Family Stress Teams, Not Police, Handle Domestic Calls

PHOENIX — Armed with a trunk full of teddy bears and rubber gloves, Brad Schexnayder pulls up to a house where blood dots the sidewalk and police cars line the road.

Schexnayder patiently gathers the facts amid the chaos: A sobbing 11-year-old explains why he whacked his cousin on the head with an ashtray. Children fidget on the porch and peer out of the house as police try to track down their mother.

It’s another Saturday night for the family stress team.

Three teams, each covering a Phoenix police precinct, help defuse moments involving domestic disputes, suicide attempts and alcoholics. They refer people in trouble to counselors and shelters.

During his two years on the team, Schexnayder has seen a man jump off a bridge to his death and has found an infant doped up on cocaine.

“A lot of people aren’t aware of what this is when they get into it,” Schexnayder says of the approximately 50 volunteers who work with him and two other full-time staffers.

“Some people think they’re going to come out here and just kind of walk around,” he says. “All of a sudden, they’re going to go in somebody’s house with feces smeared all over the place, no food, kids that are dirty.”

The stress teams cover precincts in the city with high domestic violence rates. The program was begun in 1980 by what is now Southwest Behavioral Health Services; it operates under contract with the Phoenix Police Department.

More than 100 police departments nationwide have available some type of on-scene crisis intervention, according to the National Organization for Victim Assistance in Washington, D.C. The programs can be administered by a police department, a county or district attorney’s office or a private social services group.

In Phoenix, police call for a team if they decide a situation is more suitable for that approach. Police first persuade the people involved to agree to talk with the team members.

“We have a lot of situations where there’s not a crime committed,” Officer Carlos Rodriguez says. “You need to get them help. They want help, but they just don’t know where to turn.”

A classic example is Virginia Hill, a recovering alcoholic with an abusive and alcoholic husband.

“If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be dead,” Hill, 66, says of Schexnayder. The two met nearly a year ago when he responded to a domestic dispute at her trailer home.

“There were times I felt like cutting my wrists--I just didn’t know what to do,” Hill says. “When I was in serious trouble, Brad was there.”

Hill says Schexnayder’s referrals led her to stop drinking, and she now sees a therapist.

Schexnayder says he is not aware of team members ever having their lives threatened, but police respond immediately if a team calls for help.

The teams--each consisting of a staffer and volunteer--cruise their precincts in unmarked police cars Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights. They carry only a police radio and cellular phone.

Stashed in the trunk are items such as diapers, coloring books, baby formula and teddy bears to help ease tense situations involving children.

“I like to give them to little kids so it seems like a positive experience and we don’t seem intrusive,” volunteer Shawn Alexander says.

The rubber gloves come in handy for teams who must take bloody or drunk people to hospitals or shelters.

At the house where the boy hit his cousin with the ashtray, Alexander chats with the sobbing boy while Schexnayder tries to track down the person responsible for the cousin, an apparent runaway.

The team stays until the mother returns and accepts responsibility for the two boys. Schexnayder gives her the name of a counselor, but probably won’t ever know if she follows up.

“We are not mobile counselors,” he says. “I will tell you where you need to go. I will tell you what you need to do. I am not going to do it for you.”