Beyond Fernald

For some people, the question of what the state should do with the developmentally disabled is theoretical.

It has never been that for Gary Blumenthal, who has confronted the issue as a sibling, a state lawmaker, and, most recently, as an advocate for the mentally disabled. He has very strong feelings about the impending closing of the long-embattled Fernald Developmental Center in Waltham.

"Just from the perspective of treating people with respect and dignity, you don't have to isolate them, you don't have to hide them," Blumenthal said yesterday. "It is an antiquated way of dealing with the problem."

Blumenthal was a state representative in Kansas years ago, when he advocated closing the facility where his brother lived.

"Even my mother used to call and ask me what . . . I was doing," he recalled yesterday.

The decades-long fight over Fernald moved a decisive step toward closure last week. A federal appeals court ruled that the state can move forward on plans to transfer the last residents out of the place.

The ruling was a blow to relatives of some remaining residents, who had fought for years to keep the facility open and felt they had an ally in US District Judge Joseph L. Tauro.

With the state's successful appeal, the only avenue to saving Fernald might be a successful appeal to the US Supreme Court.

Fernald has long been an interesting test case of the state's commitment to taking care of the vulnerable. To Fernald supporters, its residents are simply too fragile to risk wrenching them from the only home they know.

To opponents, Fernald's existence flies in the face of decades of research and experience that says the best, cheapest, and most humane way to treat the developmentally retarded is to place them in communities and give them the tools to live as normally as possible.

I've been to Fernald more than once, and I found the first view compelling. I met people who had lived at Fernald virtually all their lives and who didn't seem to want to leave.

After meeting with residents and staff last year, Governor Deval Patrick eventually decided that the case for keeping Fernald open is simply not strong enough.

Saving Fernald was always an uphill battle. With last week's decision, the question now is what comes next for its 163 residents.

I spoke to two service providers who had some ideas. "I would expect the transition to be somewhat difficult for a lot of them," said Gerard McCarthy, executive director of North Shore Arc.

"It will require them learning some new skills. But it has been done many, many times, by hundreds of people. The success rate has been extremely high, and after they are settled in, people are much happier than in institutional settings," he said.

Bob Richards of the Justice Resource Institute said that the remaining Fernald residents would probably move into group homes of four or five people, and would have access to more activities than they do living in a hospital.

"If people want to go to a nightclub, there's a nightclub in Worcester that a lot of [patients] go to," he said.

"If they want to get more involved in physical activities, we can get them involved in the YMCA." He said 40 to 50 residents have transferred to his agency from Fernald in recent years.

McCarthy makes another point: "It's really not about the physical building," he said.

"It's the care and compassion of the people who work with you. What that means is that the state has to be careful that the people who provide services in the community are as committed as the staff who may be employed at Fernald," he said.

In all likelihood, the battle over whether to keep Fernald open has finally ended. But the victors have one obligation left: Making sure every resident wins, too.

Adrian Walker is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at walker@globe.com.