Woman to swim across Grand Lake to bring attention to new Tulsa law enforcement crisis unit

The circumstances that led the nonathletic and at-best amateur 62-year-old Ellen Harris to schedule a swim across a stretch of Grand Lake are complex.

It's a long story, but it begins with a series of facts:

? More than half of all prison and jail inmates have a mental health problem, according to the most recent statistics from the Bureau of Justice.

? Specifically, about 56 percent of state prisoners, 45 percent of federal prisoners and 64 percent of local jail inmates have a mental health problem, according to the same 2006 statistics.

? Around 33 percent of the inmates in Tulsa Jail are on some sort of psychotropic medication. Many would be better suited in treatment instead of in jail.

Those numbers represent far too many mentally ill people behind bars, said Harris, a Tulsa resident whose son was diagnosed with schizophrenia when he was about 20.

On Monday, Harris plans to swim across a portion of the lake in a gesture paralleling a near-fatal swim her son took in the depths of his psychosis, to raise awareness of over-incarceration and efforts underway in Tulsa County to ease that problem.

Outside/Inside Collaboration

The issues concerning Harris are all too familiar to Michelle Robinette, chief deputy with Tulsa County Sheriff's Office.

"My jail is full of people who don't need to be there," she said. "That's what started it."

The "it" Robinette is referring to is the Outside/Inside Collaboration for Justice. It is a group of more than 61 Tulsa County agencies, including the Sheriff's Office, Tulsa Police Department, The Salvation Army and John 3:16 Mission, uniting to connect mental health patients who come into contact with law enforcement with appropriate treatment instead of defaulting to sending them to jail.

Harris is part of the collaboration through the National Alliance on Mental Illness. It's a big part of why she is swimming Monday.

The group aims to teach law enforcement early intervention techniques and screening and assessment skills so authorities can divert someone to treatment as necessary, Robinette said.

Plans to that end include an assessment center where law enforcement officers can take someone whose alleged crime hinges on underlying mental health issues to be evaluated, instead of just sending them to jail.

Another element is a "crisis response team."

The team would consist of three individuals (a law enforcement officer, a mental health specialist and a medic) who would be dispatched to calls typically concerning so-called "over-utilizers."

Over-utilizers are those who often call 911 for reasons that "really aren't for 911," said Demita Kinard, TPD's community relations coordinator.

"They're lonely. They're in the middle of an episode. They're not making reasonable thoughts. They're out of medication, which is leading them to do things, or they're intoxicated," she explained.

Dressed in casual uniforms, the team would drive to the person's location in an unmarked vehicle. Once there, they would decide on the spot whether the person needed to go to a hospital, a crisis center or the jail, Robinette said.

As part of the collaboration, Robinette's office applied for a grant to fund the unit. She expects to receive a response in the next few months, and even if the office isn't awarded the grant, Robinette said she would still pursue the project.

Such teams benefit law enforcement because fewer officers are sent to non-criminal calls, and fewer of those callers are being sent to jail, Kinard said.

It also gives peace of mind to the callers and their family members, Harris said.

During the early and most trying times of her son's psychosis, Harris and her family had to call 911 when they needed help. Unlike so many other, Harris said, they received appropriate help.

"We had a good experience. Not everyone has had that good experience, but we were very fortunate. We saw what a difference it makes when things are done the right way," she said.

With the advent of the crisis response team, Harris said, more calls would end similarly to hers.

That's not to say it was easy for Harris to watch her son being taken away in handcuffs.

However, she said the fact officers de-escalated the situation and explained to her son they were there to help and he had done something made the experience better than it would have been otherwise.

Treading murky water

One of the scariest moments in Harris' son's struggle with mental illness occurred about 13 years ago when he was admitted to a rural treatment center near a lake.

One Sunday he ran away, dove into the water and started swimming.

"His thinking was that he was near a lake, and he knows that we have a cabin on the lake, and he wanted to come home," Harris said. "He thought if he could get across the lake to our cabin, he would be safe at home."

No one knows how long her son had been swimming before he was found, but when they got him to shore he was two-toned: angry, sunburned red from the neck up, white from his neck down.

It was her son's struggle to swim to safety over a decade ago that led Harris to her swim on Monday, but there's more to it than that.

"The symbolism is navigating a long and difficult and murky, murky, murky road and not giving up," she said.

She hopes her swim will show families they don't have to navigate mental illness or a broken criminal justice system alone.

Just as if she needs help during her swim - she will have a boat to aid her if required - there are resources for those who need them, she said.