Independent journalist Derek Sherwood submitted a records request in Centre County, Pennsylvania, in January 2026. He requested an autopsy report related to a 1987 cold case that he was researching for a book project.
After Coroner Scott Sayers denied the request, Sherwood successfully appealed to the Office of Open Records, or OOR, a state agency responsible for adjudicating Right-To-Know Law disputes.

But Sayers still refused to release the report.

On May 14, the day before he was legally required to comply with the OOR’s decision, Sayers obtained a temporary court injunction that shielded the autopsy report from release.

Around the same time, PennLive reporter Jenna Wise requested three autopsy reports related to a 2025 crime spree from Susquehanna County Coroner Jessica Chiaramonte. Like Sayers, Chiaramonte also denied the request and then filed motions with the Court of Common Pleas to seal the reports.

And when I contacted Clearfield County Coroner Kim Shaffer-Snyder in May to request autopsy reports for three men who died in Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention, I was quoted US$2,100 for a short stack of printed pages.

These experiences reflect a wider pattern. In counties across Pennsylvania, coroners routinely refuse to make autopsy reports and other records available to members of the public.

Coroners’ reasons for this are inconsistent and often unclear. Sometimes they say that releasing autopsy reports would jeopardize ongoing law enforcement activities. Sometimes they cite medical privacy standards that do not apply to autopsy reports. And sometimes they don’t provide any reasoning at all.

When coroners do agree to release their records, they charge as much as $700 per case. These fees place autopsy reports out of reach for most requesters, including journalists and researchers like me.

I’m a postdoctoral fellow studying the impacts of mass incarceration on medicine and public health. I’m also a freelance reporter who uses public records to understand what goes on behind the walls of prisons and jails.

In 2022 I partnered with colleague Terence Keel, a professor of human biology and society, to systematically request autopsy reports related to hundreds of deaths in prisons and jails across Pennsylvania.

We submitted requests in over three dozen counties. Then we waited. And waited.

Our plan was to conduct a rigorous statewide study of deaths in custody. Instead, we discovered that autopsy reports are not nearly as public in practice as Pennsylvania law requires.

What PA state law requires

The Pennsylvania County Code provides two pathways through which members of the public can obtain autopsy reports and other coroners records.

First, a requester can obtain them directly from the coroner through the payment of statutory fees. This is the only option available if a requester wants an autopsy report that was produced during the current calendar year.

In most places, however, these fees do not apply to older reports. In all counties with fewer than 500,000 residents, the law requires coroners to deposit the past year’s records with the county prothonotary at the beginning of each new year. The prothonotary is an independent elected official who serves as a designated record-keeper, among other duties.

Once in the prothonotary’s custody, all coroners records are to be made available “for the inspection of interested members of the public” – no fees required. This is the second way a requester can obtain an autopsy report in Pennsylvania.

But the state’s largest jurisdictions, including Philadelphia collar counties such as Bucks, Montgomery and Delaware, are exempt from this requirement. Requesters in those counties must pay the statutory fees no matter how old the requested autopsy report may be.

Due to carve-outs like this, autopsy reports in the counties with the most jail deaths are least accessible to public review.

Philadelphia and Allegheny counties

Philadelphia County and Allegheny County, where Pittsburgh is located, are the only jurisdictions in Pennsylvania to have a chief medical examiner. Unlike a coroner, who is typically elected by the people, a medical examiner is appointed by the county executive or health commissioner.

In a landmark 2023 case brought by journalist Brittany Hailer, the Commonwealth Court of Pennsylvania ruled the Allegheny County Medical Examiner’s Office was subject to the same public release requirements as coroners elsewhere in the state.

Hailer had requested the autopsy report for Daniel Pastorek, a 63-year-old man who died in Allegheny County Jail in 2020 without leaving behind a documented next of kin. The Allegheny County Medical Examiner’s Office denied Hailer’s request on the basis that she was not related to Pastorek, and their policy was to release autopsy reports only to next of kin. But the Commonwealth Court ruled that Hailer was entitled to pay the fees and receive Pastorek’s autopsy report, regardless of her identity.

