Physical abuse. Mental abuse. Sexual Abuse. Corporal punishment. Excessive force. Dismissive safety controls. Rehabilitative negligence.
The categories of “victimization” — and “other” — are checkboxes included on a draft application that will pave the way for survivors of abuse decades ago at two state-run reform schools to prove they’re eligible for shares in a $20 million compensation program approved this year by the Florida Legislature and Gov. Ron DeSantis.
Nearly two dozen men, most of them elderly, inspected draft copies of the proposed applications during a Monday meeting in downtown Tallahassee, peppering some of Attorney General Ashley Moody’s aides with questions about reparations for the brutality they endured as children and adolescents at the notorious Arthur G. Dozier School for Boys in Marianna and Okeechobee School in South Florida.
The program, years in the making, will compensate people who were at the reform schools between 1940 and 1975 and “who were subjected to mental, physical or sexual abuse perpetrated by school personnel.” The plan requires Moody’s office to set up a process to “accept, review, and approve or deny applications for the payment of compensation.” The money will be divided evenly between eligible applicants.
In addition to checkboxes indicating the type of abuse they suffered, the three-page application includes a blank space to provide a “brief description of the physical, mental, or sexual abuse you were forced to endure while confined” at the reform schools. That mirrors part of the new law creating the compensation program and outlining eligibility for compensation. Applicants also have to provide records proving they attended the schools during the relevant years, and the applications must be notarized.
The law gave people until Dec. 31 to apply. The money must be distributed by the end of June, said Joe Spataro, an associate deputy attorney general who led Monday’s meeting.
Many of the men who attended the meeting expressed concern about potential delays in finalizing the application process, in part because only survivors — not their heirs or estates — are eligible to apply for compensation.
“This is time sensitive. You take a look at us folks. We’re old people. Numerous have died already. If this doesn’t get through, there’s no telling how many people will die over the next six months,” said Charles Fudge, a 76-year-old who traveled from Homosassa to attend the meeting. “I don’t have much left in my life unless God has plans that I don’t know about.”
Fudge is one of the leaders of a group of Dozier men known as the “White House Boys,” a moniker derived from the white concrete building where boys were beaten and raped by school workers. Members of the White House Boys have traveled to Tallahassee for more than a decade to share their traumas with state lawmakers.
“This is time sensitive. You take a look at us folks. We’re old people. Numerous have died already. If this doesn’t get through, there’s no telling how many people will die over the next six months. I don’t have much left in my life unless God has plans that I don’t know about.”Charles Fudge
Cecil Gardner, 80, also urged Moody’s staff to expedite the application process.
“I’ve been diagnosed with cancer, and I don't know how long I’ve got to live. And if I die today or tomorrow, my wife don’t have anything, and she’s 79 years old. So this has been really an uphill battle, really, that I’ve lost,” said Gardner, who was raped at age 14 by a Dozier employee.
Fudge asked Spataro if former students of the reform schools who are incarcerated are eligible for the compensation.
“The statute is silent on that issue. We’re going to review each application on an individual basis to determine who is eligible under the new state law,” the lawyer said.
Spataro also was asked what would happen if an applicant dies after submitting an application but before receiving a payout.
“Good question,” he initially said before conferring with Ed Tellechea, chief assistant attorney general.
“Our reading of the statute is that the application is what you have to be alive to make,” Spataro said.
His response offered reassurance among the attendees but also drew follow-up questions about how the process would work for families or estates of deceased applicants. Spataro tried to assuage their concerns.
“I know you guys have been dealing with this for your whole lives, and you have medical issues and feel elderly although you’re all quite sprightly and lively today, fortunately,” he said. “That’s obviously not what we’re hoping for … We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
Fudge said the discussion “gave him great confidence” about the process.
“You know, at our age, if we get ours filled out, get them in early and get them approved and we pass away, then, yeah, it'll be nice for our family to receive that,” he told The News Service of Florida after the meeting.
Katherine Blair, an attorney with the U.S. Public Defender’s Office for the Northern District of Florida who requested Monday’s hearing about the proposed application, asked if the forms could be amended to address concerns about victims who might lack documentation of their time at the schools or be unable to complete a narrative detailing their abuse.
But Spataro said any changes would delay finalizing the forms and slow down the application process. He said Moody’s office “will be working with applicants that need to supplement” their submissions.
“We tried to make this … really as easy as possible for the folks that are applying. The goal here isn’t to make this a difficult process. It’s our feeling that the rule and the application as they’re crafted are the most streamlined, user friendly,” Spataro said.
James Anderson, 73, of Floral City, was 14 when he attended the Okeechobee School. He told the News Service he suffered beatings from staff members, who also “turned a blind eye” to bullying from other boys.
“I wish I could say, and I can’t say this, I wish I could say that what they did to me, then, is responsible for all the failures in my life. I can't say that. I can say this. I went there a very angry young person, and I left there full of rage. It was like pouring gasoline on the fire. That's what they did,” Anderson said.
