ISS IN THE NEWS

The following articles about two individuals supported by ISS have appeared recently in the Topeka Capital Journal.

ON HIS OWN

By Brandy Nance
The Capital-Journal

Richard Tucker needs his cup of coffee first thing in the morning.

He keeps his coffee mug in hand in case an opportunity arises to fill it.

For Tucker, 65, routines are essential to his daily success. Developmentally disabled, he works at the West Ridge 8 theaters three days a week cleaning up the inside of the theater and keeping the parking lot clean.

Tucker got the job through Individual Support Systems, 3615 S.W. 29th. Before he began became a client of ISS in 1996, he had been shuffled from institution to institution since childhood, beginning at Parsons State Hospital and ending at the Kansas Neurological Institute. Before KNI, he had been taken in handcuffs to Norton State Hospital because he had been labeled uncontrollable, ISS workers said.

With help from ISS, Tucker has a job and a home he shares with two friends from KNI, said Janel Crawshaw, development director for ISS. Tucker now has his own yard, his own stuff and his own identity. "That's very important to the people we provide services to, because most of them have been institutionalized," Crawshaw said.

ISS helped Tucker establish his routine and his life. A typical week for Tucker is three days working at the theaters, a grocery and activity day, and a day at the gym, where he likes to ride the bikes, said his job coach, Nichole Jones. Jones assists him throughout the week in daily tasks such as getting up and going to work.

For ISS, Tucker is a success story. The nonprofit organization currently assists about 70 clients in the Shawnee County area, Crawshaw said. ISS takes into account the individual needs of clients and helps find them a place in the community.

"We really believe they need to have their own identity," Crawshaw said. "It's finding those pieces that makes the person."

For Tucker, that means playing the piano, taking strolls in his back yard, going out to eat and visiting his friends at KNI, said Janice Samuels, program coordinator at ISS.

ISS helps people like Tucker with developmental disabilities succeed in the community. It helps with skills such as personal care, development of appropriate behaviors and knowing how to do a job. It assists in finding clients jobs and medical services.

ISS also provides on-the-job training through its business, The Flatlander Mailing Co. The mailing center was started by The Capper Foundation and taken over by ISS in 1997 and provides mail services to private companies. Through the center, clients can learn what it means to have a job and a paycheck, Crawshaw said. "We try very hard to run that as a business," she said. "People have all different kinds of abilities. We focus on what they are good at."

Tucker is good at interacting with people and following through with his daily responsibilities.
"He doesn't know a stranger," said Shawna Link, targeted case manager for ISS. "He likes people and is a very pleasant gentleman."

Tucker takes life with a smile, greeting everybody and shaking hands with people he meets.
And he likes his coffee, he said with a smile while sipping the drink. (Published October 25, 2004)

FAMILY REUNION

By Jan Biles
The Capital-Journal

Donald Merrick didn't know what a biological parent was. He knew about foster parents, program coordinators, social workers and guardians.

But a "biological" parent? A "real" parent?
 

When Donald was an infant, his parents relinquished all their rights and turned their fourth child and youngest son over to the state of Kansas. He lived in a foster home for a while and then passed through a string of institutions that cared for children and young adults with mental retardation before becoming a client of Individual Support Systems Inc. in Topeka.
 

So when an ISS worker told him -- after more than 42 years -- that his parents and three siblings had been found, Donald couldn't wrap his mind around it.
 

"We had to talk to Donald because he didn't understand what biological parents and siblings meant," said Janel Crawshaw, development director at ISS.
 

The reunion of Donald and his biological family is one of happenstance: A letter randomly sent to the right social services office. An impromptu phone call placed at the right time. A social worker with a good memory. The grace of God.
 

"There's certain things that make your career," Crawshaw said. "When Donald finally got to see his parents -- nothing could top that for me."
 

But the family's reunion also is bittersweet: Donald's father died Nov. 9, after seeing his adult son only twice.

The details of Donald's life are blurry. What is known comes in large part from documentation in his case file and from his parents' memories.  Donald was born Sept. 20, 1962, at St. Mary's Hospital in Manhattan to Llewellyn and Gisela Merrick, who lived near Wamego. The baby weighed 5 pounds, 13 ounces and was 18 1/2 inches long. He had three siblings -- Vaughn, Gerald and Deborah.
And times were tough.

"You couldn't find a decent job," Llewellyn Merrick said during a phone call from his home in Mansfield, Pa., a few weeks before his death. "I remember hitchhiking to Manhattan to the unemployment office to try for a day job. I remember walking 12 blocks each direction to carry a woman's garbage out. I got paid 30 cents. ... It would buy a loaf of bread and a bottle of milk."
 

When Donald was a few weeks old, Llewellyn Merrick said he and his wife took their baby to a doctor because they noticed his arm was swollen. "The doctor found broken bones and notified the authorities," his late father said. "Social services said it was child abuse ... but we did not abuse him. They gave us a choice -- to surrender our parental rights (to Donald) or give up all of our kids. So what choice did we have?"

