WILLISTON, Vt. (WCAX) – At a time when law enforcement faces heightened scrutiny for actions in the line of duty, the Vermont State Police are modifying their methods when it comes to mental health. A million-dollar program years in the making is attempting to close the gap between officers and mental health workers. In part one of her special report, Christina Guessferd got an exclusive look at the partnership in action.

In the field, VSP Sgt. Todd Wilkins and Bill Elwell are extensions of each other’s bodies — every step is in sync, every move intentional.

Literally and figurately, they must always have each other’s back. Even during a welfare check in Readsboro.

Watching them work a scene is like following the ebb and flow of a dance. Their stage on this call is the home of an elderly woman whose family called the police concerned about her well-being. And just like any impressive dance performance, it comes with a lift. In this case, it’s Sgt. Wilkins boosting Elwell through a window to check to see if the elderly woman is at home after getting no response. It turns out she isn’t.

Reporter Christina Guessferd: Do you feel like a team, like partners?

Sgt. Todd Wilkins: Oh absolutely, without question… We read each other. We play off each other. With a simple eye contact or a look, the other knows what to do.

It’s an unspoken bond the duo has built since the fall of 2021. On paper, Elwell is an employee of United Counseling Service, Bennington County’s designated mental health agency. But he’s contracted by the Vermont Department of Public Safety department to be stationed at the Shaftsbury barracks.

And like all 10 embedded mental health crisis specialists across Vermont, Elwell is embraced as a brother in arms, treated with the same respect as troopers. “Short of not being a police officer and not wearing the uniform, Bill is part of the family here,” Sgt. Wilkins said.

Reporter Christina Guessferd: Tell me how much trust plays in your relationship.

Bill Elwell: It’s at the heart of it.

The duo is the most seasoned pair in the program. Elwell is considered a shared resource, who’s encouraged to tag along with any Shaftsbury trooper to whatever call comes in — a domestic disturbance, car accident, house fire, even a traffic stop. The crisis specialist’s job is to de-escalate a person in distress by deploying empathy, kindness, and consideration rather than a bullet, taser, or pepper spray.

“Bill lifts a huge load off the police officer,” Sgt. Wilkins said. “You will immediately see people de-escalate themselves with their body language and everything when they know Bill is not a police officer, that he’s a crisis specialist who’s just there to talk to them and help them with whatever they’re going through.”

“In many ways, all I’m doing is reframing what troopers may already be explaining to somebody,” Elwell said.

He’s a confidant in street clothes, unintimidating without the olive green uniform, tan hat, and tinted glasses.

“It has an impact on public perception. A trooper shows up and goes, ‘Hey, this is my friend Bill. He can really be helpful,’” said Mourning Fox, who took over as DPS’ first mental health programs director in August 2021. State leaders charged the former deputy mental health commissioner with expanding the embedded mental health crisis specialist program that was originally piloted in the St. Albans barracks in 2015. Drawing from his more than two decades of experience at the intersection of mental health and criminal justice, Fox personally oversees specialists and trains them in de-escalation tactics fit for the field.

“When a human being is in crisis, parts of our brain shut down — it’s survival mode — and that can lead to more aggressive behavior,” Fox said. “As a trooper, as a crisis specialist, what we’re really trying to do is influence someone’s behavior so that the situation can resolve safely. And it’s almost impossible to influence someone’s behavior if you have no relationship with them, right, if you’re a complete stranger.”

Fox teaches specialists and troopers how to establish rapport efficiently. “It’s about trust — trust and respect,” Fox said. He says the classes demonstrate how to carve out their individual roles to create seamless community support — the trooper leading safety decisions and the crisis specialist handling clinical decisions.

Reporter Christina Guessferd: How has the implementation of this program demonstrated to you an attitude change in how we treat people in mental health crises when they become aggressive or potentially a danger to themselves or others?

Mourning Fox: The state police are trying to lead by example by saying, ‘We’re not going to do things the same way.’”

Though Fox says many troopers initially worry the extra civilian on the scene will become a liability, they all quickly marvel at the benefit.

“In my opinion, this is a game-changer,” Sgt. Wilkins said. “It’s really the future of law enforcement.”

Fox emphasizes that municipal police departments are encouraged to borrow their county’s mental health crisis specialist if they don’t have one of their own. Soon, he hopes every barracks will adopt a standard of two embedded workers as is done in Williston, for round-the-clock coverage. Royalton is still hiring for its first.

In part 2 of her special report Friday, Christina Guessferd will look at whether the renewed focus on mental health support is actually saving lives and talk to the public safety commissioner about the connection between de-escalation tactics and police use of force.

Related Stories:

Report outlines mental health gaps that contributed to 2019 officer-involved shooting

Embedded mental health worker plays key role for St. Albans Police

Upper Valley agencies team up to create mobile crisis unit

Pilot project embeds mental health worker at state police barracks

Franklin County Sheriff’s Office expands mental health training

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