The Knock At The Door

The Knock At The Door
February 22, 2004
By COLIN POITRAS, The Hartford Courant

It's 4:30 p.m. on a dark, drizzly evening.

Kareem Muhammad and Alexa Ortiz move swiftly once inside the aging
brick tenement in Hartford's South End.

Their target is a third-floor apartment, where the child protection
workers fear two preschool girls are being sexually abused.

Muhammad has been unusually quiet. This is not how he figured the case
would shake out. He'd been working it for a month, ever since his
office got an anonymous report that the family was homeless and the
older child, age 4, was still in diapers.

He'd watched the family find an apartment, and the 4-year-old's potty
training had resumed. He was all set to close the file when, 24 hours
ago, he walked into the family's bedroom during a surprise visit and
found the 2-year-old naked and spread-eagled on the bed.

The disheveled mother denied she was abusing her child, even before
she was asked.

Muhammad's report on what he saw, his suspicion that something could
be amiss and the family's prior history with the state Department of
Children and Families convinced his supervisors that the children
should be removed.

Now, on this November evening, it is time for that unpleasant chore.

With Hartford police Officer Jim Barrett on his heels, Muhammad
approaches the apartment door. Barrett's right hand edges closer to
the gun holstered on his hip. He's done this before.

Head bowed, the 26-year-old caseworker knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" comes a woman's voice from inside.

"Kareem. From DCF."

The door opens. "Why are you here?" the mother asks, eyeing the
visitors suspiciously. "And why did you bring the police?"

Just let him in and he would explain, Muhammad replies. The door opens
wider and Muhammad, Ortiz and Barrett fill the entranceway.

"Due to the situation I observed last night, we need to remove the
children on an administrative 96-hour hold because the environment is
injurious to the children's well-being," Muhammad tells the mother, a
woman in her mid-20s wearing jeans, a dark-colored T-shirt and a
bandana covering her hair.

"Oh hell no, my children aren't going anywhere!" mom shouts, clutching
her youngest child tightly in her arms and wheeling around toward the
back bedroom. The oldest child trails silently behind her, eyes wide
with fear.

Muhammad follows the mother and kids into the back bedroom. Ortiz
darts across the living room and blocks an entrance to the kitchen,
effectively cutting the mother off should she try to escape. Barrett
stands guard between the bedroom and the front door. The family is
trapped.

The mother sits down heavily on the bed, her shoulders sagging, her
head down. She is sobbing now, breathing hard. Muhammad, Ortiz and
Barrett form a tight circle in front of her, offering comfort and
pressing their case.

Inside the bedroom are two twin beds and a dollhouse in one corner.
The rest of the apartment is nearly empty: There are no lamps, no
sofas, no tables, no chairs in the living room. Sheets are tacked on
the windows. The family moved in just a few days before.

"I'm sorry we have to do this, but we have the hold," Ortiz says
gently.

"I work hard to take care of my girls," the mother says, her voice
rising. "I just got this apartment. Come on, don't take away my
babies. My babies are all I have."

"Please, don't make it worse," Muhammad says.

"You know I work hard for my kids. Why do you do this? Why are you
doing this?"

"Give me the child," Ortiz says, reaching to take the youngest from
her mother's arms.

"Do you know how much it's going to take for me to get my kids back?
Do you know?" the mother demands, her anger rising as she clutches her
child tighter. "My daughter had a rash on her back and I didn't put a
Pamper on her. So what? Can't I let my baby air out?"

The mother is still crying and yelling as Ortiz and Muhammad help her
round up a few things for the children. The children fill up a
backpack, slip on some jeans and, after some brief hugs and more
tears, Ortiz ushers them out. She carries the 2-year-old. The
4-year-old follows silently behind, shuffling out the door with one
shoe on, the other foot bare. Ortiz slips on the other shoe before
they get outside.

Muhammad and Barrett stay behind, with the mother raging.

"You, you with your bull****!" she shouts. "You told me my case was
closed! She's my daughter. I'd never do anything to my daughter. She's
allowed to breathe!"

Muhammad explains the 96-hour hold and advises the mother that he is
obligated to start the process of seeking extended custody. Until the
matter is resolved, Muhammad says, the children will remain in
temporary foster care.

"So I can't see my kids for three days?" asks the mother, who herself
grew up in foster care, where she claims she was abused.

"Right now, we did a 96-hour hold," Muhammad says. "I can't say when
you'll have an opportunity to see your children."

"I don't even know where they are going," the mother says, putting her
head in her hands. "A lot of DCF foster homes are licensed but kids
are still getting abused there. Just look at me. Nothing just better
not happen to my kids. If there's anything different about my kids,
I'm blaming you. And they better not touch my kids' hair. They better
not do nothing to my kids."

