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In Harm's Way

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The fact that Rodriguez ejaculated made the molestation all the more horrendous for him, says his attorney, Larry Tinsley.

"Victims of rape and sexual abuse sometimes have bodies that betray them," says Tinsley. "Jimmy was a teenager and lots of stimuli can cause teenagers to become aroused. His ejaculation is not equivalent to his consent."

Rodriguez himself will only say: "I am not gay. I like girls."

Immediately after this incident, Jake was sent off to summer camp. Rodriguez remained in the Good Shepherd home. Since the police had visited the home, practically everyone knew that Rodriguez had been molested.

Which may explain why on July 4, Rodriguez was allegedly molested again -- this time by a new male caregiver who, Rodriguez claims, tried to fondle him. Rodriguez and the caregiver were alone in the house. Rodriguez says he was in his wheelchair at the time, and that he managed to escape out to the sidewalk through an open door, where he was later found by staffers.

The caregiver denied molesting Rodriguez.

Police could not confirm that the molestation actually happened, and lawyers for Good Shepherd would later imply that Rodriguez was a homophobe who had made up the incident so the caregiver, who was gay and HIV-positive, would be fired.

CPS also accused Rodriguez of fabricating the molestation, according to the July 24, 1996, notes of Jimmy's psychologist, Lori Jordan.

"CPS stated that the . . . report was unfounded and the investigator felt Jimmy was manipulative and was lying. . . . I have concerns that official records erroneously state that he [Rodriguez] is a manipulative liar."

The notion that Rodriguez's molestation accounts are apocryphal surfaces over and over in court documents. For instance, in late 1999, Suire attempted to convince a criminal judge that Rodriguez had lied about all four claims of sexual abuse -- including the allegations against him.

But Superior Court Judge Anna M. Baca ruled against Suire. After studying documents pertaining to all four instances, she ruled in October 1999 that there was no proof Jimmy Rodriguez lied about anything.

After the last instance of alleged abuse, Jimmy Rodriguez was suicidal. He knew he could kill himself in only one way -- he would drive his electric wheelchair into rush-hour traffic. On days that he was particularly morose, Whitney would order caregivers to move him into a manual wheelchair, which he could not operate.The once-confident Glendale High student seemed to have vanished. He was often glum and timid and not interested in life. Other students no longer gravitated to him.

He underwent years of therapy to overcome posttraumatic stress syndrome stemming from the alleged sexual abuse, as well as his new feelings of powerlessness and vulnerability.

"He does not always follow through [being assertive] due to his fears that others may mistreat him if he confronts them with his problems," his psychologist wrote in 1997.

That same year, 1997, Rodriguez reluctantly agreed to take a muscle relaxant to make it easier for group home staffers to care for him. He hated the medicine, but he feared retribution if he refused. Whitney says it was then that she agreed to become his legal guardian. After conferring with Granado, whom the state would never allow to be Rodriguez's guardian, she says, she stepped in to protect a boy who couldn't protect himself.

After Whitney became Rodriguez's guardian, he sued the state, Full Care, DSI and Good Shepherd.

"The reason he finally had me see an attorney is because he wanted to stop this from happening to other kids who couldn't verbalize what [had] happened," says Whitney.

Neither the state nor the other parties ever admitted wrongdoing. The case was settled out of court in late 1999. Rodriguez cannot say how much money he got, because he agreed to keep the sum confidential. The state will not divulge the settlement amount because insurance carriers for the group homes settled with Rodriguez. The money was put in a special trust fund.

Whitney says Rodriguez does not have enough money to live independently for the rest of his life. This year, it will cost nearly $77,000 to feed, clothe and house him, according to DDD records. (Medicaid pays for approximately 65 percent of the costs. The state pays the remaining 35 percent.) Using these figures, Rodriguez would need at least $2.3 million to care for himself for 30 more years.

Because Rodriguez cannot afford to live independently, he remains in a state-licensed group home.

He continues to be one of more than 18,000 Arizonans with disabilities who rely on DDD for care. His caseworker, one of about 375 employed by DDD, has an overwhelming caseload of nearly 50 clients. Last year, the Arizona Legislature refused to fully fund DDD's request for more caseworkers.

The state itself pays only $56 million to fund the entire DDD agency; the federal government pays another $299 million in highly restricted Medicaid funds.

Caregivers remain notoriously underpaid, earning about $6.75 to $8 per hour. Turnover among caregivers is still high.

"If I could wish for one thing for my son," Yolanda Granado says, "it would be that he had good people to take care of him."

Ironically, Rodriguez would lose his benefits if he spent any of his settlement money on food, clothing or shelter. Given these restrictions, he spends hardly any money at all. He takes in an occasional touring Broadway musical at Gammage. He hopes eventually to buy a van so he won't be dependent on DDD contracted drivers, who frequently deliver him late to his appointments.

Rodriguez has ordered a new device that will coordinate his Liberator with a telephone.

And he wants to purchase a new electric wheelchair "that climbs stairs."

His wheelchair situation is a constant irritant. His electric wheelchair is frequently in the shop for months. His replacement manual wheelchair also is frequently in the shop for months. Often, he must spend his days in an uncomfortable substitute chair with no support for his thrashing limbs. Sometimes, his spasms cause him to hit the chair so much his skin rubs off.

"I am used to it," says Rodriguez.

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