawyer Gary Richardson made banishing turnpikes part of his platform for governor in 2002. He even put up billboards – on the Turner Turnpike – promising toll freedom. The independent candidate lost, but he struck a political nerve.
"Like I said during the campaign, it's a cancer on the state; it's a scam," Mr. Richardson said. "A lot of people are making a lot of money, but it's not the people in the state of Oklahoma."
Turnpikes have hit rural Oklahoma hard, reducing land values that then reduce the tax base, Mr. Richardson says.
For some road warriors, Tulsa travels are all about plotting routes avoiding the pikes. It might take longer, burn more gas, but beating the system brings satisfaction.
"Tell me a place to get to with a toll road, I'll tell you a way around it," said trucker Jon Lancaster of Tulsa, before offering detailed directions to Joplin, Mo. ("It takes 12 minutes more.")
When toll rates rose, some trucking outfits vowed to drive around Oklahoma. Big rigs ring up toll charges: travel is constant, and axle count (determining the toll) is high. All of this significantly adds to the cost of doing business, the Oklahoma Trucking Association says.
"What we want to see is fair tolls," executive director Dan Case said. "We really think the tolls are too high here."
Ernest Salcido of Claremore, Okla., delivers bread. As an independent operator, he pays tolls out of his pocket. He can almost do all his traveling without paying. He considers the turnpikes one of Oklahoma's shames, wondering why the landscaping is not better for all the dollars collected.
"Every time you get on them, ca-ching!" Mr. Salcido said while gassing up his delivery truck just off Interstate 44 on Tulsa's east side.
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TexasStooge
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Plano standoff ends with surrender
By CYNTHIA VEGA / WFAA ABC 8
PLANO, Texas — An armed man surrendered to Plano police shortly after 7 o'clock Monday morning, ending an eight-hour standoff.
It all started late Sunday night after what police described as a domestic argument at a house on Tree House Lane, near the intersection of Parker and Custer roads.
The man's wife and daughter fled the home and told police that he was heavily armed, depressed and possibly suicidal.
Negotiations continued for more than eight hours. Then the unidentified man walked out of his house, hands in the air.
He was approached and subdued by heavily-armed officers wearing body armor.
No shots were fired. The man was taken into custody and will undergo a mental health evaluation.
Police said earlier they were keen to resolve the situation before neighborhood students left home for the first day of school.
By CYNTHIA VEGA / WFAA ABC 8
PLANO, Texas — An armed man surrendered to Plano police shortly after 7 o'clock Monday morning, ending an eight-hour standoff.
It all started late Sunday night after what police described as a domestic argument at a house on Tree House Lane, near the intersection of Parker and Custer roads.
The man's wife and daughter fled the home and told police that he was heavily armed, depressed and possibly suicidal.
Negotiations continued for more than eight hours. Then the unidentified man walked out of his house, hands in the air.
He was approached and subdued by heavily-armed officers wearing body armor.
No shots were fired. The man was taken into custody and will undergo a mental health evaluation.
Police said earlier they were keen to resolve the situation before neighborhood students left home for the first day of school.
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TexasStooge
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Cities plan to hit the brakes on side streets
Mesquite, Coppell: Residential speed limit may drop to 25 mph
By ERIC AASEN / The Dallas Morning News
IRVING, Texas - Drivers feeling the need to speed may want to stop putting the pedal to the metal in some North Texas neighborhoods.
Mesquite and Coppell are among local cities planning to lower the speed limit from 30 mph to 25 on many residential roads. Plano, Rowlett and other cities are studying the idea.
The Texas Legislature passed a law this spring that allows cities to pass ordinances without conducting expensive and laborious traffic studies. The death in 2003 of a Mesquite child who was struck by a truck in a neighborhood inspired a state representative to push for the law.
Elected leaders such as Coppell Mayor Doug Stover hope the new rule will help cities tackle a big concern from residents: motorists resembling race-car drivers as they zoom down residential streets.
"I cannot fathom why anyone would believe that driving 30 mph on an interior residential neighborhood is justifiable," Mr. Stover said. "It's beyond my comprehension that anyone would believe that 30 mph is a safe speed."
The Coppell and Mesquite city councils could approve their ordinances next month. For now, other cities, including Dallas, aren't planning to lower speed limits, city officials said.
Rowlett Mayor Shane Johnson has requested that the Police Department and a residents committee study the concept. But he said it's important that the city not get caught up in emotions surrounding lower speed limits.
"We're going to be slow and steady into looking at it and [see] if it turns out to be the right thing to do," he said.
Rep. Elvira Reyna says the new law will make drivers more aware of pedestrians in neighborhoods.
"It just makes sense," she said. "We need to be proactive and do something to save lives."
Ms. Reyna, R-Mesquite, wrote the bill after learning of the death of 10-year-old Kyle Foster, who was crossing a street near his home on Halloween in 2003 when he was hit by a pickup.
Police ruled out speeding as a cause of the accident. But within months, Mesquite officials lowered the speed limit from 30 mph to 20 on streets after doing a traffic study.
Kyle's mother, Barbara Foster, is happy with the new law. She says motorists can't safely drive 30 mph on a residential street lined with parked cars.
"If it saves somebody else from what me and my family have had to go through, the losing of a child, it will be all worth it," she said.
But not everyone applauds the measure. State Sen. Tommy Williams, R-The Woodlands, voted against the bill and prefers the 30 mph law, said Dade Phelan, his legislative aide. Mr. Williams would like cities to continue conducting studies, Mr. Phelan said.
"He didn't find a compelling argument that there was a need to change the current law," Mr. Phelan said. "He did not find a compelling reason to remove the requirement for a study."
Coppell and Mesquite officials say the 25 mph proposal has drawn few complaints, including concerns that it's a ticket-writing ploy.
Texas' new law is significant because it gives cities the flexibility to easily change speed limits, said Tom Everson, founder of Keep Kids Alive Drive 25, a speed-limit safety campaign based in Nebraska.
Mr. Everson said myriad communities are lowering residential speed limits, and about half of U.S. states allow 25 mph neighborhood speed limits.
Speed limits are dropping because of studies showing that pedestrians are safer when speed limits are lower, Mr. Everson said. He cites statistics from the Federal Highway Administration that show that a pedestrian hit by a vehicle traveling 30 mph is three times as likely to die as a pedestrian hit by a car going 25 mph.