"I'll call them and let them know about the kids' hair," Muhammad
says.

After making sure the mother has a friend coming over to keep her
company, Muhammad tells the mother she can call him tomorrow at the
office for an update and he quietly leaves. The entire incident is
over in about 30 minutes.

l

Back at DCF's Hamilton Street office, Muhammad and Ortiz keep the
children distracted with McDonald's Happy Meals.

At one point, child abuse expert Rosemary Furmanek takes the oldest
girl into a separate room to see if she will give hints to any prior
incidents of abuse. She does not, content to play with the toys in the
playroom instead. The younger child stays busy playing with a handful
of worn toys in the office.

By 7:30 p.m., staff in the agency's foster care and adoption unit in
another part of the building are working overtime trying to find the
children a temporary home.

Muhammad turns off the office lights and sets the children up with
blankets and a pair of temporary cots. Ortiz makes popcorn in the
microwave and the air fills with the scent of hot butter and salt.
Muhammad pops in a "Dragon Tales" video and braces for a long night.

Finally, at 8 p.m., they find a place. The children will be going into
an already overcrowded Southington foster home on what is known as an
"emergency overload."

The home is licensed for three children. Four foster children are
already living there, along with the family's three biological
children. The two girls will make a total of nine. But it is only for
the one night.

The next day, the doctor's exam confirms the diaper rash and finds no
obvious evidence of sexual abuse. Based on that information,
Muhammad's supervisors, Maritza Velez and James Wright, take the rare
step of rescinding the emergency hold and allowing the children to
return home.

"I'm reluctant to let these kids go," Velez says. "But we don't have
enough grounds to hold them so they need to go back."

Velez, 32, instructs Muhammad to transfer the case to a treatment
worker who will make sure the mother is provided proper services. The
youngest child needs speech therapy, the mother needs a bus pass. She
also must keep her apartment and make all the children's medical
appointments.

When Muhammad drives the children home, the oldest refuses to get out
of the car. She pretends she is sleeping. Muhammad has to pull her
out. He sighs and carries her part of the way, as the younger one lags
behind, clutching the investigator's free hand. Their mother is all
smiles, waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

She is lucky. Reversals of DCF removals are rare, especially within
the first day. The Knock At The Door
February 22, 2004
By COLIN POITRAS, The Hartford Courant

It's 4:30 p.m. on a dark, drizzly evening.

Kareem Muhammad and Alexa Ortiz move swiftly once inside the aging
brick tenement in Hartford's South End.

Their target is a third-floor apartment, where the child protection
workers fear two preschool girls are being sexually abused.

Muhammad has been unusually quiet. This is not how he figured the case
would shake out. He'd been working it for a month, ever since his
office got an anonymous report that the family was homeless and the
older child, age 4, was still in diapers.

He'd watched the family find an apartment, and the 4-year-old's potty
training had resumed. He was all set to close the file when, 24 hours
ago, he walked into the family's bedroom during a surprise visit and
found the 2-year-old naked and spread-eagled on the bed.

The disheveled mother denied she was abusing her child, even before
she was asked.

Muhammad's report on what he saw, his suspicion that something could
be amiss and the family's prior history with the state Department of
Children and Families convinced his supervisors that the children
should be removed.

Now, on this November evening, it is time for that unpleasant chore.

With Hartford police Officer Jim Barrett on his heels, Muhammad
approaches the apartment door. Barrett's right hand edges closer to
the gun holstered on his hip. He's done this before.

Head bowed, the 26-year-old caseworker knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" comes a woman's voice from inside.

"Kareem. From DCF."

The door opens. "Why are you here?" the mother asks, eyeing the
visitors suspiciously. "And why did you bring the police?"

Just let him in and he would explain, Muhammad replies. The door opens
wider and Muhammad, Ortiz and Barrett fill the entranceway.

"Due to the situation I observed last night, we need to remove the
children on an administrative 96-hour hold because the environment is
injurious to the children's well-being," Muhammad tells the mother, a
woman in her mid-20s wearing jeans, a dark-colored T-shirt and a
bandana covering her hair.

"Oh hell no, my children aren't going anywhere!" mom shouts, clutching
her youngest child tightly in her arms and wheeling around toward the
back bedroom. The oldest child trails silently behind her, eyes wide
with fear.

Muhammad follows the mother and kids into the back bedroom. Ortiz
darts across the living room and blocks an entrance to the kitchen,
effectively cutting the mother off should she try to escape. Barrett
stands guard between the bedroom and the front door. The family is
trapped.

