Bringing 'deadbeat' dads back to life

The Jackson County Building in downtown Kansas City, Mo., is not known as a happy place. Built during the Tom Pendergast era, it is viewed by many as a den of degradation where people come to pay their personal property taxes, settle domestic disputes, and face paternity suits.

The seventh floor houses Division 43, a small courtroom that is home to the fathering court. Two ceiling fans keep the room cool. The four rows of hard wooden benches, the type usually found in old churches, are filled by people with sad faces.

An uneasy silence fills the room until Judge Kelly J. Moorehouse enters and everyone rises. Court is in session; the business of getting noncustodial parents to take better care of their children begins.

The judge has served as the family court division commissioner for four and a half years. "A lot of the people who appear before me on this docket really feel disenfranchised by the legal system," says Moorehouse, who worked with children when she was a prosecutor in the juvenile court system and while she was an attorney at Legal Aid, representing abused and neglected children. "Normally their interaction with the legal system has not been a positive experience. Courts are intimidating, but it doesn't have to be a mean and frightening place. The courts are here to serve the public."

Moorehouse is kind and compassionate, presiding with a warm, motherly approach, but she also is authoritative and demands respect. These qualities help her set and enforce guidelines for fathers who participate in Jackson County's pioneer Fathering Court program, which was designed to better the lives of children whose noncustodial parents have abandoned them.

As the traditional nuclear family moves closer to extinction, the number of child support claims continues to grow. Everyone hates "deadbeat" dads, and perhaps rightfully so. Fathering children but failing to support them has long-term repercussions.

"The most immediate problems are economic," says Debra Jones, child support enforcement supervisor. "There have been studies that show that children from homes void of financial and emotional support are usually the offenders of crime."

"Deadbeat dad" usually describes fathers who do not pay child support; however, Moorehouse has a different definition. "I always kind of bristle when I hear the term 'deadbeat dad,' because I don't consider the fathers in this program to be so," she says. "My definition of a deadbeat dad is a guy who has the ability to pay but doesn't do so."

The fathering court participants have been criminally charged with failure to pay child support. Underlying reasons for that failure may include drug and alcohol abuse, a lack of education or skills, or serious health problems. "It's not an excuse, but they are not going to be able to fulfill (their obligations) unless we address those problems," says Moorehouse.

In the spring of 1998, the fathering court emerged as a rehabilitation program that was part of the Family Support Division of the Jackson County prosecutor's office. The program emulated the county's successful drug court program, in which drug offenders can participate in a treatment program instead of going to jail.

The fathering court, the only program of its kind in the country, exists because the old system was ineffective. "Everyone involved felt that the way things were done in the past did not get the family operating, because the father was not a player in the family," says Jackson County Prosecutor Robert Beaird. "Not only do we want the noncustodial parent to pay child support, we want them to step up and take responsibility for the kids they have created."

A diversionary program, the fathering court helps keep people out of the criminal process. "Throwing fathers in jail who have been criminally charged for failure to pay child support does not benefit their families," says Beaird. "It is difficult to earn enough money to support a family while locked behind bars."

The prosecuting attorney's and public defender's offices ultimately decide who qualifies for the program. Eligible participants have drug, alcohol, literacy, employment, or housing problems that impede their ability to support their children.

"If someone is working and has a good job and the only reason they are not paying is their attitude, this program is not for them," says Melissa Mauer-Smith, assistant prosecutor and one of the creators of the fathering court.

The program is designed not only to get the father to pay child support but also to encourage him to participate in the child's life. "It's important for fathers to have some responsibility," says Beaird. "There is an attitude among young people that fathering a child is not their responsibility. They have a kid and just move on down the road. Twenty-five, 30 years ago that wasn't the attitude."

Although the fathering court is voluntary, participants must sign a contract committing to the program. "It's much more difficult to complete the fathering court program than it is to plead guilty and go on probation," says Mauer-Smith. "It's a lot more work."

"Most of the fathers who participate want to get their lives together," says case manager Stacey Diamond.

A major component of the program is fathering classes. The 12-week course is affiliated with the National Center of Fathering, based in Washington, D.C., and the classes take place at the Pioneer Campus of Penn Valley Community College. Fathers who complete the classes graduate the program. "Not everyone survives this process," says Mauer-Smith. Twelve men, an average size for a graduating class, graduated on Jan. 6.