Latest news with #GED
Chicago Tribune
5 days ago
- Chicago Tribune
Man gets 11-year split term in son's death
A former Gary man got an 11-year split term Tuesday for his baby son's death. His lawyer Patrick Young said Devon Howard was caring for four kids on his own, including two born addicted to drugs. Howard wasn't watching when one of the children placed the baby on a top bunk bed, who fell off. The child, Devon Howard, Jr., only 23 days old, was taken to Methodist Northlake before he was later airlifted to the University of Chicago Comer Children's Hospital where he was later pronounced dead. A Lake County Metro Homicide Detective was called at 3:40 a.m. April 29, 2022, to an apartment on the 5800 block of Cypress Avenue in Gary for an unresponsive child. Howard, Sr. told dispatchers his son was 'possibly choking' or making a 'strange noise' that started the day before, according to the affidavit. The Cook County Medical Examiner's Office told Indiana investigators that a Comer's doctor found the boy was hemorrhaging in his brain. It was a 'non-accidental injury,' she concluded. Howard told police his son started fussing the day before and he tried to soothe him by changing his diaper and making a warm bottle. He propped up the bottle by the boy so he could keep eating, then went into another room to pick up a phone conversation with a relative, according to court records. A half-hour later, the child was 'screaming' and 'trying to turn over,' he told police. As he started CPR, the child was gasping for air, he told investigators. He called 911 and paramedics came quickly, Howard said. His client was 'not equipped' to handle that many children on his own, Young said. It was a 'sad situation.' Howard, 28, admitted July 24 to neglect of a dependent resulting in serious bodily injury, a level 3 felony, court records show. Judge Gina Jones sentenced him to 11 years — he would have to serve seven, then can petition with good behavior to go to Lake County's community transition court, modify his sentence and get out early. He faced up to 16 years in prison. 'I don't want to punish you for the circumstances you find yourself in,' Jones said. 'There has to be a consequence.' He is required to get a GED in prison, attend anger management, parenting classes, and substance abuse counseling. Howard indicated he will appeal. In court earlier, he asked Jones for 'mercy,' saying he never wanted to 'bring any harm' to his kids. Jones said the plea deal was a compromise due to various 'holes' in the case. Deputy Prosecutor Judy Massa was assigned.
Int'l Business Times
5 days ago
- Health
- Int'l Business Times
Vision, Grit, and Growth: How Dr. Walter Leise Built Himself and Sarasota Medical Products from the Ground Up
Dr. Walter Francis Leise III was once the kid that teachers wrote off. Diagnosed with dyslexia early on, he lagged behind in reading. His school performance led some educators to believe he wouldn't catch up, a label that stuck painfully, even though it couldn't have been further from the truth. "I could read a word on a flashcard just fine," Leise recalls. "But when I looked at a page, it was just noise: multiple focal points, jumbled text. It didn't come together." Everything changed when he was referred to a specialist who trained his eyes to focus, an intervention that would prove life-changing not only in the classroom but eventually in the cockpit of a helicopter. What began as a struggle to make sense of the written word turned into a lifelong lesson in focus, discipline, and belief in oneself. Today, Dr. Leise is the CEO, President, and 'Chief Scientific Officer' of Sarasota Medical Products, Inc. , a Florida-based medical device company he co-founded in 2010. With five degrees (including a PhD and MBA), a background in biotech innovation, and a distinguished military service record, his journey is anything but typical. But it is defined by a clear through-line: the slow, steady building of confidence and the refusal to let early failures write his story. Growing up, academics never felt like a place he could thrive in. Sports, however, did. Leise threw himself into pole vaulting, wrestling, and football, anything that allowed him to lead with physicality and drive. "Sports were my lifeline in school," he shares. But that path was cut short. So, the day after graduation, Leise went searching for direction. He visited every military recruitment office and took the ASVAB test. His scores