The mother sits down heavily on the bed, her shoulders sagging, her
head down. She is sobbing now, breathing hard. Muhammad, Ortiz and
Barrett form a tight circle in front of her, offering comfort and
pressing their case.

Inside the bedroom are two twin beds and a dollhouse in one corner.
The rest of the apartment is nearly empty: There are no lamps, no
sofas, no tables, no chairs in the living room. Sheets are tacked on
the windows. The family moved in just a few days before.

"I'm sorry we have to do this, but we have the hold," Ortiz says
gently.

"I work hard to take care of my girls," the mother says, her voice
rising. "I just got this apartment. Come on, don't take away my
babies. My babies are all I have."

"Please, don't make it worse," Muhammad says.

"You know I work hard for my kids. Why do you do this? Why are you
doing this?"

"Give me the child," Ortiz says, reaching to take the youngest from
her mother's arms.

"Do you know how much it's going to take for me to get my kids back?
Do you know?" the mother demands, her anger rising as she clutches her
child tighter. "My daughter had a rash on her back and I didn't put a
Pamper on her. So what? Can't I let my baby air out?"

The mother is still crying and yelling as Ortiz and Muhammad help her
round up a few things for the children. The children fill up a
backpack, slip on some jeans and, after some brief hugs and more
tears, Ortiz ushers them out. She carries the 2-year-old. The
4-year-old follows silently behind, shuffling out the door with one
shoe on, the other foot bare. Ortiz slips on the other shoe before
they get outside.

Muhammad and Barrett stay behind, with the mother raging.

"You, you with your bull****!" she shouts. "You told me my case was
closed! She's my daughter. I'd never do anything to my daughter. She's
allowed to breathe!"

Muhammad explains the 96-hour hold and advises the mother that he is
obligated to start the process of seeking extended custody. Until the
matter is resolved, Muhammad says, the children will remain in
temporary foster care.

"So I can't see my kids for three days?" asks the mother, who herself
grew up in foster care, where she claims she was abused.

"Right now, we did a 96-hour hold," Muhammad says. "I can't say when
you'll have an opportunity to see your children."

"I don't even know where they are going," the mother says, putting her
head in her hands. "A lot of DCF foster homes are licensed but kids
are still getting abused there. Just look at me. Nothing just better
not happen to my kids. If there's anything different about my kids,
I'm blaming you. And they better not touch my kids' hair. They better
not do nothing to my kids."

"I'll call them and let them know about the kids' hair," Muhammad
says.

After making sure the mother has a friend coming over to keep her
company, Muhammad tells the mother she can call him tomorrow at the
office for an update and he quietly leaves. The entire incident is
over in about 30 minutes.

l

Back at DCF's Hamilton Street office, Muhammad and Ortiz keep the
children distracted with McDonald's Happy Meals.

At one point, child abuse expert Rosemary Furmanek takes the oldest
girl into a separate room to see if she will give hints to any prior
incidents of abuse. She does not, content to play with the toys in the
playroom instead. The younger child stays busy playing with a handful
of worn toys in the office.

By 7:30 p.m., staff in the agency's foster care and adoption unit in
another part of the building are working overtime trying to find the
children a temporary home.

Muhammad turns off the office lights and sets the children up with
blankets and a pair of temporary cots. Ortiz makes popcorn in the
microwave and the air fills with the scent of hot butter and salt.
Muhammad pops in a "Dragon Tales" video and braces for a long night.

Finally, at 8 p.m., they find a place. The children will be going into
an already overcrowded Southington foster home on what is known as an
"emergency overload."

The home is licensed for three children. Four foster children are
already living there, along with the family's three biological
children. The two girls will make a total of nine. But it is only for
the one night.

The next day, the doctor's exam confirms the diaper rash and finds no
obvious evidence of sexual abuse. Based on that information,
Muhammad's supervisors, Maritza Velez and James Wright, take the rare
step of rescinding the emergency hold and allowing the children to
return home.

"I'm reluctant to let these kids go," Velez says. "But we don't have
enough grounds to hold them so they need to go back."

Velez, 32, instructs Muhammad to transfer the case to a treatment
worker who will make sure the mother is provided proper services. The
youngest child needs speech therapy, the mother needs a bus pass. She
also must keep her apartment and make all the children's medical
appointments.

When Muhammad drives the children home, the oldest refuses to get out
of the car. She pretends she is sleeping. Muhammad has to pull her
out. He sighs and carries her part of the way, as the younger one lags
behind, clutching the investigator's free hand. Their mother is all
smiles, waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

She is lucky. Reversals of DCF removals are rare, especially within
the first day.
http://www.ctnow.com/news/local/hc-d...lines-breaking
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