"Critics dog Humane Society,"
DeLand-Deltona Beacon, Erica Naone, June 12, 2001
"Some of the nonprofit organization's former board members charge that animals aren't being helped, and that money is being wasted. To travel the road behind Plymouth Avenue Landfill and pull in the entrance to the West Volusia Humane Society is to be assaulted by the dissonance of 60 barking dogs, the buzz of biting mosquitoes and the pungent odor of caged animals.
Dogs and cats are packed into every available nook and cranny; some run loose on the grounds, others are confined two to a kennel. At least one animal has languished in a cage there for eight years. Some see a heart-wrenching picture: a nonprofit organization struggling to do good deeds without enough money, help or space. But others see the symptoms of mismanagement so irresponsible that it is hurting the very animals the Humane Society is supposed to help.
'The shelter needs a total overhaul,' Janie Owens, a former member of the Humane Society board of directors, said.
Gloria Thomas, executive director of the West Volusia Humane Society, is an animal lover - even her critics agree with that. She is also the de facto head of an organization that is floundering without a functioning board of directors, and that is losing $8,000-$10,000 a month. The Humane Society has been forced to dip into assets it never had to call upon before - such as selling stock inherited from estates. Less than a year ago, there was $120,000 in assets on the books, Humane Society treasurer and accountant Amy Whitmarsh said. Today, about $30,000 remains - enough to keep the animal shelter running for about three months.
Owens and other former board members claim the assets are being spent irresponsibly, with little good being done for animals.'[Thomas] has mismanaged the funds terribly,' Owens said. 'The shelter is in poor repair, despite her husband supposedly being the maintenance man, and she is beyond control by any board.'
Thomas said she and the Humane Society are victims of a 'witch hunt,' constantly accused by former board members seeking to further their own glory. 'I'm not here for my glory,' she said. 'I'm just here for the animals.'
Those animals live in crowded conditions. Dogs live on the floor of the cat house, and birds in cages precariously near feline predators. A small pile of feces remains in the laundry room from its last occupant. But Thomas and her husband, Gary [Gary is DeLand's animal control officer and will be responsible for the new rescue group the city has begun], are proud of their kingdom. The wall behind the desk in the office is lined with ribbons shelter cats have won at shows. Gary Thomas points out Chew the bull mastiff, a family pet, who lives in the first kennel on the right. He is also proud of a limping dog he nursed back to health, and a three-legged dog that lives in a kennel nearby.
Gloria Thomas speaks lovingly of an injured animal that kept its head in her lap while she brought it into the shelter. She talks about what she considers 'what's really happening' at the Humane Society - the rescued animals and successful adoptions. She and her husband both speak of the horror of euthanasia. Before the shelter went no-kill in October 1999, it was equipped with five large freezers for storing the bodies. The freezers sometimes had to be emptied as often as twice a week. Gloria Thomas' eyes go wide as she explains, 'I just couldn't do it anymore.'
But some people question the humanity of what she decided to do instead. Since the shelter went no-kill, it also had to limit its admissions. Over the last few years, the West Volusia Humane Society lost its contracts with Volusia County and the City of DeLand to take in all stray animals picked up by animal-control officers. Lost with the contracts were a steady stream of incoming animals and funds. Its obligations to city and county government gone, the Humane Society became a no-kill shelter. In the days of the government contracts, the shelter took in as many as 30 animals a day, but without euthanasia, there's no space for that many new residents. The population stays relatively stagnant; Gloria Thomas said between one and five animals a week find homes. The other 200 or so animals wait in their cages.
It's not uncommon for animals to wait a year or more. It's not uncommon to see animals who have spent most of their lives at the Humane Society. Some animals there are sick. 'They keep these animals so long that if they're not infected when they get there, they certainly are when they leave,' said former board member Georgette Alin.
'I wouldn't go up there for anything,' said Sue Manning, who resigned in 1996 after 25 years on the board of directors. 'It's not a place that was built for a no-kill shelter.'
Kim Staton, a program coordinator for the Southeast Regional Office of the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS), said, 'We don't feel like indefinite confinement of an animal is humane or appropriate. ... Being confined like that goes against everything in a normal dog's nature.' Staton also said HSUS views a no-kill, or limited-admission, shelter as a supplement to - not a substitute for - a free-admission shelter. 'There's a need in every community to have a shelter that takes all animals in,' she said. Without a free-admission shelter nearby, Manning said, 'There's nowhere to run to.'
DeLand, the county and other cities now take stray animals to Halifax Humane Society in Daytona Beach. While serving on the board, Owens and Alin both questioned the strict nature of the West Volusia Humane Society's adoption policy; when a place is overflowing with animals, they said, it's not the time to extensively screen would-be pet owners. Animals that shelter workers can't or won't place in loving homes are taking the places of animals that now are taken to Halifax instead, where they may be euthanized.
Examples are Katie the Catahoula, who Gary Thomas said killed another dog at the DeLand shelter, and Chew. Both animals have been at the shelter since years before the no-kill policy began. Alin remembers the case of a woman who was discouraged from applying to adopt a boxer. The boxer was placed in a home two-and-a-half years later, according to Alin, after being treated for heartworms he didn't have when he arrived at the shelter.
Thomas explained she and shelter workers try to place each animal in a 'special home' - not just any home. 'These animals have been through enough,' she and her husband both said.