When Hailer finally obtained the report, she found that the medical examiners never performed a full autopsy. They merely viewed Pastorek’s body, then declared that he died of natural causes.

But the Philadelphia Medical Examiner’s Office is not subject to this ruling. Philadelphia, as the state’s largest county by population, is carved out of the section of the Pennsylvania County Code known as the Coroner’s Act.

The Philadelphia Medical Examiner’s Office releases autopsy reports only to next of kin or in response to a subpoena.

James Garrow, communications director for the Philadelphia Department of Public Health, which oversees the Medical Examiner, described this to me in a June 2026 email as “a policy decision.”

The Philadelphia Medical Examiner’s Office has made no changes to its policies in light of Hailer v. Allegheny County, Garrow added, citing the Coroner’s Act carve-out and the Philadelphia Home Rule Charter of 1951, which eliminated the office of the coroner.

High fees, but ‘no discretion’ – in theory

Pennsylvania law establishes high fees for coroners’ records – $500 per autopsy report, plus an additional $100 each for toxicology and coroner–investigator reports.

By comparison, the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner charges a total of $32 for a comprehensive report that includes all three.

But the hefty price tag in Pennsylvania comes with an unambiguous guarantee.

In a 2012 decision called Hearst Television Inc. v. Norris, the Pennsylvania Supreme Court held that if a requester pays the fee, the coroner must provide the requested record. The coroner has “no discretion” in such cases, the court ruled.

Yet when Keel and I tried to obtain autopsy reports in 2022, coroners in 21 counties failed to respond to our requests at all. This is despite the fact that Pennsylvania’s Right-To-Know Law requires county officials to acknowledge receipt of all requests within five business days.

Another three coroners acknowledged receipt of our requests but stopped responding to us when we tried to make arrangements to view or collect the reports.

And coroners in 10 counties, including Beaver, Centre, Chester, Dauphin, Indiana and York, denied our requests outright.

We appealed to the Office of Open Records, which consistently ruled in our favor and characterized one coroner’s legal arguments as “frivolous.”

Defying the public deposit requirement

The Coroner’s Act stipulates that in counties with fewer than 500,000 residents, the coroner must deposit “all official records and papers for the preceding year in the office of the prothonotary” for “the inspection of interested members of the public.”

But of the 41 counties we contacted in 2022, only in three was the prothonotary or the county open records officer actually in possession of autopsy reports and able to release them to us.

Some coroners seemed to be unaware of their duty to deposit their records with the prothonotary, telling us they had never done so. Other coroners told us that they had entered into agreements with their local prothonotaries about retaining custody of their records. Such agreements have no clear statutory basis under the County Code.

Still other coroners, however, tried to use the gap between the law and their offices’ practices to stymie our requests.

Sayers, for example, claimed that his office’s autopsy reports were all in the custody of the prothonotary. He suggested we use Webia – Centre County’s online records retrieval system – to locate them.

Webia is a pay-to-use database. It requires a payment simply to set up an account, and it automatically collects a fee for each search a user performs. After a few days of costly and tedious searching, we concluded that Sayers had misled us.

The Office of Open Records agreed.

“There is no evidence that the requested autopsy and toxicology reports were ever deposited with the County Prothonotary,” the appeals officer wrote. “The practical effect is that any requester … is left to obtain them, at great cost,” by paying the statutory fees, he added.

A similar story unfolded in Dauphin County. Coroner Graham Hetrick denied our request and told us to look for autopsy reports at the prothonotary’s office, despite never having deposited them there.

After the OOR accused him of acting “in violation of the public interest,” Hetrick finally released the autopsy reports we requested.

Sayers, however, appealed the OOR’s determination to the Centre County Court of Common Pleas. We didn’t have the resources to fight the case, and the court ruled in Sayers’ favor.