were impressive, surprisingly so for someone who had always doubted his intellect. When he asked which branch had the fastest promotion cycle, they told him: the Army. He enlisted that day. At just 18, he returned home and announced the decision to his parents. They were stunned. But for Leise, it was the first real leap into taking control of his future. In the Army, Leise became a decorated combat veteran, eventually serving as a squad leader and Cobra helicopter crew chief in Germany and Panama. It was in the military that his view of himself started to shift. One night stands out: he had kitchen duty and a critical test the next day. Failure didn't mean a bad grade; it meant starting the course over. So for the first time in his life, he studied. He passed with a perfect score. "I realized: if I actually read and prepare, I can succeed," he says. "That moment completely rewired how I saw myself." From there, he began taking extra classes, earned a GED just to reinforce what he missed in high school, and started thinking seriously about college. He bartended to pay for his education and enrolled in community college, stacking five challenging science courses in his first semester. "I told myself if I get Cs or better, I'll keep going." He got straight A's and a scholarship. That newfound academic confidence snowballed. He earned degrees in biochemistry and molecular biology, conducted groundbreaking research during his PhD (including a key discovery about cell migration and proliferation tied to cancer development), and eventually landed at a renowned laboratory company, where he helped bridge the gap between research and manufacturing. He was rising fast but feeling lost in the crowd. "I was employee number 7-something-million. And I felt like it," he says. "I didn't feel like a person. I wanted more leadership, more purpose." Sarasota Medical Products, Inc. So he pivoted. Leise earned his MBA, earned a Lean Six Sigma Black Belt, and co-founded Sarasota Medical Products, Inc. (SMP) in 2010. Since then, he's transformed the business from an idea into a respected player in the medical device market. Every career step, he says, has been less about the goal and more about growing in confidence. "You build confidence by failing, learning, applying, and getting better." Now in his 50s, Leise continues to push himself, both mentally and physically. He exercises daily, lifts weights each morning, and trains in Krav Maga with plans to earn his black belt and become an instructor. "Physical fitness teaches discipline, confidence, humility; all things that help you lead," he says. He also gives back through mentoring, particularly women in business. "All of my direct reports are women. I think it's important to help people overcome the barriers they think they have. Often, these barriers are not real; just internal narratives that need rewriting." One of the biggest influences in his life was his grandfather, a gruff, no-nonsense Navy veteran who drilled into him the value of hard work. "I couldn't stand him as a teenager," Leise recalls. "But he taught me that you should be proud of effort. If you're dirty and sweaty from a hard day's work, walk into that store with your head high." Looking back, Leise doesn't romanticize the challenges, but he does recognize their value. Dyslexia, rejection, academic insecurity, being underestimated: none of it stopped him. "If I can help one or two people break through what they think is holding them back," he says, "then I've had a successful life."
CBS News
7 days ago
- Health
- CBS News
Inside SoCal: Learning at Any Age (6/15)
Tuition-free learning to jump-start a new career is the goal of LAUSD's DACE program for adults – at any age. Students share how it's changed their lives for the better. LEARNING AT ANY AGE Sponsored by LAUSD Division of Adult and Career Education Life can get in the way at times, but it's never too late to learn or to change your future. Through LAUSD's DACE program (Division of Adult and Career Education), you can get your GED or learn a brand new skill set in a shorter time frame so you can jumpstart your new career. Tuition-free classes are a key component of this program, as are the diverse classes available – healthcare, tech, trades, and more. It's also designed for people juggling work, family, and everything else. They have campuses all over LA, as well as online options. Learn more at It's never too late to pursue your dreams.
