Mental Health, Police, and The Death of Charles Adair 

After 1:00 am on the 4th of July last summer, Charles Adair told a casino security guard in Kansas City, Kansas, just across the Missouri River from bigger and better-off Kansas City, Missouri, that he wanted to turn himself in to the police on a bunch of old traffic warrants. So patrol officers came and got him—yeah, he had some warrants, all minor stuff. But Adair, who was 50, did not even survive the next full day in the local jail. 

Less than 48 hours after his Independence Day 2025 arrest, a rushed hospital medical assessment, and detention in the Wyandotte County Jail, Adair was pronounced dead in his cell.

Adair’s violent death on his cot on the evening of July 5th has received some national coverage and extensive attention in and around Kansas City, where I live. Largely, it’s been treated as a story about race—of another Black man held down until he stopped breathing. And that’s understandable, since it certainly is that. But it’s a civil rights story in a second way as well, because of what it says about how those suffering from severe mental illness are still treated and not treated.

Adair told jail officials as soon as he was taken in that he suffered from schizophrenia, according to an affidavit from the Kansas Bureau of Investigation (KBI), which investigated his death.

It was national news when all charges in the case were dropped recently. But in a courthouse where what should happen is not too reliably what does, maybe the bigger surprise was that Richard Fatherley, the detention officer who knelt on Adair’s back for more than a minute as four sheriff’s deputies held him face-down on his bed, was ever charged in the first place. 

The deputies who testified in a pretrial hearing all said they had followed protocol, appropriately restraining an out-of-control inmate swinging his arms and even in handcuffs resisting their orders. The Wyandotte County judge who dropped the charges, Aaron Roberts, said he had to do that, since prosecutors never put the medical examiner who’d ruled Adair’s death a homicide on the stand. Without that testimony, Roberts said, the Wyandotte County DA’s office never linked Fatherley’s actions to Adair’s death. Of course, the judge might have relied on the autopsy, but chose not to. 

The legal case isn’t over: the state is appealing, and Adair’s family has filed a civil suit. While courts and juries have generally been loath to convict police officers on criminal charges in cases of deaths during or after arrest, juries have shown considerable sympathy with plaintiffs’ families in civil trials. This case should go to trial.

But we also need to look at the way Adair’s self-report of a serious mental illness was blown off by the jail, with what seem to be fatal consequences. The jail broke its own protocol on crisis intervention by ignoring not just his report but the obvious symptoms of schizophrenia. 

According to the narrative provided in that same KBI report, deputies at every turn treated Adair like he was being a recalcitrant jerk instead of someone experiencing a mental health crisis.

He behaved irrationally, yes. Threw himself out of his wheelchair in agitation. Rolled on the floor down the hall to get away from a deputy. Pulled his pants down, screamed words the officers say they could not understand, and on and on. 

What’s really irrational, though, is that even after Adair’s death, the deputies who’d held him down described all of the above behavior in ways that would make you swear it was 1925 instead of 2025 when these accounts were taken. After he stopped moving, again according to the report, they walked out on him, one by one, as he showed no quiver or breath.

In a video interview with KBI shown at the pre-trial hearing, Fatherley painted the scene differently. 

According to coverage in The Kansas City Star, “Fatherley placed his knee on Adair’s back and kept it there until after he stopped speaking and moving, he told KBI investigators in an interview played in court. After Fatherley removed his knee, he and deputies realized that Adair was unresponsive. They then conducted rounds of CPR on him before the medical unit arrived, Fatherley said in the interview.”

What he doesn’t say is when “then” started. According to the affidavit signed by KBI Special Agent Christine Reglin, they only gave him CPR after first leaving him motionless and after the nurse came in and found him “unresponsive” with no pulse. 

When the nurse entered the cell, “shortly after” the deputies left it, he was still in the same position that he had been in when he stopped moving—still hanging half off the bed. Then, yes, according to the KBI report, deputies gave him CPR until the ambulance arrived. 

Right up until his final moments, the deputies report seeing Adair as non-compliant rather than ill, though one officer did tell investigators that he thought Adair’s infected leg wound might have been affecting his brain.

Again, so much attention has been paid to whether the use of force was appropriate, and that’s absolutely as it should be. But little has been paid to whether the use of force could have been prevented.

“It’s like with George Floyd,” with officers often assuming “yeah, sure you can’t breathe. Yeah, sure you’re in crisis. It’s yeah, yeah, yeah until something goes wrong. But if you take the right steps at the beginning of the process” it doesn’t have to go wrong, said Ernie Stevens, a founding member of the San Antonio Police Department’s Mental Health Unit, who has done crisis intervention training in departments all over the country but is not involved in this case. 

“Being in crisis is a legal status, and a lot of people’s mental health is being overlooked,” Stevens said, though “for it to get to this point,” as in Adair’s case, “it’s uncommon. How did it get to that point?” is the question. Almost always, “there are many intervention points.” But what law enforcement cannot do, said Stevens, is misread symptoms as non-compliance: “You can’t get mad at a donkey for being stubborn. It cost this man his life.” 