The judge’s 95-word opinion did not address any of the matters raised in the OOR’s 11-page final determination, including the appeals officer’s conclusion that “the County, based upon the actions of its Coroner, may have acted in bad faith.”

I contacted Hetrick and Sayers last year to ask for their responses to the OOR’s criticisms. Neither responded. I reached out to Sayers in June 2026 with a more detailed list of questions, but again he did not respond.

Only 3 of 41 counties readily provided reports

Of the 41 counties we contacted, only Lancaster, Lebanon and Lehigh counties released the autopsy reports we requested without attempting to charge us the statutory fees or requiring us to appeal the matter to the OOR.

In two of those counties – Lancaster and Lehigh – previous court decisions explicitly ordered the coroners to deposit autopsy reports with the prothonotary.

During the 2023-24 legislative session, the Pennsylvania State Coroners’ Association worked with state representative Carol Hill-Evans (D-York) to introduce a bill that would have eliminated the public deposit requirement entirely. Michael Kriner, a registered consultant for the PSCA, confirmed the association’s involvement in an email to me last year.

The proposal never made it out of committee.

In counties with fewer than 500,000 residents – that’s currently 60 of Pennsylvania’s 67 counties – the coroner is still required to deposit all autopsy reports and other records for the preceding year with the prothonotary.

That’s the law, whether coroners follow it or not.

The Conversation U.S. reached out to the Pennsylvania State Coroners’ Association to ask why coroners across the state are withholding autopsy reports and failing to deposit their records with the prothonotary. The Conversation U.S. also asked for clarification on the association’s position regarding the release of autopsy reports in exchange for the payment of fees.

The PSCA did not respond.

A ‘united front effort’ to prevent release

In February 2023, after more than six months of fighting for autopsy reports in numerous Pennsylvania counties, Keel and I obtained a batch of emails through a Right-To-Know Law request that shed light on what was happening behind the scenes.

Within days of receiving our request for autopsy reports in June 2022, Sayers contacted the Pennsylvania State Coroners’ Association to ask for guidance.

“Can you find out if any other coroners received a request like this?” Sayers wrote in an email to Scott Grim, a former Lehigh County coroner who was then the PSCA’s executive director.

A few days later, Susan Shanaman, then an attorney for the PSCA, sent an email to a list of numerous recipients, including dozens of sitting coroners. She suggested that coroners take the maximum extension allowed by law before responding to our requests, since they contained “unique issues … such as the requests seem to be all related to police-involved shootings and deaths in prison.”

Later, in another email, Shanaman suggested “that the requests be denied.”

In yet another email, Shanaman wrote, “I did a little more digging.” She attached a magazine article describing Keel’s research about jail deaths in Los Angeles. “A legacy of confronting injustice,” read the headline. This material, wrote Shanaman, “speaks of the goal to find racism in death investigations.”

A few months later, Chester County Coroner Sophia Garcia-Jackson sent an email to the same list. “If any other counties are dealing with the right to know UCLA Terrence Keel appeal with the Office of Open records, can you please reach out to me directly,” Garcia-Jackson wrote.

“My Solicitor and I would like to discuss a united front effort to prevent these records from being released,” she added.

Garcia-Jackson’s “united front effort” did not succeed.

In December 2023, the Commonwealth Court ruled in Terence Keel v. Chester County Office of the Coroner that Garcia-Jackson had no legal basis upon which to withhold the autopsy reports we requested.

We won.

The OOR now cites the case, alongside Hailer v. Allegheny County, when it orders coroners to turn over autopsy reports.

Despite this victory in court, however, the records we requested remained inaccessible to us in practice. The ruling affirmed the public character of autopsy reports, but it did not comment on the coroner’s failure to deposit them with the prothonotary.

Our only option was to obtain the records directly from Garcia-Jackson’s office. In June 2024, she informed us through an attorney that her office would charge the full statutory fee for each report, plus an additional duplication fee.