Crawshaw said parental rights were severed voluntarily, but she is unsure of the circumstances that led to that action. Donald was made a ward of the state, and eventually his family moved to Pennsylvania, where Llewellyn Merrick's parents lived.

 
The Merricks never knew their son was developmentally disabled.

From 1963 to 1970, Donald lived in a boarding house with foster parents. When he was 7, his foster father died and his foster mother was no longer able to meet the demands of raising a child with special needs. 

In 1969, he was evaluated at Kansas Neurological Institute in Topeka and was referred to Lakemary Center in Paola, a residential home for children with developmental disabilities. He lived there from 1970 to 1981.

Donald was placed in 1981 at Tri-Ko in Osawatomie, where he apparently received services for about 10 years before being moved to Osawatomie State Hospital. He spent three years at the Osawatomie institution, followed by about three years at Parsons State Hospital.
 

Donald has lived in Topeka since 1996 and has received services from ISS since November 1997. ISS helps those with developmental disabilities learn to care for themselves, work in the community and interact with others.
 

Donald and another ISS client live together in a duplex with the help of direct support staff supplied by the agency. He has a guardian, David Skinner, who includes him in his family's activities, and he keeps in touch with his foster mother.
 

Donald does custodian work two days a week at Francis O'Dooley's Irish Pub and Grill and volunteers two days a week at the Salvation Army. He likes bowling, '70s music, Kansas City Chiefs football and University of Kansas basketball. He watches ESPN religiously and reads the sports page in the newspaper every day.
 

And he was recently diagnosed with diabetes -- a condition, as it turns out, shared by both his father and mother.

About four or five years ago, Crawshaw said Donald's doctor stopped taking Medicaid patients. She was Donald's program coordinator at the time and knew she had to try her best to secure medical care for her client.
 

"Donald was in his late 30s so I knew his father had to be in his 60s, and if dad was collecting Social Security then Donald could collect Medicare," she said.
 

Crawshaw didn't know if Donald's father was alive or where he was but decided to call the Topeka office of Social and Rehabilitation Services to see if they had any information about him.
 

"I was on the phone with an SRS worker, and she recognized Donald's name," she said.
Crawshaw was put on hold while the SRS worker went to look through their files. When she got back on the phone, Crawshaw couldn't believe her ears. "They said they had a letter from his dad. I said that his foster dad was dead. She said, 'No, his biological father,'" she said.

The letter from his father stated that his parents didn't know if Donald was alive, but they wanted him to know about their medical history because they could have passed ailments on to him.
After filing a number of requests for information and making several phone calls, Crawshaw eventually received a copy of the letter and, more importantly, a phone number for Donald's parents.
 

Crawshaw said she weighed the possible outcomes of dialing the phone number: What if his parents were not good people? How would she explain to Donald that his parents were alive? Would his parents want to see their son if they knew he was developmentally disabled?
 

"To make a long story short, I called," Crawshaw said. "They were ecstatic to know that their son was alive and well and living in Kansas. Since then, they have exchanged letters, photos and phone calls."
 

Last spring, the Merricks drove to Kansas to meet Donald and see where he lives. It was an emotional reunion.
"I had tears running out of my eyes, of course," his father said. "You look for years and then one day it becomes a reality. You can't understand (how it feels). He has some problems, but he's my son."
 

"I went over there (to him)," his mother added. "He said, 'I love you,' and I said, 'I love you, too, Donald,' and I gave him 20 kisses. He's my son, and I love him. ... I knew he was alive. I had a funny feeling he was alive."
 
In October, ISS flew Donald and Janice Samuels, his current program coordinator, to Mansfield to see his parents again and to meet his siblings. It was Donald's first airplane flight.

"It was scary," he admitted.

Donald said his mother took him bowling and out to eat. His father showed him how to engrave name tags.
"He's a lovable guy," his mother said.

Llewellyn Merrick's health had been up and down for several years. He had been on dialysis for four years and then had a kidney transplant. In addition to having diabetes, his hearing was failing, and he had trouble standing and walking on his own. In late October, he acknowledged his failing health, saying he probably would not be able to make another trip to Kansas to see his youngest son. On Nov. 9, he suffered a fatal heart attack. Crawshaw and other ISS staff had the job of telling Donald that his father had died.

Gisella Merrick said she knows Donald won't be coming to live with her. She is grateful he has established his own life and is receiving quality care.
 

"We feel he's in good hands in Topeka," his mother said. "I don't have to worry that something will happen to him."
 

Before his death, Llewellyn Merrick said he often thought about the choice he made 42 years ago and wondered if he have done the right thing in giving up Donald.
 

"I don't know if I'd do the same thing again," he said.
 

Gisella Merrick said she relied on her faith to get her through the lost of her son so many years ago."It was really hard," she said. "But you got to believe in God, and that we would see each other again." (Published November 21, 2004)