Robbed of a childhood, a killer at 15
Amber Hellesten had the small knife in her pocket that frigid night in South Philadelphia. Had it close. She was 15 and said she carried the knife because she was afraid.
Amber Hellesten had the small knife in her pocket that frigid night in South Philadelphia. Had it close.
She was 15 and said she carried the knife because she was afraid.
Afraid from years of abuse. Afraid of the men who beat her mother. Afraid of the man who attacked her when she was 13. She'd see that man outside the drug clinic some mornings on her walks to school.
She didn't know Azim Chaplin. He was 14 and walking down Snyder Avenue with two friends last February.
Azim and his friends followed Amber and her friend for blocks, taunting them with gibes over their clothing and sneakers and throwing ice balls and garbage. After one of the boys exposed himself and Azim went at Amber with a stick, she pulled out the knife. And she swung it.
The blade pierced Azim's heart. Perhaps it was just the awful convergence of moment and movement, but there was more behind the thrust of the knife than boys and sticks.
The girl who never had a childhood killed a boy who was doing childish things.
And now it falls to the criminal justice system to figure out how best to deal with Amber.
The case ended up on the desk of Common Pleas Court Judge Benjamin Lerner. It was for him to decide whether Amber should be tried as an adult or be sent into the juvenile system, where she could receive mental-health treatment and other services she needs until she turns 21. It was for him to balance punishment and justice with how to help a damaged child.
In Amber's file, Lerner read through a story of profound abuse and neglect.
Born addicted to methadone. Mom homeless and drug-addicted. No dad. Physical abuse from age 6. Time in shelters. Thoughts of suicide.
At 12, she saw her mom beaten by a boyfriend wielding a machete. At 13, she was attacked by a 30-year-old neighborhood man who gave her beer and invited her to watch movies. A psychiatrist later diagnosed her with post-traumatic stress disorder.
In the file were so many missed warning signs.
By the ninth grade, Amber had been suspended and expelled from school nine times, displaying rage and depression. "All the problems that would be associated with someone who never really had parents," said her lawyer, David Desiderio.
Letters were sent home, but with little, if any, follow-up.
She was arrested for theft and for assaulting a school police officer. The justice system gave her probation, but little else. When it was apparent Amber's mother couldn't care for her, the child-welfare system sent her to live with her 19-year-old sister.
Despite the ominous warnings, it doesn't appear anyone ever dug into Amber's background to figure out what was causing her outbursts. Lerner sent the case to the juvenile system, where Amber could receive the intense treatment unavailable in adult prison. The help she should have gotten before.
None of this, of course, brought any solace to Azim's mother and sister, who remember a tall, loving, playful boy who starred on the basketball court, scored A's at Andrew Jackson Elementary, and was excited to pick out a suit for eighth-grade graduation. The judge understood when they ran out of the courtroom in anger when he explained from the bench that he was sending Amber to treatment, not prison.
Now, the case sits on the desk of Family Court Judge Amanda Cooperman, who at a recent hearing seemed determined to secure intensive psychiatric residential treatment for Amber, not a simple feat in the tight-budgeted juvenile justice system.
It's the right course for a deeply troubled girl who slipped by so many until she felt she had to start carrying that knife.
215-854-2759 @MikeNewall