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by Jessica Priest

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This article is co-published with The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan local newsroom that informs and engages with Texans. Sign up for The Brief Weekly to get up to speed on their essential coverage of Texas issues.

Voters in West Texas have decisively rejected three conservative Christian candidates who campaigned on infusing religious values into local decision making. But the support the candidates received from local churches during the race has prompted calls for state and federal investigations and triggered a local political reckoning.

“I think there should definitely be some penalties,” said Weldon Hurt, a two-term Abilene City Council member who won his race for mayor against one of the candidates. “I don’t know how severe it should be, but I think there has to be a way to curtail this from happening again,” he added. “I think there should be some discipline to these churches.”

ProPublica and The Texas Tribune reported a day before the May 6 election that three churches had donated a total of $800 to the campaign of Scott Beard, a pastor who was running for City Council. That was a clear violation of the Johnson Amendment, a law passed in 1954 by Congress prohibiting nonprofits from intervening in political campaigns. The IRS can revoke the tax exemption of violators, but there’s only one publicly known example of it doing so, nearly 30 years ago.

Beard, a senior pastor at Fountaingate Fellowship, said the donations were a mistake and that he would be returning the money. But within days after Beard’s defeat to retired Air Force Col. Brian Yates, a national group that espouses the separation of church and state demanded that the IRS revoke the churches’ tax exemptions.

“Beard is insisting that he has returned the donation checks, but his belated attempt at contrition doesn’t mitigate the initial transgressions” of the churches making the donations, the Freedom from Religion Foundation wrote in a news release. The group has sued the IRS in the past “to force it to take steps to enforce the law against tax-exempt entities from engaging in partisan politicking, and is prepared to sue again if necessary.”

Beard said via text message after the election that the money paid by the churches was intended to cover the cost of meals at one of his fundraisers. He said he returned the money and is in the process of amending his campaign finance reports.

Dewey Hall, the pastor of Fountaingate Merkel Church, which is nearly 18 miles west of Abilene and not affiliated with Beard’s church, told ProPublica and the Tribune before the election that Beard had told him that his church couldn’t give Beard’s campaign a $200 donation. Hall said he thought Beard would “be a good councilman, and we need to have Christians in politics nowadays.”

A representative of Remnant Church, which Beard reported gave him $400, responded to a question via Facebook Messenger to say that its donation was intended for Fountaingate Fellowship Church, not Beard’s campaign.

“They must have a mistake,” wrote the representative, who did not identify themselves when asked. “We will look into it.”

Neither Hall nor Remnant Church responded to additional questions after the election.

Bruce Tentzer, pastor of Hope Chapel Foursquare Church, also known as Hope 4 Life Church, said the $200 Beard’s campaign filing listed as having come from Tentzer’s church was an appreciation gift for Tentzer that he then used to pay for meals at Beard’s fundraiser for himself, another pastor and their wives.

“Obviously had I known that it would be considered a campaign contribution I would have not paid with the check. This is not some dark conspiracy,” Tentzer wrote via email. “I pray Mayor elect Weldon all the best as well as the newly elected council.”

The church donations may also violate Texas election law, which prohibits both nonprofit and for-profit corporations from making political contributions to candidates or political committees.

The Texas Ethics Commission is charged with investigating such violations and can assess a civil penalty of up to $5,000 or triple the amount at issue, whichever is greater, said J.R. Johnson, the commission’s executive director. Agency commissioners also have the authority to refer violations to local district attorneys for criminal prosecution, he said. Violations are considered third-degree felonies.

Beard has had at least two pending state ethics complaints filed against his campaign.

One comes from former Dyess Air Force Base Cmdr. Michael Bob Starr. His April 17 complaint alleges that Beard left in-kind donations from his own church, a nonprofit corporation, off his campaign finance report. Separately, on April 25, Abilene attorney Kristin Postell alleged that Beard’s campaign finance reports were incomplete, were incorrect and showed that he had accepted an anonymous donation.

“It just really bothered me that he was presenting himself as this upstanding citizen that’s going to be the moral voice of the city and has worked so hard to pass new city ordinances, yet can’t follow the rules as they exist and is lying about it,” Postell said.

Both Starr and Postell submitted their complaints to the state prior to the submission of Beard’s April 28 campaign finance report, which showed the donations by the three churches. In an interview before the election, Beard acknowledged the existence of the complaints and said “we made some errors in our reporting.”

“We’re amending those, and we’re going to resubmit them, and then we’ll just have to deal with whatever, if there’s financial penalties or whatever, we’ll just have to pay them and learn a lesson from it,” he said.

The ethics commission has not publicly announced on its website whether a violation occurred, nor has it assessed a civil penalty or made a referral to local DAs for criminal prosecution.

Both Starr and Postell said they plan to file additional state ethics complaints against Beard’s campaign for accepting donations from the churches, which are all nonprofit corporations in Texas.

Neither the IRS nor the commission would confirm or comment on any complaints.

Besides the monetary donations, at least five churches displayed campaign signs for Beard and two other Abilene candidates: Ryan Goodwin, who unsuccessfully ran for mayor against Hurt, and James Sargent, an unsuccessful City Council candidate.

The three candidates touted their involvement in an effort to get abortion outlawed in Abilene. They worked with Texas Right to Life, an anti-abortion group, and collected thousands of signatures to bring the ordinance to a vote before the council in April 2022. The council sent the matter to voters, who approved it in November 2022. Texas already prohibits most abortions, but Abilene’s ordinance goes further than state law. The ordinance, which has not been tested in court, purports to make it a crime to assist a city resident in getting an abortion, even outside of Texas, and expands who can potentially face lawsuits related to aiding or abetting a prohibited abortion.

More recently, Goodwin, an associate pastor at Mosaic Church, a small church on the outskirts of Abilene, and Sargent, a Mosaic Church member, pushed to remove books from Abilene’s public libraries that they said were obscene and harmful to children.

And all three candidates spoke about the need to prohibit family-friendly drag shows within the city limits and establish community standards as part of an effort they said would protect children. Beard said in interviews that those standards should be based on “Judeo-Christian principles” that he believes serve as the nation’s foundation.

Technically, local races are nonpartisan, but locally these were seen as a battle between social conservatives and conservatives more friendly to the business establishment.

Yates, Beard’s opponent, said it was overly simplistic to cast the election as a fight between religious conservatives and fiscal ones. He said he too is a Christian who opposes abortion. A key difference, he said, was that he and his allies don’t believe that establishing community standards is the role of government.

Hurt said he was disappointed that the local Republican Party endorsed Goodwin before the candidates got a chance to debate. At the debate, he said, he was asked what church he attended and how involved he was in it.

“Being a Christian, does that make you a better politician?” he asked in an interview. “I never used that avenue to promote myself politically. I think the time I’ve already served on council shows I’m devoted.”

The forum was meant to educate voters, said Chris Carnohan, chair of the Taylor County Republican Party, adding that churches had been “too silent and too much on the sidelines for too long” and that it was a misconception that they shouldn’t be involved in politics.

“I don’t know where that idea could ever get a foothold,” he said in an interview before the election. “They open every session of Congress in the U.S. Capitol every day with a prayer from the congressional chaplain. They do the same thing in Austin. I think they open our City Council meetings with a prayer, so what kind of crazy idea is this? You’re going to have to tear down a lot of America to get rid of the Judeo-Christian principles we were founded on.”

The local Republican Party endorsed Beard and Sargent as well. In the end, the three candidates each lost by at least 29 percentage points, according to unofficial final results.

Goodwin did not return a call seeking comment after the election, and Sargent declined a phone interview. In a text message, Sargent wrote that he disagreed with experts who have told the news organizations that churches are not legally allowed to put up political candidates’ campaign signs.

“I understand some individuals would prefer the ‘church’/church people to remain silent,” Sargent wrote. “Just because we are religious; or more specifically; Christians; it does not mean we lose our 1st Amendment rights. Pastors can and (I believe) should speak about social/political issues to inform their congregations.”

Jennifer Bell, a precinct chair for the local Republican Party, didn’t vote for the trio, because she said they were unwilling to lift the local abortion ban in cases of lethal fetal abnormalities, something doctors said her fetus had when she was pregnant in 2010.

Then, doctors gave her two options: continue to carry the fetus, which was unlikely to make it to full term, and go through a traumatic birth; or induce at 20 weeks, which would be legally considered an abortion, with medicine that could ease both her and the fetus’ suffering, she said. After praying with her husband, they made the difficult decision to do the latter.

“I think one of the most important things for a lawmaker to have is humility. I thought they would hear my story and have the humility to say, ‘Wow, we know her and she’s a good person. Maybe we should make allowances for this type of situation.’ But honestly, all I got was ‘I’m saving babies. I’m saving babies,’ and that’s honorable, but my baby couldn’t be saved,” Bell said. “I’m hoping to see the ordinance change, and I know the more of them that get into office, the less the chance of that.”

The candidates and the churches’ support of them have pushed away some like Denise Jones, who backed Yates and is leaving a church her family has attended for years because she disagreed with its pastor’s decision to give the trio of candidates the opportunity to deliver a Sunday sermon.

But others, like Diana Hartmann, a longtime Abilene resident who is active in the Republican Party, saw no problem with churches posting their campaign signs or with Beard, Goodwin and Sargent wanting to address social issues in addition to paving streets and providing water.

“I do think they have a role to play in this,” she said, referring to the City Council. “As far as I’m concerned, we have enough porno on TV and enough of that in our society today that maybe we should be making better choices that way.”

After the election, Beard returned to his pulpit and told his congregation he’d continue to look for ways to influence the city outside the four walls of his church and they should, too.

“In a world that’s grown kind of increasingly more hostile toward the church, I’m all the more motivated and really challenged to continue building here at Fountaingate a healthy and dynamic local church that not only impacts its community, but impacts its state, its nation and the nations” of the world, he said.

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by Jennifer Oldham for ProPublica

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Colorado Gov. Jared Polis signed into law Friday a bill that mandates a statewide wildfire-resistant building code, a step that scientists say will help protect residents and first responders as climate change intensifies blazes.

The bill creates a 21-member board charged with developing standards for new and substantially remodeled homes in high-risk areas, including rules for using fire-resistant construction materials and clearing vegetation around residences. The board — which will include building industry representatives; urban and rural residents and government officials; an architect; fire officials; and insurers, among others — must be appointed by Sept. 30 and adopt a minimum building code by July 1, 2025. The law requires the code to be reviewed every three years.

The measure passed after a ProPublica investigation found that Colorado regulations hadn’t kept pace as mega fires, fueled by extreme weather, threatened the state’s urban areas. Legislative efforts to require fire-resistant materials in home construction had been repeatedly stymied by developers and municipalities, while taxpayers shouldered the growing cost of fighting the fires and rebuilding, ProPublica found.

“Articles like ProPublica’s helped drive the awareness that we are all in this together,” said Mike Morgan, director of the Colorado Division of Fire Prevention & Control, in an interview Friday at a fire station in the Rocky Mountain foothills.

The new law “gives us the opportunity to start looking at ways to build homes safer,” he said, gesturing to nearby residences hidden among towering pines. “This will normalize fire-resistant construction over time.”

Until Friday, Colorado was one of only eight states that didn’t have a minimum construction standard for homes.

Polis signed the bill inside an Inter-Canyon Fire Protection District station, which is in an area at high risk for wildfire, about 25 miles southwest of downtown Denver. He also signed a measure providing more resources to fire investigators and another to bolster the workforce dedicated to thinning vegetation and setting prescribed burns, measures intended to better protect forests and residents from wildfire.

The lack of uniform regulations cost the state $101 million in grant money from the Federal Emergency Management Agency’s resilient infrastructure funds between fiscal years 2020 and 2022. The state’s applications were denied, in part, because Colorado didn’t have a statewide building code.

Polis lauded the bill establishing a wildfire-resiliency code, saying it will make the state better able to compete for such federal grants.

“And it gives us the flexibility we need to make sure we don’t add costs to homeowners,” he said.

Efforts to adopt a statewide code began gaining momentum after the December 2021 Marshall Fire, the most destructive in state history. Driven by hurricane-force winds and overgrown grasslands, it killed two people and incinerated 1,084 residences and seven businesses within hours. Financial losses from the fire are expected to top $2 billion.

The Marshall Fire incinerated 550 homes and businesses in Louisville, Colorado. (Chet Strange, special to ProPublica)

A little-known subcommittee of the Colorado Fire Commission recommended the creation of a board to design a uniform wildfire building code after Polis sent a letter in 2021 that was critical of lawmakers’ failure to “address a critical piece of the wildfire puzzle in Colorado: land use planning, development and building resiliency in the wildland-urban interface.”

Lawmakers took the recommendations to heart and tried to pass such a measure last year in the waning days of the legislative session, but the effort failed in the face of stiff opposition from municipalities and builders.

ProPublica reviewed legislation introduced from 2014 to 2022 and found that only 15 out of 77 wildfire-related bills focused primarily on helping homeowners mitigate risk from fires. Most of the 15 proposals offered incentives to homeowners and communities through income tax deductions or grants — some of which required municipalities to raise matching funds — to clear vegetation around structures. None called for mandatory building requirements in wildfire-prone areas, even as 15 of the 20 largest wildfires in state history have occurred since 2012.

Such safety codes usually require fire-resistant materials on siding, roofs, decks and fences, along with mesh-covered vents that prevent embers from entering the building. These measures have been scientifically proven to reduce risk for residents and rescuers and to increase the odds that structures will withstand a blaze.

After the new panel begins work this fall, it must first define what’s known as the “wildland-urban interface,” or WUI, where homes mix with trees, shrubs and grasses that make them more vulnerable to fire. Following the Marshall Fire, ProPublica found, firefighters agreed that practically the entire state could fall under this high-risk designation.

A common understanding of which areas are at risk will help officials prioritize resources to protect communities, said Jefferson County Commissioner Lesley Dahlkemper. Her community enacted one of the state’s most stringent wildfire building standards in 2020.

“If you asked each of us to define the WUI right now, we would all give you a different answer,” she added.

State Sen. Lisa Cutter, who spent months shepherding the code board bill through discussions with community leaders, builders, firefighters and others, said once the minimum building code is published by the board, the responsibility will fall to individual municipalities to enact it.

“This is now state law,” said Cutter, who represents some of the state’s most fire-prone communities. “Everyone will have to have a minimum standard code, and it helps communities hold each other responsible.”

As she stood in front of uniformed firefighters and a fire engine, Cutter said she and her co-sponsors made concessions to ensure communities have flexibility to tailor fire-resilient codes to meet their needs, including giving municipalities the ability to petition the board for modification to the codes. Such compromises were necessary to pass the law in a state with a longstanding culture of local control.

In debating the building code board bill, legislators heard emotional testimony from firefighters forced to repeatedly defend their communities against deeply unpredictable wildfires.

In testimony before a state Senate committee on March 16, Grand Fire Protection District Chief Brad White recounted how the 193,812-acre East Troublesome Fire in 2020 traveled 25 miles overnight and incinerated 366 homes, so far costing $720 million.

“Two-and-a-half years later, these costs are not what bother me,” White said as he asked the Senate Local Government & Housing Committee to support the bill. “What bothers me is that of those 366 homes, we saved many of them several times before.”

by Anjeanette Damon, Byard Duncan and Mollie Simon

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

HomeVestors of America, the company behind the “We Buy Ugly Houses” ads, says it’s in the business of helping people.

Sometimes, the quick cash its franchises provide in exchange for a property at vastly below market value does help the owner.

But a ProPublica investigation found the types of houses targeted by HomeVestors franchises often belong to people in vulnerable situations who sign away what for most Americans is their largest asset. To make matters worse, aggressive legal tactics employed by HomeVestors franchises can trap homeowners in a deal or cost them thousands of dollars to settle.

In a statement, a HomeVestors spokesperson said the purchases covered by ProPublica’s reporting represent a small fraction of the more than 71,400 homes bought by its franchises since 2016. "We do not discriminate or target our advertising to any specific demographic groups based on age, race, or socio-economic status,” the company said. It has removed several franchises from its system and, in light of our reporting, is investigating the cases to “determine appropriate action.”

Over the last year, ProPublica interviewed dozens of people who have sold to a HomeVestors franchise. Some appeared satisfied with the experience, opting for convenience or speed over getting full market value for their house. Others, though, came to regret calling the number on a HomeVestors ad.

Here are five of their stories.

Pennee Nichols (Kate Copeland for ProPublica)

Pennee Nichols tried to hang on to the Arizona mountain home she inherited from her mother. The place had been in her family for decades, and she planned to move there after her partner retired. But when he died, the maintenance and taxes became too much. So in late 2017, she called the number she saw on a HomeVestors television commercial.

The house — a converted 1960s trailer — was in disrepair. But the town of Heber-Overgaard is a popular spot for vacation cabins, and the property was dotted with piñon and juniper. Nichols believed it could fetch around $50,000.

When Jayson Ellingson, who owned the HomeVestors franchise Jaycorp, showed up, he told Nichols the house was in such bad shape it would have to be torn down and rebuilt. His offer was $10,000. She could take it or leave it, but he doubted anyone else would buy it as-is.

“He basically convinced me it was a piece of shit,” Nichols said. “In my heart, I knew I was getting totally screwed, but I took the deal.”

Ellingson didn’t bulldoze the house. He sold it six months later for $55,000 without any repairs.

In an interview, Ellingson told ProPublica he was upfront about his intention to buy the property below market value. He said he gave Nichols time to think it over. And after he bought the home, he said, he got lucky finding a buyer who had cash and wanted to fix it up.

"This lady just might be bitter about the fact I bought it for $10,000 and sold it for $55,000,” Ellingson said. “I made $45,000. I wouldn’t have ever forecasted that would happen on that deal."

Ellingson left HomeVestors in 2021. He said the franchise model wasn’t for him.

Maria Jimenez (Kate Copeland for ProPublica)

In 2019, Maria Jimenez felt under siege. Seventy-two and in poor health, Jimenez had a problem with hoarding that attracted the attention of Camarillo, California, code enforcement officers. She had bought her house in 1981 with her late husband and worked two jobs to afford the mortgage. She raised her children there, teaching them to work hard and follow the rules. Now, city inspectors had begun issuing her citations.

When she called the phone number on a HomeVestors ad, she reached Patriot Holdings, the successful franchise run by brothers Cody, Chris, Casey and Cory Evans with their partner Scott Mansfield.

“I need help,” she told the person on the phone.

Cory Evans arrived the next morning. According to court documents, he told her: If you sell to me, I’ll clean the house up and code enforcement will go away. If you don’t, the city will come with its trucks, pack up your belongings and take your house. While that wasn’t true, it scared Jimenez into signing a sales contract on the spot.

The next day, a social worker arrived to help with the code violations. She assured Jimenez the city wouldn’t take her home and taught her about programs to help older adults clean up their properties.

But after Jimenez tried to cancel the sale, Evans sued her for breach of contract. In arbitration, Patriot Holdings demanded $150,000 to release its claim on the house, Maria’s daughter Patsy Jimenez said. The stress took its toll on Maria Jimenez, who suffered a mild stroke, Patsy said.

Meanwhile, criminal investigators in Ventura County took an interest in the case. After they found a second elderly victim who was pressured by Evans into selling his house, the district attorney filed felony charges against Evans of attempted grand theft of real property and attempted theft from an elder. He pleaded guilty to two counts of attempted grand theft, dropped his lawsuit against Jimenez and served his sentence on probation. His conviction was later expunged in accordance with California law.

Jimenez saved her home, but the trauma from the experience continues, her daughter said. “She feels guilty. And, I go, ‘Mom, you were a victim.’”

Neither Evans nor the franchise responded to requests for comment. A spokesperson for HomeVestors’ corporate office said Cory Evans is no longer associated with the franchise.

“We are not aware of any complaints since the removal of Cory Evans from the franchise,” the company said.

The year after Evans pleaded guilty, he and his brothers received an award from HomeVestors recognizing their “top sales volume.”

Deanna Merriman (Kate Copeland for ProPublica)

How the sales representative from the HomeVestors franchise Revolution Holdings wound up at Deanna Merriman’s St. Petersburg condo in July 2020 is in dispute. Merriman, a prolific journaler, wrote at the time that he had knocked on her door to see if anyone was interested in selling a condo. She sent him on his way, but he continued to return over the next month, she wrote.

Britton Briscoe, who owns the franchise through a separate LLC, said his records indicate Merriman had called HomeVestors.

Merriman had moved from Erie, Pennsylvania, to Florida to be closer to family. But after a couple of angry fallouts with her grown children, Merriman decided she wanted to return to Erie and talked to the Revolution Holdings representative about selling her condo.

“I told him, the only way I would sell mine was if the salesman would buy me a house in Erie, PA,” she wrote.

After showing her photos of houses in Erie and getting an estimate for moving her things, the sales representative brought Merriman paperwork to sign.

At the time, Merriman, who was 83, was suffering blackouts and anxiety attacks and took a variety of medications, including one that caused brain fog.

In her journal, Merriman wrote that she believed she was initialing papers the sales representative would use to write up a contract. It turned out to be an actual contract to sell her condo for $61,000 — half of what similar units in the building sold for.

Briscoe said in a statement that Revolution Holdings tried to help Merriman close on a home in Erie and provided her with several walkthrough videos. He said one of her adult sons was involved in the discussions. No one mentioned Merriman’s health conditions, Briscoe said. He attributed the low sales price to the fact her walls were “coated with nicotine.”

Unaware she had signed a contract with a HomeVestors franchise, Merriman decided she no longer wanted to sell her Florida condo and stopped communicating with Revolution Holdings.

After she went silent, Revolution Holdings threatened to take her to court and recorded notice of an ownership dispute on her title to prevent her from selling to anyone else. Briscoe told ProPublica he needed to get his deposit back. According to the contract, the deposit was $100.

Distraught, Merriman fought to cancel the sale but didn’t live long enough to see it resolved. “She definitely died thinking they were going to take her house and she would be put out on the street somewhere,” her daughter-in-law Amy Bonnell said.

When the estate went to probate, Briscoe demanded money to release his claim on the property. Bonnell and her husband paid him $9,512 after selling the condo for $160,000 last year.

In response to ProPublica’s questions about company practices, HomeVestors said it will no longer allow franchises to record documents on homeowners’ titles the way Briscoe did to Merriman, because of the impact it has on sellers.

Ira Reiner (Kate Copeland for ProPublica)

Ira Reiner spent the final days of his life fighting a lawsuit from Florida franchise Hi-Land Properties, a frequent HomeVestors “Franchise of the Year” winner.

In late 2020, Reiner’s health was in decline, his income had dried up because of the pandemic, and he and his adult son Douglas needed to find a less expensive place to live. Reiner’s Delray Beach condo was in need of significant repairs and cleaning, so Reiner had his son call the number on a HomeVestors ad.

Reiner signed a contract to sell the condo to Hi-Land for $80,000, a price he knew was low but not unwarranted given the condition of his home. Problems arose when he couldn’t quickly find a new place to live.

After Reiner missed the first closing date, Hi-Land told him he could rent back the condo for a few months while he searched for new housing and gave him a $4,000 cash advance on the sale. But the homeowners association didn’t allow rentals, and after a misunderstanding over who would pay his mortgage, taxes and fees prior to closing, Reiner decided he wanted out of the deal.

In a court document, Reiner said he called Hi-Land to cancel the sale. Don Cameron, owner of Hi-Land, said Reiner stopped communicating with him entirely in August 2021. That’s when Cameron decided to sue.

“Given the circumstances, and especially considering the fact that we already had paid $4,000 towards the purchase of the condo, we were left with no choice but to file litigation with the hopes of being able to reopen the lines of communication and resolve this matter,” Cameron said.

By this time, Reiner could no longer walk and was confined to his bed, he told ProPublica. The only way he could leave the condo was in an ambulance. From the hospital, he tried to fight Hi-Land’s lawsuit by sending a handwritten document to the judge, but it was rejected because he didn’t comply with filing rules.

When he spoke with ProPublica in September, Reiner said he was waiting for an eviction notice.

“I’m going to become homeless,” Reiner said. “I’m waiting for the call. Even if I win the case, I’m so far behind I don’t know if I can catch up.”

Reiner died in February at the age of 80.

His son, Douglas Reiner, remained in the condo until a judge entered a default judgment in Hi-Land’s favor. Douglas said Hi-Land paid him $500, and he was expecting another $2,000. He said he plans to live in his van.

Martha Swanson (Kate Copeland for ProPublica)

At 83, Martha Swanson struggled to maintain the sprawling yard around her brick bungalow in Marietta, Georgia. For months, she’d been receiving constant solicitations to sell her home in the historic city 20 miles north of Atlanta. So one day near the beginning of 2018, she called the number on a HomeVestors ad.

Keith Gereghty, the franchisee who paid her a visit, made an offer of $82,211 — a number Swanson’s daughter Sherry Nixon believed to be extremely low based on the market.

As soon as Nixon, who lives in Montana, learned that her mother wanted to sell, she began searching for a real estate agent. But it was too late: Her mother had signed Gereghty’s contract. When Nixon called Gereghty to complain about the low price, she said, Gereghty told her, “That’s all I can do. Your Mom has agreed to it.”

“My mother has had a series of mini strokes,” Nixon said she responded. “And she's really not able to make these kinds of decisions well.”

“Well, if she's so bad,” Nixon recalls Gereghty responding, “why isn't she living with you?”

Gereghty denied making that comment and said he never saw Swanson display signs of impairment. He said he gave Swanson more than a week to review the contract with her children and would have released her from the deal had she asked. However, he also recorded a notice of the pending sale on her title shortly after she signed the contract, tying her to the deal.

“I never intended to cause Ms. Swanson or her family distress,” Gereghty said, also noting he has never sued anyone for backing out of a sale as other franchises have.

Gereghty never took ownership of the property. Instead, he sold the contract to another investor for a profit — a practice called wholesaling. That investor flipped the property for $171,000. Nixon recalled seeing the home listed with a broken bookshelf the sellers didn’t bother removing.