USA Today
15-06-2025
- General
- USA Today
Against the odds, one teen rescues her sisters from foster care
Chapter 2 | Against the odds, one teen rescues her sisters from foster care Family members who take in a relative's kids face unique challenges. Often, they do so without financial, educational and medical support. Marlena remembers the moment she decided to rescue her four sisters from foster care. The sixteen-year-old was back at a Mississippi children's shelter after caseworkers removed her from her mom's care a second time. Maybe we'll all come home, Marlena told a staff member. We'll be home together. No, baby. It don't work like that, the staffer said. By the time you get out of school, y'all be across the United States somewhere. You'll probably never see them again. The girls, aged 5 to 16, rarely saw each other after the state removed them. Social workers had decided their mom could not provide for their basic needs and, after her sister Amy was raped, had not done enough to keep them safe. To protect the privacy of sensitive health and social information of minors too young to consent to having it appear online, USA TODAY used first names for adults and middle names for kids. USA TODAY does not name survivors of sexual assault. They were among millions of other children removed from their homes in the 1990s. In the same decade, Congress cut public benefit programs, creating a formula that reduced the money paid for kids. Federal officials reiterated a commitment to reunite foster children with their parents or, at least, find relatives to take them while in state custody. Most child welfare agencies didn't do that. And still don't. Kids the government takes away usually live with strangers in foster homes or group facilities. Only a third live with relatives under state supervision. The family members who do take in kids face unique challenges of unplanned caregiving. Often, they do so without the financial, educational and medical support provided to other foster and adoptive parents. To bring her sisters home, Marlena would have to defy the odds. She was still a kid herself. Could a teenager really raise her four sisters? As a caseworker drove her to yet another home, Marlena knew what she had to do. She opened the door of the moving car. And jumped out. Freedom Marlena was a runaway, one of tens of thousands of kids who flee foster care each year. About 1-in-8 teens who enter state custody will leave it this way. She hid at a friend's house. After a few days, she covertly moved back home with her mom. She sought emancipation – freeing her from anyone's custody – and achieved it at 17. Marlena passed the GED exam on the first try. She took a two-week, hands-on certified nursing assistant course, earning a license and a job. The teen worked to support herself and her mom, whose only income was a monthly disability check that she received because of paranoid schizophrenia. Mom and daughter, without a car, walked across town to take a parenting class mandated by child welfare workers. Somehow, their attendance wasn't recorded. Marlena sat next to her mom in court as state child welfare workers asked a judge to terminate the woman's parental rights. They said she hadn't even tried to bring her daughters home. Marlena raised her hand, waving it. The judge asked, Can I help you? Can I speak, please? Go ahead. Marlena disputed the caseworkers' list of failures. Her mom had been committed for a mental health breakdown but had stabilized. She had gone to the mandated classes with her mother. The legal aid office had turned her mom away, saying they didn't represent people in cases like hers. When I'm old enough, I am willing to bring my sisters home, Marlena told the judge. You know, I can be there. An attorney in the room from the legal aid office said, on the spot, that she would help the family bring the girls home. A 2004 lawsuit against Mississippi, with a still-running settlement agreement, argued that the state's child welfare system reunited kids with parents sooner than was safe. Other times, caseworkers placed kids with relatives who had not been thoroughly vetted or granted any kind of legal custody before closing the case – if they'd opened a case at all. Between 2000 and 2002, Mississippi cut the number of kids in foster care by 18% even though the number of abuse and neglect reports was largely unchanged. Those children often fell into a frayed American safety net, which Congress weakened when it restructured cash benefits in the 1990s. Mississippi had the lowest payments – a maximum of $120 per month for a family of three – before the changes. The new policies fell heavily on the poorest parents, including relatives caring for nieces, nephews, siblings and grandchildren. Work requirements meant that a retired grandma had to go get a job to qualify for support beyond the meager child-only benefit. Each kid in the household received less money than the last. Limits on how many years a family could receive aid disqualified an aunt from the larger family benefit because she had already gotten help for her own children before taking in a brother's kids. Just after the nation's leaders redefined who deserved help, Marlena, 19, brought her sisters home. Rebuilding a family In an old house with high ceilings, the four younger girls shared bunk beds in one bedroom. Marlena had her own room. A coworker at the nursing home donated their furniture. By 2001, Marlena had been approved for a low-income housing voucher, enabling the sisters – and their mom – to move into a five-bedroom home. With her meager wages as a nursing assistant, Marlena paid bills and bought school uniforms. She didn't let her sisters spend too much time with relatives she considered a bad influence or dangerous, such as the uncle who molested her and aunts who drank more than they worked. She was doing it. She was rebuilding their family. Yet, their home lacked a familiar comfort. Her younger sisters returned from foster care reading 'humongous books' and without the same Black accent. Amy, in particular, was quiet, never telling Marlena about her life or asking for help. 