But residents will need time – and education – to adjust to lower speed limits, Mr. Everson said.
"Just by changing a number on a sign, that's not going to engage the community," he said. "The focus is to actively engage the residents in the process of creating safer streets in their neighborhoods."
Mesquite and Coppell officials plan to launch campaigns to inform residents of the changes if they are adopted.
Most, but not all, residential roads would be affected. Speed limits can be lowered if the street is 35 feet wide or less and allows parking on the road.
If the Mesquite council passes its ordinance, city officials plan to spend nearly $43,000 to install about 810 speed-limit signs, said Jerry Dittman, the city's traffic engineering manager. About three-fourths of Mesquite residential streets would be affected.
Before the state law passed, it would have taken a few years and about $2 million to pay for traffic studies for all residential streets, Mr. Dittman estimates.
In Coppell, about 430 streets would be affected, said Ken Griffin, the city's director of engineering and public works. It could cost up to $40,000 to change the signs.
The issue hits close to home for Mesquite Mayor Mike Anderson, who is helping one of his teenage daughters learn how to drive.
"Five miles per hour may save one child's life, and it may slow some teenager down," he said. "We believe we're addressing an issue that's of concern to citizens."
Mesquite, Coppell: Residential speed limit may drop to 25 mph
By ERIC AASEN / The Dallas Morning News
IRVING, Texas - Drivers feeling the need to speed may want to stop putting the pedal to the metal in some North Texas neighborhoods.
Mesquite and Coppell are among local cities planning to lower the speed limit from 30 mph to 25 on many residential roads. Plano, Rowlett and other cities are studying the idea.
The Texas Legislature passed a law this spring that allows cities to pass ordinances without conducting expensive and laborious traffic studies. The death in 2003 of a Mesquite child who was struck by a truck in a neighborhood inspired a state representative to push for the law.
Elected leaders such as Coppell Mayor Doug Stover hope the new rule will help cities tackle a big concern from residents: motorists resembling race-car drivers as they zoom down residential streets.
"I cannot fathom why anyone would believe that driving 30 mph on an interior residential neighborhood is justifiable," Mr. Stover said. "It's beyond my comprehension that anyone would believe that 30 mph is a safe speed."
The Coppell and Mesquite city councils could approve their ordinances next month. For now, other cities, including Dallas, aren't planning to lower speed limits, city officials said.
Rowlett Mayor Shane Johnson has requested that the Police Department and a residents committee study the concept. But he said it's important that the city not get caught up in emotions surrounding lower speed limits.
"We're going to be slow and steady into looking at it and [see] if it turns out to be the right thing to do," he said.
Rep. Elvira Reyna says the new law will make drivers more aware of pedestrians in neighborhoods.
"It just makes sense," she said. "We need to be proactive and do something to save lives."
Ms. Reyna, R-Mesquite, wrote the bill after learning of the death of 10-year-old Kyle Foster, who was crossing a street near his home on Halloween in 2003 when he was hit by a pickup.
Police ruled out speeding as a cause of the accident. But within months, Mesquite officials lowered the speed limit from 30 mph to 20 on streets after doing a traffic study.
Kyle's mother, Barbara Foster, is happy with the new law. She says motorists can't safely drive 30 mph on a residential street lined with parked cars.
"If it saves somebody else from what me and my family have had to go through, the losing of a child, it will be all worth it," she said.
But not everyone applauds the measure. State Sen. Tommy Williams, R-The Woodlands, voted against the bill and prefers the 30 mph law, said Dade Phelan, his legislative aide. Mr. Williams would like cities to continue conducting studies, Mr. Phelan said.
"He didn't find a compelling argument that there was a need to change the current law," Mr. Phelan said. "He did not find a compelling reason to remove the requirement for a study."
Coppell and Mesquite officials say the 25 mph proposal has drawn few complaints, including concerns that it's a ticket-writing ploy.
Texas' new law is significant because it gives cities the flexibility to easily change speed limits, said Tom Everson, founder of Keep Kids Alive Drive 25, a speed-limit safety campaign based in Nebraska.
Mr. Everson said myriad communities are lowering residential speed limits, and about half of U.S. states allow 25 mph neighborhood speed limits.
Speed limits are dropping because of studies showing that pedestrians are safer when speed limits are lower, Mr. Everson said. He cites statistics from the Federal Highway Administration that show that a pedestrian hit by a vehicle traveling 30 mph is three times as likely to die as a pedestrian hit by a car going 25 mph.
But residents will need time – and education – to adjust to lower speed limits, Mr. Everson said.
"Just by changing a number on a sign, that's not going to engage the community," he said. "The focus is to actively engage the residents in the process of creating safer streets in their neighborhoods."
Mesquite and Coppell officials plan to launch campaigns to inform residents of the changes if they are adopted.
Most, but not all, residential roads would be affected. Speed limits can be lowered if the street is 35 feet wide or less and allows parking on the road.
If the Mesquite council passes its ordinance, city officials plan to spend nearly $43,000 to install about 810 speed-limit signs, said Jerry Dittman, the city's traffic engineering manager. About three-fourths of Mesquite residential streets would be affected.
Before the state law passed, it would have taken a few years and about $2 million to pay for traffic studies for all residential streets, Mr. Dittman estimates.
In Coppell, about 430 streets would be affected, said Ken Griffin, the city's director of engineering and public works. It could cost up to $40,000 to change the signs.
The issue hits close to home for Mesquite Mayor Mike Anderson, who is helping one of his teenage daughters learn how to drive.
"Five miles per hour may save one child's life, and it may slow some teenager down," he said. "We believe we're addressing an issue that's of concern to citizens."
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TexasStooge
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Tradition aside, fire poles are history
Firefighters won't miss the slide, but the kids might
By MICHAEL E. YOUNG / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - Quietly, and in the cause of safety, a bit of firehouse tradition is sliding away.
The brass fire pole – the firefighters' rapid-transit ride between upstairs living quarters and the firetrucks down below – might be a bit too rapid for cities looking to hold the line on insurance costs.
"They are risky, and people do get hurt on them," said Capt. Jesse Garcia of the Dallas Fire Department. "You're coming down fast, and cumulatively, that can hurt."