At least 14 people died in the custody of Chester County between 2008 and 2021. Autopsies were performed on 12 of them. If we want to study those cases, we will have to pay the coroner $7,520.

That total includes only autopsy and toxicology reports. Getting coroner-investigator reports could cost another $1,200 or more.

I contacted Garcia-Jackson, Grim and Shanaman in March 2025 to ask for their comments on the contents of their emails. None responded.

I also reached out to PSCA president and Washington County coroner Tim Warco to ask whether the PSCA helped to coordinate a statewide effort to prevent the release of autopsy reports to Keel and me.

He didn’t respond either.

Breaking the law – and public trust

In Pennsylvania, the public’s right to review autopsy reports is protected by state law. Yet many coroners do not welcome public oversight.

The autopsy report Sherwood requested in Centre County remains temporarily sealed. The court will hold a hearing at a later date to determine whether this seal can be permanent.

The court in Susquehanna County ruled in Wise’s favor. She obtained the three autopsy reports in April and has since put them to use in a major investigation published on PennLive.

After Shaffer-Snyder quoted me $2,100 in response to my query about the three men who died in ICE custody, I asked whether the relevant autopsy reports had been deposited with the prothonotary, as required by law. She did not answer the question.

Instead, Shaffer-Snyder told me I could travel from California to her office in Clearfield County to view the reports in person. But I would not be allowed to duplicate them in a manner consistent with news reporting or academic research.

“There will be no electronic devices permitted to be present while the files are being reviewed,” she wrote in an email, without providing an explanation or legal justification.

When coroners attempt to shield autopsy reports from scrutiny, they’re not just violating the public trust. Often, they’re also breaking the law.

This article was made possible by a grant from the Fund for Investigative Journalism.

Read more of our stories about Philadelphia and Pennsylvania, or sign up for our Philadelphia newsletter on Substack.

Another famous face is joining the cast of “Rubber Hut” filming throughout Rhode Island.

As we previously reported, Grace Van Patten is starring in the feature film debut for director Hannah Gray Organschi about the infamous “condom hut” business from the early 90s.

The short-lived Fotomat kiosk turned drive-thru condom store garnered local notoriety as well as national attention in 1992 and is now the subject of a movie with several A-list stars attached.

READ MORE: Michael Imperioli, Emmy Rossum Join RI ‘Condom Hut’ Film

Scenes were filmed for several days at a custom-made “condom hut” on West Shore Road in Warwick. On Thursday, June 11, Beach Avenue was closed down to shoot a parade scene. Now, film crews have moved to Meshanticut Valley Parkway in Cranston for scenes along a residential street.

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Who Was Behind the Original Condom Hut?

The home is believed to represent the residence of Emanuella DelVecchio, the former flight attendant who had the brilliant idea to open a condom kiosk in response to the AIDS epidemic.

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Instead of support, however, DelVecchio received the condemnation of the Roman Catholic Diocese of Providence and was plagued with vandalism before shuttering her business within a year.

READ MORE: New Bedford’s Gone But Not Forgotten Closed-Down Bars

Who Has Joined the ‘Condom Hut’ Movie Cast So Far

Photos of parade scenes for the film show Michael Imperioli portraying a priest in the movie and now Deadline has reported that stage actor, Will Harrison, is attached to the project as DelVecchio’s husband. Other actors’ specific roles remain unknown.

Jamie McCarthy, Getty Images

Filming is expected to continue in Rhode Island until the end of June with a theatrical release likely in 2027.

The maze of bucolic dirt roads on the west side of the Foxstand Bridge in Royalton are within earshot of Interstate 89.

But with the bridge over the White River closed to traffic, residents there may as well be a world away.

“I now have food delivered,” said Gidget Lyman, a former Royalton Select Board member who lives about a mile from the 165-foot truss bridge. “Really, to go anywhere and plan to be on time, I have to add an additional 20 minutes onto my commute.”