'I don't think we ever got that sisterly connection back,' she said. Amy, who was 12 when she came home, agreed. 'You're alone in foster care. Alone all the time. So, it doesn't really bother you to not have connections,' Amy said. Back home with her sisters, she thought, I remember you from when I was younger, but I don't really know who you are. Amy recalls another divide. The teenagers spent time together and had, mostly, stayed in their hometown throughout foster care, letting them keep close with friends and cousins. She and Kay K, the youngest, had lived in other cities and states, sometimes switching foster homes or shelters every few months. 'You learn there's no need to get feelings at all because I'm not going to be here long.' Amy was closest to Kay K because she spent the most time with her in foster care. The duo would 'run up and down the street' together. Sometimes they would sit on a corner, huddled under a blanket and beg for change, acting as if they needed it. They played Mortal Kombat together on the Xbox. Kay K would select Kitana, a princess who fought with steel fans and had run away from the villain who falsely claimed to be her father. Amy always chose Raiden, the god of thunder who led and mentored Earth's defenders. Growing family After years imagining a 'fairy tale' return home, Amy's life wasn't what she expected. Marlena worked all the time. Cousins and aunts always visited or stayed for a while, which meant Amy could never find quiet. Her mom rarely left bed because the medication that tamed her schizophrenia made her lethargic. Amy envied the families she saw on TV and the other kids' moms she met in high school. Why can't my mom be normal? Amy wondered. Why can't you have a normal conversation? Why can't you do normal things? Like, we can't go get our nails done. We can't just go out and eat at a restaurant. School became her safe haven. A place with structure and predictability that was comfortable after so many years in shelters. And then Marlena had a baby. She remembers Amy tying a jump rope to her son's stroller and sprinting around the house with a laughing toddler swinging behind her. 'They had a special bond,' she said. As a teenager, Amy got her nephew dressed for school before going herself. Sometimes she missed activities like swimming, track, cheer and ROTC to come home and care for the boy. Marlena said she never asked Amy to care for her son, who she took to daycare or left with her mom or boyfriend. After watching him on her sixteenth birthday, Amy left with the permission of her mom. No one had ever planned a celebration for her, so she had to do it herself. Marlena came home and didn't know where she was. She reported her missing to police. 'She put her child on another child. I couldn't go anywhere,' Amy said. 'It wasn't like rebellion or anything, but I finally got some freedom. I went to a friend's house. My friend's mom and dad, they took care of me. It was kind of just a weekend getaway.' They got their nails done, played at the arcade and went to the movies. Amy isn't surprised her sister's memory sometimes differed. Her main reflection of the time remains the same. 'It wasn't fair Marlena had to grow up so fast to take care of us,' Amy said. 'We were kids taking care of kids taking care of kids. Because our mom couldn't.' On her own Within the next year, Marlena moved out to her own apartment and enrolled in college to become a registered nurse, pursuing a dream she had paused for years. She left her sisters with their mom. The matriarch, again, was caring for strangers and relatives by giving them a bed in their home. Amy did not have a bedroom. 'I slept on the couch. Or floor,' Amy said. So, she chose to live on her own at 17. She sometimes stayed at an old foster mom's house. She lived with Marlena for a while. She came back to her mom's house. She felt like she was constantly leaving, in search of a calm she couldn't find. She didn't feel stable and struggled to 'find footing as a teenager.' By the time they're 21, former foster youth are less likely than peers to have graduated high school or earned a GED, half as likely to be in college or job training and have lower levels of employment. They're more likely to experience homelessness, become parents or be incarcerated. The risks are highest for youth who 'age out' of the system and are emancipated, like Marlena, and lowest when kids are placed with relatives while in foster care or upon exiting the system. Staying with family helps kids maintain community, cultural and familial bonds – the same social networks that support teens as they transition into adulthood. When the high school told Amy she'd have to repeat a year because they would not accept transfer credits from a previous campus, she decided to get her GED early. At 17, she gave birth several weeks premature. Amy moved in with a 20-something friend who had twin infants. She started college with plans to become a nurse like her sisters. She earned an associate's degree in 2013 and became a certified nursing assistant. Amy met the man who would become her husband. She attended therapy for the first time and began healing old wounds. But while Amy continued college, her health deteriorated. She'd had seizures for years. This was different: fatigue, fevers and joint pain. She was diagnosed with lupus, an autoimmune disease, and left college one semester shy of completing coursework to become a registered nurse. For a while, Amy kept working as a peer-support specialist. She mostly helped women like herself, her sisters and her mother overcome poverty, addiction and trauma. She was accomplishing more than the generation before her and helping others do the same. Yet, Amy had kept distance from family during her 20s. She didn't feel any need to talk with them. So, she didn't know how much trouble her youngest sister was having. Sister mom Marlena considers herself 'old school.' She never argued with her mom – even when it came to parenting disagreements. 