“I thought, ‘Well, they'll fix the house up — who knows how much that would cost?” she said. “They did nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Until her death three years later, Swanson agonized over money and how to pay the $3,000 a month it cost for her assisted living center, her daughter said.

“That’s just not ethical,” Nixon said. “My mother was this sweet, elderly little lady. A southern lady — very religious, really saw the good in people, and felt like Keith was her friend.”

According to HomeVestors’ training materials and webinars, franchisees should seek out a homeowner’s family members for consultation if they have doubts about a deal. Before closing, they’re instructed to look a homeowner in the eye and ask them, “You’re not going to wake up in the middle of the night and wish you could tear up my offer, are you?”

Nixon posed a parallel question. “I mean, how do they sleep at night doing that to old people?”

Help ProPublica Investigate “We Buy Houses” Practices

by J. David McSwane and Ryan Gabrielson

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In just a handful of years, members of a Canton, Ohio, family built a financial empire that included a boutique airline, a bank in the Missouri Ozarks, a chain of carpet stores, a marijuana farm in Oregon, and more than $20 million in real estate. The “conglomerate,” as the Beers family calls it, was made possible by hundreds of millions of dollars collected from Americans who thought they had found an affordable alternative to medical insurance. Instead, many were saddled with debt.

The conglomerate, however, is showing signs of strain as the family downsizes its workforce and sells off some of its holdings. These moves will free up cash, said an attorney who represents several family members, and allow them to pay off a court settlement related to its alleged fraud. Now, another big debt has come their way: Several family members face liens placed against their properties for millions in back taxes.

A ProPublica investigation earlier this year revealed how Liberty HealthShare — the Christian nonprofit the family controlled and marketed as a cheap way to circumvent Obamacare requirements — paid at least $140 million to vendors owned by members and friends of the Beers family. Those family members and friends then funneled the money through a network of shell companies to purchase scores of businesses. As the family amassed wealth, Liberty’s finances were depleted and thousands of members’ medical bills went unpaid.

As part of the settlement with the Ohio attorney general’s office in 2021, Liberty HealthShare severed all ties with the family.

Members of the family, including patriarch Daniel J. Beers, and their attorneys, have denied wrongdoing. They claim that the family-owned vendors — Cost Sharing Solutions and Medical Cost Solutions LLC — charged Liberty market rates or less for their services, which included running a call center and negotiating bill payments with doctors and hospitals.

In January, Cost Sharing Solutions laid off all but a handful of staff, according to current and former employees. “They have no money,” said one source who asked to remain anonymous because of the nondisclosure agreements that the company required employees to sign. “It’s all gone.” From 2014 to 2021, Liberty paid Cost Sharing Solutions at least $90 million.

Last month, members of the family auctioned off more than 470 acres they owned outside of Canton. Those parcels constituted roughly half of the Lazy L Ranch, the compound where most of the family lives. “From its hilltop panoramic views to wooded valleys and open farm fields, this property will take your breath away,” the auction notice read. Purchase prices and the identities of the buyers have not yet been made public.

The IRS has recently secured liens against parcels of the ranch that family members still own. Property records show that Beers’ sons, Danny and Ronnie, owe $2.9 million and $1.1 million in federal income taxes for 2017 to 2021. Brandon Fabris, who also lives on the ranch and serves as chief operating officer of Cost Sharing Solutions, owes more than $700,000 in federal taxes.

Family members have also recently sold their controlling stake in Ultimate Air Charters, a small airline that caters to gamblers who travel from Canton to locales such as Atlantic City. Rick Arnold, the attorney who represents Beers and many of the companies that family members own, said the airline was sold to an entity outside of the family. He would not disclose its identity, which also has not been made public in Ohio business filings, and did not respond to questions about the federal tax liens on the Beers and Fabris homes.

In addition to the monthly dues that Liberty members paid for coverage of their medical bills, all of these ventures benefited from taxpayer money. Seven entities in the conglomerate received more than $6.3 million in COVID-19 relief funds, the vast majority of which was forgiven by the federal government, according to a ProPublica analysis of Paycheck Protection Program data. Cost Sharing Solutions, claiming it would save 168 jobs, obtained more than $1 million in April 2020 and another $1 million in January 2021. Ohio Lazy L Ranch LTD collected more than $80,000, and Ultimate Air Charters secured more than $2.9 million.

Arnold said the layoffs and sales are a way for his clients to pay $5 million in collective damages from the settlement with the Ohio attorney general’s office. Although the agreement with the state calls for monthly payments, Arnold says his clients have negotiated a new deal to send a lump sum “within the next couple of months.”

“It was part of a greater business plan,” Arnold said of the recent transactions. “It also creates liquidity and allows them to pay the attorney general.”

Beers and the two family-controlled vendors have missed several payments and are in arrears for $290,000 and $690,000, according to records from the attorney general’s office. A spokesperson for the Ohio attorney general said the payment schedule and agreement have not changed, despite Arnold’s claim.

In 2021, Liberty members whose medical bills languished and were referred to collections filed a class-action lawsuit against the Beers family, the ministry and the two vendors. The defendants have filed a motion to dismiss, which is pending.

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by Anna Clark; Photography by Sylvia Jarrus for ProPublica

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The story discusses gun violence and suicidal ideation.

On a cold evening in March, at a school board meeting in Oxford, Michigan, Buck Myre approached members with a sheaf of papers. As they were passed down the line, he paced and fidgeted.

For three minutes, the room was quiet. One board member covered her eyes with both hands. Finally, Myre stepped to the lectern. He released a shaky exhale, crackling the microphone.

“I don’t even know where to start, and I don’t even know what to say,” he said. “But imagine — you can’t imagine. But imagine going to the coroner’s office and picking this up.”

The papers were copies of his 16-year-old son’s death certificate.

On Nov. 30, 2021, Tate Myre and three other students — Hana St. Juliana, 14; Madisyn Baldwin, 17; and Justin Shilling, 17 — were shot and killed inside Oxford High School by a 15-year-old sophomore. Seven more were shot but lived.

The shooter, who pleaded guilty to murder, terrorism and other felonies, awaits a hearing to determine whether he’ll face a life sentence without parole. His parents, who bought a gun for the troubled teenager four days before the shooting, are charged with involuntary manslaughter and awaiting trial.

But for many families, that’s not enough. They want a full accounting of what happened and whether it could have been prevented — which they still haven’t received.

“I do believe that things went wrong that day,” Myre told the school board in March. “And I don’t understand why we’re running from it. I don’t get it.”

Buck Myre and his wife, Sheri. Their 16-year-old son, Tate, was among the four killed at the high school in Oxford, Michigan. (Paul Sancya/AP Photo)

Oxford has ordered an external review of the shooting, and school officials say they too want answers. But many parents say those same officials have stonewalled them, delayed the review and not committed to full transparency or accountability.

Nationwide, there’s no protocol for such reviews. If they happen at all — “usually where we see higher body counts” — they vary widely in process and purpose, said James Densley, co-founder and president of the Violence Project, a nonprofit research center. Such a haphazard approach not only leads to mistrust inside communities, experts say, but wastes an opportunity to extract lessons that may prevent the next tragedy.

After the shooting at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, in February 2018, a state commission delivered a preliminary report 322 days later, reaching the community before the first anniversary.

In Newtown, Connecticut, the local state’s attorney issued a report 346 days after the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in 2012. After a 2007 shooting at Virginia Tech, a state panel’s report arrived in 136 days.

In Oxford, it’s been more than 525 days, and counting.

A sign stands at an entrance to Oxford High School.

Two weeks after the shooting, Oxford’s school board voted unanimously for a review to begin “immediately.” But the board declined multiple offers from Michigan’s attorney general to investigate. For six months after the shooting, following guidance from a lawyer retained by its insurance company, the board insisted a review must wait for criminal and civil cases to resolve.

Finally, in May 2022, after facing community pressure, Oxford decided to hire Guidepost Solutions, a company that has investigated abuse allegations at the Southern Baptist Convention.

But Guidepost struggled to get people to cooperate with its review, including those who work for the district. Unions and the lawyer brought in by the school’s insurance provider cautioned against talking. “In our experience, the extent of third-party interference of this investigation has been unusually extraordinary,” Guidepost has said in a statement.

During the tumult, two board members resigned, later saying that they felt the board was not well served by the lawyer’s involvement.

Guidepost declined to comment for this story. Oxford Community Schools and its insurance company didn’t respond to ProPublica’s requests for comment. The lawyer, Timothy Mullins, didn’t respond to ProPublica’s inquiries about his actions on behalf of the board.

“Obviously, this community wants answers,” the school board’s president, Dan D’Alessandro, told ProPublica. “That’s why we hired Guidepost — to get those answers.”

He added: “Once we have an opportunity to look at everything, then we’ll make any changes that are necessary.”

Dan D’Alessandro, Oxford school board president, leads a meeting at Oxford Middle School on April 11.

Guidepost delivered a report this month that assessed Oxford’s current strategies for security, suicide intervention and threat assessment. But it’s the second report, the one that will examine the events surrounding the shooting, that many parents feel is essential. It will draw from interviews as well as case files from investigators. However, it is unclear when it will be released.

Meanwhile, in lieu of a timely and comprehensive accounting, many Oxford families are left with unsettling questions.

“Every Tuesday marks another week without those four precious children that didn’t get to come home,” said a woman who works for the school at the March meeting, “and we still don’t get to have the answers for what happened, and people are still working at this school who were directly involved.”

I’m here, she added, to “demand the report be given to us.”

“I Have Access to the Gun and Ammo”

On the rural-urban fringe of southeast Michigan, where about 1,800 students attended Oxford High School, the final weeks of 2021 had everyone on edge.

In November, a student displayed a severed deer head in the courtyard with red paint looking like blood. He was disciplined, but less than a week later, in a boys’ restroom, students found a bird’s head in a jar.

Law enforcement and school personnel investigated but were unable to determine its origin, the district superintendent said in an email sent weeks later. As it happened, a sophomore named Ethan Crumbley was responsible for the bird’s head. He recorded the decapitation on his phone and wrote about it in his journal.

This is one of many disturbing details from the weeks before — and the day of — the shooting that were described in court documents and public testimony.

Ethan was spiraling, public records show. His Spanish teacher emailed school counselor Shawn Hopkins, saying he seemed sad. In a brief meeting outside a classroom, Hopkins told Ethan he was available if he wanted to talk.

On Nov. 26, Ethan’s father bought him a SIG Sauer 9 mm handgun. Three days later, an English teacher caught him searching online for bullets. She emailed Nicholas Ejak, dean of students, and Pamela Fine, another counselor.

At a five-minute meeting with Fine and Hopkins, Ethan told the counselors it was hobby research. Appearing calm, he said he’d gone to the range with his mom that weekend with his new gun. (She posted about it on Instagram: “Mom and son day testing out his new Xmas present.”)

Fine left a voicemail with Ethan’s mom, saying guns may be a hobby but searching for ammunition during class wasn’t good behavior.

His mom texted Ethan: “Seriously? Looking up bullets in school?? … Lol, I’m not mad you have to learn not to get caught.”

That evening, Ethan posted on Twitter: “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. See you tomorrow Oxford.”

Early on a foggy Tuesday morning, Hopkins got an email sent by Ejak about an English teacher who’d caught Ethan watching a shooting video. Some 20 minutes later, a math teacher informed Ejak that on a test review, Ethan drew a picture of a handgun, a bullet, a laughing face with tears and a twice-shot figure with blood pouring from its mouth.

“Blood everywhere,” Ethan wrote.

“My life is useless.”

“The world is dead.”

“The thoughts won’t stop.”

“Help me.”

The video he watched was only a game, Ethan said in the counselor’s office.

Hopkins, Ejak and Fine are among the school staff that have faced civil suits from the case, including in federal court. Mullins, a lawyer representing them and the school district, said in an email that because of ongoing litigation, he wouldn’t comment on the facts of the case. In a motion to dismiss federal lawsuits, Mullins wrote that “nothing about what the individual defendants knew could have put them on notice” that Ethan “posed the specific risk of shooting multiple students.”

Hopkins asked about the drawing. By then, Ethan modified it, adding phrases like “Harmless act” and “I love my life so much!!!!”

Ethan said the drawing depicted a game he wanted to design. Asked about “my life is useless,” Ethan’s demeanor became sad, according to Hopkins’ testimony in a pretrial hearing in the criminal case against Ethan’s parents. He described difficulties, including a grandparent’s death and a family dog dying.

He said he wasn’t a danger to anyone, but Hopkins felt “there was enough suicidal ideation” to call Ethan’s mom, the counselor testified. Both parents arrived about 10:30.

The description of what happened next is based on court documents and public testimony, including from Hopkins. There is not yet a full public account from Ethan or his parents about the office meeting.

Ethan needs help, Hopkins remembered telling the parents, “today, if possible.” He provided a list of mental health resources.

But, the counselor testified, Ethan’s mom said they couldn’t take him that day because they needed to return to work. Hopkins was taken aback. It was the first time he’d had such a meeting where parents would not take their child home, Hopkins said. He told them he wanted Ethan to get support within 48 hours. “I’ll be following up,” he recalled saying.

Looking at his drawing, Ethan’s dad told his son he had people he could talk to and his journal to write in.

“Are we done?” Ethan’s mother asked.

Hopkins asked Ejak if any disciplinary issue prevented Ethan from returning to class. No, Ejak said.

“I guess so,” Hopkins said.

Less than 15 minutes after the meeting began, it was over. Ethan’s parents left without him.

Hopkins wrote Ethan a pass. At some point that morning, Ejak retrieved Ethan’s backpack from math class and returned it to him. No one asked about Ethan’s access to weapons or searched his backpack.

Back at work, his mom mentioned to her boss that she needed to find Ethan a counselor. She texted her son. “You ok? … You know you can talk to us and we won’t judge.”

At a pretrial hearing, a lawyer for Ethan’s mother noted that Hopkins was a mandatory reporter; if he truly felt Ethan was at risk of not getting proper medical attention, including psychological, he must report it to Children’s Protective Services. But no one called outside authorities. Nor did he insist that Ethan leave school.

He wasn’t forced to leave school, Hopkins testified, because “there was no discipline issue.” At the time, Hopkins was concerned that Ethan was a threat to himself and thought it best for him to not be alone. He intended to follow up the next morning about mental health services.

When a lawyer asked if Hopkins thought he should have done anything differently that day, Hopkins said: “I want that situation to be as different as possible. I acted off the information I had available.”

Ethan’s lawyer didn’t respond to requests for comment. A gag order prevents attorneys involved in his parents’ criminal cases from speaking to the media.

Less than two hours after the meeting with his parents, Hopkins and Ejak, Ethan emerged from a bathroom with the gun that had been in his backpack, along with ammunition and his hard-bound black journal. Every entry described shooting the school, including the last one: “The shooting is tomorrow. I have access to the gun and ammo.”

Ethan turned left and fired.

A Patchwork System

When a plane crashes, a federal agency begins an automatic and immediate investigation. Olivia Upham, whose brother was close to where shots were first fired, thought something like that would happen after a school shooting.

Olivia Upham and her brother, Keegan. Keegan was at Oxford High School during the shooting.

“I assumed that an outside agency, whether it be the attorney general, or the FBI, or some sort of commission of education and rule of law experts, would come in and help us with that,” said Upham, who, along with her mother, taught at Oxford’s middle school at the time.

In fact, comprehensive, third-party reviews of school shootings aren’t particularly common.

They typically happen in high-profile cases, said Densley of the Violence Project. “Higher body counts mean more scrutiny, more media attention, more parents who are asking questions about their loved ones.”

Even then, it’s a patchwork process. Multiple government agencies may issue distinct, sometimes overlapping reports, each informed by different investigative tools. Private companies, which may boast of former law enforcement officers and risk management professionals on their staff, are more often brought in for security assessments than for accountability reviews. Victim privacy and preserving a defendant’s right to a fair criminal trial also can add complexity.

Stephen J. Sedensky III, the local state’s attorney who authored one of several reports on the Sandy Hook shooting, said in an email that such reviews by public agencies are “often necessary and helpful in answering questions the public may have, in assisting policy and law makers and in preventing speculation as to the unknown.”

However, he noted, even with numerous Sandy Hook reports, speculation and conspiracies still took root in a vocal minority. “Victims’ families suffered and continue to suffer.”

Parkland is unusual in how thoroughly it was investigated. The state appointed a commission with parents, educators, law enforcement, advocates, public officials and mental health professionals. Even with the alleged shooter facing trial, the commission issued the preliminary report before the first anniversary. Within 20 months, it delivered its full 389-page report.

It was a deep dive into the shooter’s life and exposed chaotic breaches of protocol by school officials and law enforcement. The report catalyzed a number of significant new policies. The commission, which is funded by Florida’s Legislature through 2026, continues to address school safety and threat assessment statewide.

Max Schachter, a commissioner whose 14-year-old son died in the Parkland shooting, said the work was difficult “because every time we met, I basically had to relive Alex’s murder all over again.”

But, he said, the commission is devoted to making sure “that something good comes from this tragedy.”

“We Couldn’t Be True to Our Community”

Both of Steve St. Juliana’s daughters were at Oxford High School the day of the shooting. Only one came home.

Hana — athletic, empathetic, “a really bright soul,” her dad said — was shot and killed. As early details emerged about the shooter’s interactions with school officials, St. Juliana said he tried “desperately to give them the benefit of doubt.”

School officials sent some signals that they wanted to get answers for families like his.

Within a week, Oxford’s superintendent and the school board president at the time called for a third-party review. The board subsequently voted 7-0 on an eight-part resolution for a review that “will look far beyond the criminal investigation and into all the systemic factors that were at play.”

But by then, Mullins had assumed a large role in shaping decisions, advising the board and speaking on behalf of the district. Scarcely three hours after the shooting stopped, the district’s insurance company, SET SEG, connected Mullins with Oxford.

The insurer retained Mullins, and it would come at no cost to the district, according to a Nov. 30 email from a SET SEG claim manager to two top school officials. Mullins can “provide any legal assistance you may need.”

Mullins’ speciality: school immunity. He has successfully defended districts when a school conducted strip searches of students and when a football player died at practice.

Tom Donnelly, then the school board president, told ProPublica that it seemed that Mullins never wanted a review. “He had no intention of it happening.”

Mullins later told a Detroit News reporter that a review was premature and a waste of money. “Any lawyer would say don’t talk to anybody but us,” he said.

In December, state Attorney General Dana Nessel made her first of three offers for an investigation. The district turned her down. Mullins replied to Nessel in an email saying the district was already cooperating with the local prosecutor and sheriff, according to The Detroit News.

“I’m disappointed, quite honestly,” Nessel said on CNN. She said she hoped the district “cares as much about the safety of their students as they do shielding themselves from civil liability.”

Weeks passed. Months. No investigation.

To St. Juliana, the stakes couldn’t have been higher. “If you can’t even talk about it, if you can’t even admit what you did wrong, how are you supposed to fix it?” he said. “And we’re just supposed to have faith that you’re going to fix this behind the scenes? … And, more and more, you find out just how badly they messed up.”

A small cohort of community members began to conduct their own investigation of sorts, exploring not only Oxford’s policies on paper but its practices. They questioned whether Oxford consistently trained staff in threat assessment — a process for determining if a student poses a threat of violence — and whether it had in place the threat assessment team described in its own policies. If there was such a team, they asked, why wasn’t it activated in November 2021?

“We were not prepared,” said Danielle Krozek, an Oxford mom. “And so as a parent with a kid in school now, are we prepared now?”

The Krozeks. “We were not prepared,” Danielle Krozek said. “And so as a parent with a kid in school now, are we prepared now?”

In an email to community members in January 2022, the superintendent at the time said that “we have always taken threats very seriously and will continue to listen to students and parents who report threats to the district. In reminding everyone to ‘say something if you see something’ we are in no way suggesting that our community has ever hesitated to do so in the past.”

The principal, administrators, teachers and support staff “followed their training and implemented our District’s detailed emergency plans and protocol” on Nov. 30, 2021, and “put the safety of our students above their own safety,” wrote then-Superintendent Tim Throne, who has since retired.

The board insisted that a formal review couldn’t proceed because it would interfere with the criminal cases against the shooter and his parents. Two former board members said they believed this because of what Mullins told them.

The prosecutor’s office contradicted that explanation. Following inquiries from parents, it sent a March 4 letter to Oxford families saying that a review wouldn’t interfere with criminal proceedings — and that it had communicated this to school attorneys, too.

“To be clear,” the letter said, “decisions about what, when and how to conduct any investigation or assessment are up to the School Board and the community, and our office is not asking anyone to delay those efforts.”

But board members continued to blame looming legal cases for the delay. Lawyers for the district never delivered the prosecutor’s message to them, according to Donnelly and former board member Korey Bailey. They felt they had few options. Their understanding, they said, was that if they didn’t heed the advice of the attorney retained for Oxford by SET SEG, the insurer could rescind its coverage.

“Insurance companies had us by the throats,” Donnelly said. “We couldn’t be honest, and we couldn’t do our jobs, and we couldn’t be true to our community.”

Parents forwarded the prosecutor’s message to school officials, spoke at meetings and held a press conference. Donnelly and Bailey acknowledge it took two more months for the board to realize that the parents were right. In May, after the prosecutor’s office issued a letter affirming its support for an independent investigation, the board changed course. It retained its own law firm and soon hired Guidepost.

An official from Guidepost Solutions, the company Oxford hired to conduct a review of the shooting, speaks at the April 11 school board meeting.

“I did not feel the level of confidence and trust in the attorney from the insurance company to allow him to continue representing me as a board member,” Bailey said, “and I strongly supported the board finding our own legal representation that we could trust.”

As Guidepost began seeking interviews with school employees, Mullins played a role in urging union members to be careful about participating.

Doug Pratt, the Michigan Education Association’s director for public affairs, told ProPublica in an email that the union passed along Mullins’ advice, which he said was that “members who are or could be litigants shouldn’t participate in the third party review, which is voluntary.” Some members have participated, and some declined, Pratt said.

In an email to ProPublica, Mullins said that “critical witnesses have all been interviewed by law enforcement officials. They have also been deposed — under oath — by victims’ attorneys. Their sworn testimony has been set forth in voluminous transcripts, which are available to all parties and were provided to Guidepost by my firm.”

By fall, Donnelly and Bailey had seen enough. They resigned from the board and held a press conference alleging failures in Oxford’s threat assessment practices.

Bailey said he believes that in the aftermath of school shootings, there needs to be a high-level agency that automatically investigates what happened. Without one, “the school’s insurance company was allowed to come in and take charge.”

D’Alessandro, the current board president, said he’s aware of the community’s anxiety and mistrust as it waits for answers. “Sometimes the messaging that comes out from the legal system and the legal teams isn’t necessarily reflective of that of what the school district is trying to do,” he said.

In January, Guidepost reported that it didn’t have interviews with 20% to 30% of witnesses and 50% to 60% of critical witnesses. Noting the absence of criminal allegations against school personnel and immunity protections for government employees, Guidepost urged people to come forward.

Over nearly 18 months, Oxford has taken steps to invest in the physical security of the high school, as this month’s 179-page report documented. That includes installing a weapons screening system at several entrances, using a camera-based artificial intelligence technology intended to detect weapons and mandating that students only carry clear backpacks during the school day. It also made changes to its threat assessment protocol. The report described strengths in current policies and practices, as well as gaps and excesses.

That’s not enough, said Brian Cooper, the father of two high schoolers. He wants to see the report on what went wrong. “I feel like they’re delaying it intentionally to make people give up. And that’s damaging for families that lost children, and had their children shot.”

“You Are Running Out of Time”

Oxford will soon graduate the second class of students who escaped with their lives.

“You are running out of time to look these kids in the eye and tell them what was broken on Nov. 30,” 2021, said Renee Upham at an April board meeting. Along with her daughter Olivia, she used to teach at Oxford Middle School, and her son was inside the school during the shooting.

The Uphams. “You are running out of time to look these kids in the eye and tell them what was broken on Nov. 30,” 2021, Renee Upham said.

In March, a circuit court dismissed civil allegations against the district and its employees, including school counselors and the dean of students, affirming that the defendants are protected from the claims against them by governmental immunity. An appeal is expected. On Friday, a federal judge issued an opinion on 10 related lawsuits, granting them in part and dismissing them in part. The claims that Hopkins, Ejak and Oxford Community Schools presented a state-created danger can go forward.

“I don’t want to make a profit off of this. This is about forcing them to change,” said Andrea Jones, co-founder of the student-parent group Change4Oxford, which initiated a federal lawsuit. “And it’s really sad, if you think about it, that we have to bring a lawsuit to do that.”

Andrea Jones is one of the founders of the student-parent group Change4Oxford.

The community remains shaken, and tensions roil. An Instagram account run by students shares their poetry, with titles like “Stuck,” “Why” and “Nothing will happen if we do nothing.” Parents report problems with bullying and kids struggling to attend class in the same building where they were shot at.

Some students, including Reina St. Juliana, Hana’s sister, created the group No Future Without Today to prevent future tragedies. She and her father advocated at the state Capitol for gun safety bills, which, after a February shooting at Michigan State University, were signed into law.

And a battle is brewing over the May 18 graduation ceremony. Many students want to wear orange cords sent to them by Students Demand Action, which is part of Everytown for Gun Safety, an advocacy group. But the superintendent said in a statement that no unapproved apparel is allowed.

Family members protested in emails to school officials. Despite the school’s “lack of procedures and protocols that allowed November 30 to happen, these students continue to show up and participate to earn enough credits to graduate,” wrote Chalmers Fitzpatrick, an Oxford mom. “They want to wear orange, and this should be a no-brainer.”

After hearing from family members and students, the district offered to let students wear navy and gold cords to acknowledge “the incomparable challenges they have had to face in their journey.”

“I get the impression they want people to graduate, move on, forget,” Olivia Upham said. “The less people in Oxford that were there that day, the less pressure they’re going to get.”