The firefighters at Station No. 11, at Cedar Springs Road and Reagan Street, have coiled old hoses at the base of each of the four poles, providing a bit of cushioning in the landing platform. But there can be other problems.
"I've seen firefighters sliding down and landing on one another. At Station 11, you have 12 people responding to an alarm and you could potentially have them coming down the pole one after the other," Capt. Garcia said. "You have to move quick."
Station No. 11, built in 1909, is the city's oldest working firehouse and one of just four still outfitted with poles. It also owns a spot on the National Register of Historic Places, so it's likely to keep its poles as long as it remains an active firehouse, Capt. Garcia said.
Station No. 31, on Garland Road near Buckner Boulevard, is in the process of obtaining historic designation, thereby preserving its two poles as well.
A few years back, that didn't seem likely, Capt. Garcia said.
"You used to stand in the kitchen washing dishes and you could feel the floor flexing under you," he said. "And it almost burned down once from an electrical fire. But now it's been completely restored."
The futures of the other two firehouses equipped with poles – Station No. 4 at 816 S. Akard St. and Station No. 21 at Dallas Love Field – are less certain. Each could eventually be replaced with a modern, single-story firehouse, the sort that supplanted the multistory stations that provided fire poles their reason for being.
That's a national trend that began in the '60s, first in growing suburbs where there was plenty of room to build out rather than up, and then spreading into the big cities.
But even in places like New York City, where land remains at a premium and firehouses tend to be the multistory type, fire poles are disappearing. New fire recruits no longer learn the art of the pole slide as part of their training.
They do in Dallas, Capt. Garcia said.
"As long as we have stations that have poles, we have to teach how to use them," he said.
The art itself seems simple enough, at least as Lt. Gerald Brown explains it.
"You wrap your legs around," he said, demonstrating a pose that puts the pole between crisscrossed ankles, "and you loop one arm around. Your feet are your brakes."
It isn't nearly so easy in actual practice, said firefighter Eric Moore.
"Some people get it better than others," he said. "Some people look real graceful. And some don't."
Others can't resist grabbing the pole in a death grip, with friction burning their hands all the way to the bottom, Lt. Brown said.
Still, properly done, there's no faster way down.
"It's an express route, especially when your bunker gear is wet," Lt. Brown said. "Isn't that right, Eric?"
"If you're wet, you might as well step off," Mr. Moore said.
People who like the poles use them all day long. And people who don't, like Capt. Garcia, try to avoid them.
"But when night comes, you have to use them," he said. "The alternative isn't a lot better."
It certainly isn't at Station No. 11, where the long, narrow stairway includes three 90-degree turns and decades of wear to the treads.
At some other stations, though, firefighters would do just about anything to avoid the poles.
"I worked at old Station 26 [on Jefferson Boulevard in Oak Cliff] for nine years, and we never used the poles," said Lt. Joel Lavender. "We ran the stairs.
"The poles are neat for other people. They aren't neat for us."
In what is essentially a barely controlled freefall, there's no room for error. Mistakes really hurt.
Consider the long-ago case of a firefighter in Peoria, Ill., who heard the alarm bell, wrapped himself around the pole and started his slide.
But friction ignited the matches he'd tucked in his shirt pocket, and when he released his grip to slap at the flames, he fell 12 feet, suffering compound fractures in both legs.
All that for what turned out to be a false alarm.
But traditions run deep in the Dallas Fire Department, and old-timers can still point out where the horses were stabled at Station No. 11, and the hay stored and the cotton hoses hung to dry.
So any loss is a major loss, Lt. Lavender said.
"A pole isn't so much part of what we do," he said, "but it's part of who we are."
Firefighters won't miss the slide, but the kids might
By MICHAEL E. YOUNG / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - Quietly, and in the cause of safety, a bit of firehouse tradition is sliding away.
The brass fire pole – the firefighters' rapid-transit ride between upstairs living quarters and the firetrucks down below – might be a bit too rapid for cities looking to hold the line on insurance costs.
"They are risky, and people do get hurt on them," said Capt. Jesse Garcia of the Dallas Fire Department. "You're coming down fast, and cumulatively, that can hurt."
The firefighters at Station No. 11, at Cedar Springs Road and Reagan Street, have coiled old hoses at the base of each of the four poles, providing a bit of cushioning in the landing platform. But there can be other problems.
"I've seen firefighters sliding down and landing on one another. At Station 11, you have 12 people responding to an alarm and you could potentially have them coming down the pole one after the other," Capt. Garcia said. "You have to move quick."
Station No. 11, built in 1909, is the city's oldest working firehouse and one of just four still outfitted with poles. It also owns a spot on the National Register of Historic Places, so it's likely to keep its poles as long as it remains an active firehouse, Capt. Garcia said.
Station No. 31, on Garland Road near Buckner Boulevard, is in the process of obtaining historic designation, thereby preserving its two poles as well.
A few years back, that didn't seem likely, Capt. Garcia said.
"You used to stand in the kitchen washing dishes and you could feel the floor flexing under you," he said. "And it almost burned down once from an electrical fire. But now it's been completely restored."
The futures of the other two firehouses equipped with poles – Station No. 4 at 816 S. Akard St. and Station No. 21 at Dallas Love Field – are less certain. Each could eventually be replaced with a modern, single-story firehouse, the sort that supplanted the multistory stations that provided fire poles their reason for being.
That's a national trend that began in the '60s, first in growing suburbs where there was plenty of room to build out rather than up, and then spreading into the big cities.
But even in places like New York City, where land remains at a premium and firehouses tend to be the multistory type, fire poles are disappearing. New fire recruits no longer learn the art of the pole slide as part of their training.
They do in Dallas, Capt. Garcia said.
"As long as we have stations that have poles, we have to teach how to use them," he said.
The art itself seems simple enough, at least as Lt. Gerald Brown explains it.
"You wrap your legs around," he said, demonstrating a pose that puts the pole between crisscrossed ankles, "and you loop one arm around. Your feet are your brakes."
It isn't nearly so easy in actual practice, said firefighter Eric Moore.
"Some people get it better than others," he said. "Some people look real graceful. And some don't."
Others can't resist grabbing the pole in a death grip, with friction burning their hands all the way to the bottom, Lt. Brown said.
