# Chapter 3

In Lehigh County, Pennsylvania, a dedicated network of key agencies works tirelessly to support families and children, ensuring their safety and well-being. At the center of these efforts is the Department of Human Services (DHS). Many people see DHS as the umbrella organization managing a wide array of social service programs. DHS's responsibilities are extensive, covering public assistance, mental health services, support for individuals with intellectual disabilities, and assistance for those struggling with drug and alcohol issues. Their main goal is to provide comprehensive support to individuals and families in need throughout the county.

A crucial part of DHS is the Children and Youth Services (CYS) office. This agency is specifically tasked with protecting and promoting the welfare of children and youth in our community. CYS investigates reports of child abuse and neglect, providing essential support services aimed at keeping families together. When necessary, they ensure that children are placed in safe and permanent homes. The role of CYS in safeguarding our county's youngest residents cannot be overstated.

My journey to understand how Children and Youth Services operates began with the realization that I needed to grasp the intricate processes involved in the county government’s decisions regarding child removal from their parents. This understanding was essential, given the complexities and sensitivities surrounding such decisions. To gain a clear and comprehensive picture, I arranged a meeting with Kay Ackenbach, the Director of the Department of Human Services for Lehigh County. Kay, an appointee of the county executive, oversees the entire county's human services operations, similar to how a mayor manages a city.

Our meeting was scheduled at Kay's office, a spot chosen for its privacy and the focused environment it offered. I arrived a bit early, gathering my thoughts and preparing for a deep dive into the thorny issues we were dealing with. When Kay appeared, she exuded an air of calm authority.

Kay's role, as the head of the Department of Human Services (DHS) in Lehigh County, is both complex and critical. She oversees a wide range of social service programs, ensuring that each decision made within her department is grounded in sound legal advice and adheres to county policies and regulations. Kay's job involves navigating a multitude of challenges with a calm and steady hand, which is essential for maintaining the delicate balance between protecting children and respecting family rights.

Her responsibilities are vast, touching on everything from public assistance programs and mental health services to support for individuals with intellectual disabilities and those struggling with substance abuse. But at the heart of her role is a commitment to the well-being of the community's most vulnerable members. Kay's expertise and leadership are crucial in making sure that every action taken by DHS is not only legally defensible but also in the best interests of the people they serve.

Kay, a familiar figure in the county, strode into the room with purpose. She had been deeply entrenched in the financial areas of the county until fate thrust her temporarily into the role of overseeing the Department of Human Services (DHS). Initially hesitant about the responsibility, she embraced it with determination, and before long, her interim position solidified into a permanent one.

As I began briefing her on the unfolding events, Kay listened attentively, her years of experience evident in the way she absorbed information. The crux of our discussion centered on the recent chain of events triggered by a viral TikTok video and a tense meeting with three concerned individuals.

"Honestly, Kay, I almost skipped the video. After I watched it I searched our local news sites to see if they had reported on it — they hadn't. Still, after hearing what the mom had to say, it seemed like it deserved more attention. Based on what I have heard it seems like the familycould sue the county."

Kay nodded, fully aware of the situation with Kim and her husband. Their issues had bubbled up to the top management because there were hints at possible legal action. "Suing the government isn't easy," Kay remarked wisely. "But we need to be ready for that, even if the impact on us is minimal. This case has be going on for about a year. I'm familiar with it, but detailed information lies with my department head and the solicitor's office."

Everyone at the government center knew I was relentless in uncovering the truth, finding efficiencies, and ensuring the best outcomes for our constituents. This persistence sometimes made people hesitant to share information. However, Kay was different. She shared freely and provided valuable insights.

"Tell me, how do we make the call to remove a child from their home?" I asked, leaning forward. Kay sighed, recognizing the gravity of my inquiry. "You should speak to our county solicitors," she advised. "They're the experts who handle these cases directly and can provide the most detailed insights."

Lehigh County’s solicitors are the internal lawyers tasked with keeping the county out of legal trouble and ensuring that it is effectively represented when issues arise. Their guidance is a cornerstone of our legal strategy, helping us navigate the complexities of child welfare laws and policies. "Talk to Kerry and David," Kay suggested. "They'll give you the accurate, detailed information you need."