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Mariam Elba contributed research.

by Nicole Carr; Photography by Terra Fondriest for ProPublica

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This story is part of a series that explores how school board meetings across the country are fomenting conflicts and controversies that have led to violence and arrests. Are you interested in a virtual event on this topic? Let us know here.

When one police officer heard the radio call for backup at a high school campus outside Little Rock, Arkansas, he first thought there’d been a problem at a football game. The indecipherable chanting in the background sounded like roars from the bleachers. But it turned out that the rhythmic rallying call that November night last year was coming from the lobby outside a school board meeting.

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The prior two meetings, in September and October, had been held in Conway High School’s huge auditorium, equipped with ample seating and plenty of parking for what had, as of late, been larger crowds. There also had been an unusual amount of conflict. The day after the September meeting, police showed up at the homes of two residents to investigate separate incidents allegedly related to that meeting. At the October meeting, shortly before the board’s vote on policies that would restrict the rights of transgender students, a local grandfather stepped up to the microphone and warned the board about the sins of the LGBTQ+ community. “They invent ways of doing evil,” the man said during the public comment period. “But let me remind you that those that do such things deserve death.”

Alex Barnett, a junior philosophy major at the University of Central Arkansas in Conway, learned about tensions at the meetings on Instagram, where a video of the anti-LQBTQ+ comment to the board had gone viral. Barnett was motivated to do something. He pulled together a group, including members of a nascent Young Democratic Socialists club, at another student’s apartment. They brainstormed ideas for voicing opposition to the school board’s decision to pass the policies on transgender students.

Alex Barnett sits in a park across from the Conway High School campus, where a school board meeting took place last fall.

Barnett had learned that the board had moved its November meeting back to the much smaller administration building and had decided to skip the part of the agenda where attendees could share their views. Given that none of the college students would be able to speak directly to board members, Barnett made a suggestion: “Well, why don’t we just go into the school board meeting and shut everything down?”

When the late-arriving backup officers got to the building, they first encountered a cluster of community members protesting on the sidewalk, some of whom had joined high schoolers staging a Conway High walkout earlier that day. Inside, the officers found a group of young people sitting on the lobby floor, their arms linked and their voices loud. “Trans Lives Matter!” they chanted. The officers warned them to clear out of the lobby. But they remained planted on the floor.

“I’ll start with this one here,” one officer said, leaning over Barnett. “You are required to leave. If you do not leave you’re being arrested. Do you understand?”

Barnett did not budge.

“Take him into custody,” the officer said, pointing to two other officers. The trio pulled Barnett off the lobby floor, clamping handcuffs on his wrists.

Another of the student protesters then calmly allowed officers to cuff him, accepting the arrest as the consequence of his resistance. A third protester kept chanting as he, too, was arrested. “These policies are discriminatory!” he yelled as officers ushered him out of the lobby. “Let them use the fucking bathroom!”

After pausing for eight minutes during the loudest of the chanting, the school board meeting resumed without interruption.

ProPublica has identified 59 people arrested or charged over an 18-month period as a result of turmoil at school board meetings across the country. The majority of the individuals railed against the adoption of mask mandates, the teaching of “divisive concepts” concerning racial inequity and the availability of books with LGBTQ+ themes in school libraries. Many of the people arrested were attempting to make a statement, narrating their interactions with police for their social-media followers. In some cases, they resorted to threats and violence.

The arrests in Conway stand out for several reasons. The college students organized in support of the issues that most other people who were arrested around the country opposed. What’s more, no arrests were made following two allegedly violent incidents stemming from the September meeting.

But the Conway arrests also reflect the pervasive challenges school districts and police departments across the country face in trying to figure out how to handle hordes of aggrieved citizens — and what to do when the clashes lead to chaos. In the coming weeks, ProPublica will be publishing stories about how that unrest has played out in various communities and has upended once-staid school board meetings.

A broken window at the home of retired teacher Cindy Nations (Courtesy of Cindy Nations)

Cindy Nations was fast asleep when her alarm system warned of a “glass break” at 2:33 a.m. on Sept. 14. It wasn’t until later that morning, after she returned home from driving the early school bus route, that the recently retired teacher noticed the damage. Tiny slivers of glass glinted on the hardwood floors, on the armchair next to the fireplace and on the tray atop an ottoman. Then she parted her curtains and saw the hole.

Her mind immediately went to the school board meeting the night before. The meeting was the first after the start of the 2022-23 school year, and close to 200 people filed into the auditorium to hear the community’s input on two proposed policies concerning transgender students. One would bar them from using the bathroom that matches their self-identified gender. The other would require that, when traveling for school functions, they share hotel rooms only with a student who matches their gender assigned at birth. They’d also have the option to room alone.

One speaker also complained about what she called “sexually explicit” books available in school libraries across the state. She read passages to the board from three of those books: “Gender Queer: A Memoir,” “Wait, What?: A Comic Book Guide to Relationships, Bodies, and Growing Up” and “Beyond Magenta: Transgender Teens Speak Out.” And she handed out a pamphlet with passages from those books to fellow concerned parents.

Nations at her home in Conway

Nations and her friend Tamara Tucker were part of another cohort. Wearing a shirt printed with a rainbow to express her solidarity with LGBTQ+ attendees, Nations sat among like-minded parents and school employees near the back of the auditorium. They cheered on the mother of a transgender student who described to the school board the scrutiny her daughter faced after rooming with two girls during a school orchestra trip — even in the absence of a policy. “She had to report everything she’d done during the trip, and she was afraid she was in trouble,” the mother said. “These kinds of rules make no sense in the lives of actual children.”

The board itself didn’t act on the proposed policies at the meeting. That vote would come the following month.

Around 7:30 p.m., attendees made their way to the parking lot. Nations recalled that a group of people who’d congregated around a pickup truck stared her down as she walked toward her car. She would later tell police that “after leaving the school board meeting, she was followed home by a black SUV, but thought nothing of it.”

At about the same time, Tucker and her wife were standing in the parking lot, talking with other parents who were at the meeting to support LGBTQ+ students. Then, according to several of the parents, a truck almost hit Tucker’s wife.

A police officer arrived minutes later and asked what happened.

Tucker described how her wife said to the man: “Are you trying to run me over?” Then, Tucker said that “he kept yelling” — and that she yelled back: “Just move the fuck along.”

She said he climbed out of his truck, asking, “What did you say?” When she responded with, “I told you to move the fuck along,” she said the man pushed her. Parking lot surveillance obtained by ProPublica shows the man shoving Tucker.

“I flew back about three steps and hit the truck,” Tucker told the officer, Daniel Hogan, rubbing her shoulder and circling her arm. “It’s really hurting. It knocked the breath out of me.”

Watch video ➜

The following day, Hogan flipped on his body camera as he and his partner pulled up to the man’s brick ranch home. The officers were quick to assure him that he wasn’t being arrested. But the school was seeking a criminal trespass warning against him.

“What does that mean?” the man, Scott Simpson, asked.

“Basically, you can’t go back over to the school.”

“I can’t go to football games?” Simpson asked.

Simpson asked to tell his side of the story. He told the officers he’d gotten worked up during the school board meeting by the “pamphlets of the books.”

“I don’t know if you saw it, but it is boy-on-boy — it’s something I wouldn’t even look at,” Simpson told the officers. “And my temperature just, it elevated by looking at this stuff that’s in our public school system.”

He also described how, after the meeting, he drove his truck close to several women in the parking lot, complaining to the officers: “They just kept mouthing and cussing.”

“That’s when I pushed her,” he said. “I got in my truck and I left. That was all it was.”

Simpson then told Hogan, “You know, we go to church together.” Turning to the other officer, he pointed out that they’ve known each other for years, since Simpson’s sons were in junior high. “I am just not that type of person unless I am just provoked,” he said. “And it didn’t take much last night.”

“I understand,” Hogan said. “I definitely understand.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Simpson replied. “This world is going to shit. And I’m sure being a policeman you have to listen to both sides, but if you took your uniform off you would understand where I’m coming from.”

“Don’t have it off right now, though,” Hogan said, “so I’ve got to be indifferent on both sides.”

The night before, when Hogan took Tucker’s statement in the parking lot, he told her “he’d definitely pass that over to detectives” and that she could press charges if detectives didn’t. Eight months later, no charges have been filed. “I am undecided if I will pursue charges,” Tucker wrote in response to ProPublica’s questions, adding that she’d sought medical treatment later that week for bruises. Simpson did not respond to numerous requests for comment.

A Conway Police Department spokesperson said that because the investigation involved an allegation of third-degree battery, the department did not move forward with the case. “The Conway Police Department is following the rules of criminal procedure and cannot legally make an arrest on this specific offense as it did not take place in the presence of a police officer,” the spokesperson wrote, adding: “It will be the victim’s option to seek a misdemeanor warrant.” The spokesperson referred other questions about the incident to the city attorney, Charles Finkenbinder, who cited the same statute and said, “I am not aware of any request for charges in this matter.”

Nor did anything happen in Nations’ case. Though she told an officer she believed the damage to her window was from a gun, he found no bullet or bullet hole in her home, according to his police report. The report concluded that “the object may have been a BB or some other slower moving object like a small rock.” The day after the incident, the officer updated the report: “Due to lack of leads at this time, this incident will not be assigned for further investigation.” The Police Department did not comment on the Nations incident.

The only people who have faced charges for incidents stemming from the school board tensions in Conway last fall were the three college students who showed up at the school board meeting two months later.

In the two years leading up to her retirement, Nations had become distressed by what she saw in the junior high school where she taught — a reflection of larger debates raging in her district and nationwide.

“What happened in our country, how divided we became, just really spilled over into the classroom,” she said. “And it hurt me. It really hurt me.”

It started with a dust-up over “To Kill a Mockingbird.” The book had been taught in public schools for decades, but during the 2020-21 school year, Nations was stunned by a debate among administrators over whether it was appropriate for her ninth grade students. The concern was whether students should have to consider the role of race in the nation’s criminal justice system, a concept highlighted in the book. Nations, who’d taught English for 35 years, recalled her principal advising: “Right now with the current political climate, let’s not teach ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’”

Conway Public Schools Superintendent Jeff Collum did not respond to questions about the events described in this story. In a statement last year to a local television station, a district spokesperson acknowledged that the book had been removed from the curriculum during the pandemic but said that it hadn’t been banned and that educators again had the option to teach it.

Nations said of the encroaching culture wars: “It divided my school family.”

The debate over “To Kill a Mockingbird” reminded Nations of similar friction decades earlier. In the late ’90s, parents complained that Nations was teaching “The Chocolate War,” a controversial young adult novel that explores the mob mentality of a high school secret society and depicts bullying, violence and sex. Nations said that as a result of those concerns, the district created a committee to review the appropriateness of books being taught in classrooms. (That committee would be tasked in the fall of 2022 with considering the appropriateness of two books with LGBTQ+ themes, one of which the parent with the pamphlets had singled out; committee members recommended that the books remain on library shelves, but the board banned them anyway.)

In February 2022, things took another turn. Nations recalled that during her planning period, she was standing in her empty classroom with a colleague when another ninth grade English teacher walked in and plopped a poster down on a vacant desk. The teacher wanted to know what they thought of her Black History Month display for her classroom door.

Nations said her temperature rose when she saw what was on the poster: a photograph of a tree-lined lane leading to a grand Louisiana plantation.

The following week, according to Nations, another teacher posted her Black History Month poster in the hallway: “All History Matters,” it read.

“It divided my school family,” Nations said of the encroaching culture wars. “We were such a closely knit bunch, those ninth grade English teachers. We spent all our time together.” After February 2022, that was no longer the case.

At a tense faculty meeting that month, Nations lost her temper. The offensive displays. The book debates. Something felt very wrong. She recalled saying, “This has got to stop!” — and that the assistant principal told her to leave the meeting and go to her classroom. She said she refused.

“I could already tell they were going to just start telling me: ‘This is what you say and what you do. And you can’t veer from this in any way,’” she said. “And I just thought, that is not even teaching to me. That’s not what teaching is.”

The decision to retire came fast. But it wasn’t easy.

“I was so disappointed,” she said. “It had been just the best place to be, and then it became horrible.”

A week before finals last month, Barnett settled into a bench in the Conway courthouse, waiting for his name to be called. It was a Tuesday afternoon, more than five months after the protest.

His fellow protester Keylen Botley had been the first of the three students to be sentenced. At the urging of a church member, the 18-year-old had pleaded guilty months earlier to misdemeanor charges of criminal trespass and failure to disperse. He was fined $650.

Barnett had no plans of taking a plea deal. Instead, a judge would hear his case. At his bench trial, two of the arresting officers testified. Then Barnett took the stand.

“I wasn’t ashamed of what I did,” he said in an interview. “I felt like what I did was justified. I told the judge that, yeah, I’m the one who organized the protests. I’m not sorry for what I did at all. I would have gladly done it again.”

Barnett and Colburn Clark at the Conway Public Schools administration building. Barnett, Clark and a third student, Keylen Botley, were arrested there during the November 2022 school board meeting.

Of the 59 people ProPublica determined were arrested or charged for incidents stemming from school board unrest, Barnett received the stiffest sentence. The judge gave him 10 days in jail. ProPublica could not identify any others — including those who damaged school property or assaulted another attendee — who received a single day of jail time as punishment. The third student who’d been arrested in Conway, Colburn Clark, is scheduled for trial in late May.

Barnett said that during his day locked up, he was one of eight inmates in a windowless cell, with a shortage of first-come, first-serve beds. Barnett didn’t snag one; he got a yoga mat on the floor. Because the underwear he wore at the time he was booked was not white, and because he couldn’t yet buy any from the commissary, he went without. On the second day, his lawyer got him out on appeal.

Barnett said he’d hoped that the protest might have led the school board to reconsider the policies restricting transgender students. Instead, one of those policies was codified in state law when the newly elected governor, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, signed a bill in January denying transgender students access to the bathroom of their self-identified gender.

And this summer, another new law goes into effect, allowing anyone to challenge what they consider “obscene” books in public libraries. Local governments will decide whether to pull them from shelves. And library employees can be jailed and fined for “knowingly” distributing those books to minors. The offense would be a felony.

“I mean, it’s hard not to feel discouraged just by how fast that they’re going and how unstoppable this thing feels,” Barnett said. “But I think a lot of us are trying to resist that feeling of there’s nothing that we can do.”

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Mollie Simon contributed research.

Correction

May 13, 2023: This story originally misquoted one of the Black History Month posters described by Cindy Nations. According to Nations, the poster said "All History Matters," not "All Lives Matter."

by Kathleen Sharp for ProPublica

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The Metropolitan Museum of Art announced this week that it plans to hire four experts to investigate “more thoroughly” the history of works in its collections. The decision follows criminal investigations into some items in the museum’s collection, as well as news reports, including by ProPublica, that the museum has displayed items that were allegedly stolen or lacked provenance showing they were legally obtained.

As part of ProPublica’s Repatriation Project, the news organization researched every Native American work donated or loaned to the Met by the noted art collectors Charles and Valerie Diker. That reporting showed that only 15% of the 139 works provided by the Dikers had solid or complete ownership histories. Most either had no histories listed, identified previous owners in such vague terms as an “English gentleman,” or left gaps in ownership ranging from 200 to 2,000 years.

While it’s common for antiquities to have gaps in their documented histories, several art experts said the Diker Collection has an unusually large share of works with missing provenance, suggesting some of the pieces could be either fraudulent or stolen, the experts said.

For example, the provenance for an ancient Hopi (or Ancestral Pueblo) piece in the Diker Collection — a storage jar made between 1050 and 1100 — begins about 800 years after it was made, in 1984, when the Dikers bought it from a gallery in Scottsdale, Arizona. A researcher for the Hopi cultural office told ProPublica the jar was likely looted.

In a written statement to ProPublica before the prior story’s publication, the Dikers said that before acquiring the works they had assessed “all available information relating to provenance.”

As of April, the museum said it had accepted the transfer of 77 gifts from the Diker Collection.

In this week’s announcement, Met director Max Hollein acknowledged the work that the institution must do related to its Native American items. “The recent milestone of having greatly expanded our collection of Native American art substantially diversified our presentation of American art and dramatically broadened our outreach and ties to tribal communities,” he said.

Earlier this year, the Met said that it had drafted a new Native American Arts Initiative in 2021 under the guidance of its “first-ever” curator of Native American art, Patricia Marroquin Norby (Purépecha). The initiative includes “creating an advisory committee and hiring a full-time staff position that will collaboratively focus on NAGPRA responsibilities and further prioritize the building of ongoing partnerships as well as the strengthening of community collaborations,” the Met said. In March, the museum said it was also hiring a Native American art researcher whose duties would include “some provenance research.”

The Met did not respond to requests for comment this week. But in response to ProPublica’s earlier reporting on the Diker Collection, the museum said in a statement, “Although some progress has been made in updating the online catalog information and providing more complete provenance information, we recognize there is still much work to do and that this is an ongoing process that requires relationship building, patience, and great care. This is important work, and it is precisely one of the intentions of the Dikers to have a large, well-resourced institution such as The Met devote the time and scholarship to these Native items.”

The Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act of 1990, or NAGPRA, says that a museum receiving federal funds must alert tribal representatives no later than six months after it receives objects created by that tribe’s ancestors. However, ProPublica found that the Met had sometimes waited years before contacting tribes. The museum contacted some tribes only after ProPublica asked about the works in their collections. Since then, the Met has said it plans to return to the Dikers at least one loaned item, a quiver-and-arrow set made around 1875 by an “Apache artist.”

Dozens of Native American tribal officers told ProPublica that they had yet to hear from the museum about their tribes’ items in the Diker Collection.

Max Bear, the Tribal Historic Preservation Officer for the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribes of Oklahoma, said that he has not heard from the Met in the eight years he’s worked as a tribal historic preservation officer and supervisor. “I know the Met has a lot of Cheyenne and Arapaho objects,” he said, including color drawings on ledger paper. “I’d like to work with them,” he added, and “get an opportunity to see the collection.”

Rosita Worl, president of Sealaska Heritage and a Tlingit citizen, was pleased to hear of the Met’s intention to hire more provenance researchers. “I think it’s a step in the right direction,” she said. “It’s good news, assuming that the Met will consult with the tribes.” Worl noted that when museum curators talk to ethnographic specialists and combine their findings with the knowledge of indigenous leaders, “there is a wealth of information that can be had.”

The Met’s announcement of the four new provenance hires mentioned foreign countries, including Egypt, Greece, India, Italy, Nepal, Nigeria and Turkey, whose works are in the museum. But it did not name any tribal nation.

In July, state and federal agents seized 21 allegedly stolen antiquities valued at more than $11 million, including a marble head of the Greek goddess Athena from 200 B.C., according to a search warrant ProPublica obtained. The International Consortium of Investigative Journalists reported in March that the Met had possessed more than 1,000 objects that were tied to people allegedly involved in crimes related to the antiquities trade. The Manhattan district attorney’s office has returned some of those confiscated works to foreign countries.

No one at the Met has been charged. But a museum donor, Michael Steinhardt, returned $70 million worth of stolen antiquities. He denied criminal wrongdoing but in 2021 agreed to a lifetime ban on acquiring antiquities to resolve a criminal investigation.

Hollein cautioned that the museum’s examination and decisions about its collections will take time.

“In some areas, we are able to make swift and definite moves, and in others it may literally take years to acquire the needed provenance information and even more time to collaborate with other museums, nations, or individuals to find the right solution,” he wrote. “Despite the urgency the media environment may suggest, we must be diligent, thoughtful, and fair in our evaluation of any evidence being presented to us. We are committed to getting it right, and equally committed to taking the time necessary to do so.”

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by Aliyya Swaby

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week.

Transgender people who are trying to get their insurance plans to cover their transition-related health care face a fragmented landscape.

Consider: A transgender retiree on the state of Arizona’s health insurance plan is generally covered for transition-related surgery. But an active state employee is not.

Some of the health plans that the state of West Virginia offers its employees do cover transition-related care, but others don’t.

If you’re a transgender employee of Georgia's state university system, you are covered for gender-affirming care by its insurance plan, but other state employees don’t have that coverage.

The discrepancies illuminate the challenges transgender people face in accessing and affording gender-affirming care, which can include services like long-term hormone therapy and chest and genital surgery. Major medical associations recognize the necessity of those services for transgender people and the harm that can result from prohibiting them. Meanwhile, as conservative state lawmakers propose and pass restrictions on gender-affirming care for both children and adults, transgender people are watching their options for care narrow even further.

“We still have a lot of people who think that this stuff isn’t real or that it’s immoral or sinful and that it shouldn’t be covered,” said Christine Yared, an attorney who has represented transgender plaintiffs against employers that don’t cover gender-affirming care. Changes to these policies, she said, often result from “pressure from the ground up.”

Within some states, different state agencies have made conflicting decisions — either voluntarily or as a result of lawsuits — on whether their various health plans will cover gender-affirming care.

Federal courts have consistently ruled that employers cannot categorically exclude gender-affirming care from health care plans, often referencing federal policies on employment and health care discrimination. ProPublica previously reported that two states — North Carolina and Arizona — and a county in Georgia each spent in excess of $1 million to fight employees seeking coverage for gender-affirming care. The state of North Carolina and Houston County, Georgia, now must offer that care, after rulings in those cases; both are appealing.

But while lawsuits can force employers, including states, counties and big corporations, to cover such care, legal wins sometimes apply narrowly, extending to some of an employer’s transgender members and excluding others.

As a result of another Georgia lawsuit, filed in 2018, the state’s university system agreed to a settlement that awarded the plaintiff $100,000 and began providing coverage for gender-affirming care under the university system’s plan. Transgender employees are now suing the state of Georgia to get it to offer coverage of gender-affirming care through all state insurance plans.

“Lacking any justified or justifiable reason, the only conceivable purpose of the Exclusion is to single out transgender people undergoing a gender transition for inferior compensation as compared to their colleagues, and to avoid covering a stigmatized form of health care,” the complaint against Georgia alleges.

A spokesperson for the Georgia Department of Community Health and State Health Benefit Plan, both defendants in the case, declined to comment on ongoing litigation.

A transgender person working for Arizona’s state government cannot get coverage for gender-affirming surgery — until they retire and sign on to the state retirement system’s health plan. The two plans are administered by separate state departments. The retirement system chose to cover gender-affirming care “for the benefit of our retiree cohort,” said spokesperson David Cannella.

15 States Offered a Health Plan That Didn’t Cover Gender-Affirming Care for State Employees in 2022 Note: Some states have multiple employee health plans with differing policies on coverage for gender-affirming medical care. North Carolina was ordered to remove its exclusion in 2022 by a federal judge, but the state is appealing the ruling. The exclusion was inactive as of December 2022. Source: ProPublica review of health plans in all 50 states and D.C. (Lucas Waldron/ProPublica)

Arizona’s Department of Administration, which oversees the employee health plan, for years had fought to keep excluding gender-affirming care from coverage, even when faced by a federal lawsuit. Arizona is now finalizing a settlement agreement with the plaintiff, a University of Arizona professor. Arizona state officials did not respond to ProPublica’s request for comment by the time of publication.

In 2020, several transgender public employees in West Virginia sued the state to demand it provide coverage of gender-affirming care. One of its health insurance providers agreed to a settlement with employees and began covering the care last year.

But the state Public Employees Insurance Agency, which offers its own health plan options, didn’t agree to settle — and that part of the case stopped short when the plaintiff, a computer technician for a county school board, died unexpectedly last year. Her lawyers agreed with family members to dismiss her claims.

Now West Virginia offers public employees four health insurance choices that don’t cover gender-affirming care and three that do.

Avatara Smith-Carrington, a Lambda Legal lawyer who represented the West Virginia plaintiffs, said it is their hope that another transgender employee will step up to file a lawsuit against the organization that provides the other plans. “It should be challenged,” Smith-Carrington said.

Have You Faced Barriers to Getting Gender-Affirming Care? Help Us Investigate.

Lucas Waldron contributed reporting.

by Jennifer Oldham for ProPublica

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up for Dispatches, a newsletter that spotlights wrongdoing around the country, to receive our stories in your inbox every week. This story was co-published with COLab, the Colorado News Collaborative.

Colorado’s snowcapped Rockies towered in the distance on a crisp April day as firefighter Emilio Palestro used a torch to ignite damp prairie grass within view of a nearby farmhouse and a suburban neighborhood.

Propelled by a breeze, orange flames crackled up a ditch bank, devouring a thick mat of dead grass, cornhusks and weeds. It was neither too windy, nor too humid, nor too hot — a rare goldilocks moment for firefighters to safely clear irrigation ditches of weeds, grasses and brush that can block the flow of water and spread wildfire.

“At this time of year, it’s a race against what we call green-up,” said Seth McKinney, fire management officer for the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office, as eye-stinging smoke curled over newly emerging shoots of grass nourished by a wet winter. “We are threading that needle to find the right time in between a rainstorm, red flag conditions” — when winds, temperatures and dry conditions magnify wildfire risk — “and snow melt.”

McKinney is trying to prevent conflagrations like the Marshall Fire, the most destructive wildfire in the state’s history, which killed two people and incinerated 1,084 residences and seven businesses in December 2021. That fire ignited in overgrown grasslands crisscrossed by unkempt ditches, which together spread flames into urban areas with unprecedented speed, according to scientific simulations and eyewitnesses.

The out-of-control Marshall Fire raged through parts of Boulder County, Colorado, in 2021. (RJ Sangosti/MediaNews Group/The Denver Post via Getty Images) The Marshall Fire completely destroyed this Superior, Colorado, neighborhood, which borders a large swath of open space that did little to slow or redirect the flames (Chet Strange)

The controlled use of fire by expert crews is widely considered the most effective way to reduce the dangerous build-up of grasses and other vegetation that fuel larger conflagrations, experts agree.

But it has become nearly impossible to conduct controlled burns like the one McKinney’s crew set last month. A combination of overly broad restrictions, erratic weather patterns and public resistance have left piles of dead branches and shrubs sitting in open spaces for months.