Still, properly done, there's no faster way down.
"It's an express route, especially when your bunker gear is wet," Lt. Brown said. "Isn't that right, Eric?"
"If you're wet, you might as well step off," Mr. Moore said.
People who like the poles use them all day long. And people who don't, like Capt. Garcia, try to avoid them.
"But when night comes, you have to use them," he said. "The alternative isn't a lot better."
It certainly isn't at Station No. 11, where the long, narrow stairway includes three 90-degree turns and decades of wear to the treads.
At some other stations, though, firefighters would do just about anything to avoid the poles.
"I worked at old Station 26 [on Jefferson Boulevard in Oak Cliff] for nine years, and we never used the poles," said Lt. Joel Lavender. "We ran the stairs.
"The poles are neat for other people. They aren't neat for us."
In what is essentially a barely controlled freefall, there's no room for error. Mistakes really hurt.
Consider the long-ago case of a firefighter in Peoria, Ill., who heard the alarm bell, wrapped himself around the pole and started his slide.
But friction ignited the matches he'd tucked in his shirt pocket, and when he released his grip to slap at the flames, he fell 12 feet, suffering compound fractures in both legs.
All that for what turned out to be a false alarm.
But traditions run deep in the Dallas Fire Department, and old-timers can still point out where the horses were stabled at Station No. 11, and the hay stored and the cotton hoses hung to dry.
So any loss is a major loss, Lt. Lavender said.
"A pole isn't so much part of what we do," he said, "but it's part of who we are."
0 likes
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TexasStooge
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Gorilla attack spurs 3 suits
Dallas: City denies allegations of negligence at zoo
By MICHAEL GRABELL / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - The escape of a 350-pound gorilla at the Dallas Zoo last year may cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars as it defends itself against three lawsuits.
The lawsuits all claim that the city was negligent because it made little attempt to sedate or recapture the gorilla quickly and did not have a tranquilizer gun ready. They also say the city created an "unreasonable risk of escape" by "providing an inadequate enclosure to confine wild and dangerous gorillas."
The plaintiffs say the rampage has not only cost them tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills but also has caused long-lasting emotional trauma for them and their families.
"My son, Rivers, has regressed a lot," said Amos Heard, whose 3-year-old son and wife were injured in the March 2004 incident. "Before, he was all boy. He loved to wrestle, just to run, throw rocks, climb trees. Outgoing, you know. Shortly after, he just wasn't himself. He cried a lot. He slept with us every night."
Jabari, a 13-year-old western lowland gorilla, escaped his habitat and thrashed and bit three people before being shot and killed by Dallas police officers.
Zoo officials later called it a "one-in-a-million" leap over the habitat wall. The city paid a $10,000 fine to the U.S. Department of Agriculture as a penalty for the escape.
Renovations are in the works at the gorilla habitat to raise the perimeter wall, install electrified wires, trim trees and add "speed bumps," such as stones and logs, to prevent animals from accelerating.
Sovereign immunity law
The city denied the allegations in its responses to the lawsuits. It has argued for sovereign immunity under the Texas Tort Claims Act, which limits the liability of governmental agencies. The law also restricts damages to $250,000 per person, with a maximum of $500,000 per incident.
Assistant City Attorney Charles Black has previously said that the gorilla exhibit met industry standards and that officials' primary concerns were evacuating visitors and getting medical treatment to the injured.
"The city's response hasn't changed," he said last week.
• In the most recent lawsuit, filed July 25, Hope Smith claims that she and her three children suffered emotional trauma from watching the rampage, though her family was not physically attacked.
"My client's children have had nightmares," said attorney Phil Smith, who is not related to the victims. "We've had to take them to counselors from the time of the incident. They've had a lot of nightmares. They wake up in the night crying."
• On June 23, Keisha Heard sued the city on behalf of her sons, her niece and herself. She said the gorilla bit her son Rivers' head and then pummeled her as she tried to rescue him. As they tried to get away, they became trapped in a glass enclosure with the gorilla and were attacked again, she said.
The couple has held Rivers back from starting kindergarten this fall as he struggles to relearn things, such as the alphabet and counting, which he knew before the attack.
• On April 29, Cheryl Reichert sued, saying that she has suffered back problems after being "repeatedly slammed against the aviary door by the gorilla."
"When Jabari turned and looked away, [the] plaintiff quickly ushered her children through the exit door of the aviary and attempted to exit herself when she was grabbed and viciously attacked," the lawsuit claims.
Liability claims
In addition, 18 people have filed liability claims against the city. The statute of limitations on such lawsuits is two years from the original incident.
"It's really a question of whether there was any negligence on the part of the zoo. That's always the ultimate issue," said Alan Lamer, attorney for the Bronx Zoo in New York for the past 15 years. "If it's something that was totally unforeseeable, there shouldn't be a finding of negligence."
Mr. Lamer represented the Bronx Zoo against a man who claimed his 12-year-old son was traumatized by a gorilla that threw rocks at his head. The case was settled for $5,000 to cover the boy's medical expenses, Mr. Lamer said.
Dallas: City denies allegations of negligence at zoo
By MICHAEL GRABELL / The Dallas Morning News
DALLAS, Texas - The escape of a 350-pound gorilla at the Dallas Zoo last year may cost the city hundreds of thousands of dollars as it defends itself against three lawsuits.
The lawsuits all claim that the city was negligent because it made little attempt to sedate or recapture the gorilla quickly and did not have a tranquilizer gun ready. They also say the city created an "unreasonable risk of escape" by "providing an inadequate enclosure to confine wild and dangerous gorillas."
The plaintiffs say the rampage has not only cost them tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills but also has caused long-lasting emotional trauma for them and their families.
"My son, Rivers, has regressed a lot," said Amos Heard, whose 3-year-old son and wife were injured in the March 2004 incident. "Before, he was all boy. He loved to wrestle, just to run, throw rocks, climb trees. Outgoing, you know. Shortly after, he just wasn't himself. He cried a lot. He slept with us every night."
Jabari, a 13-year-old western lowland gorilla, escaped his habitat and thrashed and bit three people before being shot and killed by Dallas police officers.
Zoo officials later called it a "one-in-a-million" leap over the habitat wall. The city paid a $10,000 fine to the U.S. Department of Agriculture as a penalty for the escape.
