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"After about 12 hours of labor, the fetal monitor began going off," she says. She knew something was wrong with her unborn child. But she says hospital personnel delayed in performing a Caesarean delivery.

"They should have operated right away," she says tearfully. "Maybe then Jimmy would have had cerebral palsy, but a more mild form."

She knew something was wrong, but no one would explain what had happened. She was devastated. Her pregnancy had been normal. She had expected to take home a happy, healthy baby.

Jimmy Rodriguez was not officially diagnosed with cerebral palsy for months. Like so many of the approximately 500,000 people in the United States who have cerebral palsy, Rodriguez's brain was deprived of oxygen during his mother's difficult first-time labor. Certain areas of his brain were damaged, preventing him from speaking or controlling his limbs.

Granado vowed to take care of Jimmy and his kid sister Maria even after she and José divorced when Jimmy was 3.

Granado's own mother had died when Granado was 14; there was no grandmother to help her with the kids when she worked. Her job prospects were limited. She had dropped out of school in the 10th grade, but later earned her GED.

Despite her struggles, Granado actively participated in Jimmy's special education classes. She taught her son both English and Spanish.

"He has been a smart boy since the get-go," Granado says.

Beyond making sure her son got regular medical care, Granado heeded the advice of "curanderas" who said their folk medicine would cure Jimmy.

"Every time you hear something, you try it," she says.

She massaged coffee grounds and honey into the boy's useless legs. She sprinkled a powder made of dried rattlesnake on his food "just like salt and pepper."

But nothing could fix Jimmy, and the family accepted his disability as something that was meant to be.

"I can handle the cerebral palsy, if that was meant to be," says Granado. "But if I could change anything, it would be CPS taking my son out of his home."

Although she is Latina, she does not think racism factored into the state's decision to take her son away from her. It was instead a certain arrogance toward the poor.

She remembers CPS caseworkers chastising her for having an empty refrigerator. She remembers they rebuked her for not having wheelchair access. She remembers they informed her after the Suire incident that her home was "inappropriate" for Jimmy.

"I will never forget that word "inappropriate,'" she says.

Now she ponders bitterly how "inappropriate" the state's care turned out to be.

On March 20, 1996, just four months after the Suire incident, Jimmy Rodriguez was found in his bed at a group home with his underwear pulled down below his knees. Since Rodriguez could not control his arms or legs, there was no way he could pull his own briefs down. He said he'd been fondled by a male caregiver employed by Developmental Systems Incorporated, which ran the state-licensed group home where he'd been placed by the state. The male caregiver refused to talk to officials and resigned. CPS could not "substantiate" Rodriguez's allegation. Phoenix police were unable to establish that the abuse took place because of "an absence of physical evidence and/or supportive evidence."

DSI denied wrongdoing. Later, attorneys for the state and DSI would imply that Rodriguez made up the story so that he would be moved to a different group home.

Whitney contends that Rodriguez was showing signs that he had been abused. He brooded, was less enthusiastic about school, dropped classes and no longer seemed interested in making friends. And he missed his mother.

It was far better, Rodriguez now says, to live in a loving home with roaches than to be warehoused in a group home with strange male caregivers he could not deter.

And things would only get worse for Jimmy Rodriguez.

The state placed him in a west Phoenix home operated by Good Shepherd Lutheran Home of the West. All of the residents in the home were mentally retarded adults. One of the residents -- we'll call him "Jake" -- had a long history of sexual and physical aggression. Both Good Shepherd and DDD knew of Jake's propensities -- at least 20 incidents were documented in their files.

But neither DDD nor Good Shepherd advised Rodriguez's caseworker of Jake's history. In fact, the required "pre-placement meeting" between caseworkers and Good Shepherd staff was not held before Rodriguez was moved into the house. If the meeting had been held, Rodriguez might have been protected.

On June 5, 1996, Nadine Walls, a Good Shepherd caregiver, discovered Jake undressing Rodriguez.

Jake had unfastened the wheelchair straps and Rodriguez had slipped down in the chair -- one of the straps used to secure Rodriguez's chest to the wheelchair was wrapped around his neck. He looked terrified.

Jake explained that he wanted to help give Rodriguez a bath. Since Walls did not know of Jake's history, she said in a deposition that she was not alarmed. She says she gently rebuked Jake and resettled Rodriguez.

That same day, Jake's DDD caseworker wrote: "Inappropriate sexual aggression against weaker or helpless individuals remains an urgent concern . . . [Jake's ] inappropriate advantage taking of his defenseless roommate requires that staff be very aware of [Jake's] whereabouts in the home. He's very capable of using a lack of attention to the roommate's disadvantage."

Walls later testified that even after the June 5 incident, no one at DDD or Good Shepherd informed her of Jake's background.

Rodriguez's DDD caseworker, Laura Boyd, said in a deposition that she learned of Jake's history on June 14, 1996. Boyd said she wanted to move Rodriguez out of the house immediately but her supervisor nixed the idea.

Five days later, on June 19, 1996, Walls and another caregiver left Jake and Rodriguez in the living room watching television. Rodriguez did not have his Liberator with him. His legs and arms were strapped to his wheelchair.

When the caregivers returned to the living room after a smoke, Jake was masturbating Rodriguez, who had involuntarily ejaculated. Again, the expression on Rodriguez's face was one of terror.

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