Our conversation in Kay’s office shifted to broader implications. "Our primary goal," she explained, "is always to protect the children while balancing the rights of the parents. It’s a delicate balance, and every decision carries significant weight." Kay’s role, as I saw it, involved overseeing these complex operations, ensuring that all decisions were sound and in line with our policies and regulations.

Her ability to manage these challenges with calm authority was evident.

"At the end of the day," Kay concluded, "our actions must not only stand up in court but must also be in the best interests of the children involved."

Our conversation underscored the depth of responsibility she carried and the critical nature of our work.

"We also have different department heads within DHS. We have a department head that is in charge of Children and Youth. When you need to, you are welcome to contact her, but please contact the solicitor for some of these questions. We are currently short-staffed. It is not easy to hire and retain Children and Youth case workers. It is a tough job and people get burnt out quickly."

After leaving her office, I immediately reached out to schedule meetings with Kerry and David. As I prepared for these discussions, I realized just how crucial their perspectives would be. Understanding the legal framework and procedural nuances of child removal was essential to getting a complete picture of the current challenges and potential improvements.

In the intricate web of Lehigh County's corporate structure, lies the Solicitor's Office, designed to provide seamless legal guidance and support across the county's multifaceted departments and operations. At the helm of this office stands the County Solicitor, Dave Backenstoe, a figure of legal acumen and authority, serving as the primary legal advisor to the county government.

Dave Backenstoe shoulders the weighty responsibility of offering legal counsel to not only the County Executive and County Commissioners but also to every department within the county. His expertise extends to representing the county in all legal affairs, ensuring that the interests of Lehigh County are safeguarded with diligence and precision.

Dave Backenstoe is a seasoned attorney with a sharp mind for municipal law. A Moravian Academy alumnus, he went on to earn his degree in Political Science from Penn State and his law degree from The Dickinson School of Law. After a stint as an Assistant District Attorney in Northampton County, he moved into private practice, setting up shop in Hellertown. Dave’s expertise spans municipal law, land use, real estate, zoning, and more. He also serves as Solicitor for several municipal entities across the Lehigh Valley.

Dave and I share a strong bond, forged through years of collaboration. Yet, our relationship is not without its share of clashes. You see, I have this tendency to view legal advice not as the end of a discussion but as a springboard for creative problem-solving. Dave's role, quite predictably, often leans towards caution, a propensity to say "no" when I'm itching to say "let's find a way."

It's not that I disregard Dave's wisdom; on the contrary, I value it immensely. However, my approach is more about leveraging legal expertise to navigate the waters of bureaucracy, seeking not just compliance but ingenuity in achieving my goals. So, when Dave raises the red flag, I don't see it as a barrier but rather as a challenge to unearth innovative solutions that align with both legality and my ambition to solve a problem. It's a delicate dance, one where respect for his expertise intertwines with my determination to push the boundaries of what's possible.

Reporting to Dave, there are Assistant Solicitors and other legal staff who handle specific areas of law and provide specialized support. These Assistant Solicitors are assigned to different departments and functions within the county government, ensuring that each area receives expert legal advice and representation. Their responsibilities include drafting and reviewing contracts, handling litigation, providing counsel on regulatory compliance, and offering guidance on legal issues that arise in the course of county operations.

One of the key figures in the Solicitor's Office is Kerry Friedl, who works directly for Dave. Kerry specializes in matters related to Children and Youth Services (CYS) and possibly other areas within the Department of Human Services (DHS).

The morning of the meeting with Dave and Kerry finally arrived, and we found ourselves gathered in the Controller's conference room, the same spot where our initial Zoom meeting with the PMRG had transpired. Accompanied by my colleagues Naton and Joe, we entered the room armed with notes and prepared questions, ready to dive into the intricate workings of child protective services.

As we took our seats, Kerry and Dave welcomed us with their customary professionalism. They were both impeccably dressed in suits, while my staff and I opted for a more relaxed business casual attire.

"Let's start by getting an overview of the process involved in deciding whether to remove a child from the custody of their parent," I suggested, kicking off the discussion.

Kerry took the lead, his voice steady and serious as he began to explain. "The process typically begins with a report from a mandated reporter," he explained. "These are individuals designated by the state who work closely with children. If they suspect any form of child abuse, they're legally bound to report it to our state's Childline system."