Renovations are in the works at the gorilla habitat to raise the perimeter wall, install electrified wires, trim trees and add "speed bumps," such as stones and logs, to prevent animals from accelerating.
Sovereign immunity law
The city denied the allegations in its responses to the lawsuits. It has argued for sovereign immunity under the Texas Tort Claims Act, which limits the liability of governmental agencies. The law also restricts damages to $250,000 per person, with a maximum of $500,000 per incident.
Assistant City Attorney Charles Black has previously said that the gorilla exhibit met industry standards and that officials' primary concerns were evacuating visitors and getting medical treatment to the injured.
"The city's response hasn't changed," he said last week.
• In the most recent lawsuit, filed July 25, Hope Smith claims that she and her three children suffered emotional trauma from watching the rampage, though her family was not physically attacked.
"My client's children have had nightmares," said attorney Phil Smith, who is not related to the victims. "We've had to take them to counselors from the time of the incident. They've had a lot of nightmares. They wake up in the night crying."
• On June 23, Keisha Heard sued the city on behalf of her sons, her niece and herself. She said the gorilla bit her son Rivers' head and then pummeled her as she tried to rescue him. As they tried to get away, they became trapped in a glass enclosure with the gorilla and were attacked again, she said.
The couple has held Rivers back from starting kindergarten this fall as he struggles to relearn things, such as the alphabet and counting, which he knew before the attack.
• On April 29, Cheryl Reichert sued, saying that she has suffered back problems after being "repeatedly slammed against the aviary door by the gorilla."
"When Jabari turned and looked away, [the] plaintiff quickly ushered her children through the exit door of the aviary and attempted to exit herself when she was grabbed and viciously attacked," the lawsuit claims.
Liability claims
In addition, 18 people have filed liability claims against the city. The statute of limitations on such lawsuits is two years from the original incident.
"It's really a question of whether there was any negligence on the part of the zoo. That's always the ultimate issue," said Alan Lamer, attorney for the Bronx Zoo in New York for the past 15 years. "If it's something that was totally unforeseeable, there shouldn't be a finding of negligence."
Mr. Lamer represented the Bronx Zoo against a man who claimed his 12-year-old son was traumatized by a gorilla that threw rocks at his head. The case was settled for $5,000 to cover the boy's medical expenses, Mr. Lamer said.
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TexasStooge
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Water floods Fair Park landmark
By DON WALL / WFAA ABC 8
DALLAS, Texas - A shining example of 20th Century Texas history came very close to being destroyed Sunday.
Thousands of gallons of water poured through the Hall of State at Fair Park when a water main burst.
The basement took the brunt of the damage, with about two feet of standing water. Most of the museum's artifacts are kept are on the upper floors, so they were safe; 14 inches of water cost almost a month's preparation for this year's State Fair exhibit about Texas links to rock and roll.
Display cases, signs and graphics, will need to be redone; fortunately, the Blind Lemon Jefferson, Elvis, Beatles and Bob Dylan artifacts have yet to arrive.
"We were preparing our exhibition for the State Fair," said Michael Duty, director of the Dallas Historical Society. "We had about six weeks to do that; (now) we have to start over and really start from scratch. And rebuild most of that material."
Duty said carpeting in the doll collection and the lecture hall will need to be replaced. However, the 2,000 photographs, documents, clothing examples and original blueprints of Fair Park are now drying out, damaged but not destroyed.
"If it had gone another three inches, the archives would have been in a lot more trouble," he said.
The Hall of State was built in 1936 as part of the Texas Centennial exhibition to celebrate the state's heritage. It has remained a popular spot for weddings and other functions, as well as a big draw during the State Fair.
Watch News 8 at Six for more on this story.
WFAA ABC 8
Workers are trying to regroup after a flood nearly destroyed a number of historic items at Fair Park's Hall of State.
By DON WALL / WFAA ABC 8
DALLAS, Texas - A shining example of 20th Century Texas history came very close to being destroyed Sunday.
Thousands of gallons of water poured through the Hall of State at Fair Park when a water main burst.
The basement took the brunt of the damage, with about two feet of standing water. Most of the museum's artifacts are kept are on the upper floors, so they were safe; 14 inches of water cost almost a month's preparation for this year's State Fair exhibit about Texas links to rock and roll.
Display cases, signs and graphics, will need to be redone; fortunately, the Blind Lemon Jefferson, Elvis, Beatles and Bob Dylan artifacts have yet to arrive.
"We were preparing our exhibition for the State Fair," said Michael Duty, director of the Dallas Historical Society. "We had about six weeks to do that; (now) we have to start over and really start from scratch. And rebuild most of that material."
Duty said carpeting in the doll collection and the lecture hall will need to be replaced. However, the 2,000 photographs, documents, clothing examples and original blueprints of Fair Park are now drying out, damaged but not destroyed.
"If it had gone another three inches, the archives would have been in a lot more trouble," he said.
The Hall of State was built in 1936 as part of the Texas Centennial exhibition to celebrate the state's heritage. It has remained a popular spot for weddings and other functions, as well as a big draw during the State Fair.
Watch News 8 at Six for more on this story.
WFAA ABC 8
Workers are trying to regroup after a flood nearly destroyed a number of historic items at Fair Park's Hall of State.
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TexasStooge
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UNT databases accessed by hackers
DENTON, Texas (WFAA ABC 8/[url]WFAA.com[/url]) - University of North Texas officials announced Monday that a database containing personal information of thousands of current, former and prospective students may have been compromised by unauthorized persons.
A news release put out by the school said the information was stored as part of a database containing housing records from 1999 to 2005, which was accessed by hackers at two different times. Additionally, information from web-based financial aid inquiries was mistakenly stored and kept accessible via certain keywords on public Internet search engines.
The data may have included names, addresses, telephone numbers, Social Security numbers, student identification numbers, student ID passwords and student classification information, as well as 524 credit card numbers.
Officials said the school has blocked access to servers containing the data, and is investigating any other possible vulnerabilities so steps can be taken to correct them. They encourage persons who believe they may be at risk to take appropriate precautions to protect against identity theft.
In an effort to provide information and assistance UNT has set up a Web site, http://www.securityid.unt.edu, and established a hotline for individuals who believe they may be affected at 1-866-868-5323.