'I just found another way,' she said. Kay K had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder at age 10. When Kay K started having new symptoms, Marlena convinced her mom to take her 17-year-old sister to the doctor even though she didn't want to go. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, like mom. It was another battle to get Kay K to take the prescribed medications and go to therapy, especially since their mom had stopped taking her own medications. Kay K had been skipping school to hang out with an older cousin, doing so more often as she got older. Marlena was called into truancy court by a letter that threatened jail or a $10,000 fine. She told the judge that she couldn't control Kay K. That her sister now lived with their mom, who wasn't making her get help. Child welfare workers removed Kay K from home. Soon, she ran away. No one knew where she was for almost a year. She had gone to Louisiana. In a phone call to Marlena that didn't include enough information to find her, Kay K described being held in a man's basement, in a room full of children's games. She suspects the man had been a pedophile, but Kay K would not talk about it. Teens who've spent time in foster care experience higher rates of human trafficking and sexual abuse. Often, they're targeted because of weak social connections and unmet basic needs. Offering care, food and shelter can entice vulnerable young people into dangerous situations. One day, somebody bought Kay K a bus ticket home. She was pregnant. Kinship caregivers keep family together but don't get help they need A Mississippi couple took in a relative's kids to keep them out of the foster care system. They say parents like them deserve more support. A sister's love Kay K graduated high school, worked at Waffle House and began college but never finished. A cycle had started. Sober, Kay K was a witty comedian who liked to have fun. She was kind-hearted and generous, willing to give up her possessions if she thought others needed them more. But young Kay K started spending more time with cousins who crashed at a party house. Some used drugs and had criminal records. Kay K slipped deeper and deeper into life on the fringe, her sisters said. Amy believes a violent partner shielded Kay K from even worse people. The couple would beat each other in drunken outbursts, but the man also protected Kay K from traffickers and dealers. He controlled her life, where she went, and who she saw. When he was imprisoned for robbery, she was freed to spend time with anyone. By the time she was 30, Kay K was selling sex for cash and drugs. At times, she was held against her will. She jumped out a second story window to escape one man. Whenever the family tried to get her help, she'd skip town. Sometimes the sisters had court papers in hand ordering an involuntary commitment, but they couldn't find her. When the sisters did manage to get her into a psych ward or hospital, doctors would discharge her after a week or two with no support for continued treatment. Marlena said Kay K could not qualify for Medicaid, and no one would treat her without insurance. 'The system failed her,' Amy said. Kay K returned to her hometown and got sober when she was pregnant. Usually, hospital testing showed she was clean. Once, doctors found alcohol, meth and cocaine in her blood. Kay K, at times, fought to raise her nine kids, including in court. Most ended up in the care of her sisters. Even that stress didn't end the sisters' relationship. The women had worked too hard for too long to stay connected. Kay K was the only sister Amy had felt close to. 'No matter how angry I am at you, I'll still be there when you need me,' Amy said. 'We're sisters.' Almost every day, Kay K would talk to one of them. She'd borrow a phone and log into Facebook Messenger to call or type a short note. I love you! Love you! How the kids doin? Silence One day, the notes stopped coming. A friend of the extended family told Marlena, You should check on your sister. He said she was being held at an abandoned house. He said a man was selling sex with her to pay for his drug supply. Sisters reported it to police in November but heard nothing back. They took turns staking out the house to catch a glimpse of Kay K or her captor. In January, Marlena told a local news reporter about her missing 31-year-old sister. She got a call from a police officer that day. Why do I have to find out about this from Facebook? he asked. He didn't know they had filed a missing-person report months ago. When he looked, he told Marlena he couldn't find it. The officer drove to the abandoned house with Marlena but nobody answered the door. Neighbors told them that, yes, they'd seen the man and Kay K in the home. Without a warrant, the cop couldn't enter. Weeks later, police asked the family for DNA swabs, calling it standard procedure for a missing person case. Marlena and Amy, however, were suspicious. What they didn't know is that a man told police he found a rug-wrapped body halfway down the hill from an abandoned motel. An autopsy showed the woman had been pregnant, but no baby was found. One night, Amy had a dream. She was caught in a loop as someone else. Someone who was trapped in a dark hotel room and scared. Someone who was choking. Someone who died again and again. 