Figuring out how to overcome these barriers, prevalent throughout the West, is crucial to addressing the fire risk, say land managers whose homes were also threatened by the Marshall Fire.

“We’ve done a lot of work in the forests about what to do to reduce fire risk and anticipate fire behavior,” said Katharine Suding, a plant community ecologist at the University of Colorado Boulder who is working to update fire modeling of prairie vegetation. “We need to do that in the grasslands.”

The restrictions and a burdensome planning process often postpone or indefinitely delay controlled burns. Firefighters must complete multipart plans and comply with rules that can differ in each of Colorado’s 64 counties. Large burns on federal, state or county land require permits from the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment to ensure they don’t violate federal clean-air regulations. And in some areas, burns are off-limits from November through February because air pollution is already high.

The end result is that only a small fraction of what needs to be burned ends up being burned. In 2020, firefighters proposed burning 312,943 piles of branches and logs throughout the state but were able to do only about 18% of that work, records show. Of 88 burns proposed to consume vegetation across a large number of acres — in a forest or grassy area — only 55% were completed that year.

Boulder County firefighters work on a prescribed burn. Only a fraction of the burns that firefighters proposed conducting in 2020 were actually carried out. (Chet Strange, special to ProPublica)

Extreme weather and climate change also are getting in the way of executing prescribed burns, documents obtained by ProPublica under the Colorado Open Records Act show. In 2022, a prescribed fire driven by high winds and tinder-dry vegetation morphed into the largest fire in New Mexico’s history, with devastating consequences for residents.

In Colorado, residents grew wary of controlled burns after one escaped in 2012 and killed three people. The Lower North Fork Fire, near the foothill community of Conifer, burned 24 structures and 4,140 acres. Afterward, prescribed burning ceased as state lawmakers enacted stricter rules governing the practice.

Only about 1 in 1,000 prescribed burns spirals out of control, statistics show, but the ones that do have added to public opposition.

The push-pull of fire prevention and community opposition could soon come to a head as the U.S. Forest Service, Western governors and Colorado counties ramp up prescribed burning to rid overgrown forests and open spaces of a century worth of fuel, aiming to better protect nearby communities. Federal fire simulations found 500,000 buildings could now be exposed to wildfire in a single year.

Public lands managers hope to treat 50 million acres with controlled burns and mechanical thinning in the next decade.

After Larry Donner, a retired fire chief in Boulder, and his wife purchased their house in 1991, they installed noncombustible siding, double-paned windows and a fire-resistant roof, and they replaced a wood deck with flagstone. Still, it burned to the ground in the Marshall Fire. He attributed the fire’s spread to poor maintenance of open spaces near communities.

“Thirty years ago, they mowed 20 feet around subdivisions, or they grazed and plowed grasslands — then they planted houses and they stopped,” said Donner, who gestured toward grassy Davidson Mesa as he stood in front of his partially reconstructed Louisville home. “Fuel reduction is a big thing for me. If you can keep fire out of neighborhoods, you can better protect those neighborhoods.”

First image: Former Boulder Fire Chief Larry Donner in front of the home he’s rebuilding in Louisville, Colorado. Second image: The Harper Lake neighborhood in Louisville was almost completely destroyed by the Marshall Fire. (Chet Strange, special to ProPublica) A New Understanding of Grassland Risk

Coloradans have always understood the threat of forest fires. The state ranks first among eight Western states for the number of acres at high risk for fire, or “firesheds,” federal models show.

The Marshall Fire, however, made many residents realize that the state’s vast and populous grasslands — abutting its largest metro areas on the eastern flank of the Rocky Mountains — are also a wildfire threat. Cities from Fort Collins, in the north, to Pueblo, in the south, where most Coloradans live, are surrounded by thousands of square miles of flat, open space that evolved to burn every five to 15 years.

The fireshed around Boulder and the Arvada fireshed to the south are among the 10 most at-risk zones from Wyoming to Nebraska, according to the U.S. Forest Service. Boulder ranked 41st in the western U.S. out of 7,688 such hazardous areas.

Around the Denver metro area, grassland acres outnumber forest acres, according to a first-of-its-kind analysis conducted for ProPublica using wildland fire data compiled by federal agencies.

This spring, wildfires in grasslands and brush on the eastern slope of the Rockies, known as the Front Range, have already forced evacuations and concert cancellations in suburban enclaves.

“The urgency of fire in the county, whether in the mountains or on the plains, is very real,” said Boulder County Commissioner Ashley Stolzmann during a February meeting.

In the forests that blanket Boulder County’s foothills, residents are accustomed to smoke in the air. Firefighters have burned vegetation there, primarily in the woods, since 1997. But for every successful burn, there are just as many that don’t happen, public records obtained by ProPublica show.

Each year, the Boulder County wildland team and the city of Boulder’s Fire-Rescue unit request smoke permits — required when burns on public lands could cause air quality issues — from the Colorado Department of Public Health and Environment’s Air Pollution Control Division. Many are for county- and city-managed open spaces. Some foothill areas are grassy, like the valley floor below.

The permits require contingency plans, notification of nearby residents and analysis of the vegetation, and are approved only when winds are deemed less likely to send smoke toward homes.

Burns aren’t allowed when the state issues air pollution emergencies or alerts for the area. And the number of high-ozone days along the northern Front Range and in the Denver metro area is increasing. The region is out of compliance with national air quality standards.

A prescribed burn outside of Boulder. (Chet Strange, special to ProPublica)

Brian Anacker, senior manager of science and climate resilience for the city of Boulder, said his community is “trying to accelerate our prescribed fire program.” But there are “barriers upon barriers” that stop that from happening.

Regulations can also work at cross purposes: Winter weather often offers the lowest risk of a prescribed burn getting out of control, but that’s also when smoke below 6,400 feet can most affect the region’s poor air quality.

Firefighters and state air quality regulators have begun experimenting with allowing burns in the metro Denver area during winter months.

“We are starting to look for more and more of what we would consider off windows,” said Brian Oliver, wildland fire division chief for the city of Boulder.

For example, Boulder County firefighters asked to burn up to 40 acres on Hall Ranch during snow season using “additional experimental provisions.” These included burning between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. on days when the air is clear, discussing the timing with the state meteorologist and advising state air pollution staff at least a day in advance.

Firefighter David Buchanan last year asked regulators for permission to burn during the “high-pollution season,” when it’s typically prohibited. He said that granting the permit would allow crews to torch grassy areas and saplings when temperatures are low and there is more moisture on the ground. Doing so would minimize smoke, he added, because fuels burn “swiftly and efficiently.” State regulators granted the permit.

Boulder County’s challenges were echoed by federal watchdogs and Western governors. The Government Accountability Office and state leaders this spring urged the Environmental Protection Agency to reconsider regulations that curtail prescribed burning in areas that aren’t in compliance with air quality standards.

Land managers told the GAO that these rules “could limit their ability” to rid high-risk areas of vegetation, investigators said in a March report. The GAO added that controlled fires could lead to less smoke overall because they help prevent future wildfires.

Both the rising interest in controlled burns and the difficulty in conducting them are apparent at the state’s Division of Fire Prevention & Control. The agency, created after the escaped Lower North Fork Fire, requires firefighters to complete a “prescription” that assesses 23 risk factors, including how quickly fuels will burn, how likely the fire is to escape, how smoke can be managed and how far the fire is from homes and businesses.

Ensuring the public understands that there’s a detailed, scientific process behind prescribed burning is key to gaining support for more controlled burns, firefighters and land managers agree.

Also included in the prescription are optimal weather conditions, including a minimum temperature for burns in grass and brush of 30 degrees and a maximum of 80 degrees; relative humidity between 5% and 40%; and wind speed between 2 mph and 15 mph.

Such conditions are becoming rarer.

Snowstorms, fire weather watches and red flag warnings — alerts sent out when dry air and high, gusty winds create conditions that could rapidly spread fires — forestalled prescribed burns this spring in the city of Boulder. Burning is prohibited when these warnings, issued by the National Weather Service, are in effect.

Sometimes, all the conditions align: The Forest Service said in May it was able to burn approximately 25,000 piles of dead vegetation this winter across the Arapaho and Roosevelt national forests. The federal agency, along with other partners, also intentionally burned more than 110 acres in this region this spring.

Grassland Wildfire Risk Foreshadowed in 2009

Residents on the valley floor in Boulder County remain leery of controlled burns, and many are also angry at what they view as a lack of urgency to address the fire threat surrounding dense suburbs.

“Our neighborhood is like a ship at sea in grasslands,” Collen Callin, a Superior resident whose home survived the Marshall Fire, said following a March community forum attended by Gov. Jared Polis and U.S. Rep. Joe Neguse, both Democrats.

“If they don’t mitigate them, I’m to the point that I get so stressed with winds I will probably leave,” added Callin, who handed Neguse a flier that detailed how the blaze climbed from grasslands onto wood fences that “created firebrands that were blown into our yards and caught homes on fire.”

Collen Callin, center, speaks with Rep. Joe Neguse, right, during a community forum for victims of the Marshall Fire. (Chet Strange, special to ProPublica)

Land managers are urging patience. Officials are updating Community Wildfire Protection Plans to weigh options for managing the fuels but warn the process will take a year to complete.

The last plan was made 12 years ago and acknowledged wildfire risk isn’t limited to mountainous communities. “Plains residents are also at risk,” authors wrote, citing lessons from the 2009 Olde Stage Fire.

In hindsight, that blaze was eerily similar to the Marshall Fire — severe winds and “large evacuations of residents and their animals just after the holiday season.” But unlike the Marshall Fire, it slowed as the winds died down, allowing firefighters to control it before it burned homes.

Still, it prompted planners to identify a “grassland wildland-urban interface,” though they didn’t offer ideas to address the risk to communities on the plains.

The plan that’s being developed will have to address this issue, but the reality is the options are few — mow, graze or burn — and none are easy to carry out or guaranteed to be effective.

“We have 343 miles of agricultural property boundaries we manage,” said Stefan Reinold, resource management division manager for Boulder County Parks and Open Space. “Are we going to mow a 100-foot buffer twice a year? Is that really going to stop a fire — or are embers going to make it into neighborhoods?”

Residents listen during a community forum for victims of the Marshall Fire, attended by Gov. Jared Polis and Rep. Joe Neguse. (Chet Strange, special to ProPublica)

Millions of dollars in state and federal grants are available for mitigation work on open-space grasslands. At the March community forum in Superior, state officials were asked if they would consider legislation to aid communities in deciding which methods are the most effective. Lawmakers said they will discuss their approach this summer.

Firefighters would like prescribed burns to be part of the plan.

“Prescribed fire is the best way to keep grasslands healthy and vibrant,” Meg Halford, senior forest health planner for Boulder County, said at a Jan. 30 town hall. “What is scary is that we would do it behind your communities — not that it can’t be controlled.”

One day this spring, Buchanan, the Boulder County firefighter who’d requested out-of-season burn permits, slapped out errant wisps of flame on a ditch bank with a “mud flap on a stick.” The oddball device worked well to mop up the burn as Sheriff’s Office fire manager McKinney described how he hopes to tamp down the stigma that surrounds prescribed fire.

His team would like to increase agricultural burning, which is exempt from federal smoke management regulations. Doing more ditch burns would get residents more accustomed to the sight of intentionally set flames and smoke, McKinney said.

“The goal is to normalize it so people can see the conditions are good,” he said. “And they know we’ve had moisture recently and the winds aren’t high, so we must be lighting it for a reason.”

A prescribed burn outside of Boulder. (Chet Strange, special to ProPublica)

Fire Revealed Danger Posed by Ditches in Boulder County Suburbs

Like other climate-fueled wildfires, the Marshall Fire revealed new fire threats that have emerged as the West heats up and dries out. Among them: the irrigation ditches that water crops across the region and grow thick with trees, grasses and other vegetation.

Until the Marshall Fire, Amy Willhite viewed vegetation in ditches just as an impediment to water flows, not as a fire risk. That fact that overgrown ditches could help spread wildfire into communities “was just a big shock,” said Willhite, a senior water resources project manager who until weeks ago oversaw the city of Boulder’s shares in about 60 ditches.

Willhite and firefighters this spring walked unkempt canals as they began a first-ever assessment of the risk they present.

A black-spotted woodpecker scolded overhead as Willhite reached a charred piece of prairie at the end of a line of 21 sedan-sized piles of gray branches and brush. Here, firefighters had begun a controlled burn of a mound in March, she said. They were forced to stop when the wind blew smoke toward homes to the east.

“The plan was to burn them all,” Willhite said of the piles. “It was really disappointing — there is huge caution used when they do these things.”

It’s often not publicly known who owns the ditches — ownership is divvied up into hundreds of shares that are tied to water rights, and shares are passed down among families — which makes it difficult to pinpoint who is responsible for their maintenance. The records are not public. Organizations that manage the canals, called ditch companies, are not required to remove the fuel that they clear and stack alongside the ditches — often on land they do not own, Willhite said.

As a result of these and other limitations, firefighters burned only a fraction of several ditches, records obtained by ProPublica show, with the number of miles ranging from 3.21 (in two ditches) in 2021 to 6.7 (in five ditches) in 2016 — out of about 113 miles of field ditches the city maintains in collaboration with its agriculture tenants.

Do You Have a Tip for ProPublica? Help Us Do Journalism.

by Stephen Engelberg and Jesse Eisinger

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

Our reporting on the relationship between Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas and Harlan Crow, a Texas billionaire and Republican megadonor, has touched off a national conversation about the ethics of the Supreme Court. Other news organizations have stepped up their scrutiny of the high court, and our stories have been cited thousands of times in editorials, op-eds and Congress.

The lavish travel Crow funded and the previously undisclosed real estate deal and tuition arrangements between Crow and Thomas that our reporting revealed has become fodder for the dueling narratives of American politics.

“Today’s report continues a steady stream of revelations calling Justices’ ethics standards and practices into question,” Senate Judiciary Committee Chair Dick Durbin, D-Ill., said in response to our story about the tuition payments. “I hope that the Chief Justice understands that something must be done — the reputation and credibility of the Court is at stake.”

Sen. Lindsey Graham, R-S.C., shot back at a recent hearing of the committee: “This is an unseemly effort by the Democratic left to destroy the legitimacy of the Roberts court. There’s a very selective outrage here.”

The furor seems destined to continue. And so we thought it might be useful if we said a bit more about the origins, timing and criticisms of our journalism on this subject.

Editors at ProPublica have been thinking about the need to look more closely at the state and federal judiciary for years. One byproduct of our gridlocked legislature is that judges have come to play a larger and larger role in people’s lives, from health care policy to affirmative action to abortion.

Last year, we worked with our partners at The Lever on a story revealing that a wealthy industrialist had gifted $1.6 billion to a group run by Leonard Leo, a key player in assembling the Supreme Court’s conservative majority. Reporting in recent years has shown Leo running dark money groups focused on influencing the judiciary.

We admired the work done by our colleagues, notably at The Wall Street Journal, which found federal judges were ruling on a surprising number of cases in which they had a financial interest. A New York Times piece on what appeared to be a coordinated effort to befriend and influence Supreme Court justices also caught our eye.

But the federal judiciary still struck us as a relatively under-scrutinized branch of our democracy. So late last year, we assigned Justin Elliott, Josh Kaplan and Alex Mierjeski to take a look. The team filed a raft of public information requests for records on courts across the country.

Early on, the ProPublica team decided to focus on the highest court in the land and began by scouring the annual disclosure forms filed by the justices. Research in some obscure corners of the internet brought to light evidence that Thomas had made at least one trip on Crow’s plane that had not been disclosed. As the team dug deeply over several months, the reporters amassed a detailed picture of what turned out to be decades of unreported trips the two had taken in the United States and overseas.

The weekend after that story appeared, a reader called one of the reporters to say Crow may have renovated Thomas’ mother’s house in Savannah, Georgia. A cursory search of online records showed that Thomas’ mother’s home had, in fact, been sold to a limited liability corporation that we quickly linked to Crow. The reporters flew to Savannah, collected public records from the appropriate local government offices and interviewed neighbors. Once we established that the justice had sold properties to Crow and confirmed Thomas had never disclosed the deal, we published.

Soon after that second piece appeared, the reporters turned to another tip that came in after the initial story published: that Crow had paid tuition for Mark Martin, Thomas’ grandnephew, who the justice had legal custody of and has said publicly he was raising as his own son.

The tip was that Crow had paid tuition at two private boarding schools. One of the schools had spent a period in bankruptcy, and the reporters reviewed hundreds of pages of court filings. They found a bank statement that showed Crow had paid a month’s tuition for Martin. A former administrator at the Georgia school who had access to school financial information told us in an on-the-record interview that Crow had paid a full year of tuition. He also said that Crow had told him that Crow also paid Martin’s tuition at Randolph-Macon Academy in Virginia.

Crow has issued statements about his relationship with Thomas that we’ve included in our stories. He acknowledged that he’d extended “hospitality” to the Thomases, but he said that Thomas never asked for any of it and it was “no different from the hospitality we have extended to our many other dear friends.” He said he purchased Thomas’ mother’s house to preserve it for posterity. And in response to questions about the tuition payments, his office said, “Harlan Crow has long been passionate about the importance of quality education and giving back to those less fortunate, especially at-risk youth.” He has not disputed any of the facts in our reporting.

The timing of the stories have prompted some to wonder if ProPublica had the information about the trips, the house and the school tuition in hand at the outset and spaced out publication to achieve maximum impact. We did not.

This story developed as much investigative journalism does — organically, with one finding leading to the next. Tips like those that pushed the Thomas story forward are essential to our reporting. It’s why ProPublica publishes the email addresses of its editorial staffers to help sources connect with us. (If you have a tip for our newsroom, we have details about how to get in touch.)

Our reporting on the courts continues, and we stand ready to look into questions about judges or justices of any ideological stripe.

The response to our investigation has been generally positive, with leading commentators on legal affairs using it to examine and explain why the nation’s highest court has no binding ethical code. As is always the case, our work also has its critics.

The Wall Street Journal’s editorial page has also criticized the reporting on Thomas in a series of columns by James Taranto, its editorial features editor.

Boiled down, his argument is that Thomas was not required to disclose the tuition for Martin and his omission of the sale of his mother’s house from his forms was an innocuous mistake. The experts we quoted, Taranto and several other critics contend, simply got it wrong.

We understand that experts may hold differing points of view about complicated subjects. It’s why we reached out to ethics lawyers who had served in Republican and Democratic administrations. We specifically sought out attorneys with expertise on the Ethics in Government Act, the federal disclosure law that binds justices and many other federal officials. We also talked to retired and currently serving federal judges about how they would handle comparable situations. Their views are reflected in our stories.

Every ethics expert we have spoken with said Thomas was required by law to disclose the gifts or transactions that we’d found.

In his columns, Taranto has used an increasingly inaccurate shorthand to refer to our work. He began by saying we had committed a “sloppy reporting error” in our story about the real estate transaction. Later, he said we were “comically incompetent” and described our story on the real estate transaction as “error-filled.”

Despite his assertions, none of Taranto’s columns cited an error in our stories. We sent an email asking him to identify the multiple facts he believes we’ve gotten wrong. He sent back a link to his first column. When we replied that the piece did not cite a single factual misstatement from our story, he ghosted us.

Perhaps more importantly, we sent detailed questions to Thomas and invited him to explain his decisions. He declined to do so but issued a statement the day after the first story appeared that said he and his wife, Ginni, counted Harlan and Kathy Crow as “among our dearest friends.” Thomas said that early in his tenure on the court, he “sought guidance from my colleagues and others on the judiciary and was advised that this sort of personal hospitality from close personal friends, who did not have business before the Court, was not reportable.”

The debate over that statement continues in Congress and in public. Neither Crow, Thomas nor anyone else has identified a factual error in any of the stories. Thomas has not responded to any of the questions we sent about each of our subsequent stories, and he has not commented in public since his initial statement.

by Anjeanette Damon, Byard Duncan and Mollie Simon

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

On April 18, HomeVestors of America executives held a virtual meeting for its nearly 1,150 franchisees. The purpose: Alert local “We Buy Ugly Houses” operations about a forthcoming ProPublica investigation into their business tactics.

“It is not going to be flattering for us,” HomeVestors CEO David Hicks warned.

Our reporting found HomeVestors franchisees who used deception and targeted the elderly, infirm and those so close to poverty that they feared homelessness would be a consequence of selling. The franchisees were trained by HomeVestors to look for signs of desperation and pounce on so-called distressed sellers. Many used legal tactics, described as predatory by five experts, to trap sellers in below-market deals.

A HomeVestors spokesperson said in a statement that ProPublica’s reporting examined a small fraction of the more than 71,400 homes bought by its franchises since 2016. "We do not discriminate or target our advertising to any specific demographic groups based on age, race, or socio-economic status,” the company said. It has removed several franchises and is investigating some cases identified by ProPublica to “determine appropriate action.”

After we first contacted the company in early March, a former FBI spokesperson who specializes in “crisis and special situations” and “reputation management” began answering questions on their behalf.

Hicks, through this spokesperson, declined requests for interviews. But during the virtual meeting — which ProPublica obtained a recording of — the CEO alternated between accusing the news organization of writing “attack articles” and praising the rigor of our investigation.

“It’s amazing what they have brought up,” he said.

In a slide titled “Public Relations,” Hicks outlined HomeVestors’ plan to drown out ProPublica’s story with “strategic ad buys on social and web pages” and “SEO content to minimize visibility” of the article.

He instructed franchisees not to click on ProPublica’s story link; doing so, he warned, might improve its internet search ranking.

“Our goal is to bury it,” he said.

The company did not respond to a ProPublica question about executives telling franchisees that they want to bury the story. But in a statement, HomeVestors wrote, “As a company, we embrace any opportunity to improve customer service and satisfaction. We used the meeting to reinforce our code of conduct and company tenets that emphasize the importance of doing the right thing for our sellers and our communities.”

During the same webinar, Hicks and other senior leaders announced new policies to end the very practices ProPublica’s investigation brought to light.

On April 11, HomeVestors updated its “Systems and Standards” to forbid franchises from clouding sellers’ titles, a maneuver that makes it difficult for homeowners to back out of a deal. The company discouraged franchisees from suing sellers for breach of contract. And it reiterated that buyers who deal with seniors should always involve family, attorneys or other guardians in the transaction.

Some franchise owners on the call pushed back on the changes, claiming they could hurt business. But HomeVestors general counsel Anthony Lowenberg was unequivocal: Those who regularly sue to enforce the sale of homes are “putting the entire system at risk,” he said.

“The juice is not worth the squeeze,” Hicks added, repeating a comment from a franchise owner in the call’s chat.

Maren Kasper, managing director at Bayview Asset Management, the investment management firm that bought HomeVestors in 2022, also spoke during the virtual meeting. Kasper said that ProPublica had uncovered two cases of improper behavior that HomeVestors had not known about. “Those franchises have since received default letters,” she said, referring to a formal notice that they are not in compliance with company policies.

In the course of our reporting, we sent the company questions that detailed our findings point by point. We issued similar letters to each franchise mentioned in the story. In all cases, we allowed ample time to respond.

During the webinar, Kasper acknowledged the depth and thoroughness of our investigation.

“They have scoured every corner of the internet,” she said. “They’ve done, you know, good reporting, I would say.” She predicted other inquiries might follow. “If the Department of Justice came knocking, and needed us to verify every answer that we provided to this reporter, we have all the data and materials to do so,” she said.

“This is going to make us a better company,” Hicks concluded. “Because overall, we're going to change some of our practices, and make sure we change our Systems and Standards to make sure that we have our franchise doing the right things.”

A few days after the webinar, HomeVestors sent its franchises an email unveiling a webpage to address and counter ProPublica’s story. Among the offerings: a copy of its corporate response, a list of talking points and the number for a “rapid response media hotline.” When a ProPublica reporter called the hotline, a company representative declined to answer questions or provide comment.

The email, signed by Hicks and HomeVestors COO Larry Goodman, also contained a warning for franchisees:

“Don’t get baited into arguments or ‘off the record’ conversations.”

Help ProPublica Investigate “We Buy Houses” Practices

by Anjeanette Damon, Byard Duncan and Mollie Simon

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

Cory Evans was well-versed in the HomeVestors of America playbook when he arrived at a suburban Los Angeles home on Nov. 4, 2016. His franchise with the “We Buy Ugly Houses” company had executed more than 50 deals in the preceding two years. Patriot Holdings would soon become one of the company’s most successful franchises by following HomeVestors’ strategy of finding homeowners in desperate situations, then convincing them to sell quickly.

The homeowner, Corrine Casanova, had bought the three-bedroom Baldwin Park bungalow with her husband in 1961 and now owned it outright. After raising three children there, she was days away from leaving it for an assisted living facility and had called the number on a HomeVestors ad.

“I was wondering if I could get an estimate of the value of my home,” she told the woman who answered the phone. “My husband’s gone, so it’s just me now.”

Evans, who ran the business with three of his brothers, had developed a reputation among other franchisees in the area as a “hard closer.” Casanova’s house was paid off, giving Evans room to go low with his offer because there wasn’t a mortgage to settle. He calculated the profit he wanted to make and presented Casanova with a 10-page purchase agreement during the short visit to her house.

But Casanova was incapable of engaging in a complex negotiation. Although she was once a skilled bookkeeper and president of the local women’s club, dementia now carved into her short-term memory: A recent neurological assessment had found the 82-year-old was unable to say what year it was or name the city she was in. She routinely mistook her adult son for his uncle.

Corrine Casanova (Courtesy of David Casanova)

HomeVestors cautions its franchisees never to take advantage of sellers who are unable to understand negotiations. But by the time he left that evening, Evans had a contract to buy the house for roughly two-thirds its value, signed in Casanova’s shaky script.

Weeks passed before Casanova’s family learned of the sale. But her son, David Casanova, soon sensed something was wrong.