After a 1999 visit, HSUS's Staton made several recommendations: Animals of different species should be separated, cobwebs 'literally hanging in gobs from overhead light fixtures' should be cleaned away, the animal population should be cut by a third, rabbit cages should be cleaned, and the rabbits should be given access to water.
Last week, the rabbit cages appeared to have been cleaned, but the cobwebs remained, and the animals were packed-in tighter than they were when Staton visited. No one questions that Gloria Thomas cares about animals - Alin remembers her hand-feeding a litter of sick puppies - but Alin questions Thomas' ability to do the job of executive director, to care for the shelter as an organization.
Another longtime board member, Kathy Kasper, said she resigned after 'there were too many changes being made without votes being taken.' Kasper and Manning said the shelter had always been run by the board, but that the board began to lose control once Thomas came on the scene.
One by one, board members began to resign. When asked why they didn't band together to stop change they didn't like, Kasper said, 'Changes were made a little at a time. You won't say we were stupid - we were naive.'
Manning said, 'Sometimes people are afraid to oppose.' Slowly, the board stopped following its own rules. What had been a board of 17 dwindled to eight, then to three. Elections stopped, and most of the remaining board members had never been elected to begin with.Meanwhile, concerned about a lack of documentation and financial oversight, Alin and other board members began to question Thomas' decisions.The board held a special meeting and laid out a list of requests for Thomas, including copies of accurate financial records and an explanation for the number of animals that had been caged for so many years.
According to Alin and Owens, Thomas never obeyed the requests.Immediately after the special meeting, the vice president, Pat Hawk, canceled the next board meeting, questioning the legitimacy of the board. This was in May 2000. Attorneys Eric Gill and Stacy Eckert came on the scene at the request of two board members. Several meetings were held, but nothing was resolved.
When the smoke cleared, nothing was left. The attorneys said the organization was in danger, as the board's legitimacy was in question. The bylaws, ignored for so long, made requirements for board members that no one was able to meet. To vote in elections, members were required to attend a certain number of meetings per year, but not enough meetings were being held. The attorneys recommended elections be held as soon as possible, as much in accordance with the bylaws as possible, but no elections were held. Instead, some members of the board washed their hands of the Humane Society, and others stayed, seemingly content to let sleeping dragons lie. Only three members now sit on the board: Violet Gonzales, Whitmarsh and Crystal Littler.
Neither Gonzales, Whitmarsh, nor Thomas remembers the last time elections were held. Only Whitmarsh is listed on the nonprofit corporation's latest filing with the Florida secretary of state. The May 2001 corporate update lists Gail Wilkins as president, Hawk as vice president, Whitmarsh as treasurer and Owens as secretary. Thomas said that of the four, only Whitmarsh is a board member.'The truth of the matter is,' she said, 'that we are operating with people who care for the animals and people who do help us.
'Of past troubles on the board, she said, 'They want to get in their political war, they're going to get in their political war. ... They all forgot what the main purpose was - the animals.' But attorney Eckert said an election is more than a formality.' If they can't tell you when the last time they had an election was, then it's a problem,' he said.
As Eckert explained, this leaves the Humane Society in a condition called 'ultra vires' - beyond its legal power.' It's kind of strange to me,' Eckert said, 'that you have a group that's out there, and they know there's a problem, but they don't seem to be doing anything to fix it. 'If the board were found illegitimate, Eckert said, their decisions would also be illegitimate. This means the money the board spends, or the changes it makes to the shelter, could be called into question by anyone - and there is precious little protection in place for acting board members or the executive director. Without a board, the executive is running a 'headless organization,' Eckert said.
Whitmarsh said that over the 10 years she has served the Humane Society, she slowly took on more responsibility for the organization's finances.Whitmarsh said she isn't familiar with the day-to-day operation of the shelter, but she is completely in charge of the finances. 'I've gotten in this position basically by default,' Whitmarsh said.
As for board members who called for more financial oversight, 'It just always seems they're looking for something, but they're not willing to help,' Whitmarsh said. 'The records are open.' Orange City accountant Greg LeFils said a situation like the one Whitmarsh is in could be dangerous for an accountant. 'The person who is the treasurer has absolutely no defense,' he said. LeFils said nonprofit organizations should always set up an oversight system that has a third party as a watchdog.
Whitmarsh said, as far as she knows, the Humane Society's books have never been audited - certainly not over the past 10 years. The organization couldn't afford $5,000-$10,000 for an audit, she said. According to the 1992 bylaws, which attorneys and board members agree are the closest to official the Humane Society has, the board is not allowed to liquidate more than 10 percent of the Humane Society's assets within a 12-month period. In the last year, acting board members have liquidated approximately 75 percent of the shelter's assets, according to Whitmarsh.
Asked about financial plans, Whitmarsh said the society hopes to receive more donations and bequests from its supporters, and has taken steps to start a thrift store. Of the Humane Society's condition, Alin said, 'It's really sad because the animals were really the big losers.' Kasper said, 'I do feel bad for the animals that are left behind over there,' but is glad she's chosen to volunteer her time elsewhere.
Thomas shrugs off concerns as coming from people who don't have the animals' best interests in mind. 'They can try to hurt an institution that's been here since 1955 because they didn't get their way,' she said. 'Too bad somebody doesn't put the good stuff in the paper.'
Alin is sure many more people could come forward with concerns. 'There are a lot of people out there, who are former board members, who know a lot, but just won't come forward,' she said."
SO ASK YOURSELF, WHAT'S CHANGED OUT THERE???
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