Naton raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Who exactly falls under the category of mandated reporters?" he inquired.

Kerry nodded, recognizing the importance of clarity. "Mandated reporters encompass a range of professions, including teachers, doctors, and social workers," he clarified. "Essentially, anyone who works closely with children and is on the front lines of seeing a child on a regular basis. Someone who might see something, is now required - by law - to say something."

Joe leaned forward, eager to delve deeper. "What criteria are used to determine if there's suspicion of child abuse?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Kerry's expression turned thoughtful as he considered the question. "It's a complex issue," he began, "but generally, any signs of physical injury, changes in behavior, or concerning statements from the child or those around them can raise red flags."

I nodded, absorbing the information. "So, it's not just about obvious signs of abuse, but also about paying attention to subtler indicators," I summarized, clarifying my understanding.

"Exactly," Kerry affirmed. "We have to be vigilant and thorough in our assessments to ensure the safety and well-being of the children under our care."

The dialogue continued, with each question and answer painting a clearer picture of the meticulous process involved in safeguarding vulnerable children. As we delved deeper, it became evident that the responsibilities of child protective services extended far beyond mere legal protocols—they were a lifeline for those in need, a beacon of hope for children that may face adversity.

Kerry nodded, acknowledging the complexity. "It's a very low threshold. If you see bruises or if a child comes to school in freezing weather without proper warm clothing, these could be reasons for a mandatory reporter to call in and report suspected child abuse. Once a report is made Childline - our 1800 child abuse number - directs the call to the appropriate county. When they route something to Lehigh County, we conduct an initial assessment to determine if the child is in immediate danger."

He paused, making sure we were following along. "This assessment involves interviews with the child, parents, and other relevant individuals, as well as a review of any physical evidence," he continued, his tone reflecting the seriousness of their work. "If the child is deemed to be in immediate danger, CYS can will attempt to take emergency custody."

Kerry continued, his tone measured as he elaborated, "In instances where ongoing intervention is deemed necessary, CYS initiates the process by filing a dependency petition with the court. This petition asserts that the child should be removed from their current environment due to allegations of abuse, neglect, or other concerning circumstances."

I interjected, my brow furrowing with concern. "But what about cases where the child's bruises are simply part of growing up? We've heard from multiple parents who've had CYS intervene for seemingly innocuous reasons. For instance, one family mentioned that their child had bruises on the back of their calf from learning to ride a bike, which led to them being reported. How does CYS handle such situations?"

"That scenario does occur," Kerry acknowledged, "but our initial assessment usually filters out such accidental occurrences. The state's stringent reporting requirements necessitate thorough review to distinguish between genuine cases of child abuse and innocent mishaps."

"That said," Kerry continued, "if there's a doctor involved, like in the case you've been discussing, who indicates that the child is being abused, it can expedite the process. We might skip visiting friends and family first. A doctor's opinion carries significant weight with us and with the judges."

I interjected, my pen pausing mid-note. "So, if a doctor advises removal, that's taken very seriously. Just to make sure I understand, that doctor has a lot of influence on the system?" I sought clarification.

Kerry nodded, acknowledging my question. "Absolutely," he affirmed. "When we present for emergency removal, the judge scrutinizes the situation closely. Within 72 hours, a shelter care hearing takes place. That's when we determine the child's immediate placement—whether it's foster care or kinship care with relatives like grandparents or family friends."

As I resumed jotting down notes, Kerry's explanation unfolded. He detailed how permanency hearings are held every six months to review the child's situation and case progress, aiming to secure a stable, permanent home as swiftly as possible. Efforts are focused on reunification with parents if deemed safe, with the county providing necessary support services like counseling, parenting classes, or substance abuse treatment. If reunification isn't feasible, alternative permanency options such as adoption, guardianship, or placement with relatives are considered by the court.

Concerned about potential biases in decision-making, Nanton inquired about the checks and balances within the system. Kerry and David assured us that various mechanisms are in place, including regular audits and reviews by independent bodies. These safeguards are designed to catch and correct any deviations from established protocols.

During our discussion, Kerry and David explained the different classifications in child welfare cases and what they mean for the families involved. When I first heard these terms I didn't really think much of it, however, I started to realize that some of the terms create confusion.