“After we moved her, she kept saying, ‘I need to call my friend. I need to call my friend.’ And I'm like, ‘Which friend, Mom?’” David told ProPublica.

Corrine couldn’t remember.

After David learned of the contract, he explained to Evans that his mother had dementia and tried to cancel the sale. Instead of walking away, Evans dug in, recording a notice on the property’s title that essentially prevented a sale to anyone else, which forced the Casanova family into a years-long battle to keep the home. Along the way, Evans disputed that Casanova showed signs of impairment during their interactions.

HomeVestors of America boasts that it helped pioneer the real estate investment industry. Founded in 1996 by a Texas real estate broker, the company has developed a system for snapping up problem properties — and expanded it to nearly 1,150 franchises in 48 states.

Unlike real estate agents, house flippers operate in a largely unregulated space. Real estate agents have a fiduciary responsibility to represent a homeowner’s best interests in negotiations, which is defined in state laws, licensing requirements and an industry code of ethics. But in most states, flippers don’t need a license.

HomeVestors, the self-proclaimed “largest homebuyer in the United States,” goes to great lengths to distinguish itself from the hedge funds and YouTube gurus that have taken over large swaths of the real estate investment market. The company says it helps homeowners out of jams — ugly houses and ugly situations — improving lives and communities by taking on properties no one else would buy. Part of that mission is a promise not to take advantage of anyone who doesn’t understand the true value of their home, even as franchisees pursue rock-bottom prices.

A HomeVestors billboard in Asheville, North Carolina (Harrison Shull/Aurora Photos/Cavan Images/Alamy Stock Photo)

Treat every customer like they’re your 85-year-old grandma who’s never done a real estate deal, HomeVestors trainers tell franchise owners at annual conferences.

But a ProPublica investigation — based on court documents, property records, company training materials and interviews with 48 former franchise owners and dozens of homeowners who have sold to its franchises — found HomeVestors franchisees that used deception and targeted the elderly, infirm and those so close to poverty that they feared homelessness would be a consequence of selling.

One HomeVestors franchisee falsely claimed to a 72-year-old woman suffering from a hoarding problem that city code enforcement officers would take her house, according to court documents. An Arizona woman said in an interview that she was forced to live in her truck after trying unsuccessfully to cancel the sale of her home. One court case documented the plight of an elderly man in Florida who was told if he sold his condo he could continue living there temporarily. But he spent his final days alive waiting to be evicted when — after the contract was signed — the franchise owner informed him the homeowners association rules didn’t allow it.

“You were always lying to them. That’s what we were trained,” said Katie Southard, who owned a franchise in North Carolina. “There was a price that you could pay, but you would always go lower and tell them that was the price you could pay.”

Even when homeowners believed they were being taken advantage of and tried to back out of deals, franchise owners sued or filed paperwork to block a sale to another buyer. Some homeowners fought from hospital beds to keep their properties. At least three died shortly after signing sales contracts; a fourth died after three years of worrying about money. Their families told ProPublica that they are convinced the stress of losing their houses contributed to their loved ones’ deaths, though all had been ill or infirm.

A HomeVestors spokesperson said the deals uncovered by ProPublica represent a tiny fraction of the company’s overall transactions, which have totaled more than 71,400 since 2016. She denied the company had targeted the elderly and pointed to a 96% approval rating among homeowners who sell to HomeVestors, which was calculated internally from what the company says was “over 500” customer reviews. The company had already taken action in some of the cases found by ProPublica, she added, and is investigating others in light of the reporting.

Within days of receiving questions from ProPublica, HomeVestors prohibited its franchises from recording documents to prevent homeowners from canceling sales and discouraged them from suing sellers. The practices not only affect the seller, the company noted, it creates a paper trail that reporters and prosecutors can follow to a franchise’s doorstep.

“If you are doing this on a serial basis, you're putting the entire system at risk,” HomeVestors’ general counsel, Anthony Lowenberg, said during a national call on April 18 to alert franchise owners to ProPublica’s upcoming story.

During that call, a recording of which was obtained by ProPublica, company leadership acknowledged the depth and thoroughness of the news organization’s investigation and discussed changes to ensure “our franchises are doing the right things.”

“This is going to make us a better company,” HomeVestors CEO David Hicks concluded.

How They Find You

HomeVestors has worked hard to ensure it is a household name, with ubiquitous advertising on billboards, mailers, television and the internet. The company has trademarked dozens of images and phrases, including “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” and “Ugly Opportunities,” and frequently goes after imitators in court. Its cartoon caveman, “Ug,” offers a friendly smile and sometimes holds out a bag of cash implying he’s ready to help homeowners out of “Ugly Situations.”

HomeVestors deploys Ug strategically. You’ll find him on ads near homes slammed by hurricanes or charred by wildfires. He’s on mailers blanketing ZIP codes with a high concentration of homeowners who have lots of equity. He’s on postcards sent to people that public records indicate have recently divorced or had a death in the family. To family members trying to navigate probate, HomeVestors promises: “We can help.”

In recent years, scores of homeowners have complained to local authorities and the Federal Trade Commission about HomeVestors’ ceaseless overtures — sometimes claiming that the company has ignored formal requests to stop. A Texas resident whose father had recently been murdered told ProPublica that HomeVestors wouldn’t take no for an answer. The letters were so persistent, she said, that checking her mail became a traumatic experience.

A HomeVestors spokesperson said the company addresses each complaint it receives and adds people to an internal “do not call” list when they ask not to be contacted.

HomeVestors also casts its net online, hoping to reach homeowners before they talk to a real estate agent or another investor.

In an interview, a former employee of the ad agency hired by HomeVestors recalled discussions about how to serve online ads to people in the vicinity of nursing homes and rehabilitation hospitals. The goal was to catch families who needed to sell assets so Medicaid would pay their nursing home costs. The employee, who asked not to be named because they still work in the industry, also recalled the agency’s owner bragging about the ability of its digital advertising to find an elderly person who had broken a hip. That injury, the employee reported the owner saying, is effectively a 60-day countdown to death — and, possibly, a deal.

“If we can get in front of people at that point, that was like a definite way to go,” the former employee said. “Yeah, that was bad. My stomach hurts thinking about that.”

A spokesperson for the ad agency, Imaginuity, said it would be “out of character” for the owner to “disrespect or wish harm” to a client’s customers.

A HomeVestors spokesperson admitted that the company had used such ad-targeting technology but said it only did so once, more than four years ago. A spokesperson for Imaginuity said the pilot project did not target rehabilitation centers.

Still, HomeVestors’ franchisees are taught ways to find people moving into a nursing home.

Up to half of a franchise’s prospects must be generated by its own legwork, what HomeVestors refers to as “dig leads.” The company’s training manual teaches franchisees to build relationships with those who interact with people in difficult situations: nursing home administrators, probate officers, divorce lawyers. It also instructs them to comb neighborhoods for clues of distress — water shutoff notices, police tape, boarded-up windows, burn scars — and pounce on signs of desperation. If a family’s belongings are on the curb, for example, the directive is clear: “Quickly pursue the property where the trash pile indicates eviction.”

In a written statement, the HomeVestors spokesperson initially denied the company targets homeowners based on such life events as a death, divorce or moving to a nursing facility. After ProPublica pointed to company advertising documents and training materials that teach such tactics, the spokesperson said they represent a small fraction of its marketing budget. The company also denied targeting homeowners based on demographics, including age. Rather, the company focuses on smaller, older properties that may be in need of repair, the spokesperson said.

For all of its scrupulous image management, the company has at times described its targets in crude terms. Certain homes in its advertising crosshairs are referred to internally as “honeypots.” And in a 2020 interview, Hicks said houses targeted by his company smell so bad flippers want to take a shower after visiting them.

“That cat piss smell, you know what that smell is?” he said with a chuckle. “That’s money.”

Hicks declined a request for an interview.

“It Wasn’t Just One Bad Actor”

HomeVestors requires that amid the rush to find desperate homeowners and make a deal, its franchisees not engage in “underhanded methods that cheapen and risk their businesses.”

It teaches them to be clear that they are a “discount buyer,” unable to pay full price, and that the seller will instead get speed and convenience. It explicitly forbids them from lying. “A franchisee shall not knowingly make any false statements or claims concerning property value, market conditions or any other matter concerning real property to any property owner in order to influence that person’s decision to sell,” the handbook reads.

But owning a HomeVestors franchise is expensive. In addition to fees and commissions paid to the company, franchisees are required to pay hefty sums — often tens of thousands of dollars a month — to support marketing. A team of corporate auditors works to ensure no fee is delinquent. Such financial pressures can lead to desperation for deals, which in turn can lead to unethical behavior, according to former franchisees.

ProPublica found a pattern of HomeVestors flippers facing allegations they stretched the truth or deceived homeowners in pursuit of deals.

A woman in Fort Worth, Texas, said in an interview a franchisee told her she could legally sign a contract to sell her late husband’s house even though she wasn’t on the deed. A man in Broward County, Florida, believed he was signing a document for a home equity loan that in reality was a contract to sell his $100,000 house for $37,500, according to a lawsuit he filed but ultimately abandoned. (HomeVestors’ spokesperson said the document was labeled a contract for sale.) A woman in Arizona said in an interview she was told her late mother’s home in a popular outdoor recreation town would have to be torn down and rebuilt to fetch a fair price. After paying her $10,000, the HomeVestors franchise sold it for $55,000 without making any improvements.

“It wasn’t just one bad actor,” said a former California franchise owner who spoke anonymously because they feared retribution from HomeVestors. “It became pervasive in the culture.”

HomeVestors’ spokesperson said such behavior isn’t taught or tolerated, and when it’s found, “we aim to take swift action up to and including termination of a franchise.” She added that “lying is against our code of ethics and our culture.” The spokesperson would not name which franchises or even how many have been terminated for violating company standards. ProPublica found HomeVestors bestowed awards on eight franchise owners in the last two yearswho had engaged in behavior the company said is not tolerated.

In its training manuals and at its annual conferences — boisterous affairs where franchise owners pose for photos with Ug and one flipper wore a suit printed with $100 bills — HomeVestors teaches the Sandler system. Central to this sales strategy is building rapport with homeowners in order to “find the pain.”

“Pain is always a form of motivation,” the training manual reads. “Once you find the Seller’s pain, you have a much better chance of buying the house.”

Among the circumstances that can generate a fast sale: a lost job, a looming foreclosure or a child in need of surgery. One former franchisee described how he found a potential Atlanta seller’s pain by asking the homeowner why he needed to sell so fast. The answer: His mother was living out her final days in hospice 1,400 miles away.

“It’s not because they want to sell the house,” the former franchisee said. “It’s because they want to get to Colorado to see their dying mother.”

“I Will Never Sell to You”

About two months after Corrine Casanova accepted Evans’ offer, her son paid for an appraisal.

Corrine’s wasn’t one of the ugly houses mythologized in the company’s ads. The appraiser deemed it “reasonably maintained,” noting recent improvements to the plumbing, bedrooms, sewer line and exterior stucco. The appraisal put the home’s value at $440,000, $165,000 more than Evans had offered.

Over the years, the Casanovas had poured time and energy into modest improvements: A driveway, which David and his father had repaved in the 1980s, was still in good shape; a new oak floor had cost roughly $7,000 about 13 years ago. As a teenager, David worked an after-school job for his father, testing diodes and semiconductors in the house’s garage. His mother, who kept meticulous records of the family’s finances, would cut him company checks in lieu of an allowance.

“They drilled that into us when we were little,” David Casanova said. “If you want something, you work for it, you save and you purchase it.”

While David was initially unaware his mother had agreed to sell, he did know she was vulnerable and had tried to protect her. David’s father, before he passed away in 2014, warned David that Corrine’s condition was worse than it appeared — that she could fake it “real good for about five minutes” before symptoms of her dementia would become evident. By 2016, her health had deteriorated to the point that she needed full-time care. She had come to believe she was a teenager again, living in the 1950s, David said.

HomeVestors’ training materials are unequivocal about how to treat potential sellers whose abilities may be diminished: “A Franchisee shall not purchase real property from any person whom the Franchisee knows or has reason to suspect is subject to a guardianship or has a mental capacity that is diminished to the point that the person does not understand the value of the property.”

Yet records show a pattern of disregard for that directive.

In 2020, a 78-year-old man in Atlanta was convinced to sign a sales contract for $97,000, about half what it later sold for. Eight weeks later, a cognitive exam showed he was unable to write a sentence or name the year, season, date or month, according to a lawsuit that is still pending. (The franchisee told ProPublica the man appeared in full command of his faculties, and HomeVestors said the franchise is no longer part of the company.)

That same year, a 77-year-old woman in Glendale, Arizona, who could no longer manage her finances signed a contract to sell her house for under half what it was worth, according to court documents. In the ensuing fight to save her house, the woman attended a court hearing remotely from her hospital room. (A HomeVestors spokesperson said the lawsuit was not initiated by a franchise but rather another investor who bought the sales contract from the franchise. The spokesperson, however, did not comment on the franchise owner’s interactions with the elderly homeowner. The business is no longer a HomeVestors franchise, she said. The lawsuit was settled in bankruptcy court.)

And in 2021, the lawyer for an elderly man in California accused a franchisee of taking advantage of the man’s “weakness of mind due to age” to convince him to sell his house for $175,000 below market value. (A HomeVestors spokesperson said the company was unaware of this case and has since sent a letter informing the franchisee it may be in violation of its franchise agreement for not disclosing the litigation. The case was settled out of court.)

Martha Swanson, an 83-year-old Georgia woman who had suffered a series of small strokes, sold her house to a HomeVestors franchise for $82,111, then spent the last three years of her life agonizing over money, including how to pay the $3,000-a-month cost of her assisted living center.

“That’s just not ethical,” her daughter, Sherry Nixon, told ProPublica.

In Swanson’s case, the franchise engaged in “wholesaling,” flipping the property to another investor for a higher price without making any improvements to it. The result is a chunk of equity going to the flipper instead of the homeowner — money Swanson desperately needed, Nixon said. The practice has come under regulatory scrutiny in several states.

The franchise owner who bought Swanson’s house said he “takes great care” when dealing with elderly people and would have let her out of the contract if she had asked.

Martha Swanson (Courtesy of Sherry Nixon)

HomeVestors said it encourages its franchises to only rehab one house at a time, while wholesaling other properties they buy. Its spokesperson also said the company does not target elderly homeowners, adding that people over 70 accounted for less than 20% of its sellers. Nearly a third of their purchases are from people older than 65.

Corrine Casanova lived only 19 days after signing away her home. Shortly after she died, one of her neighbors found a handwritten note from Evans on her doorstep and called David. The note was a reminder that escrow was about to close. When David realized what had happened, he was enraged.

“I will never sell to you,” he told the company. “I will never let you in this house ever again for what you did to my mom.”

Hostage to the Deal

Patriot Holdings wasn’t about to walk away from Casanova’s house.

Five days after David confronted the company, the franchise filed a breach of contract lawsuit against him. They also recorded a notice of an ownership dispute against the title called a lis pendens that makes it nearly impossible to sell to anyone else.

It is common for many HomeVestors franchises to file such lawsuits when owners try to cancel a sale, or to record a lis pendens or similar documents — termed “clouding a title” — as a way to tie an owner to a deal. ProPublica found more than 50 franchisees clouding titles or suing for breach of contract in more than a dozen states. Some franchises have filed only a handful of lawsuits — though getting an accurate count is difficult because disputes are often settled confidentially through arbitration. Others, including some franchises recognized by HomeVestors as top performers, frequently clouded titles.

One Florida franchise, Hi-Land Properties, has filed two dozen breach of contract lawsuits since 2016 and clouded titles on more than 300 properties by recording notices of a sales contract. In one case, it sued an elderly man so incapacitated by illness he couldn’t leave his house.

Hi-Land Properties has been named HomeVestors’ National Franchise of the Year five times. In 2017, Hicks, the HomeVestors CEO, praised Hi-Land’s owner as a “loyal, hardworking franchisee who has well represented our national brand, best practices and values."

Cory Evans’ franchise, Patriot Holdings, filed breach of contract lawsuits as recently as 2019. During mediation on one case, the company demanded $150,000 to walk away, according to the homeowner’s daughter.

“Why would you hold people hostage?” she said. “That’s insane.”

Some flippers argue it’s a necessary practice to protect their investments, noting that as soon as a contract is signed, a property starts costing them money, including inspection and title fees and financing costs.

Real estate experts, however, say HomeVestors franchisees’ large volume of lawsuits and title notices is not only indicative of a predatory business practice, it’s a tacit acknowledgment that sellers often later learn of better options.

“People usually attempt to back out of deals they did not understand,” said Sarah Bolling Mancini, a staff attorney at the National Consumer Law Center. “If your business model is convincing homeowners to sign a purchase-and-sale contract based on misrepresentations about the value of the home,” she said, it will lead to lots of sellers who “want to back out later.”

Charles Tassell, chief operating officer of the National Real Estate Investors Association, added that clouding titles is not considered “normal practice” in the industry.

“Is there a discount for selling quickly or doing something with cash like that? Yes,” he said. “But when you start clouding titles and such, that starts going down a whole different road.”

Donald Cameron, owner of Hi-Land Properties, denied that clouding titles is a predatory practice and noted he often helps people with groceries or electric bills while he tries to buy their homes. The recorded contract is necessary to ward off other investors trying to buy the property. He said he sued the man who had fallen ill because he had advanced him $4,000. He also said he followed HomeVestors’ policy of involving the man’s adult son in the discussions. The man died shortly before the court issued a default judgment in Cameron’s favor.

“My office has bought over 2,000 homes since joining HomeVestors in 2005 and take great pride in doing things the right way,” he said.

HomeVestors said it was unaware franchises had made clouding titles a routine business practice. In response to ProPublica’s reporting, the company has prohibited it.

In the April 18 call recording obtained by ProPublica, HomeVestors’ leadership admonished franchises that frequently engage in clouding titles. “Clearly, it’s just a bad practice that we are not comfortable with,” said Maren Kasper, managing director of Bayview Asset Management, the investment management firm that bought HomeVestors in 2022.

Lawmakers have recognized that pressure and abusive tactics short of fraud are so common in some industries that a consumer needs more protection. In timeshare sales, for example, some states require a defined rescission period that allows a buyer to back out. A “free-look” period is built into buying annuities. Lemon laws for used cars are also common.

Such protections are largely absent for homeowners dealing with house flippers.

But some states and cities have begun to enact regulations. For example, in Philadelphia, house flippers are required to provide prospective sellers with a “bill of rights” that identifies resources to help desperate homeowners and describes how they can get a fair price.

“I mean, I get 24 hours when I buy a plane ticket, right?” said Shamus Roller, executive director of the National Housing Law Project. “In these kinds of unlicensed situations, there ought to be a certain higher level of protection when there aren’t professionals involved on the side of the seller.”

“The Only Ones That Aren't Caving In”

Unlike many of the homeowners cornered by “Ugly Situations,” David Casanova had time and money to fight the HomeVestors franchise for his mother’s house.

After Patriot Holdings sued to hold the Casanovas to the sales contract, David filed a cross-complaint alleging fraud and elder abuse. Evans, he claimed, used “affection, intimidation and coercion” to get Corrine to sign the contract.

For nearly three years, Patriot Holdings fought for the house. The company didn’t release its claim until Evans became the subject of a criminal investigation over his dealings with two elderly victims in Ventura County.

In August 2020, Evans pleaded guilty to two felony counts of attempted grand theft of real property. He received a suspended jail sentence, dropped his lawsuits against both victims and paid restitution. He was prohibited from “any transaction involving the purchase or sale of real estate” during his probation. Eventually, in accordance with California law, his conviction was expunged.

When Evans was convicted, HomeVestors should have terminated its franchise agreement with Patriot Holdings, according to the terms of the franchise agreement. Patriot Holdings is one of HomeVestors’ highest producing franchises. Instead, HomeVestors required Cory Evans to be removed as an owner of the franchise he ran with his brothers Cody, Chris and Casey Evans and partner Scott Mansfield, a spokesperson said. Nevertheless, internal HomeVestors records show Cory Evans listed alongside his brothers on a 2021 “total sales volume” award. The HomeVestors spokesperson said Cory Evans was mistakenly included on the award.

Patriot Holdings no longer uses the lawyer who initiated the lawsuit against the Casanova family, according to a HomeVestors spokesperson. The lawyer has represented other franchises and has attended company conventions.

“We are not aware of any complaints since the removal of Cory Evans from the franchise,” the spokesperson said.

Neither Cory Evans nor his brothers responded to interview requests.

After the fight for Corrine Casanova’s house was over, David sold it for $510,000 — $235,000 more than Evans had tried to pay for it. David said he did none of the repairs Evans had insisted, under oath, were necessary.

Now it’s David’s turn to refuse to walk away: He’s using proceeds from the sale to continue his elder abuse lawsuit against Patriot Holdings. A trial date is set for June.

“Still, today, basically, they don't feel they did anything wrong,” he said. “They have no empathy for what they put my mom or her family through for the last six years.

“They thrive on this, and they push you, push you, push you. And as far as I know, we're the only ones that aren't caving in.”

Help ProPublica Investigate “We Buy Houses” Practices

Sarah Smith contributed reporting. Ug Spot Illustrations by Carlo Cadenas for ProPublica.

by Mike Hayes for ProPublica, and Eric Umansky

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

In the spring of 2019, two New York City Police Department officers entered the Bronx apartment of Kawaski Trawick. The 32-year-old personal trainer and dancer had called 911 after locking himself out.

But 112 seconds after their arrival, footage showed, one of the officers shot and killed Trawick, despite the officer’s more-experienced partner repeatedly telling him not to use force.

When an internal investigation later cleared the officers — saying “no wrongdoing was found” — the NYPD offered no explanation for its reasoning. But records obtained by ProPublica can now reveal how the department came to that conclusion.

Investigators never explored key exchanges between the two officers in the run-up to the shooting. They also never followed up with the officers when their accounts contradicted the video evidence.

“Any conversation between you and your partner?” the head of the investigative unit asked Officer Herbert Davis hours after the shooting.

“No,” Davis answered.

Excerpt of Interview With Officer Herbert Davis

Officer Herbert Davis told NYPD investigators that he didn’t talk to his partner before the partner, Officer Brendan Thompson, Tased and then killed Kawaski Trawick. That testimony is contradicted by video of the event.

That wasn’t true.

After arriving at Trawick’s apartment and finding him holding a stick and a bread knife, body-worn camera footage shows that Davis, who is Black, told his less-experienced white partner, Officer Brendan Thompson, not to use his Taser. “Don’t, don’t, don’t,” he said, motioning for Thompson to step back.

Thompson fired his Taser anyway, causing Trawick to become enraged, and Davis then tried to stop Thompson from shooting Trawick. “No, no, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t,” Davis said, before briefly pushing Thompson’s gun down.

The investigators had access to all that footage. They never asked either officer about it.

(Lucas Waldron and Maya Eliahou/ProPublica)

ProPublica obtained the NYPD’s full internal investigation, including audio of interviews with both officers, via a Freedom of Information Law request.

The documents and interviews provide a rare window into how exactly a police department examines the conduct of its own officers after a shooting. The newly released information also expands the public record of the Trawick case as New York City’s Civilian Complaint Review Board pursues disciplinary charges against both officers for wrongfully going into Trawick’s apartment and failing to render aid after he’d been shot. Thompson faces additional charges for his use of force.

The officers are contesting the charges in an ongoing administrative trial. Neither their lawyers nor their union responded to requests for comment for this story, but Thompson told police investigators that before firing on Trawick, “I feared for my safety.” The NYPD did not respond to ProPublica’s detailed questions or a request to interview Deputy Chief Kevin Maloney, the former investigative unit head who questioned both officers. He is scheduled to testify in the administrative trial on Thursday.

The NYPD’s Force Investigation Division, which conducted the investigation of Trawick’s death, was created after the killing of Eric Garner and focuses on officer shootings and other uses of force.

“You put some of your top investigators,” said then-Commissioner William Bratton in 2015 when he started the unit. “I will get a better investigation, a speedy investigation, a more comprehensive investigation.”

The investigation of Trawick’s killing took nearly two years. The two officers, Thompson and Davis, were each interviewed once, for about 30 minutes. (Bratton, who stepped down as commissioner in 2016, did not respond to a request for comment.)

In the files, investigators often refer to Trawick as “the perpetrator,” though it’s not clear that he had committed any crime — he had called 911 after he locked himself out of his apartment. They also repeatedly portray Trawick as effectively to blame for what happened.

“Due to the perpetrator becoming more agitated by the officers presence, Police Officer Thompson had deployed his taser,” an investigator wrote.

An excerpt from a document from the New York Police Department’s internal investigation into an officer’s shooting of Kawaski Trawick. (Obtained through a Freedom of Information Law request; highlighted by ProPublica)

Trawick had struggled with his mental health and with drugs. A security guard in the building had also called 911 saying Trawick was acting erratically.

But by the time the officers arrived, Trawick had already been let back into his apartment by the Fire Department. “Why are you in my home?” he repeatedly asked the officers.

The interview sessions include a number of false and misleading statements by the officers.

For example, Davis told investigators that Thompson fired his Taser after Trawick started to “take a step forward, like if he wanted to come at us.” But the footage shows Trawick wasn’t advancing when Thompson, holding his gun in one hand and the Taser in the other, used his Taser on Trawick without any warning.

Thompson recalled that after he used the Taser, he again tried to warn Trawick. “I tell him to drop the knife you know a bunch of times.” The footage shows no such warnings were issued between when Thompson used his Taser and when he shot four times, killing Trawick.

Excerpt of Interview With Officer Brendan Thompson

Thompson told NYPD investigators that both he and Davis warned Trawick to drop his knife before Thompson fired four times, but video footage of the incident shows no such warnings were given in the moments before the shooting.

Investigators never followed up. Beyond asking the officers whether they were wearing cameras, the investigators never questioned Thompson and Davis about any of the footage.