When told that Adair threw himself from the wheelchair, Stevens said that was clear self-harm that the Kansas officers should have recognized as such. What’s more, Adair’s incongruent statements should have set off alarm bells. I asked Stevens, a 28-year police veteran, if it’s possible that even though the behavior didn’t register as it should have, the medical information about his schizophrenia that he’d given someone in the jail’s clinic as soon as he got there had never been passed on to deputies. No, he said. “He had to have been in the company of a deputy when he was with medical personnel.” 

If deputies had followed Wyandotte County protocols on what to do in such a situation, there’s every chance that Adair would still be alive.

According to the 2025 Wyandotte County Sheriff Policies, Adair’s behavior should have warranted a call to the crisis co-responder working in collaboration with the Wyandotte County Sheriff’s Office. Or they could have referred him to RSI—Rainbow Services, Inc., a crisis stabilization center offering inpatient care for up to 10 days. 

The department policy says “members should be alert to any of the following possible signs of mental health issues or crises: (a) A known history of mental illness.” That on its own wouldn’t necessitate a call, but other factors meant to trigger heightened attention include “incoherence, manic or impulsive behavior, extreme agitation, and lack of control.” Check, check, check, and check. 

If Adair didn’t need a referral, who would? 

The same book of policies says an officer should never hold an inmate face-down on his stomach “for an extended period, as this could impair their ability to breathe.”

A few days ago, I got Amanda Simms, the spokeswoman for the sheriff’s department, on the phone, and asked whether the policy on crisis intervention, which I read to her, had been followed in Adair’s case. 

“I don’t have an answer for that,” she said. “We don’t have any comments at this time.” When I asked whether this was the first time anyone had asked about whether that particular policy had been followed in Adair’s case, she repeated that she would not be saying anything more.

What the record indicates, though, is that the deputies showed little awareness of Adair’s condition. The outburst that led to his death started because Charles Bunnell, who was the acting sergeant on that shift and left the department at the end of 2025, wouldn’t let him push his own wheelchair from the jail’s clinic back to his cell since he was being “too slow.”

Surely part of what happened in Adair’s cell was a training problem; according to records obtained through the Kansas Commission on Peace Officers’ Standards and Training, only one of the five officers who held Adair down had been trained in crisis intervention, and that was not Fatherley, who was a detention officer, but Bunnell, a previous candidate for county sheriff. Fatherley’s records show he had received one hour of mental health training and one hour of general health training.

I first wrote about those with severe mental illnesses more than 40 years ago, when I was covering Texas state hospitals and spent three months following a man with schizophrenia from the Terrell State Hospital, in Terrell, Texas, to Dallas, where he slept under bridges, in a cemetery next to city hall—and then, after he’d completely fallen apart, in the county jail, just before he was sent back to the hospital for yet another short stay. Back and forth he went, getting nowhere.

The world has changed since the 1980s, but for those with a severe mental illness it has not. That’s mostly because, as the title of an excellent new documentary says, ‘No One Cares About Crazy People.’ 

Today, a full quarter of those in county jails across the country suffer from a severe mental illness—schizophrenia, severe bipolar disorder, PTSD—so this is a significant concern. As jails are not treatment facilities, many should not be there at all. Especially not as Adair was, on minor charges—even if he did turn himself in in the middle of the night for some traffic tickets. Since that’s the reality, deputies need a new mentality along with the right training and policies.

But let’s start where the KBI’s report does: the moment Adair asked to be arrested on those old traffic violations, not knowing, as his family’s lawyers have often said, that some old tickets would get him the death penalty. 

This was at 1:22 a.m. on July 4, 2025, at the casino in downtown Kansas City, Kansas. That’s when he “attempted to turn himself in” to the security guard on duty, and that guard called the police to come and get him.

Police headquarters is just down the street from the casino, so it couldn’t have been long before KCKPD arrived, confirmed that Adair did have some misdemeanor traffic warrants, and took him to the county jail, where at first he was turned away “to seek medical clearance due to a large infected wound” on his left leg.

3:13 am: He arrives at Providence Medical Center, a hospital founded by Catholic sisters more than a century ago in Kansas City, Kansas. Though the nuns and the original building are long gone, the archdiocese still plays a role in the center, which is now part of Prime Healthcare.

4:25 am: He’s been diagnosed with osteomyelitis—a bone infection that usually requires weeks of IV antibiotics. A note says that he’s been told—on a previous visit, it would seem—that he should have his leg amputated, but has refused. So since “there were no other concerns noted, he was discharged with paperwork identifying him as medically cleared for incarceration.” 

No other concerns? Just over an hour in and out for someone in his condition was not medical care, but box-checking. 

5:41 am: Back at the jail, “during his medical screening, Adair identified the following medical conditions: pacemaker, blood clots in left arm, hyperlipidemia, hypertension, diabetic, high cholesterol, schizophrenic.”

July 5, 10:00 am: During morning recreation, Adair asks to leave his cell, too, but then refuses to come out after he’s told he has to leave his blanket behind. This leads to a profane screaming match involving a number of inmates. “After it was apparent Adair was not going to comply, all inmates were directed to lock down.” Adair refuses, sits on the floor, pulls his pants down, and has to be dragged to his cell.