DENTON, Texas (WFAA ABC 8/[url]WFAA.com[/url]) - University of North Texas officials announced Monday that a database containing personal information of thousands of current, former and prospective students may have been compromised by unauthorized persons.
A news release put out by the school said the information was stored as part of a database containing housing records from 1999 to 2005, which was accessed by hackers at two different times. Additionally, information from web-based financial aid inquiries was mistakenly stored and kept accessible via certain keywords on public Internet search engines.
The data may have included names, addresses, telephone numbers, Social Security numbers, student identification numbers, student ID passwords and student classification information, as well as 524 credit card numbers.
Officials said the school has blocked access to servers containing the data, and is investigating any other possible vulnerabilities so steps can be taken to correct them. They encourage persons who believe they may be at risk to take appropriate precautions to protect against identity theft.
In an effort to provide information and assistance UNT has set up a Web site, http://www.securityid.unt.edu, and established a hotline for individuals who believe they may be affected at 1-866-868-5323.
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TexasStooge
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Cancer sufferers travel miles for care
Carcinoid patients say it's tough finding D-FW experts, best treatment
By SHERRY JACOBSON / The Dallas Morning News
Paul Concilio knew he was in trouble when his rare cancer was diagnosed last year. But he didn't realize how bad it was until his cancer specialist appeared to know even less than he did about the disease.
"The minute she recommended chemotherapy, a red flag went up," Mr. Concilio recalled. "I already knew that chemotherapy was out of the picture for this kind of cancer. I rejected it."
Mr. Concilio, a retired 56-year-old community college teacher, quickly discovered what well-informed carcinoid cancer patients already knew: Even some highly trained specialists can be clueless about a disease that strikes only 5,000 Americans annually. But that doesn't necessarily stop a doctor from trying to do something.
Carcinoid patients complain that some doctors recommend chemotherapy, a treatment that targets fast-growing cancer cells but does nothing to halt this slower variety.
The tumors, which typically grow out of neuroendocrine cells in the digestive tract, spread to the lungs, liver and bones in about 20 percent of such patients. But with timely and appropriate treatment, those sufferers can survive for decades.
Still, some physicians will advocate a "wait-and-see" approach, which can amount to a "wait-and-die" approach – from these patients' point of view.
"The problem in Dallas is that oncologists are tickled when they see carcinoid patients because the disease is so rare," said Carol-Anne Wilson, a carcinoid patient who runs a local support group for sufferers of the disease.
"The doctors don't have experience with this disease, and yet they think that because they're doctors, they can fix anything," she said. "Many seem unwilling to learn from a patient who has done extensive research on the condition."
Dr. Cheryl A. Harth, a Dallas cancer specialist, doesn't see the situation as quite that dire for carcinoid patients. After treating a half dozen such patients in 16 years, she believes oncologists can tackle such a rare disease by consulting medical literature.
"Granted, nobody has a lot of experience, and there's not a lot of new therapies for treating carcinoid tumors," she said. "It's not like breast cancer or lung cancer or colorectal cancer, where you get a lot of new therapies out of clinical trials or ongoing research."
Dr. Warren Lichliter, a Dallas colorectal surgeon who has removed carcinoid tumors from dozens of patients, defended physicians for any lagging understanding of the rare disease.
"Eighty percent of what physicians see are pretty routine diagnoses and treatment," said Dr. Lichliter, past president of the Dallas County Medical Society. "But there are rare diseases in every medical field. We deal with them."
Carcinoid patients can be a challenge for their physicians. It's not always easy treating people who live long enough to become experts in their disease.
"Once a diagnosis is made for an unusual cancer, people can get on the Internet and quickly learn more than the physician," Dr. Lichliter agreed. "We see people all the time who roll in with an inch stack of stuff they got off the Internet. But it may not necessarily be the appropriate treatment."
Carcinoid patients say it becomes a matter of survival to learn as much as they can about their disease in order to understand what their doctors are saying, and to possibly second-guess them.
"Three years ago, my doctor told me I had eight to 10 months to live and to go home and get my affairs in order," recalled Kyle Kiefling, a 67-year-old Gatesville man. "I've had good doctors, but they did not seem to know too much about this disease."
Carcinoid disease usually appears first as a tumor in the digestive tract – the stomach, small intestine or colon. The tumor causes an overproduction of certain hormones, which triggers uncontrolled bouts of diarrhea, weight loss and intestinal pain.
If a tumor spreads, typically to the liver, a patient develops "carcinoid syndrome," manifested by a reddening of the face for hours.
Besides surgery to remove the tumor, the most common treatment for people whose cancer has metastasized or spread to other parts of the body is a drug called octreotide, sold under the brand name Sandostatin. However, it costs about $2,500 to $5,000 per monthly shot for life.
"It's keeping the silly tumors quiet," said Ms. Wilson, whose carcinoid cancer was diagnosed in 2001. She read medical journals and scientific reports in order to understand, and eventually supervise, her doctors.
"In truth, I'm managing my own care," she said.
The fight to get the right treatment for carcinoid cancer is only eclipsed by the struggle to get the disease diagnosed in the first place.
•Shelby Viel, a 31-year-old mother of two, recalls making numerous trips to several Texas emergency rooms, suffering extreme abdominal pain. Doctors mistakenly diagnosed irritable bowel syndrome, stress and endometriosis, a gynecological problem. For three years, she underwent no diagnostic tests that would have discovered the carcinoid tumors in her abdomen.
"The symptoms started when I was a 21-year-old Texas Tech student," the Frisco woman said. "By the time I was 24, the attacks were more frequent and more painful. I said, 'This is going to kill me.' "
•Wally Nelson learned he had an unknown cancer in 2000 after three tumors were found in his abdomen. After a biopsy confirmed it as carcinoid, his Richardson doctor insisted that Mr. Nelson forgo treatment for a year to see whether the cancer would spread.
"It was bugging me and my wife to death," recalled the 72-year-old Murphy man. "Wait and see for what? For it to get a lot worse?"
•Vicki Irving, a 57-year-old Denton woman, was told in 1990 by a local oncologist that she had carcinoid cancer. Although her tumors were spreading, she wasn't offered Sandostatin for 11 years.