"If someone is indicated, it triggers a series of actions," David explained. "An indicated finding means that there is credible evidence that abuse or neglect occurred, but it doesn't meet the standard for a criminal charge. That has to come from a judge. A founded finding means there is a judicial adjudication, such as a court finding, that confirms the abuse or neglect. - A judge said they were abusers"

He continued, "When someone is indicated or founded, they are placed on the state's child abuse registry. This has significant implications. For instance, it can affect their employment, especially if they work with children. It can also impact their ability to volunteer in certain capacities."

David added, "The individual has the right to appeal the decision. The appeals process involves a review by the state's Department of Human Services. If the appeal is successful, the record can be amended or expunged."

Kerry then provided more details, "In cases where the individual is a parent or guardian, CYS may develop a safety plan or a family service plan. This could involve parenting classes, counseling, or other support services to address the issues that led to the indication or finding. If the children have been removed from their home it provides a path for the partents to get their kids back. If the child hasn't been removed it provides a path for the kids to stay in their home"

Kay had said to me, "The ultimate goal is to ensure the safety and well-being of the child while also providing the family with the resources they need to prevent future incidents."

I needed to revisit this information; it held too much weight to brush aside. An "indication," as Kerry explained, occurs when the caseworker, supervisor, and CYS attorney collectively affirm their belief that a parent has been abusive. Kerry stressed the importance of substantial evidence backing these claims, which could come from various sources, such as a doctor's assessment. The consequences are significant; the indicated parent finds themselves on a state registry, potentially facing obstacles in obtaining jobs involving children or vulnerable populations.

I didn't quite grasp the gravity of being "indicated" at first. It wasn't until later, when Nanton, Joe, and I huddled together to dissect the situation, that the true weight of it hit me like a ton of bricks. Here's the kicker: when someone is indicated, there's no judge, no jury—just three individuals signing off. That might sound alright on the surface, until you realize the damning implications: being labeled a child abuser based on what's deemed "substantial evidence." Not concrete proof! There's no recourse, no fighting back. Just a vague notion of "substantial evidence," which, mind you, could simply boil down to a doctor's word or a doctors misdiagnosis. I started to better understand the families nightmare, where they felt their fate was decided by a shadowy tribunal with no avenue to fight back.

The gravity of a "founded" was clear. This classification denotes a judge's thorough review of evidence. The parents had a chance to present their case and the state presented thier case and ultimately it resulted in a determination of clear and convincing proof of abuse against the parent.

Conversely, an "unfounded" case offers a glimmer of relief amid the heaviness of the other classifications. David explained that in these instances, the investigation fails to unearth sufficient evidence to support allegations of abuse or neglect. Typically, the matter is closed with no further action unless new evidence surfaces later, offering a semblance of closure to families amidst the uncertainty of child welfare cases.

After our meeting, I found myself back at my desk, the weight of responsibility heavy on my shoulders. The stack of files loomed before me, a daunting reminder of the task at hand. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the complexities laid bare in our discussions.

With each passing moment, I felt a greater need for action. Some action. However, the path forward was far from clear. As auditors the logical choice seemed to be a standard financial or procedural audit—a thorough examination that would leave no stone unturned. But as I pondered this option, a knot formed in my stomach.

The meticulous nature of these audits meant they could easily spill over the timeline of my re-election. If I lost the election and a new administration stepped in, there was no assurance they'd see the process through to completion. I would be asking families to summon the courage to reopen their wounds and share their stories. I would be reopening their trauma and it could all amount to nothing if my successor chose to abandon the effort. The mere thought of letting them down, leaving them in limbo after igniting a flicker of hope for justice, was utterly intolerable to me.

These weren't just case files we were talking about. Real people's lives and traumatic experiences had been laid bare during our investigation. Vulnerable kids who had endured the unthinkable, parents would have to relive their darkest moments in explicit detail - they all deserved closure and accountability. To leave that process unfinished, to essentially reopen those raw emotional scars without resolution, would have been unconscionable.

I didn't want to further shake their faith in a system that may have already failed them once before. We had to find a way to see this through, regardless of the election's outcome.

So we started exploring alternative approachs that balanced thoroughness with efficiency. The different types of audits started blurring together - financial audits, performance audits examining operational effectiveness, compliance audits checking if rules were being followed. Each had their own processes, methodologies, scopes.