'No matter which way I escaped, I appeared back in that room.' Amy woke up crying, turned to her husband and spoke. My sister's not here anymore. She just died. She's gone. Chapter 3: Rebuilding | A tragedy means Amy must take in her nieces and nephews. She and her sisters fight to give them a better childhood than they had. This article was produced as a project for the USC Annenberg Center for Health Journalism's 2025 Child Welfare Impact Reporting Fund. Jayme Fraser is an investigative data reporter at USA TODAY. She can be reached on Signal or WhatsApp at (541) 362-1393 or by emailing jfraser@
Boston Globe
13-06-2025
- Politics
- Boston Globe
Hundreds of former R.I. special needs students could be compensated for state cutting their education short
Advertisement It took another seven years for the damages for the affected students to be negotiated. Get Rhode Map A weekday briefing from veteran Rhode Island reporters, focused on the things that matter most in the Ocean State. Enter Email Sign Up The tentative settlement was publicly disclosed for the first time by House Speaker Joseph Shekarchi on Tuesday night. While briefing reporters on the late-night agreement on a $14 billion state budget, he said the process had been delayed by a last-minute request by the Rhode Island Department of Education to include a nearly $2 million appropriation for the legal settlement. 'We literally worked until 15 minutes ago' to fill the unforeseen budget hole, Shekarchi said around 9:15 p.m. The House Finance Committee approved the budget proposal before midnight. The settlement, which still requires a judge's approval, has not yet been made public. RIDE Spokesperson Victor Morente said the students who will be eligible for compensation from the $1.86 million settlement are those who were 21 between Feb. 10, 2012 and July 1, 2019, did not get a regular high school diploma, and lost access to public school when they turned 21. Advertisement The number of former students in that group number roughly 300, according to Sonja Deyoe, the lawyer for the plaintiffs. Two plaintiffs, identified by their initials K.L. and K.S, represented the wider class in the suit. K.S., who was a 20-year-old student at Toll Gate High School in Warwick at the time the lawsuit was filed, was about to be cut off from high school despite having Asperger syndrome and ADHD. She was working toward a traditional high school diploma when she was told she would have to leave school on her 21st birthday, the lawsuit said. K.L. had been a student at Chariho High School and suffered from a genetic disorder and developmental delays that left her at the 'cognitive level of a toddler,' the lawsuit said. She was cut off from school when she turned 21. The suit noted a similar case in Hawaii resulted in courts ruling Hawaii had to provide education up to age 22. Deyoe said it was 'very difficult' to come to an agreement on damages, as the two sides debated whether all the individuals affected in the class were eligible for compensatory services. She said the $1.86 million could be used to reimburse students for GED classes, tutoring, assistive devices, or other services like speech therapy they may have sought to assist them in getting education in lieu of the extra year of public school. Advertisement She said she has spoken to one former student who is paraplegic and plans to use the funds to pay for a device that helps them communicate. Deyoe said cutting students off from high school at 21 had a serious impact. 'There are numerous people who we initially talked to who were very close to graduation, who, if they were given that additional period of time, would have been able to graduate,' Deyoe said. 'It's very sad.' Deyoe said the issue at hand in the case was the word 'inclusive' in the federal requirement that free public education be provided for those ages 3 to 21. The plaintiffs interpreted that to mean inclusive of the 21-year-olds, not ending on their 21st birthday. In its 2018 decision, the appeals court noted that some students without disabilities — such as those who went to prison in high school — had access to education up to age 22, but the special needs students were cut off at 21. Rhode Island now provides education to students with disabilities until age 22, Morente confirmed. Morna Murray, the executive director of Disability Rights Rhode Island, said while it's not ideal that students will be compensated a decade later, 'it's never too late' to right a wrong. She said for students who need it, staying in school an extra year can make a big difference in their futures. 'Having those extra years is golden, before they have to face the world,' Murray said. 'It's really significant.' Disability Rights Rhode Island was involved in the negotiations for damages. It is not yet clear when a judge will consider approving the settlement. After that, there will be an opportunity for affected students to seek reimbursement from the $1.86 million fund. Advertisement The pool of money will also be used to pay an administrator to manage the fund, Morente said, along with legal fees. Unspent funds would be returned to the state after 20 months. The Rhode Island House is slated to vote on the state budget on Tuesday. Steph Machado can be reached at
