KIDS CALLED METH'S SILENT VICTIMS

National Expert At Local Conference On Drug Use Says Children Are Put At Risk.

Bobby's tiny body - belly bloated and ribs bulging - lies on a
stainless-steel autopsy table, a testament to methamphetamine's grim toll
on children. Ron Mullins tells Bobby's story everywhere he goes. A graphic
photograph of the boy's corpse is a reminder of the worst sort, he said.

"We had the opportunity to rescue him, and we didn't," said Mullins,
national training coordinator for the National Alliance for Drug Endangered
Children in San Diego.

The baby boy, who was born to a meth-addicted mother in New Mexico, was
discovered during a drug raid. Lying in soiled sheets, Bobby couldn't catch
his breath long enough to eat.

His lungs were severely impaired from living inside a home where cooking
meth and getting high took precedence above all else.

After 25 years with the New Mexico State Police, Mullins - now retired -
has dismantled hundreds of makeshift labs used to cook the toxic homemade
concoction.

"This drug is like nothing I've ever seen," he said. "This drug will
absolutely steal your soul."

But adults who smoke, snort and inject the destructive stimulant don't just
end up hurting themselves, Mullins said.

They neglect, abuse and contaminate children in the process, the ex-cop
told more than 60 people Tuesday morning at a conference sponsored by
Community Partnership of the Ozarks.

Law enforcement officials, firefighters, child protective services workers
and medical professionals were among those who attended.

"I call children silent victims," he said. "Quite often no one speaks for
them. You have to be their voice. They're counting on you."

Mullins' presentation is peppered with sobering pictures of what happens to
human flesh when meth cooks "flop," or make dangerous mistakes.

Spilled chemicals lead to severe skin rashes and respiratory problems. And
flare-ups or explosions can singe hair, cause serious burns or even kill
those who risk the highly volatile cooking process.

One in every six meth labs results in a fire or explosion, Mullins said.

Last month, a man allegedly cooking meth in the basement of a southwest
Greene County home was severely burned when the lab exploded.

Three children inside the house when the lab blew up were removed and
placed in the custody of relatives.

When children are taken into state custody, the Missouri Department of
Social Services is required by law to place them with family members when
possible.

But children handed over to family members after meth lab busts are rarely
out of harm's way for long, said Bill Dyer, group supervisor for the U.S.
Drug Enforcement Administration's Springfield office.

All too often, parents arrested for manufacturing meth make bail and regain
custody of their children, Dyer said. Sometimes within 24 hours, he said.

Formally filing charges against the parents makes little difference, said
Greene County Senior Assistant Prosecutor Todd Myers.

"It is not uncommon for children to be placed back in the custody of their
parents even if there are charges pending against the parents for a drug
violation," Myers said.

Social workers with Missouri's Children's Division said custody issues are
complicated by the state's emphasis on kinship care.

"It's a balancing act," explained Vanessa Johnston with the Children's
Division.

Decision-making involving drug-endangered children often leads to
interagency friction, Mullins said. Both Myers and Melissa Haddow,
executive director of Community Partnership of the Ozarks, noted the issue
is not easily solved.

But the protocols for dealing with children at a meth lab, established by
the alliance and implemented in other communities, seem to be making a
positive impact, Mullins said.

On-site decontamination vehicles, mentorship programs and accurate tracking
of exposure to meth and its ingredients are needed in Greene County,
Mullins added.

"Nobody's addressing the problem," he said. "But it is fixable. Children
are damaged (by meth exposure), but they're not doomed."

Community Partnership of the Ozarks is especially interested in the
prospect of a decontamination vehicle - essentially a 30-foot recreational
vehicle where children are given clean clothes and a urine sample is
collected. It's also a place for investigators to conduct initial interviews.

"It is absolutely a priority of ours," Haddow said.

The vehicle would cost between $75,000 to $100,000, Haddow said, adding
that the partnership is actively seeking donors and even considering buying
a used RV.

Having a comfortable place for kids to go when police officers raid meth
labs is the first of many steps toward improvement, Haddow said, admitting
that the region hasn't adequately addressed issues surrounding
drug-endangered children.

"It's not anyone's fault in the community," she said. "It's simply that no
one knew what to do."

Haddow added: "We needed to get everybody here to hear the same story. I
think this really opened up a lot of eyes about how serious and systemic
the problem is in our community."