8:01 pm: Adair agrees to go to the clinic to get his leg rebandaged. 

8:32 pm: On his way back to his cell, Adair begins to argue with “Deputy [Bunnell] because he wanted to have control over his wheelchair, but Deputy [Bunnell] told him no because he was being too slow.” 

“Adair then throws himself out of the wheelchair, onto the floor of the medical unit, and rolls towards the door to exit into the hallway. Adair rolls himself into the hallway where he is met by numerous deputies. Adair can be heard yelling indecipherable things and saying something to the effect that they were trying to keep him in medical.” 

After his death, “During interviews, several deputies described Adair as incoherent. Deputy [redacted] believed the infection from his leg was affecting his brain.”

Or, it could have been the disorder that he named for you the minute he got there. Which has symptoms that can include agitation, inappropriate reactions, disordered thinking and speech, paranoia, and at times self-harm, like throwing yourself out of a wheelchair onto the floor.

At that point, they put him back in his wheelchair, and when he “swings his arms, almost hitting a deputy,” he’s handcuffed in front and taken to his cell, “where he continues to wave his arms about and stands up, as if to strike a deputy in the face. Adair, still in handcuffs, is then picked up from the wheelchair by several Deputies and placed on his stomach, on the bottom bunk. Adair can be heard yelling ‘Help’ repeatedly.”

Here’s where the narrative moves to seconds:

8:36:18 pm: “Adair is removed from the wheelchair and placed on his stomach on the bottom bunk by Deputies [redacted]. Adair’s body positioning is that the top half of his body is on the bed and the lower half off the bed, in a kneeling position.” 

8:36:22 pm: “Deputy Fatherley appears on video and is seen going towards the bunk. Deputy Fatherley places his left leg/knee on the lower part of Adair’s back, as his right leg is planted on the ground. His left hand is placed on Adair’s upper left shoulder. Deputy Fatherley can be heard saying, “You’re done, stop, give me your hands,” and Adair responds with “OK.” Adair, still handcuffed at this time, pushes his arms forward towards Deputy [redacted]. Deputy [redacted] is also on the bunk, and it appears his hands are assisting in holding Adair’s left arm and shoulder down.”

8:36:31 pm: “Adair is seen pushing his arms forward, towards Deputy [redacted], and he lays his head on the bed.”

8:36:37 pm: “Deputy [redacted] appears on video to assist in removing Adair’s handcuffs.”

8:36:46 pm: “Adair’s last movement that can be seen on video.”

8:36:49 pm: “Deputy Fatherley is seen shifting his weight forward, appearing to apply more weight on his left leg, which is still on Adair’s lower back, and left arm, which is on Adair’s upper left shoulder.”

8:37:40 pm: “Deputy [redacted] is able to remove the handcuffs, and one by one all the Deputies exit the cell, as Deputy Fatherley continues to hold Adair down on the bed. Adair is not seen moving, his hands are still pushed forward, and his head is face down on the bed.”

8:37:48 pm: “Deputy Fatherley removes his weight from Adair and exits the cell.”

“Shortly after” this—oddly, no time is given—a nurse comes in to check on Adair, “per policy, after a use of force … Body cam video shows Adair in the same position he was when they exited the cell, with his upper body on the bed, knees on the ground, arms forward, and head face down.”

“They observe that he is not responsive.” It’s unclear whether Adair had been left completely alone in the cell before the nurse’s arrival with a deputy, but if so, that too would have been against policy.

The nurse, again at a time that isn’t given, “advises to call EMS.” And it’s only then, according to the report, that “deputies performed CPR until EMS and Fire arrived on the scene.”

Since he had no pulse, they seem to have rendered aid to a dead man. 

The report does not say when EMS arrived, either.

9:19 pm: “Despite lifesaving measures, Adair is pronounced deceased.”

In later interviews, the KBI report says deputies were asked if they’d been taught what to do when someone becomes compliant. Yes, they all said they’d been told to stop all force.

One said, “Adair did become compliant at some point, but they continued to restrain him in case he resisted again.” 

Another “advised that at some point, Adair was compliant, as he stopped moving his legs.” When that happened, he said, he took pressure off by sitting back on his heels.

A third said he did not believe Adair ever became compliant, “but then he said he never noticed if Adair stopped moving.” A fourth said the same, because, she said, “his arms always felt tense.”

Cause of death? The ME said it was “mechanical asphyxia,” which happens when some object or physical force stops you from breathing. A forensic expert for the defense criticized the autopsy and said Adair had probably died of either cardiovascular disease or maybe sepsis caused by his infected leg. He said that where Fatherley had kneeled on Adair’s back should not have caused mechanical asphyxiation. 

Somehow, the KBI did not find that Fatherley or anyone else had committed a crime. Wyandotte County District Attorney Mark Dupree filed charges anyway, and that’s to his credit, though how his office could have then failed to put the ME on the stand, I have no idea. 

The single reference to rule-following in the KBI affidavit is that the nurse came to check on Adair—because by the book, that’s what has to happen after any use of force. But what about before, to make sure it never comes to that? 

Unless minds change, I have no confidence that this tragedy won’t be repeated.

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