What finally emerged was something called a "nonaudit service" - more flexible than a standard audit but still allowing us to really dig into the organization's inner workings. It gave us the freedom to thoroughly evaluate processes, policies, decision-making - all the underlying factors that impacted those families' lives. It is a more flexible audit and one that we do on a semi-regular basis. The negative about this type of audit is that it isn't as structured so it doesn't always have the same impact another audit type would.

It wasn't as rigorous as some other audits, but it was our best path forward to drive real change. As we moved ahead, I vowed to maintain the highest levels of professionalism and objectivity. The implications and repercussions of our work were massive - reputations were on the line, but infinitely more importantly, the well-being of countless vulnerable individuals.

With the decision made to proceed with a nonaudit service our primary goal was to document and evaluate CYS's existing processes and procedures regarding child removals and placements. Given the public concerns raised, we needed to shine a light on the protocols from an objective, third-party perspective.

We decided a core part of our work would involve reviewing the documented policies, regulations, and guidelines that govern how CYS handles investigations of alleged abuse or neglect. We planned to map out the steps of their decision-making processes—from the initial report or allegation to the evidence gathering, handoffs between caseworkers and supervisors, legal sign-offs required, court proceedings, and more.

To further validate our understanding, we decided to connect directly with families and children who had been through the CYS system. By listening to their firsthand accounts of how investigations and removals unfolded, we aimed to identify potential gaps, insensitivities, or breakdowns in the process that the agency might have been blind to.

These conversations would also provide invaluable context around the human impacts and emotional turmoil created by CYS decisions, allowing us to evaluate whether their processes accounted for such factors with appropriate gravity. While remaining objective, we didn’t want to lose sight of the real-world stakes involved.

At the time, we didn't fully realize what we woud uncover. It was like peeling an onion, revealing a stark disparity between the county's official policies and the gritty reality on the ground. When we sat down with county staff, their explanations were reasonable and they seemed fair. But as we listened to the families' tales, a different narrative emerged—one filled with frustration and confusion.

Through our conversations with both county workers and families, a troubling pattern emerged. While the county's procedures appeared sensible on the surface, the actual experiences of those affected told a different story. It was as if there were two parallel worlds—one documented and one lived—that rarely intersected.

We decided to review the prior audits conducted by the state Auditor General to understand exactly what they had looked at before and what findings they had. My office doesn't have the legal authority to follow these cases from beginning to end but the Auditor General does. I figured knowing their past scope and conclusions would be a good starting point for us.

Since I couldn't track individual cases, it was impossible to pinpoint the exact financial costs of the cases we were investigating. In essence, I couldn't review a family's case and discern the precise amount the county had invested in their care. Instead, we leaned heavily on national averages and benchmarks for cost estimates. Costs like foster care services, legal aid, counseling, preventive programs, and all the rest.

I also felt we needed some outside expertise to really get a handle on this. So I reached out to child welfare advocates, government overseers, professors researching this field, even some nonprofits that keep a close watch on these systems and protocols.

Throughout the review process, we remained focused on maintaining objectivity while also exhibiting empathy and emotional intelligence. The documentation and data were critical guideposts, but we couldn’t lose sight of the human impacts and moral urgencies underpinning this entire endeavor.

By combining rigorous analysis with open-minded listening, we hoped to develop a holistic assessment that both showed areas of strength in CYS's processes and identified key gaps and areas requiring reform. Our findings wouldn’t cast blame but would outline pragmatic pathways for continuous improvement.

Our overall our task was to provide CYS and county leadership with a clear-eyed, empirically grounded set of conclusions and potentially recommendations on what was happening and why so many families were complaining that their children were unjustly being removed from their care.

Ultimately, our role was to hold up an unforgiving mirror to CYS's operations—celebrating what was working while courageously shining a light on what was not. The choice of how to apply those insights would be up to the county's leadership and human services staff.

Our hope was that this process would deliver justice to the families involved. However, if we discovered instances where families had misled us, it would underscore the importance of solidifying certain processes and enhancing transparency. Regardless of the outcome, our goal remained steadfast: ensuring that families felt respected and valued throughout the investigative process.