“That’s huge, they intentionally did that,” said John Baeza, a former detective who spent 16 years with the NYPD and now works as an expert witness. “That has to be intent not to question them about that.”

The investigators found no wrongdoing even when they were confronted with apparent violations of protocol.

Thompson, for instance, told investigators that he believed Trawick to be an “emotionally disturbed” person. The NYPD patrol guide says that officers facing a potentially dangerous person in crisis should “isolate and contain” them — that text is underlined — and should “immediately request the response of a supervisor and Emergency Services Unit.”

Neither Thompson nor Davis did so.

At one point, the chief investigator, Maloney, asked Davis why they didn’t call for help. “We didn’t feel we needed anybody just yet,” Davis responded. “We didn’t know how bad it was until we open the door.” Investigators did not press the issue.

A former NYPD detective who helped create de-escalation training for the department previously told ProPublica that Davis and Thompson could have simply closed the door and called in the specialized unit.

The timing and circumstances of the interviews were also significant. While Davis was interviewed just hours after the shooting, Thompson was interviewed roughly seven months later and, he said during the interview, he was given the body-worn camera footage to watch first. Advocates and many experts say officers shouldn’t be allowed to preview footage of incidents before talking to investigators in case the officers try to alter their testimony.

Though the NYPD allowed the officer who shot Trawick to see the footage during the investigation, the department long refused to show it to the public or the Civilian Complaint Review Board. The department withheld footage for more than a year and fought against a lawsuit that had sought the full recording, arguing that releasing it would interfere with the department’s investigation.

A state judge later ruled that the NYPD had illegally withheld footage and acted in “bad faith.”

When the full full footage was disclosed, it showed what happened in the minutes after the shooting. After a sergeant arrived and asked whether anyone was hurt, two officers responded in near-unison, “Nobody. Just a perp.”

The Bronx District Attorney investigated the shooting but declined to prosecute.

In the end, the NYPD investigators summarized their findings with a simple line: “No violation of department policy occurred.”

Asked about the investigation, Trawick’s mother, Ellen Trawick, called it “outrageous.” The details, she said, “show the NYPD never even tried to do a real investigation.”

The disciplinary trial of the two officers is scheduled to end in the next few days. But regardless of the ruling by the NYPD judge overseeing it, police Commissioner Keechant Sewell has the sole authority over what, if any, punishment to impose.

Do you have information about body-worn cameras and policing that we should know about? Contact Mike Hayes by email at mikeehayes@gmail.com and on Signal or WhatsApp at 203-364-7120. Contact Eric Umansky at eric.umansky@propublica.org and on Signal or WhatsApp at 917-687-8406

by Anchorage Daily News

This article was produced for ProPublica’s Local Reporting Network in partnership with the Anchorage Daily News. Sign up for Dispatches to get stories like this one as soon as they are published.

The deputy director of the Anchorage Public Library is resigning, less than three weeks after the Anchorage Daily News and ProPublica published an article that documented her history of inflammatory comments and social media posts.

Mayor Dave Bronson announced Judy Eledge’s resignation Tuesday and said her last day will be Monday.

Eledge, a longtime conservative stalwart in Alaska, was appointed library director by Bronson in August 2021. But after it became clear she would not be confirmed by the Anchorage Assembly, she became deputy director, a role that does not require nomination hearings or approval by the Assembly. In that role, she essentially led the library until late last year, when a new director started work.

Eledge’s tenure was fraught with controversy, as employees accused her of making racist and inappropriate comments — some of which were recorded — and fostering a hostile work environment. She was at the center of ongoing lawsuits in state and federal court over the firing of the city’s former director of the Office of Equal Opportunity, who asserts she was let go in retaliation for reporting employee complaints about Eledge.

The Bronson administration is requesting city funds to settle with the Office of Equal Opportunity’s ex-director.

Eledge did not immediately respond to interview requests by phone and email on Tuesday.

In a resignation letter addressed to Bronson, which was obtained by the Daily News, Eledge said she is stepping down “per our discussion several weeks ago.” Eledge said in the letter her departure “is due to personal issues,” as she has a major surgery scheduled this month.

In the letter, Eledge also listed issues she worked on during her library tenure, including implementing a “one bag rule” for library visitors and a ticket system for homeless people and travelers to store items in a locked closet; taking steps toward renovating the Alaska Collection room and returning the collection there; and selecting the former City Hall building as the site for a new downtown library branch.

“Moving forward, I believe that even more positive accomplishments can be achieved if politicizing these positions can be avoided,” Eledge said in the letter.

The Daily News and ProPublica reported that on March 14, 2022, in a surreptitiously taped conversation with a co-worker, Eledge shared her disgust with the use of Indigenous land acknowledgements and the sharing of pronouns. She called transgender people “very troubled.”

“Equitable, to me, is a racist word,” she said to her subordinate, who recorded the conversation because she feared no one would believe her about how Eledge interacted with her colleagues. At one point, Eledge noted that library employees were working to “wipe out everything white in the world.”

Eledge, 76, also lamented how a library worker was removing books that contained the word “Eskimo,” a term that is now seen by many as unacceptable.

“I happened to live in Barrow,” she said, referring to the mostly Inupiat city that residents in 2016 renamed Utqiagvik. “They consider themselves Inupiat Eskimos but they got a bunch of woke, liberal, I consider racist Native people, young people. … It’s all about, ‘We stole their land.’ Which is bullshit!”

In a brief phone conversation last month, Eledge said she could not comment on accusations involving her statements at the library because they are the subject of a lawsuit. Asked about her social media posts, which are not included in the lawsuit, Eledge said, “I’ve already commented on those when I was running for school board.”

Following the announcement of Eledge’s resignation, the Assembly voted 9-2 on Tuesday night to approve a resolution drafted last week calling for her to resign. The measure’s main sponsor, West Anchorage Assembly member Kameron Perez-Verdia, initially moved to kill the measure, since Eledge had already resigned.

But Perez-Verdia rescinded his motion after several other members said they still had a duty to take an official stand and condemn Eledge’s behavior — especially, they said, because she is currently representing Alaska as part of a national education commission.

In March, Gov. Mike Dunleavy appointed Eledge to the Education Commission of the States. A spokesperson for Dunleavy said Tuesday that the governor did not plan to remove Eledge from the commission. The spokesperson did not answer questions about the governor’s rationale.

Assembly Chair Christopher Constant said Tuesday night, “I’m really saddened by the fact that that is the voice Anchorage is leading with in the federal government and setting education policy for the whole country.”

An Assembly member who voted against the resolution, Kevin Cross, said that while he understands her position was controversial, “when somebody’s willing to leave, you don’t slam the door behind them.”

Perez-Verdia, who grew up in Utqiagvik, said he pursued the Assembly resolution after numerous members of the Alaska Native community contacted him with “extreme concern” about Eledge’s comments.

“I was pleased about the announcement,” Perez-Verdia said of her resignation. “I think it was the right choice.”

But the city continues to face claims about the damage caused by Eledge’s remarks. The former library employee who provided a recording of Eledge’s remarks to the Daily News on Tuesday filed a lawsuit against the city, according to her attorney.

The lawsuit claims that the city failed to act on complaints made by the woman and five other library employees and failed to investigate reports of discrimination made against Eledge. The lawsuit also claims the employee experienced retaliation for reporting discrimination within the city Fire Department, where she worked before the library.

The mayor’s office did not answer emailed questions from the Daily News about whether Bronson had asked Eledge to resign or whether her resignation was connected to the Assembly’s proposed resolution, her history of inflammatory comments or the lawsuit.

At Tuesday’s Assembly meeting, Bronson thanked Eledge for her service, adding, “I personally wish her the best for her recovery from surgery.”

“I’m confident in the staff and Director [Virginia] McClure to continue leading our library successfully into the future,” Bronson said.

by Maya Miller, with additional reporting by Patrick Rucker and David Armstrong

When a health insurance company is deciding whether to pay for your medical treatment, the company generates a file around your claim. All the records associated with your case should be part of your file. This includes documents explaining the reasons your claim was denied.

You have a right to see this file. Federal regulations require most health insurance plans to give people an opportunity to review documents related to their claim for free. So if your insurer talks to your doctor, if a nurse takes notes, or if two people speak about it on the phone, all of those records should be available to you.

“It’s a treasure trove of information,” said Juliette Forstenzer Espinosa, a health lawyer and senior lecturer of health policy at George Washington University. “But most people have no idea how to get it.”

Jump to:

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Health insurers rarely advertise that people can access their claim files, Espinosa said. Where guidance exists, it is often embedded deep in denial letters. Few offer templates or even give instructions on their websites.

Patients who make it through the records request process get information that can be revelatory. Some told us they received case notes exposing how they had been funneled into programs the health insurance company deployed to cut costs. A few obtained audio recordings of phone calls showing company staff introducing errors into their cases.

And others, such as former Cigna patient Lee Mazurek, found out exactly how much companies projected saving on their cases. Mazurek had been on a treatment regimen for nearly nine years that was keeping his Crohn’s disease at bay. Changing it, a Cigna employee estimated, could save more than $98,000. (Cigna spokesperson Justine Sessions said the insurer only suggests changes when clinically appropriate and that cost is never the sole determining factor. She said Cigna does not directly benefit from such savings.)

Taken together, these documents can offer a window into the opaque system of health insurance denials. Details in them have helped us report on some of the country’s largest insurance companies and their attempts to cut costs at the expense of patient well-being.

We have spoken with patients, health care providers, former and current health insurance employees and health policy experts to better understand how people facing denials can request their information. We believe it is important to share with our readers what we are learning about this process. To that end, we have collected advice on requesting your claim file and answers to common questions you may have, including a template you can use to get your request started.

If you end up requesting and obtaining your claim file, you can share it with ProPublica reporters by filling out this form. These documents help us better understand the systems behind claim denials and can fuel our future reporting.

If you send over your claim file, ProPublica reporters will be the only ones reading the files. We appreciate you sharing your information and we take your privacy seriously. We are gathering these for the purposes of our reporting, and will contact you if we wish to publish any part of your story. If you wish for additional anonymity, we have set up encrypted tiplines for extra security, including Signal and postal mail (address to ATTN: Maya Miller). If you have any questions, you can email healthinsurance@propublica.org to get in touch.

Since we are journalists and not lawyers, we are unable to provide any legal advice about this process.

What’s the difference between a health insurance claim file request and an appeal?

After you receive a denial, you can submit an appeal. This means you are asking the health insurance company to reconsider its decision.

When you submit a claim file request, you are asking the insurer to send you all of the records generated around your claim. Patients and lawyers said they found it helpful to submit these requests before an appeal.

Which health insurance plans can I request a claim file from? Is mine included?

You have the right to request your claim file if you:

• Have insurance through your employer.
• Have a private plan that is not through your employer (known as an individual nongroup plan). Travel insurance plans are not eligible.
• Are under a state or local government plan.

Similar rights apply to people under Medicaid plans.

I want to get my health insurance claim file. Where do I start? Is there a form?

A few insurers (namely, Cigna and Elevance Health) offer request forms that you can download and fill out, but most do not.

Here’s a template of a claim file request that you can fill out no matter what health insurance plan you have. It is adapted from one created by Health Law Advocates, a public interest law firm based in Boston that provides free legal services to people struggling to access health care. The template includes:

• A list of all of the records that should be included in your claim file.
• Space for you to write in your case details.

If you use one of the forms provided by an insurer, do not hesitate to add pages. Insurers may not provide enough space for all the language that can be helpful, according to patients and lawyers who regularly submit requests.

You will likely need to print the request out. If you do not have access to a printer you can visit your local public library, which should have one available for you to use.

Excerpt of a denial letter from UnitedHealthcare provided by a patient. The insurance company asks its members to mail in the request for a claim file. (Courtesy of a UnitedHealthcare patient) What information do I need to provide as part of my request?

Always make sure to include your name, address and phone number, plus the date you are sending the request.

You will likely need:

• Your Plan ID and unique Member ID (often listed directly below your name on your health insurance card).
• The unique case number(s) associated with your denied claim. This will allow you to ask for specific records associated with the case number(s). Health insurance plans may instead call this your service reference number or have another name for it altogether. You can often find this number on the first page of a denial letter or of a letter from your health plan explaining how much you must pay for the treatment or service (known as an explanation of benefits).
• The dollar amount of the claim.
• The dates of your appointments, procedures or other services in question.
• The date you received notice of the denial.

Can’t find one of these? Don’t stress. You can either call your insurance company’s member service line or request it from your health care provider.

If you end up calling your health insurance plan’s member service line, patients and lawyers have suggested recording the call or taking written notes so you have proof of the interaction. If you want to record the call, be sure to ask the person on the other line for permission to do so.

How do people usually word these requests?

Whether you use a health insurance plan’s request form or write your own claim file request from scratch, you may want to consider asking for:

• Case management information
• Medical utilization information
• Telephone logs and call summaries
• Recordings of telephone conversations
• Any other correspondence
• Any medical records and assessments
• All other records related to your unique claim number(s)

Example of a claim request submitted by former Cigna member Lee Mazurek. After submitting the request, Mazurek received a 55-page packet from the health plan that helped reveal why his claim was denied. (Courtesy of Lee Mazurek)

If you are writing up your own claim file request from scratch, you may also want to include a line saying this is a request for a claim file, not an appeal. (Health insurance plans have mistaken claim file requests for appeals.)

What should I actually send to the health insurance plan?

Along with the printout of your claim file request form, patients and legal experts say, it is helpful to send a copy of the denial letter, or the letter the insurance plan sent you explaining how much you owe for the treatment or service. (Patients and their advocates stressed that you should send in a copy, rather than the original denial letter you received.)

You might also want to keep a copy of the claim file request for your records.

Where can I send my claim file request?

This depends on your health insurance plan. There are a few places you can find out where to send the request:

• On request form templates
• On any denial letters or explanation of benefit letters

Most plans ask that you mail or fax the forms to a physical location. Legal advocates said they usually send these requests to the appeals and member request departments because employees there often understand the process best. We’ve listed department addresses below for some of the country’s largest health insurance plans.

If you send the request through the mail, experts on the process recommend that you do so through certified mail so you can track it.

Note: While we have confirmed the addresses below, some companies administer subsidiary health plans that may require different mailing addresses, so you may want to double-check whether the address below applies to your specific plan before actually sending your request. Search “appeals department mailing address” plus the name of your health insurance plan and see what comes up on a search engine like Google.

If you have trouble finding this address, you can try two more steps: (1) You can search for your plan’s appeal form, which often includes the address of the appeals department, or (2) You can call your health insurance plan’s member service line and ask for the mailing address for the plan’s appeals department.

• Aetna CVS Health:
  • Mailing address: Aetna Appeals Department P.O. Box 14463 Lexington, KY 40512
  • Fax number: 859-425-3379

• Anthem BCBS (now Elevance Health):
  • Mailing address: Anthem Blue Cross and Blue Shield P.O. Box 659403 San Antonio, TX 78265-9403

• Cigna:
  • Mailing address: Cigna Healthcare, Central HIPAA Unit P.O. Box 188014 Chattanooga, TN 37422
  • Fax number: 877-815-4827 or 859-410-2419

• Humana:
  • Mailing address: Humana Grievance and Appeal Department P.O. Box 14546 Lexington, KY, 40512-4546

• UnitedHealthcare: Depends on the plan you have. Below find the mailing addresses and fax numbers for major plans, and find the rest of the contact information at this link:
  • Mailing address for anyone who has a health plan through their employer: UnitedHealthcare P.O. Box 30573 Salt Lake City, UT 84130-0573
  • Mailing address for anyone who has bought a health plan through the insurance exchange: Member and Provider Appeals and Reconsiderations: UnitedHealthcare P.O. Box 6111 Cypress, CA 90630
  • Fax number: 888-404-0940

I still can’t figure out where to send my request.

You can send the claim request to your health insurer’s appeal department or HIPAA unit, according to patients and legal advocates who help people submit claim request files. They said people working in these units, and particularly in appeals, are often more familiar with claim file requests than customer service representatives are.

If you can’t find these addresses online, you can call your insurance company’s member service line and ask for them.

Do I really have to send my request via snail mail or fax?

If that is what your insurance plan requires, then yes. You can try uploading your request through your online health insurance portal. But mailing or faxing seems to be the preferred delivery method for most health insurance plans, at least for now. Legal advocates say this may change. For example, Massachusetts recently passed a law requiring health insurers to accept appeals and requests for authorizing representatives via email.

If you learn that your state requires that companies accept these documents via email, please let ProPublica reporters know through the form below so we can keep this post up to date.

How long does it usually take to get the claim file?

If you have health insurance through your employer, you should get a response to your claim file request within 30 days of sending it in. The plan provider could be fined up to $110 for each day it is late, which could be awarded to you. However, courts, rather than regulatory agencies, have discretion over enforcing these fines. This means one would have to file a lawsuit to retrieve this sum.

No matter what kind of health insurance plan you have, legal advocates said, if you do not receive your claim file request in a timely manner or receive an incomplete set of files, you can ask the insurance plan to pause all other countdowns related to your denied claim. For example, when you receive your denied claim, you have a specific number of days to appeal the denial. Legal advocates said you can request that the health insurance plan pause this countdown until the company completely fulfills your claim file request.

I am having trouble getting my claim file. What are some possible next steps?

If you have health insurance through your employer and do not work for a city, state or federal government agency, your plan is generally governed by the federal Employee Retirement Income Security Act. You may want to double-check with your human resources department to confirm that is the case. If your health plan is under ERISA and you have not heard back about your claim file request within 30 days, you can reach out to the United States Department of Labor’s Employees Benefits Security Administration to alert them and ask that they intervene. You can contact them by phone at 866-444-3272 or online through this portal.

If your employer is a city or state government agency, you can reach out to the Center for Medicare and Medicaid Services. You can contact them by phone at 877-267-2323 or by email at nonfed@cms.hhs.gov. If your employer is the federal government, you can connect with the Office of Personnel Management through this website.

If you have an individual (nongroup) private health plan that is not through your employer, or if your employer’s plan is fully insured, you can contact your state agency that regulates insurance for help. If you do not know whether your employer’s plan is fully insured, you can reach out to your human resources department to check.

When reaching out to government agencies, it can be helpful to include a copy of any forms you submitted as part of the request.

ProPublica reporters are also interested in hearing about any problems you have in getting your claim file. Feel free to reach out to healthinsurance@propublica.org to tell us about any challenges you might be experiencing.

I got my health insurance claim file. What next?

The claim file should include more information on why your health insurance claim was denied. This may help you and your health care provider if you end up appealing your denial.

For Lee Mazurek, the claim files shed light on a Cigna cost-saving program that played a role in his denial. (Cigna said it would not directly benefit under a self-funded plan like Mazurek’s, but would pass along the savings to the employer.)

Mazurek was eventually able to continue receiving treatment, but he dipped into his savings to buy secondary insurance during the process. He has since switched health plans.

Lee Mazurek of Groton, Connecticut, wondered, “How much is a human life worth per year?” after seeing his claim file. (Tim Tai for ProPublica) I want to tell reporters my story and share my claim file.

ProPublica is continuing its reporting on the systems that lead to health insurance denials. Claim files can help us better understand these systems.

If you would like to send your claim file to a ProPublica reporter, you can fill out this form. You can also email healthinsurance@propublica.org with any questions.

To reiterate: If you send over your claim file, ProPublica reporters will be the only ones reading the files. We appreciate you sharing your information and we take your privacy seriously. We are gathering these for the purposes of our reporting, and will contact you if we wish to publish any part of your story.

Share your claim file with ProPublica reporters

These documents help us better understand the systems behind claim denials and can fuel our future reporting.

Get in Touch

by Vianna Davila

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This article is co-published with The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan local newsroom that informs and engages with Texans. Sign up for The Brief Weekly to get up to speed on their essential coverage of Texas issues.

When Patty Troyan’s son Logan Castello died by suicide in November 2019 in his Central Texas home, she immediately tried to understand what prompted him to take his own life not long after getting married and days before a planned family Thanksgiving gathering.

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Castello was a 21-year-old private first class in the Army. He was stationed at Fort Hood but had died in his off-post home in Killeen, a city of about 156,000 people that abuts the massive military installation. Troyan assumed she’d get some details about what happened from the civilian police, who responded to the scene.

But what she got back only left her with more questions. The city of Killeen’s legal department sent her 19 pages of police records, but almost every detail about what happened was redacted. No one told her that they suspected foul play, and there’s no indication that Castello was being investigated by police at the time of his death.

The heavily redacted incident report that Castello’s mother, Patty Troyan, got about her son’s death. Only three lines of narrative were not redacted. (Obtained and highlighted by ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

“I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t understand why so much was redacted,” Troyan said.

“I thought that there was either a lot that they weren’t telling us or they were very inept and didn’t do a thorough job,” she said. “If they send me black pages, then I can’t question the thoroughness.”

Killeen officials denied Troyan the records by citing an exception in Texas’ public records law that allows law enforcement agencies to withhold or heavily redact police reports if a person has not been convicted or received deferred adjudication in the case. The rule was established in 1997 as a way to protect the privacy of people who were accused of or arrested for criminal activity that’s never substantiated.

However, law enforcement agencies have often used the exception, sometimes referred to as the dead suspects loophole, to withhold information in cases in which suspects die in police custody or at the hands of police officers. KXAN-TV, an Austin television station, published an extensive series on the practice in 2018.

What has gotten far less attention are cases like Castello’s. He wasn’t a suspect in a crime. He didn’t die in law enforcement custody. He took his own life and was discovered only after a relative arrived at Castello’s apartment and couldn’t get in because the deadbolt was locked from the inside. The relative called 911; Killeen police entered the second-floor apartment using a ladder, according to an Army investigative report, and discovered Castello dead in a bedroom. No one else was in the home, and there were no signs of forced entry, the report said. The Army investigation listed Castello’s death as a suicide and said no criminal act had occurred.

Troyan requested her son’s suicide report from the city of Kileen’s legal department, but the heavily redacted report she was sent gave her few answers about her son’s death. (Rich-Joseph Facun for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

ProPublica and The Texas Tribune have identified at least two other cases like Castello’s involving apparent non-officer-related suicides in which the city of Killeen refused to release complete police records, citing the “no convictions” exception.

In all three cases, the people involved were soldiers stationed at Fort Hood who died off-post in Killeen, one in December 2004 and another a few weeks before Castello in 2019.

Texas Democratic state Rep. Joe Moody, who is trying to pass a bill this legislative session that would close the loophole, told the news organizations the use of the exception in the case of a service member’s suicide “is so far outside the contemplated exception, that I find it odd that it’s even raised.” Moody has also said he feared that the loophole would be used to hide records involving a mass shooting last year at a Uvalde elementary school. But officials have so far cited other exceptions to withhold those records.

When government agencies want to deny the release of public records, they must ask for a ruling from the Texas attorney general’s office. The attorney general upheld Killeen’s request to withhold the complete police report on Castello from Troyan, saying the office reviewed the city’s arguments and the police report and concurred with the city’s conclusion.

Ofelia Miramontez, a spokesperson for the Killeen Police Department, said department leadership would not speak about pending legislation and referred the news organizations to the city’s legal department.

Killeen City Attorney Holli Clements refused to answer specific questions the news organizations sent her. She wrote in an email that the city “strictly adheres to the provisions of the Texas Public Information Act and the interpretive opinions of the Texas Attorney General and the courts. The City has released information required to be released by law. The City has no further comment.”

Lt. Col. Tania P. Donovan, a spokesperson for the 3rd Corps at Fort Hood, referred questions to the city of Killeen and the Texas attorney general’s office.

ProPublica and the Tribune reached out to First Amendment advocates and lawyers in the state who said the use of this public records exception in these suicide cases reflected the broader trend of law enforcement agencies trying to withhold information whenever they can.

“If this provision of the Public Information Act is being used in this particular way by law enforcement, it’s yet another reason this part of the law needs to be repealed,” said Kelley Shannon, executive director of the Freedom of Information Foundation of Texas. “It’s a misuse of the Public Information Act.”

Reid Pillifant, a First Amendment attorney, said: “The application of this has spread well beyond what was intended and has led to these kinds of absurd results in cases where the public clearly has a right to know what happened.” (Pillifant represents a coalition of media outlets, including ProPublica and the Tribune, in two lawsuits seeking the release of information about the Uvalde shooting.)

“The fact that family members can’t even get records about their deceased relatives just shows how kind of perverse the application of this provision has been,” he said.

Left Only With Questions

When Troyan got the redacted report back from the Killeen police, she immediately called the city’s legal department. The woman Troyan spoke to — she cannot remember her name or title — apparently told her the city didn’t have to release any records.

Under Texas law, records are presumed public unless a government agency cites an exemption in the Public Information Act that supports withholding those records. Cities have discretion over whether to invoke the no conviction exception.

Castello’s father, Kenny Castello, was equally stunned by the city’s decision. He’d had a 20-year career in law enforcement in Ohio and could understand withholding records if a criminal investigation was ongoing.

“But if this was a cut-and-dry suicide, why the hell are you, why are you blacking things out? Why are you not letting us see the entire report?” Kenny Castello said. “At times that makes me think there was something more than what they’re leading on.”

Castello’s father, Kenny Castello, worked in law enforcement for 20 years and couldn’t understand why his son’s suicide report was redacted so heavily. (Rich-Joseph Facun for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Moody, the state representative, said governmental agencies’ decisions to withhold this information naturally leaves families with nothing but unanswered questions.

“If you have unanswered questions, and no willingness from the governmental entity to release records, you’re probably gonna start making assumptions that something bad, that something wrong happened,” he said. “Otherwise, why use the exception?”

Starting in 2017, Moody has filed bills every legislative session attempting to revise the exception. In his first two attempts, the bill made it out of committee but was never approved by the state House of Representatives. In 2021, the bill did not get a committee hearing. Moody’s bill cleared the Texas House last week and now moves to the state Senate.