"I fired my old oncologist because he never told me about Sandostatin," Ms. Irving said. "He knew about it when I was diagnosed 15 years ago."
Survival for a carcinoid cancer patient often depends on finding a fellow sufferer who knows where to find knowledgeable practitioners. Patients then must be willing to travel hundreds or thousands of miles from home to be treated by doctors who understand how to control carcinoid's assorted symptoms as well as slow the spread of tumors and, ultimately, keep patients alive longer.
In search of the right treatment, Mr. Concilio drove 500 miles from his home outside Waco to see a group of New Orleans specialists, who see dozens of carcinoid patients every month. On his first Louisiana trip last November, the Texas patient recalled feeling a sense of relief that finally he'd found doctors who knew more about the disease than he did and who wanted to treat his condition aggressively.
"By the time carcinoid patients are diagnosed, they've been through years of symptoms," Mr. Concilio explained. "If you're middle-aged and can be treated, you don't just sit there. You have to fight the medical system and challenge your doctors."
Last month, he underwent surgery in New Orleans to remove a carcinoid tumor and a portion of his liver. He is not fully recovered, but Mr. Concilio's disease markers are dramatically lower, and his symptoms have subsided, he said.
Other carcinoid patients in the Dallas area have sought care from experts in Tampa, Fla., New York City, Los Angeles and, most commonly, New Orleans.
Such experts don't completely blame hometown doctors for failing to diagnose such an unusual cancer. But they do blame oncologists for failing to refer seriously ill patients to a carcinoid specialist who could prolong their lives.
"There are only five, six or seven of us who do this in the United States as our predominant task," said Dr. Lowell Anthony, a New Orleans oncologist, who is among them. "The rest of the doctors look up some cookbook chemotherapy scheme because they just want to so do something."
Dr. Lichliter of the medical society said he doubted that carcinoid patients were unable to find adequate care at any major medical center in Dallas.
"It wouldn't surprise me if the patient feels comfortable being there," he said of those who travel to New Orleans. "It's like taking a trip to the mecca."
Dr. Anthony, whose practice draws 80 percent of its patients from out of state, including Mr. Concilio, said other doctors may consider these tumors to be benign growths.
But Dr. Anthony and other experts object to that characterization. "Cancer is anything that invades and spreads in the body, and that's what carcinoid does," he said. "The only thing it doesn't do is spread as fast as most cancers."
Researchers believe that it takes 20 to 30 years for carcinoid syndrome to kill someone. That usually includes a decade of unexplained symptoms, followed by a carcinoid diagnosis and another decade or longer of effective treatment, if a patient is lucky to find a doctor to provide it.
"Without treatment, these patients may live half that time, about 10 to 15 years from when the tumor starts growing," said Dr. Anthony, who has done extensive research on the use of Sandostatin. "But that just should not be happening anymore."
Guidelines for the drug's use as well as other carcinoid treatment protocols were published last year in a European medical journal.
Even with treatment, the disease will progress in people whose tumors become metastatic, which means they are spreading. Dr. Eugene Woltering, a New Orleans surgeon and carcinoid researcher, said it makes more sense to educate patients about carcinoid and send them back to educate their doctors.
"It's a new paradigm in modern medicine," he said. "The patient as educator."
Dr. Charles Conner, a Plano oncologist, includes himself in the new paradigm. For several years, his North Texas Cancer Center practice has attracted a dozen or more carcinoid patients because he accepts them on their terms.
"I'm not a carcinoid expert, but these patients are looking for someone to talk to about their treatments," he said. "They bring treatment plans from the experts, and I act as an intermediary in implementing them."
Dr. Conner called his carcinoid patients the best educated in his practice, mainly because they live longer than typical cancer patients.
Carcinoid patients say it's tough finding D-FW experts, best treatment
By SHERRY JACOBSON / The Dallas Morning News
Paul Concilio knew he was in trouble when his rare cancer was diagnosed last year. But he didn't realize how bad it was until his cancer specialist appeared to know even less than he did about the disease.
"The minute she recommended chemotherapy, a red flag went up," Mr. Concilio recalled. "I already knew that chemotherapy was out of the picture for this kind of cancer. I rejected it."
Mr. Concilio, a retired 56-year-old community college teacher, quickly discovered what well-informed carcinoid cancer patients already knew: Even some highly trained specialists can be clueless about a disease that strikes only 5,000 Americans annually. But that doesn't necessarily stop a doctor from trying to do something.
Carcinoid patients complain that some doctors recommend chemotherapy, a treatment that targets fast-growing cancer cells but does nothing to halt this slower variety.
The tumors, which typically grow out of neuroendocrine cells in the digestive tract, spread to the lungs, liver and bones in about 20 percent of such patients. But with timely and appropriate treatment, those sufferers can survive for decades.
Still, some physicians will advocate a "wait-and-see" approach, which can amount to a "wait-and-die" approach – from these patients' point of view.
"The problem in Dallas is that oncologists are tickled when they see carcinoid patients because the disease is so rare," said Carol-Anne Wilson, a carcinoid patient who runs a local support group for sufferers of the disease.
"The doctors don't have experience with this disease, and yet they think that because they're doctors, they can fix anything," she said. "Many seem unwilling to learn from a patient who has done extensive research on the condition."
Dr. Cheryl A. Harth, a Dallas cancer specialist, doesn't see the situation as quite that dire for carcinoid patients. After treating a half dozen such patients in 16 years, she believes oncologists can tackle such a rare disease by consulting medical literature.
"Granted, nobody has a lot of experience, and there's not a lot of new therapies for treating carcinoid tumors," she said. "It's not like breast cancer or lung cancer or colorectal cancer, where you get a lot of new therapies out of clinical trials or ongoing research."
Dr. Warren Lichliter, a Dallas colorectal surgeon who has removed carcinoid tumors from dozens of patients, defended physicians for any lagging understanding of the rare disease.
"Eighty percent of what physicians see are pretty routine diagnoses and treatment," said Dr. Lichliter, past president of the Dallas County Medical Society. "But there are rare diseases in every medical field. We deal with them."
Carcinoid patients can be a challenge for their physicians. It's not always easy treating people who live long enough to become experts in their disease.