Lyman and roughly 80 other households have been in a state of waiting for more than two years, since engineers working for the state visited the century-old bridge and, finding it in remarkably poor condition, immediately recommended the state close it to traffic. Today, graffitied cement barriers wall it off to vehicles. Getting around the river requires a circuitous, mostly dirt-road route.

Though state officials say the timeframe for replacing the bridge is not unheard of, the yearslong wait has caused mounting strife within the Windsor County town — the closure even prompted a lawsuit earlier this year.

Meanwhile, the estimated cost of the project has risen to more than $11 million. That’s creating a new headache for local officials, who must find a way to pay for the town’s portion of the expenses.

Like most bridges in Vermont, the Foxstand Bridge is town-owned. But bridge projects are often expensive, and towns usually rely on a grant program through the state Agency of Transportation to help pay for them.

According to a list sent to state senators in April, 18 town bridges around Vermont are currently closed and another 17 sites have temporary bridges. The Agency of Transportation prioritizes projects based on a weighted scoring system, said Project Manager Jonathan Griffin. “The projects actively advancing forward are systematically those in the poorest structural condition,” he said.

Ryan Britch, the town administrator in Royalton, said it’s been a battle to get the bridge replacement on the state’s priority list. But this spring, the state verbally committed to finishing the project by 2028, Britch said. That end date is reiterated on the bridge’s project fact sheet.

“So I’m feeling very confident that that will be the official opening date,” Britch said.

Neighbors of the Foxstand aren’t so sure.

They’ve experienced setbacks dating back to 2022, when the Foxstand was on the state’s funding shortlist and construction was slated to be fully funded through a federal grant. That pot of money ran out before its turn came.

Then, after the state closed the bridge in 2024, Royalton’s stranded residents were told they’d soon get a temporary bridge from the state until a new permanent one could be built. But after the temporary bridge’s price tag tripled, the town’s select board voted against installing it so as to not pass increased costs off to taxpayers.

As time has ticked on, the town has found itself in a similar conundrum. Britch, the town manager, said they were preparing to foot the local match for a $6 million project. But this spring, he said, the state came back to the town with a final $11 million total project estimate, meaning the town needs to come up with more than $500,000 for its match.

Now, Royalton is considering levying a local option tax to help pay for the unforeseen costs. Residents will likely vote on whether to implement such a tax at their town meeting next March. (Royalton voters previously rejected a 1% local option tax in 2025.)

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Griffin, with the state, said the original cost estimate was a “back-of-the-napkin” figure that wasn’t intended to encompass the complete project cost.

But he also explained that projects across the board have gotten more expensive due to rising construction costs, which have almost doubled from pre-pandemic levels due to inflation. 

Those high costs are putting even more of a strain on the state’s transportation budget, which has been under pressure due to declining gas tax revenue. Calling the Foxstand’s issues the “tip of the spear,” State Sen. Becca White, who represents Royalton, said she thinks paying for municipal infrastructure projects will only get harder from here.

In the meantime, a small group of Royalton residents are bearing the costs of the bridge closure in less quantifiable ways.

Earlier this year, one resident, Tyler LaGrange, went so far as to sue the town for financial damages. He said he was spending more on gas and car maintenance as a result of all the detouring, and he argued that the town was negligent because it hadn’t repaired the bridge sooner.

But citing sovereign immunity — the principal that holds municipalities harmless for indirect damages to residents — a Windsor County judge dismissed his case. LaGrange said he has since appealed the decision.

Another set of Royalton residents, the Bigelows, own Foxville Farmstand right on the west end of the bridge.

They opened their farmstand during the pandemic and rely on drive-by traffic.

Since the bridge closed, “it’s much quieter,” said Jim Bigelow. And after a big drop in business the last two summers, they’ve closed the stand this year and are trying to find other ways to sell their corn and spinach.

Rachel Bigelow said she’s heard about the 2028 reopening. And she’s wary.

‘I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said.

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