The exception drew intense attention on May 24 last year, when an 18-year-old man fatally shot 19 children and two teachers at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde before law enforcement killed him. It was the deadliest school shooting in the state’s history. Days later, Republican Texas House Speaker Dade Phelan tweeted it would be “absolutely unconscionable” if the dead suspects loophole were used to deny the public more information about how the shooting unfolded. He went on to tweet, “I think it’s time we pass legislation to end the dead suspect loophole for good in 2023.”

Phelan declined comment for this story.

So far, governmental agencies that have denied records requests related to the Uvalde shooting have cited another exception that allows records to be withheld if an investigation is ongoing. However, many First Amendment advocates fear agencies will cite the no conviction exception should no one ultimately be prosecuted in the case.

Moody’s latest proposal, House Bill 30, would modify the public records law so the exception couldn't be used if someone other than a police officer is the subject of the police report and is either dead or incapacitated or has consented to the information being released.

Law enforcement agencies such as the Combined Law Enforcement Associations of Texas, the state’s largest police union, have argued releasing this information could reveal public information about peace officers who are falsely accused of wrongdoing. Language in the proposed bill would also allow for the release of information about a police officer’s alleged misconduct in their personnel file if the person described in the information is dead or incapacitated or consents to its release.

CLEAT Executive Board President Marvin Ryals, with the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office, testified against Moody’s bill last month before a Texas House committee. He said he would be fine if only families could get the records.

Troyan recalled the Killeen official telling her that if the city released the full police report to her, then anyone could get those records.

“And my response was, ‘I don't care if you print it on community flyers as long as you give it to us,’” Troyan recalled.

Every suicide has its own set of ramifications, said Joseph Larsen, a First Amendment attorney and board member of the Freedom of Information Foundation of Texas. There’s also some measure of public good that can come from understanding soldier suicides, which may very well be tied to their military service, he said.

Kenny Castello wears his son’s dog tags and a cross with some of his son’s ashes around his neck. (Rich-Joseph Facun for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Suicide rates of active-duty service members have gradually increased since 2011, although the 2021 rate was lower than the previous year, according to a recent Department of Defense report. Families of military personnel who die by suicide are often left grasping for information; the military can takes months or years to release investigative files, and those can still leave loved ones with questions. Troyan eventually got Army reports on her son’s suicide, but she said much of that was redacted as well.

If you or someone you know needs help, here are a few resources:

• Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988
• Text the Crisis Text Line from anywhere in the U.S. to reach a crisis counselor: 741741

Three and a half years after Castello’s death, Troyan is trying her best not to focus on how he died but on the person he was. Captain of his high school football team and class president. Caring, charismatic and joyful. “He did not know a stranger,” she said.

She now accepts that he died by suicide, that he was experiencing depression though his parents had no idea until after his death.

“I don’t think I’ll get any more answers than what I already have, which is minimal,” Troyan said. “I’m going to keep hitting that wall. Now hopefully if this law changes, it won’t be like that.”

Lexi Churchill contributed research.

by Kiah Collier and Lexi Churchill

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

This article is co-published with The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan local newsroom that informs and engages with Texans. Sign up for The Brief Weekly to get up to speed on their essential coverage of Texas issues.

Over the past quarter-century, former NFL player Kenny Hansmire has leaned on government officials across the country to grow the National Child Identification Program. The Texas-based company sells kits that it claims help track down missing kids.

A ProPublica and Texas Tribune investigation found that politicians have committed millions of dollars to purchasing the fingerprinting kits despite little evidence of their effectiveness and the company’s use of exaggerated missing-child statistics. Numerous Texas law enforcement agencies told the news organizations they couldn’t recall using a kit to help find a runaway or kidnapped child.

For Hansmire, NCIDP stands out as a success amid a decadeslong string of troubled business ventures, from municipal debt collection to college all-star football games. In some cases, he has recognized politicians who supported the company with awards at NFL games and other events.

Hansmire has formed or been involved with at least a dozen Texas businesses in the past three decades. Many of them have faced lawsuits from creditors, lenders or contractors for unpaid bills, or they lost the right to operate in the state after failing to pay taxes or file tax returns, according to a ProPublica and Tribune analysis of business filings and court and tax records.

In raising money for some of his businesses, Hansmire linked up with a Connecticut securities broker to persuade at least 10 investors to lend some of his companies $1.9 million, according to public records. The effort drew scrutiny from the Connecticut Department of Banking, which found that the men defrauded or misled investors in the sale of securities. Hansmire reached a settlement with the Banking Department and agreed to stop seeking investments and to pay an undisclosed amount in restitution.

Hansmire did not respond to detailed questions from the news organizations about the legal and financial challenges his companies have faced. Instead, he issued a broad statement to the news organizations saying that he’s “always taken responsibility and paid debts entirely.”

“I have always been an entrepreneur with both ups and downs,” Hansmire said in the statement. He added that he believes that “most businesses” face legal disputes and noted that the lawsuits against him “have been properly resolved, closed, and are completely unrelated to the National Child ID Program.”

Hansmire said his company’s kits have been lauded by law enforcement leaders for helping during the “first and most critical minutes of a search for a missing child.”

He didn’t provide proof that he had paid off his debts, and publicly available records show that numerous state and federal tax liens against him and his companies remained in place as of early May. A public IRS filing shows that Hansmire and his wife had at least $2 million in outstanding tax liens as of October 2022, though the agency would not confirm if that’s how much they still owe to the federal government.

Little information is available on Hansmire’s more recent companies. They have no websites, and we found no liens or lawsuits against them. Others appear frequently in court records, news reports, business filings and other public documents. Below is an accounting of those ventures.

1990s

Company name: Capital Assistance Group When it was active: 1990s Status: Unclear Hansmire’s role: President, according to news coverage from the time What it did: The collections agency landed contracts with cities across the state to recover unpaid traffic tickets that had resulted in warrants. During a 1991 meeting, Hansmire promised officials in White Settlement, a municipality near Fort Worth, that the company would “at least double the amount you pay us or we will write you a check for the difference.” Legal and financial issues: Tax records show that the IRS and the state of Texas filed four liens against Capital Assistance Group in the early and mid-1990s that totaled more than $31,000. The state ones are still outstanding, according to Texas Workforce Commission spokesperson Angela Woellner, who said the liens were for unpaid unemployment insurance taxes. In 1993, a county court judge ordered Hansmire and Capital Assistance to pay $9,850 plus $3,283 in attorneys fees to an 87-year-old East Texas widow, Ruby Flournoy, who has since died. According to court records, Flournoy loaned Hansmire the money, which he promised to pay back with “certain funds to be paid over to him by the city of Forest Hill,” a suburb of Fort Worth that had hired Capital Assistance, according to news coverage. Flournoy’s son, Robert Flournoy, an attorney who represented his mother in the case, said in an interview that Hansmire never paid. In 1995, Hansmire was sued by the city of Arlington for “unpaid collection fees.” A judge subsequently ordered Hansmire to pay the city $5,000 plus attorneys fees, court records show. Arlington Assistant City Attorney Ursula Monroe Patterson said the office couldn’t confirm if Hansmire paid because records are no longer available and none of its current employees are familiar with the case. Hansmire did not directly address questions about the lawsuits or specific liens.

Company name: Inkless Image Security Corp. When it started: 1996 Status: Voluntarily terminated Hansmire’s role: Secretary, treasurer and president What it did: Hansmire partnered with Peter A. Pyhrr, a Dallas-area inventor, to form the company. The men were granted a patent in 1999 for an “inkless fingerprint methodology” that could be used to verify the authenticity of written medication prescriptions or to confirm the true identity of airline passengers “for security purposes in case something illegal happens to the plane (bombing or hijacking).” To do this, doctors and airlines would use paper coated with an invisible chemical solution that pharmacists and boarding agents would check by applying another chemical solution. Pyhrr could not be reached for comment. Legal and financial issues: In 2004, a justice of the peace ordered Hansmire and the company to pay Riddell Inc., a manufacturer of professional football gear, nearly $5,000 plus interest and fees. It’s unclear why Riddell filed suit, as the case file is not available online and the court ignored repeated requests to provide it. Available records indicate Hansmire paid. He did not directly address questions about the case. A Riddell spokesperson said that the company couldn’t comment because its general counsel wasn’t around at the time of the lawsuit and its prior general counsel had died.

Company name: Identaprint Texas Inc. When it started: Registered in 1996 Status: Forfeited existence Hansmire’s role: Hansmire’s lawyer at the time, Carl Barnhart, was listed on the Texas secretary of state website as the registered agent. The company’s incorporation filing isn’t available online, but court records from a 1996 lawsuit against the company state that Hansmire was its president. What it did: The company sold inkless fingerprint materials to individuals and businesses, including in the area of child identification, according to court records. Legal and financial issues: In 1996, a contract sales employee who also had invested in the company sued Hansmire in a Dallas state district court, alleging the company failed to pay her commission on the sale of inkless fingerprint materials. She also alleged that Hansmire failed to repay loans for $9,205 and $1,880 that she gave him in exchange for 10% of company stock, as well as an undisclosed security interest and the rights to any future patent for “Inkless Fingerprint Tamperproof Tape,” a product designed for use by the drug testing industry. The parties reached a settlement that required Hansmire to pay more than $40,000 to the employee-investor, who did not respond to requests for comment. It is unclear if it was paid. Hansmire did not directly address questions about the case.

2000s

Company name: Overtime Sports Pacific Inc. When it started: 2004 Status: Forfeited existence Hansmire’s role: Chair, CEO, co-director and registered agent What it did: In late 2004, Hansmire bought a majority share of a 58-year-old college football all-star game in Hawaii with his longtime friend and business partner Mark Salmans and his wife, Mindy. Local news coverage stated that, before the sale, the Hula Bowl had struggled with attendance, sponsorships and debt. Legal and financial issues: In January 2006, less than two years after purchasing the game, the company sold it following a string of public controversies centered on naming rights, relocation of the game and ongoing struggles with attendance. Later that year, the company that Overtime Sports had hired to handle promotion and advertising sued Hansmire’s company and the bowl’s new owner for $103,000, claiming it hadn’t been fully paid. The new owner blamed Overtime Sports, according to news coverage, but Hansmire asserted that his company “left Hawaii without any debts.” Court records and news coverage indicate the parties were working toward a settlement, though it’s unclear if they reached one. Hansmire did not directly address questions about the case, and none of the other parties responded to requests for comment. Mark and Mindy Salmans also did not respond to requests for comment. The case was dismissed in October 2008.

Company name: Overtime Marketing LLC When it started: 2005 Status: Voluntarily dissolved Hansmire’s role: President, CEO and director What it did: Overtime Marketing LLC did business as the National Child Identification Program, according to federal tax liens and court records. It’s unclear if running NCIDP was the entity’s primary purpose, but Hansmire moved to terminate the company in September 2015, citing an intent to restructure the business. Two days later, he formed Stillwater Solutions 23 LLC, which does business as NCIDP. Legal and financial issues: In April 2009, the IRS filed a lien against the company for nearly $9,000 in unpaid employment taxes. Records show Hansmire paid the full amount later that year. In 2012, the IRS, which declined to comment, filed additional liens against the company for unpaid unemployment taxes totaling more than $73,000. Nearly $45,000 of that was still outstanding at the time of publication, according to publicly available records. In 2014, a district court judge in Dallas ordered Overtime Marketing, which was doing business as Texas vs. The Nation, to pay almost $35,000 to a sports radio station that had sued the company, alleging it was not compensated for on-air advertisements. Two years later, Frost Bank sued Overtime Marketing and Hansmire for overdrafting his business accounts by nearly $50,000. A county court judge approved a settlement agreement that required him to reimburse the bank. A Frost spokesperson confirmed that Hansmire paid but declined to comment further. Hansmire did not directly address questions about the case.

Company name: Overtime Sports Southwest LLC When it started: 2006 Status: Forfeited existence Hansmire’s role: Member and president What it did: After leaving Hawaii, Hansmire launched a new bowl game in El Paso called Texas vs. The Nation, which pitted the state’s top college football players against their peers from across the country. According to local news coverage from the time, he recruited the University of Texas at El Paso’s football coach to lead the state team and persuaded local officials to invest hundreds of thousands of dollars in the venture on the promise that it would turn the city into an important destination for NFL scouts and have a multimillion-dollar economic impact. After a few years, attendance fell. Hansmire blamed El Pasoans for not showing up to the fourth game, on Feb. 6, 2010, describing turnout as a “big disappointment,” and threatened to relocate. He later apologized, but the City Council scaled back El Paso’s financial commitment. He moved the game to San Antonio the following year and later the Dallas suburb of Allen, where it was played a final time. Legal and financial issues: Overtime Sports Southwest was later renamed Overtime Sports Southeast. In 2014, Hansmire and Overtime Sports Southeast filed a lawsuit against Dethrone Royalty Holdings Inc., the title sponsor for the final game, which resulted in a settlement that allowed Hansmire to pay outstanding bills from the game. A year later, California-based Direct Access Fund LLC, which had lent Overtime Southwest money, sued Hansmire for failing to repay. The parties settled that year, but in July 2016, Direct Access Fund asked that the case be removed from the dismissal docket because Hansmire still hadn’t paid. A settlement later awarded Direct Access Fund, whose attorney did not respond to requests for comment, $213,750 plus $13,000 in attorneys fees. It’s unclear if Hansmire paid. “I am very proud of what Texas vs. The Nation accomplished in El Paso,” Hansmire said in his statement. “The game was instrumental in furthering numerous football careers.”

2010s

Company name: Safety Blitz Foundation Inc. When it started: 2015 Status: In existence Hansmire’s role: No formal role is listed in state records, but in an interview with ProPublica and the Tribune, Hansmire said that Safety Blitz, a nonprofit, was formed so that the for-profit National Child Identification Program could accept donations. Mark Salmans, who is director of operations for NCIDP, is listed as the foundation’s registered agent. What it does: According to its federal tax filings, Safety Blitz’s mission is “to provide child ID safety kits that allow parents to collect specific information by easily recording the physical characteristics and fingerprints of their children on identification cards that are kept by the parent or guardian.” In Texas and South Carolina, the millions of dollars that lawmakers have approved for kit purchases went to the foundation, which then used the money to purchase kits from the National Child Identification Program. Legal and financial issues: A review of IRS records found that the foundation didn’t file its required annual tax form for the first three years of its existence. That resulted in the loss of the organization’s tax-exempt status. A letter from the IRS to Safety Blitz shows its exemption was reinstated in 2019. “I have no position with the Safety Blitz Foundation,” Hansmire said in a statement. Salmans did not respond to questions about the organization.

Company name: Stillwater Solutions 23 LLC, doing business as the National Child Identification Program When it started: 2015 Status: In existence Hansmire’s role: Registered agent and manager What it does: The company sells child identification kits to governmental entities and schools across the country, according to contracting records. Federal records show the company spent more than $200,000 on lobbyists since 2019 to push legislation in Congress that would support taxpayer-funded purchases of the company’s kits. Legal and financial issues: In November 2021, Stillwater temporarily lost its legal right to operate after a tax forfeiture but was reinstated in January 2022. Tax forfeitures can occur when a company fails to pay taxes, but Hansmire said in this case it was because the company didn’t file its franchise tax return on time. “Stillwater missed a mundane filing deadline,” Hansmire said in a statement to the news organizations. “This was corrected, and we are in good standing.”

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Jeremy Schwartz contributed reporting.

by Kiah Collier and Jeremy Schwartz

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Last fall, millions of public school children in Texas brought home envelopes that bore the state seal and read, “A gift of safety, from our family to yours.”

Tucked into each envelope were an inkpad and a piece of paper prompting parents to take their children’s fingerprints, record their physical attributes and get a DNA sample by having them suck on the corner of the form.

Every envelope also came with a warning: “Over 800,000 children are missing every year — that’s one every 40 seconds.”

The fingerprinting kits were produced by the National Child Identification Program, a Waco, Texas-based company that has persuaded lawmakers and attorneys general in at least 11 states to provide the kits, at times spending millions of dollars purchasing them. In Texas alone, lawmakers allocated about $5.7 million on kits for all students in kindergarten through eighth grade. They are currently considering funding additional kits for the next two years.

But similar kits are available for free from nonprofit and governmental entities, and claims made by the company about the number of missing children and the effectiveness of such kits are exaggerated, according to missing child and law enforcement experts.

“The organizations promoting the kits are preying on people’s fears,” said Stacey Pearson, a child safety consultant who oversaw the Louisiana Clearinghouse for Missing and Exploited Children during a 20-year stint with the Louisiana State Police.

The envelopes that contain the National Child Identification Program’s fingerprinting kits claim that over 800,000 children go missing every year. The figure is outdated and exaggerated, according to experts. (Obtained by ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Pearson called the kits “crime control theater,” a term used to describe criminal justice laws and policies that make people feel as though they are being proactive but in reality accomplish little. “They’re promoted as preventative measures, but they’re not preventative at all,” she said.

The National Child Identification Program, or NCIDP, is led by Kenny Hansmire, a former NFL player who has a string of failed business ventures, has racked up millions of dollars in outstanding federal tax liens, has twice pleaded guilty to felony theft and, in 2015, was sanctioned by banking regulators in Connecticut for his role in an alleged scheme to defraud or mislead investors, an investigation by ProPublica and The Texas Tribune found.

Hansmire has deep connections within the world of professional and college football, and he promotes those relationships while seeking support for his child ID kits from elected officials. He has offered to honor lawmakers and attorneys general at high-profile events such as football games, where he has handed out awards at pregame ceremonies and lauded supportive officials as child safety champions.

In touting his kits, Hansmire has cited a feature that he says makes them superior: They use a colorless chemical solution rather than the usual black ink, resulting in less mess. He said parents and guardians can store the kits at home and present them to law enforcement if their children disappear.

A trifold brochure prompts parents to record their children’s physical description, collect a saliva sample and take their fingerprints using the enclosed “inkless” solution. (Obtained by ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Over the years, Hansmire has claimed that the kits helped law enforcement identify multiple missing children and that officers say they are helpful in the early stages of a search.

In an interview last year with the news organizations, he recommended that reporters call various Texas law enforcement agencies and speak to “any policeman” about their effectiveness, specifically mentioning the case of a runaway girl in Dallas whom he said was found with the use of a fingerprinting kit.

The news organizations did just that, contacting 15 police departments and sheriff’s offices in the state’s major metropolitan areas, including three Hansmire mentioned specifically.

Out of the 11 law enforcement agencies that responded, none could recall using a kit to help find a runaway or kidnapped child. The executive director of the Sheriffs’ Association of Texas also said he could not think of a case in which the kits helped.

ProPublica and the Tribune also found that the startling figure Hansmire and his company have repeatedly cited to promote his product is inflated.

Eight hundred thousand children do not go missing every year. The figure, which comes from a 24-year-old Department of Justice study, is no longer accurate and overstates the scale of the missing children problem, according to David Finkelhor, a co-author of the report. Nearly half of the cases cited in the study, for example, are for children who are missing for “benign” reasons such as spending the night at a friend’s house or coming home later than expected, said Finkelhor, the director of the Crimes Against Children Research Center at the University of New Hampshire.

“It is a mistaken number to cite without any context,” Finkelhor said. “It sounds very scary and is not a good reflection of the number of kids who need serious law enforcement mobilization.”

Hansmire said his company’s messaging has shifted away from what he called the “historically high” number of missing children, though at the time of publication his website continued to feature the claim. But, he said, the number itself should not matter because “one missing or exploited child is one too many.”

Serial Entrepreneur

A San Antonio native, Hansmire played in the NFL in the mid-1980s for the Houston Oilers and Philadelphia Eagles.

After retiring, he sought to reinvent himself as an entrepreneur. He teamed up with a Dallas inventor to form a company called Inkless Image Security Corp. in 1996 and later filed a patent application for an “inkless fingerprint methodology” that would allow businesses and other entities to verify the authenticity of documents.

In January of that year, 9-year-old Amber Hagerman disappeared while riding her bicycle near her grandparents’ home in Arlington, Texas. She was found dead four days later. Her murder got Hansmire thinking about the need for child ID kits, he later told the San Angelo Standard-Times. He pushed for widespread distribution of the kits, talking with police departments, churches and schools, but found no takers.

“Feeling beaten, Hansmire prayed about the situation, and, during the night, something told him to call Grant Teaff,” the story stated.

Kenny Hansmire leads the National Child Identification Program, a Waco, Texas-based company. (Lauren Crow for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Teaff, a legendary former Baylor University football coach, had just become executive director of the American Football Coaches Association and was working to expand the organization. Hansmire quickly sold him on the idea of a program that would distribute free inkless child identification kits at football games across the country.

In a video last year celebrating NCIDP’s 25th anniversary, Teaff thanked Hansmire for his “vision, passion and relentless dedication” while describing Hagerman’s disappearance as a major inspiration for the collaboration.

“It took her parents several days to provide law enforcement with needed information,” Teaff said. “At the time, less than 2% of parents had copies of their child’s fingerprints.”

Arlington Police Department spokesperson Tim Ciesco disputed Teaff’s assertion that fingerprinting kits would have made a difference in Hagerman’s case, saying her parents provided a photo and basic descriptive details. “The bigger challenge for us was getting that information widely circulated to the public,” Ciesco said. The case was the impetus for the Amber Alert, a notification system for missing children.

Teaff did not answer questions about his relationship with Hansmire, the company or Ciesco’s comments. He did, however, express his continued support for the company.

The collaboration with the coaches association came at a critical time for Hansmire, who had faced a series of legal and financial troubles, according to public records.

In the decade before the partnership, Hansmire pleaded guilty to two felony charges — cattle theft in 1988 and theft by check in 1993 — and was convicted of drunken driving. He got 75 days in jail, a $500 fine and a one-year license suspension for the DWI. For the two felony charges, he received deferred adjudication, a process that lets people accused of certain crimes avoid a conviction if they successfully complete probation without any other violations. The terms of his probation included drug and alcohol programs and hundreds of hours of community service in addition to paying thousands of dollars in restitution.

Hansmire and various companies he founded were sued at least four times in the 1990s for unpaid debts including rent, according to court records. A judge ordered him to pay in three of those cases. He reached a settlement in the fourth case. He also began to rack up what would eventually become millions in federal tax liens, public records show.

Over the next decade, Hansmire pursued a series of entrepreneurial ventures that centered on college football all-star games in Hawaii and Texas. The companies, which faced several lawsuits and financial and public relations struggles, eventually fizzled.

In an effort to raise funds for his businesses, Hansmire linked up with a Connecticut securities broker named Dale Quesnel. Quesnel received $166,000 to persuade at least 10 investors to lend $1.9 million to Hansmire’s companies, according to public records. One of the promissory notes obtained by ProPublica and the Tribune shows Hansmire pledged to pay back the money at an interest rate of 12%.

The Connecticut Department of Banking investigated the scheme and found that the men defrauded or misled investors in violation of the state’s securities law. It determined that Hansmire and Quesnel failed to register the promissory notes they sold to investors and to notify them of the risks associated with the loans. In June 2015, the department ordered the men to stop seeking investments and to pay an undisclosed amount in restitution.

Quesnel failed to pay, according to a March 2019 settlement agreement his employer reached with the Banking Department. Neither he nor the employer responded to requests for comment.

Hansmire reached a settlement agreement with the state in which he admitted no fault but acknowledged the evidence against him. He agreed to pay restitution and not conduct certain types of finance-related business in Connecticut again. At the time, he said he didn’t have enough money to reimburse investors, records show. He later paid two of them $63,000, according to the Banking Department, which declined to say if that was the full amount Hansmire owed.

“As with most businesses, there have been legal disputes including the one with the State of Connecticut. Those matters have been properly resolved, closed, and are completely unrelated to the National Child ID Program,” Hansmire told ProPublica and the Tribune in an emailed statement.

A public filing shows that Hansmire and his wife had more than $2 million in outstanding tax liens as of October 2022 even after making a $374,000 payment. An IRS spokesperson would not confirm if that’s how much the couple still owes to the federal government, but publicly available records show that none of the liens had been released at the time of publication. That usually means that they have not been paid in full, the spokesperson said.

Hansmire’s wife did not respond to emailed questions. In his statement, Hansmire claimed to have “paid debts entirely.” He did not provide details or respond to additional questions about the tax liens.

Speaking broadly about his legal and financial troubles, Hansmire said: “We live in a society of second chances. My story is no different.”

“A Gift of Safety”

In the past four years, Hansmire has been increasingly successful in securing support from politicians despite persistent concerns about whether his kits are effective or necessary.

He has promoted the kits as a vital child protection tool alongside his former college football teammate and business partner Mark Salmans and Mike Singletary, an NFL Hall of Famer who played for the Chicago Bears.

“Our program enjoys bipartisan support from elected and unelected leaders who agree this is a gift of safety that provides parents with the peace of mind of knowing they can safely store most of the information law enforcement needs should their child ever go missing,” Hansmire told the news organizations.

Salmans did not respond to requests for comment or to detailed questions. Singletary declined to comment.

In 2019, the company hired lobbyists to push federal legislation that would bring in more business. One measure — filed in the House by Donald Norcross, a New Jersey Democrat, and in the Senate by Ted Cruz, a Texas Republican — would have allowed the U.S. Department of Justice to award grants to local law enforcement agencies to purchase child ID kits.

Twenty Republican attorneys general, including Texas’ Ken Paxton and South Carolina’s Alan Wilson, sent a letter to then-President Donald Trump urging him to support the legislation. In the letter, they noted that “the cost for protecting approximately 30 million K-6 students across America is just below $52 million.”

“Statistics show that more than 800,000 children go missing each year including runaways and those abducted. That is one child gone every 40 seconds. And we are seeing those statistics rise along with child sexual abuse, exploitation and human trafficking,” stated the letter, which was penned by Utah Attorney General Sean Reyes.

Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton signed on to a letter that urged former President Donald Trump to support federal legislation that would make grant money available to purchase the kits. (Lauren Crow for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Finkelhor, the child safety researcher, said a more accurate number to use is the FBI’s list of 30,000 active cases for missing children under 18, which better represents instances in which law enforcement agencies are working to locate them. Even the FBI’s figure, which includes runaways, can misrepresent the number of abductions in which children are hurt, killed or taken great distances by strangers, Finkelhor said. That number is just over 100 per year, according to multiple Department of Justice studies.

Emails obtained through public records requests show that staff members for Reyes and Wilson raised questions either about the 800,000 statistic or the effectiveness of the kits as their states pursued partnerships that extended beyond the support of federal legislation.

Reyes’ staff concluded the figure was far too high as the Utah attorney general moved to set up a five-year, $1.7 million public-private partnership to provide kits to schoolchildren, according to internal emails. The company ultimately agreed to remove the number from the kits it handed out to parents. Yet Reyes’ office included a breakdown of missing child statistics that added up to the figure when it issued a press release about the program last year. The office did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

In South Carolina, a top staffer for Wilson could find no evidence of the kits’ effectiveness, saying in a June 2021 email that investing in them was not an “an eligible or wise use” of dedicated funds for crime victims’ assistance. Despite the conclusion from his staff, Wilson emailed Hansmire the next day to say he was “very interested” in partnering with the company. Wilson’s office successfully lobbied lawmakers who appropriated $2 million last year to purchase inkless fingerprinting kits. NCIDP was awarded the contract in January.

Wilson did not respond to detailed questions.

Staffers for attorneys general weren’t the only ones warning about the company as it sought to expand its reach.

In correspondence with members of Congress, the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children criticized the use of the 800,000 statistic, calling it erroneous. The nonprofit questioned why federal lawmakers would direct taxpayer money toward a specific company when “more robust, lower-cost/free kits are available to the public.” (The nonprofit, which was created by Congress during the Reagan administration as a national clearinghouse for missing child cases, is among a wide variety of entities that provide similar kits for free or for a lower cost.)

While pushing back against federal legislation that would specifically direct funding to NCIDP, center officials said the company’s kits lacked necessary educational programming to teach young students how to avoid and extricate themselves from dangerous situations.

“The legislation presents a false narrative that if a child ID program were funded through state Attorneys General, child abduction or runaways would not exist,” the center wrote in comments provided to lawmakers including Cruz.

Hansmire told the news organizations that the nonprofit’s concerns were “rooted in a funding turf war” but gave no details. He also said that NCIDP is planning to publish a new educational tool kit this year.

In the end, the legislation did not pass.

Norcross did not respond to detailed written questions.

Darin Miller, a spokesperson for Cruz, pointed to the company’s long history of support from leaders in Texas and in Washington, D.C., as a reason the senator filed the legislation.

The company “isn’t a controversial organization and child ID kits are not a controversial idea,” Miller said in a statement. “Senator Cruz was proud to introduce this measure to try and help keep kids safe.”

Neither Cruz nor other elected officials whom the news organizations reached out to responded to questions seeking examples of cases in which the kits helped locate missing children.

In an interview with the news organizations last year and during several other public appearances, Hansmire broadly pointed to the case of a runaway girl from Dallas.

When the news organizations reached out to the Dallas Police Department, a spokesperson said she was unaware of the case and asked for more information. Reporters returned to Hansmire seeking additional details to confirm the case.

He did not provide any of the requested details, instead responding in an email: “My apologies for the difficulty with the Dallas departments. The anecdote I mentioned was several years ago and would have involved one of the 50+ departments in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex.”

“A Very Hot Item”

Texas leaders have been instrumental in directing millions of dollars to Hansmire’s child ID kit business.

A key win came in 1998, when then-Gov. George W. Bush discovered the kits at a Texas A&M University football game and, according to Hansmire, requested some for his daughters. Two years later, Texas became the first state to distribute the kits to all of its 4 million schoolchildren. Voluntary contributions from various organizations and individual donors covered the cost, according to House and Senate resolutions.

After becoming president, Bush was also crucial in helping NCIDP land a formal partnership with the FBI to distribute kits across the country, according to Hansmire, who said the relationship ended around the same time Robert Mueller, a Bush appointee, left the bureau in 2013. Neither Bush nor Mueller could be reached for comment.

Bush is only one of the Texas politicians who have supported Hansmire over the years. During his tenure, former Gov. Rick Perry directed at least $3 million in public funding to the company to purchase kits.

The support stopped after Perry, who could not be reached for comment, left office to run for president. Then, during a committee hearing in April 2021, Texas state Sen. Donna Campbell introduced legislation that would not only reestablish funding for the kits but enshrine that commitment in state law.

Texas state Sen. Donna Campbell, a New Braunfels Republican, introduced legislation in 2021 requiring the state to provide inkless child identification kits to the families of all public elementary and middle school students. (Lauren Crow for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Campbell repeated the claim that 800,000 children go missing every year while touting the importance of the program. “This bill seeks to help locate the missing children,” Campbell said during a hearing.

She said the bill was brought to her by Hansmire, Singletary and Texas Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick. She proudly exclaimed that its passage would “make Texas the first state in the United States to legislatively implement this essential program.”

Then she urged her colleagues to support the measure, turning to the state’s famous refrain.

“And what do we say?” Campbell, who declined to comment, said during the hearing. “How goes Texas, so goes the nation.”

No one spoke publicly against the measure, but Gary Gates, a Republican state representative from Richmond, was among the few dozen lawmakers who voted in opposition to the bill.

“Nobody would really tell me: How are kids saved by this?” Gates, a father of 13 children, recalled in an interview.

“This program has been in existence for 20 years,” Gates said. “If it really was an effective program, someone would have gotten up there and cited statistics.”

The bill passed with large majorities in the state Legislature and was signed into law that June by Gov. Greg Abbott, who didn’t respond to detailed questions from the news organizations.

The Texas Education Agency then scrambled to finalize an agreement to get the kits out amid pressure from Patrick’s office and a looming kit price increase that the company blamed on its supplier, according to emails obtained under a Texas Public Information Act request.

“This is for a very hot item with the Lt. Gov’s office looking over our shoulder,” Patrick McGinnis, a contracts and grants accountability manager, wrote in an email to colleagues in August 2021. “And time is also of the essence as prices go up soon which means about 600,000 less Texas students can be served.” McGinnis didn’t respond to a request for comment.

Records show that the education agency determined it didn’t need to undertake a longer and more rigorous contracting process and instead gave NCIDP funding through a noncompetitive grant.

Patrick did not answer questions related to the comments from McGinnis about his involvement. In a statement to the news organizations, Patrick noted Texas’ long history with the program and its broad support base among the football community. He said the participation of Singletary, the NFL’s former Man of the Year, gave the company credibility. Patrick said Singletary did most of the talking when he and Hansmire pitched the kits during a meeting in early 2021. He said he didn’t remember meeting Hansmire previously.

“Anything we can do to speed the safe return of a missing child should be a priority for the state,” Patrick said.

Hansmire used Texas as an example later that year while speaking to attorneys general as he promoted the positive publicity politicians could get for purchasing the fingerprinting kits.

“We have a captured audience of parents and grandparents in our college and NFL games,” he said during a conference.

Then he laid out his plans in Texas. The state, he said, would distribute 3.6 million child ID kits. The company would give out a ceremonial first kit at a Dallas Cowboys game with Texas’ attorney general, Paxton, and the governor in attendance. Ceremonial kits would also be handed out at University of Texas at Austin, Texas A&M and Houston Astros games, he said.

“We want our communities to know the great things that the AGs are doing, and it doesn’t hurt that you know half a million fans will know that in the great state of Texas,” Hansmire said.

Because of pandemic restrictions, none of those ceremonies occurred, according to Hansmire, who said he didn’t promise Texas officials awards in exchange for their support.

Hansmire honored numerous politicians for supporting the company at an October 2021 Green Bay Packers game in Wisconsin. Campbell, Patrick and Paxton were among those who received awards.

“As other Texans before me, I was focused on a program that could keep children safe. I was not looking for or asking for an award,” Patrick said.

Texas Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick was a key supporter of legislation that paid for the kits. (Lauren Crow for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Campbell and Patrick, who were seeking reelection at the time, promoted the recognition on their websites and in newsletters to constituents.

“Selling False Hope”

A week after the ceremony in Wisconsin, Hansmire set his sights on a bigger prize.

In conversations with attorneys general from both parties, Hansmire learned that the Washington, D.C.-based National Association of Attorneys General was receiving millions of dollars in interest payments annually.

The nonpartisan association provides training and advocacy for attorneys general across the country. Its foundation manages more than $100 million in assets from a 1998 multistate settlement with the tobacco industry. Interest from the fund typically goes toward education, research and training for attorneys general; enforcement of the settlement; and funding for the association’s programs and initiatives.

Some Republican members of the association have criticized it for accumulating large sums of settlement money that they argue should be distributed to individual states.

Hansmire told the news organizations that he had discussions with attorneys general in which they considered whether the association could use some of that money to help pay for the kits.

On Nov. 1, 2021, Louisiana Attorney General Jeff Landry asked that the association’s executive committee set aside time at its next meeting to explore how “resources” could be used to support Hansmire’s company, explaining that “$9 million would fund a Child ID Kit for every kindergarten student in America.”

No member had ever made a request that large and much less one to support an outside organization, prompting Chris Toth, then the association’s executive director, to ask that staff to look into the company.

Two weeks after Landry’s request, Hansmire reached out to the president of the association, Washington, D.C., Attorney General Karl Racine. Racine, who had attended the Green Bay Packers game the previous month, is pictured holding an award alongside other attorneys general. In an email, Hansmire offered to host a reception in Racine’s honor with Singletary and various other former NFL players who were going to be there lobbying for federal legislation in support of the company.

A staffer for Racine declined the invitation a week before Landry made his pitch to the association’s executive committee.

At a Dec. 6, 2021, meeting, Landry proposed a grant program that would allow corporate sponsors to match the association’s contributions. Draft minutes from the meeting, which were obtained by ProPublica and the Tribune through a public records request, say that Landry wanted committee members to know what the company “will be able to do for the attorneys general. AG Landry states that there ‘has to be a quid pro quo.’”

It’s unclear what Landry meant by “quid pro quo.” Neither Landry nor Racine, who has since left office, responded to requests for comment.

The phrase, however, didn’t appear in the final version of the meeting minutes. That’s because Landry requested that it be removed, Toth said.

As the executive committee considered Landry’s request, association staffers began gathering information about the company and Hansmire that they considered troubling, including the 2015 Connecticut settlement, details of which are easily found on the state Banking Department’s website.

As part of its inquiry, association staff reached out to the FBI to ask about the agency’s relationship with NCIDP. On its website, the company claims to sell the only kit to have partnered with and been approved by the FBI.

In an email responding to the inquiries from the association’s staff, FBI attorney Thomas Aldridge said that the agency was no longer associated with NCIDP and that any mentions of the FBI should be removed from the company’s website. Neither the FBI nor Aldridge would comment.

“No one should rely upon statements made on the website as FBI endorsement, partnership, or approval for that organization or its products,” Aldridge wrote in the email obtained by ProPublica and the Tribune.

For his part, Hansmire said NCIDP’s website does not “reflect a current partnership” but rather a “historic relationship.”

Staff members of the attorneys general association completed their research and provided a report to the chair of the committee weighing the request for funding. At a Feb. 16, 2022, meeting, the board decided against the grant for NCIDP.

“While AGs overwhelmingly supported the request, NAAG staff did not want to lose control of how they spent the money,” Hansmire said in a written statement. He claimed that criticisms of his company largely stem from “the biased opinions of a former staffer of a national organization.” He did not respond to questions about who he was referring to or how the person was biased.

Landry, who also received a copy of the staff’s findings, didn’t give up.

Nine months after the association turned down his request, he announced that his office, along with the Louisiana Sheriff’s Association, was entering a partnership with NCIDP to provide kits to Louisiana students. Private partners would pay for the kits, according to his office.

At an Oct. 21 press conference announcing the partnership, Hansmire called Landry, who had declared a bid for Louisiana governor a few weeks earlier, “one of the top leaders in this country.”

Landry is one of at least five attorneys general who have begun partnerships with the company in the past year. That is disappointing, said Toth, who retired last year after 18 years at the association.

“Anyone can spend 20 minutes on the internet and realize there is something fishy about this guy,” Toth said in an interview. “I was flabbergasted that Hansmire was operating this way for so long, without anybody calling it out.”

“What really bothers me is he’s making a buck off of selling false hope,” he added. “This isn’t going to protect any children.”

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Lexi Churchill contributed reporting.

by Jessica Priest and Jeremy Schwartz

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This article is co-published with The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan local newsroom that informs and engages with Texans. Sign up for The Brief Weekly to get up to speed on their essential coverage of Texas issues.

Update, May 7, 2023: Scott Beard lost his Abilene City Council race, as did the two other conservative Christian candidates who vowed to protect children by removing what they deemed to be obscene books from the public library and banning family-friendly drag shows from the city.

Three churches in West Texas have made financial contributions to a pastor running for a hotly contested seat on the Abilene City Council, a clear violation of federal rules prohibiting nonprofits and churches from endorsing candidates, financial disclosure records show.

Fountaingate Merkel Church, Remnant Church and Hope Chapel Foursquare Church donated a combined $800 to the campaign of Scott Beard, senior pastor at Fountaingate Fellowship church, who is running for a seat on the seven-member City Council in Saturday’s election.

The donations represent a new level of brazenness as some churches across Texas and the United States become more active in political campaigns, a prominent expert said. Rules posted on the IRS’ website say campaign contributions from churches and other nonprofits “clearly violate the prohibition against political campaign activity.”

“This is absolutely something every church should know — and probably does know — that they’re not allowed to do,” said Sam Brunson, a law professor specializing in religion and tax exemption at Loyola University Chicago.

ProPublica and The Texas Tribune reported last year that church leaders in Texas and across the country endorsed candidates from the pulpit at least 20 times in apparent violation of the Johnson Amendment, a law passed by Congress in 1954. Three experts on nonprofit law, including Brunson, reviewed the sermons and said they crossed a line.

The IRS can strip violators of their tax-exempt status, but there’s only one publicly known example of it doing so, nearly 30 years ago. Brunson said this lack of enforcement has emboldened bad actors, and he called on Congress to explicitly tell the IRS it can also fine violators.

Beard told ProPublica and the Tribune in a phone interview on Thursday that the churches did not know they weren’t allowed to donate to him and that he has sent the checks back.

“Look, we’ve made mistakes,” he said. “Every campaign makes them. I’m just kind of under the microscope because of me being a pastor, honestly.”

Dewey Hall, the pastor of Fountaingate Merkel Church, which is nearly 18 miles west of Abilene and not affiliated with Beard’s church, said Beard told him on Wednesday that his church’s $200 donation was illegal, but he thought Beard would “be a good councilman, and we need to have Christians in politics nowadays.”

A representative of Remnant Church, which Beard reported gave him $400, responded to a question via Facebook Messenger to say that its donation was intended for Fountaingate Fellowship Church, not Beard’s campaign.

“They must have a mistake,” wrote the representative, who did not identify themselves when asked. “We will look into it.”

Beard told ProPublica and the Tribune on Friday that he thought Remnant Church’s check was written to his campaign, but that he would review his records and talk to the pastor of Remnant Church.

Hope Chapel Foursquare Church, which gave $200, did not respond to a voicemail and email seeking comment.

The IRS declined to confirm whether it had received any complaints or was investigating.

Though the donations made by the churches are small, local races are typically lower-dollar affairs than legislative elections or statewide offices. The donations may also violate Texas election law, which prohibits both nonprofit and for-profit corporations from making political contributions to candidates or political committees. Violations are considered third-degree felonies.

The Texas Ethics Commission is charged with investigating such violations and can assess a civil penalty of up to $5,000 or triple the amount at issue, whichever is greater, said J.R. Johnson, the commission’s executive director. Agency commissioners also have the authority to refer violations to local district attorneys for criminal prosecution, he said.

In February, the commission issued a $12,400 civil penalty against a for-profit corporation that it found had made two prohibited donations worth a combined $3,700 to the campaign of a county clerk candidate in South Texas. The company didn’t respond to the commission, which issued a default judgment. A message left for the company was not returned; the president’s voicemail inbox was full.

According to the Texas secretary of state, Fountaingate Merkel Church formed as a nonprofit corporation in 2017 and Remnant did so in 2021. Hope Chapel is part of the California-based International Church of the Foursquare Gospel, which is formed as a nonprofit corporation. (The IRS automatically considers churches to be tax-exempt even if they don’t apply for that status directly.)

The Abilene City Council race has been marked by allegations of Johnson Amendment violations for months. At least five churches have displayed campaign signs for three conservative Christian candidates who have all vowed to protect children by removing what they deemed to be obscene books from the public library and banning family-friendly drag shows from the city.

Campaign signs for mayoral candidate Ryan Goodwin and City Council candidates Scott Beard and James Sargent are displayed outside First Church of the Nazarene, first image; Hope 4 Life Church, second image; and New Beginnings Pentecostal Church, third image; in Abilene last week. (Emil T. Lippe for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

Two of the candidates are pastors: Beard and Ryan Goodwin, a mayoral candidate, who is both a real estate agent and an associate pastor at Mosaic Church. The third candidate, James Sargent, who is running for a City Council seat, is an Air Force veteran and an auto mechanic who has made his identity as a Christian central to his campaign. Sargent’s campaign motto is “biblically founded | constitutionally grounded.”

All three organized to outlaw abortion in Abilene before the Supreme Court ruling that said it was not a constitutional right and prior to Texas enacting a near-total ban on the procedure.

In interviews with ProPublica and the Tribune, Sargent said the churches he asked to display his campaign signs said yes because they were willing to display all candidates’ campaign signs if asked, which Brunson said was not a defense to a potential Johnson Amendment violation. Goodwin said some churches asked him for his campaign sign, and he’s not concerned they’ll face IRS enforcement.

First image: Goodwin in the sanctuary of the First United Methodist Church in Abilene. Second image: Sargent, an Air Force Veteran and an auto mechanic, has made his identity as a Christian central to his campaign for City Council. (Emil T. Lippe for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune) A campaign sign for Sargent was placed outside Mosaic Church in Abilene. (Emil T. Lippe for ProPublica and The Texas Tribune)

“What I think we’re seeing is a fiction of the law,” Goodwin said. If the issue were to ever reach the U.S. Supreme Court, he said, “churches would have a voice and wouldn’t have to worry about anything like this.”

Beard said the Texas Ethics Commission has so far notified him of three complaints about his campaign this election.

One complaint stemmed from Beard telling his congregation at the end of a service to pick up his campaign signs in the church foyer.

Michael Bob Starr, the former commander of Dyess Air Force Base in Abilene, filed the most recent ethics complaint about Beard’s campaign, alleging that Beard had not reported the in-kind donations his church had made to his campaign, specifically his church allowing him to use its property for his campaign activities. Starr told ProPublica and the Tribune on Thursday that he will submit another complaint to the commission about Beard accepting donations from the three churches even though Beard sent the checks back.

Starr, who ran unsuccessfully in the Republican primary for Congress in 2016, can’t vote in the City Council election because he doesn’t live within city limits, and he’s upfront about his friendship with Beard’s opponent, Brian Yates. During their time in the Air Force, Starr said, he and Yates traveled to countries run by those who believed they had a mandate from God and those who tried to impose their religion on others. He said that’s why he’s speaking up.

Beard told ProPublica and Tribune on Thursday that he is cooperating with the Texas Ethics Commission regarding Starr’s first complaint.

Beard stands by his belief that the nation was founded as a Christian nation and if it doesn’t turn back to God, it will fall like the Roman Empire and other great civilizations have throughout history.

Tell Us How Religious Organizations in Your Area Involve Themselves in Elections

by Talia Buford

ProPublica is a nonprofit newsroom that investigates abuses of power. Sign up to receive our biggest stories as soon as they’re published.

We are excited to announce the names of the 11 distinguished journalists chosen to launch ProPublica’s new investigative editor training program.

The ProPublica Investigative Editor Training Program was established to expand the ranks of editors with investigative experience in newsrooms across the country, with a focus on journalists from underrepresented backgrounds.

This program is funded by the Jonathan Logan Family Foundation, which supports journalism, film and arts organizations whose work is dedicated to social justice and strengthening democracy.

Participants will undergo a five-day intensive editing boot camp in New York, with courses and panel discussions led by ProPublica’s senior editors. After the boot camp, participants will gather virtually every two months for continuing development seminars and be assigned a ProPublica senior editor as a mentor for advice on their work and careers.

We’re encouraged by the response we’ve received for this effort. All told, 159 people applied for 10 advertised slots for this year’s training. The applicants represented a broad array of news organizations across the country. And due to their impressive credentials, we added one more slot than we’d initially planned.

“This is an exciting moment for both ProPublica and the field of investigative journalism,’’ said Stephen Engelberg, editor-in-chief of ProPublica. “The breadth of our applicant pool demonstrates the deep interest in publications at every level in developing the skills that will give readers the in-depth reporting our democracy so desperately needs.’’

We’re thrilled to introduce the inaugural cohort of the ProPublica Investigative Editor Training Program:

Maha Ahmed is managing editor at Type Investigations, where she runs its fact-checking operation, develops newsroom processes and edits climate, labor,and other stories. Previously, she was Type's head of research. Ahmed also spent several years as a fact-checker, researcher, reporter or editor at a range of other newsrooms, including The Intercept, Mother Jones, In These Times, South Side Weekly and the Invisible Institute. She's spoken at IRE and NICAR, in journalism school classes and to other newsrooms about fact-checking and research methods. She is based in Brooklyn and was born in Houston.

Melissa Barragán Taboada is the editor of The Boston Globe’s Great Divide education team. She previously worked as a reporter and editor at the Austin American-Statesman, where she spearheaded the paper’s education coverage. Taboada also taught a "Reporting on Education" course at the School of Journalism at the University of Texas at Austin, her alma mater.

Meghann D. Garcia is managing editor of the Uvalde Leader-News, which has won South Texas Press Association Sweepstakes honors six times over the last eight years. She joined the newspaper staff in 2008 as a production assistant and worked as a staff writer and assistant editor before taking on her present role in 2013. Garcia has won multiple regional and state press association awards for news and feature writing and page design. A lifelong resident of Uvalde County, she earned a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Texas at Austin in 2008 and an Associate of Arts from Southwest Texas Junior College in Uvalde in 2005.

Maia Hibbett is the managing editor at New York Focus, a statewide nonprofit investigative newsroom. She has written for The Nation and The Baffler, as well as for The Intercept, where she was previously an editor. She is interested in the way politics affect people across the world, particularly in the realm of contemporary imperialism and the military-industrial complex. Hibbett is from central Massachusetts and lives in Brooklyn.

Lori Higgins is the bureau chief for Chalkbeat Detroit. She is an award-winning longtime education reporter, having worked for nearly two decades as a K-12 reporter for the Detroit Free Press. Prior to that, she covered education for the Green Bay Press Gazette and the Manhattan (Kansas) Mercury. At Chalkbeat, she supervises coverage of the Detroit Public Schools Community District, one of the most troubled in the nation, as well as state education policy issues and statewide trends in K-12 schools.

Tracy Jan is a deputy health and science editor at The Washington Post, where she collaborates with reporters who cover the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, medical misinformation, abortion, long COVID and other health accountability stories. She joined The Post in December 2016 to launch a beat on the intersection of race and the economy, producing work that delved deeply into reparations for slavery, systemic racism in America and the economic and health impact of the coronavirus pandemic on Black, Asian, Latino and immigrant communities. She was previously a reporter at The Boston Globe. She was a 2015 Knight-Wallace Fellow at the University of Michigan, as well as a Fulbright Fellow in Taiwan. Her work has been recognized by the George Polk Awards, the National Association of Black Journalists, the National Headliner Awards, the Online News Association and the Asian American Journalists Association.

Brendan Klinkenberg is an executive editor at Gimlet Media. He's edited stories about Harlem rappers, Russian hackers, art thieves, domestic terror cells and tech utopias gone awry. Prior to Gimlet, Brendan was an editor at Rolling Stone and Complex, and a reporter for BuzzFeed News (RIP) and Wired. He lives in Brooklyn.

Hayat Norimine is the accountability editor for the Idaho Statesman in Boise and oversees reporters who cover politics, education, the outdoors, criminal justice and investigations. She's the local editor on a 2023 ProPublica Local Reporting Network project examining Idaho's dilapidated school facilities. Before she became an editor, she covered state politics in Idaho and city halls in Dallas, Seattle and Southwest Washington. Hayat immigrated to the U.S. with her family at age 4 and grew up in Eastern Washington. She holds an English degree from the University of Washington and a master's in journalism from Northwestern University.

Lillian M. Ortiz is the managing editor at Shelterforce, a national nonprofit publication that aims to inform and hold accountable those working toward more just and equitable communities. Before joining Shelterforce, Lillian was editor of the Verona-Cedar Grove Times, an award-winning publication in New Jersey. Throughout her career, Lillian has earned dozens of honors for her reporting, layout and design and photography.

Dalila-Johari Paul is the national editor at Capital B, where she manages a growing team of reporters from across the country, covering politics, criminal justice, health and other beats. She previously worked at CNN Digital, where she led the race and equality team and, before that, was the overnight supervisor overseeing late night and early morning news coverage. She’s also held multiple editorial positions at the Guardian US, the Star-Ledger in New Jersey and the Hartford Courant in Connecticut.

Elaine Teng is a senior editor in ESPN's investigative and enterprise unit, where she works on breaking news, longform features and cross-platform projects. She was previously a writer and editor at ESPN The Magazine, where she covered soccer, Olympic sports, esports, tennis and action sports, and the managing editor of The New Republic. Her work has been recognized by the National Magazine Awards and anthologized in The Best American Sports Writing. A California native, she now fully embraces the New England seasons. In her free time, she sings in a choir, plays intense games of Settlers of Catan and tries to make the perfect mapo tofu.