"Once a diagnosis is made for an unusual cancer, people can get on the Internet and quickly learn more than the physician," Dr. Lichliter agreed. "We see people all the time who roll in with an inch stack of stuff they got off the Internet. But it may not necessarily be the appropriate treatment."
Carcinoid patients say it becomes a matter of survival to learn as much as they can about their disease in order to understand what their doctors are saying, and to possibly second-guess them.
"Three years ago, my doctor told me I had eight to 10 months to live and to go home and get my affairs in order," recalled Kyle Kiefling, a 67-year-old Gatesville man. "I've had good doctors, but they did not seem to know too much about this disease."
Carcinoid disease usually appears first as a tumor in the digestive tract – the stomach, small intestine or colon. The tumor causes an overproduction of certain hormones, which triggers uncontrolled bouts of diarrhea, weight loss and intestinal pain.
If a tumor spreads, typically to the liver, a patient develops "carcinoid syndrome," manifested by a reddening of the face for hours.
Besides surgery to remove the tumor, the most common treatment for people whose cancer has metastasized or spread to other parts of the body is a drug called octreotide, sold under the brand name Sandostatin. However, it costs about $2,500 to $5,000 per monthly shot for life.
"It's keeping the silly tumors quiet," said Ms. Wilson, whose carcinoid cancer was diagnosed in 2001. She read medical journals and scientific reports in order to understand, and eventually supervise, her doctors.
"In truth, I'm managing my own care," she said.
The fight to get the right treatment for carcinoid cancer is only eclipsed by the struggle to get the disease diagnosed in the first place.
•Shelby Viel, a 31-year-old mother of two, recalls making numerous trips to several Texas emergency rooms, suffering extreme abdominal pain. Doctors mistakenly diagnosed irritable bowel syndrome, stress and endometriosis, a gynecological problem. For three years, she underwent no diagnostic tests that would have discovered the carcinoid tumors in her abdomen.
"The symptoms started when I was a 21-year-old Texas Tech student," the Frisco woman said. "By the time I was 24, the attacks were more frequent and more painful. I said, 'This is going to kill me.' "
•Wally Nelson learned he had an unknown cancer in 2000 after three tumors were found in his abdomen. After a biopsy confirmed it as carcinoid, his Richardson doctor insisted that Mr. Nelson forgo treatment for a year to see whether the cancer would spread.
"It was bugging me and my wife to death," recalled the 72-year-old Murphy man. "Wait and see for what? For it to get a lot worse?"
•Vicki Irving, a 57-year-old Denton woman, was told in 1990 by a local oncologist that she had carcinoid cancer. Although her tumors were spreading, she wasn't offered Sandostatin for 11 years.
"I fired my old oncologist because he never told me about Sandostatin," Ms. Irving said. "He knew about it when I was diagnosed 15 years ago."
Survival for a carcinoid cancer patient often depends on finding a fellow sufferer who knows where to find knowledgeable practitioners. Patients then must be willing to travel hundreds or thousands of miles from home to be treated by doctors who understand how to control carcinoid's assorted symptoms as well as slow the spread of tumors and, ultimately, keep patients alive longer.
In search of the right treatment, Mr. Concilio drove 500 miles from his home outside Waco to see a group of New Orleans specialists, who see dozens of carcinoid patients every month. On his first Louisiana trip last November, the Texas patient recalled feeling a sense of relief that finally he'd found doctors who knew more about the disease than he did and who wanted to treat his condition aggressively.
"By the time carcinoid patients are diagnosed, they've been through years of symptoms," Mr. Concilio explained. "If you're middle-aged and can be treated, you don't just sit there. You have to fight the medical system and challenge your doctors."
Last month, he underwent surgery in New Orleans to remove a carcinoid tumor and a portion of his liver. He is not fully recovered, but Mr. Concilio's disease markers are dramatically lower, and his symptoms have subsided, he said.
Other carcinoid patients in the Dallas area have sought care from experts in Tampa, Fla., New York City, Los Angeles and, most commonly, New Orleans.
Such experts don't completely blame hometown doctors for failing to diagnose such an unusual cancer. But they do blame oncologists for failing to refer seriously ill patients to a carcinoid specialist who could prolong their lives.
"There are only five, six or seven of us who do this in the United States as our predominant task," said Dr. Lowell Anthony, a New Orleans oncologist, who is among them. "The rest of the doctors look up some cookbook chemotherapy scheme because they just want to so do something."
Dr. Lichliter of the medical society said he doubted that carcinoid patients were unable to find adequate care at any major medical center in Dallas.
"It wouldn't surprise me if the patient feels comfortable being there," he said of those who travel to New Orleans. "It's like taking a trip to the mecca."
Dr. Anthony, whose practice draws 80 percent of its patients from out of state, including Mr. Concilio, said other doctors may consider these tumors to be benign growths.
But Dr. Anthony and other experts object to that characterization. "Cancer is anything that invades and spreads in the body, and that's what carcinoid does," he said. "The only thing it doesn't do is spread as fast as most cancers."
Researchers believe that it takes 20 to 30 years for carcinoid syndrome to kill someone. That usually includes a decade of unexplained symptoms, followed by a carcinoid diagnosis and another decade or longer of effective treatment, if a patient is lucky to find a doctor to provide it.
"Without treatment, these patients may live half that time, about 10 to 15 years from when the tumor starts growing," said Dr. Anthony, who has done extensive research on the use of Sandostatin. "But that just should not be happening anymore."
Guidelines for the drug's use as well as other carcinoid treatment protocols were published last year in a European medical journal.
Even with treatment, the disease will progress in people whose tumors become metastatic, which means they are spreading. Dr. Eugene Woltering, a New Orleans surgeon and carcinoid researcher, said it makes more sense to educate patients about carcinoid and send them back to educate their doctors.
"It's a new paradigm in modern medicine," he said. "The patient as educator."
Dr. Charles Conner, a Plano oncologist, includes himself in the new paradigm. For several years, his North Texas Cancer Center practice has attracted a dozen or more carcinoid patients because he accepts them on their terms.
"I'm not a carcinoid expert, but these patients are looking for someone to talk to about their treatments," he said. "They bring treatment plans from the experts, and I act as an intermediary in implementing them."
Dr. Conner called his carcinoid patients the best educated in his practice, mainly because they live longer than typical cancer patients.
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