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Man killed in officer-involved shooting struggled with mental illness

The Rapid City Journal - 6/11/2017

Before mental illness took its toll, the man who threatened a mass shooting at a Rapid City apartment complex in April was an accomplished professional, loving son and devoted husband.

Tim Alden Holmgren worked as a public relations and marketing executive, graphic artist, newspaper editor, press operator and typesetter, and was recognized with numerous awards. But in February 2007, a few months after he quit his last full-time job as director of public relations and marketing at Regional Health, Tim was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

And so began a decadelong battle with mental illness, which culminated on April 27 in a confrontation with police at his Harmony Heights apartment. Tim had been drinking and had taken several prescription medications when he called police for a welfare check on himself that afternoon.

A familiar face, Rapid City Police Officer Allen Nelson, went to the first-floor apartment around 1:30 p.m. Two days earlier, Nelson had gone to check on Tim at his wife's request.

Tim had started talking in a different American accent, carried around knives and placed one within reach in every room of the apartment, said his wife, Kathy Holmgren. And he had shattered the glass frame of a poem he wrote and typeset in honor of their first wedding anniversary.

Kathy was so disturbed by her husband's behavior that she left their home and moved into a women's shelter on the morning of April 24.

"There were just some things he said, and I knew that this is not my Tim," Kathy, 58, said. "We have knives in the house. This is an angry man. I don't need to be here." It was the last time she spoke to or saw him.

After Tim threatened a mass shooting "just like San Bernardino," Nelson called for backup and police officers armed with high-powered firearms descended on the apartment complex.

A crisis negotiator tried to get Tim, who was brandishing a black handgun, to leave the apartment, but he refused. The standoff, which lasted nearly four hours, ended when Tim pointed the gun at state Highway Patrol Trooper Michael Dale, who was positioned atop an armored vehicle outside the apartment.

Dale fired his rifle seven times. Tim, 53, fell to the floor and died at the apartment.

Finals days and hours

Tim turned out to have been wielding a pellet gun, according to an investigation report by the South Dakota Attorney General's Office. An accompanying photo shows the air pistol resembling a real semi-automatic handgun. No explosives were found in the apartment, contrary to claims Tim had made.

The attorney general's office ruled the shooting justified. Its report, released May 26, said Tim appeared to have the means and opportunity to use deadly force, and was a "clear and present danger" to law enforcement on scene. Tim had also been carrying three fixed-blade knives and a straight razor.

Tim's father, Lowell Holmgren, thinks a line in the seven-page report provides some insights into his son's final moments: "During one exchange, Holmgren told law enforcement that they were going about it all wrong and that law enforcement should shoot him."

The family wanted to share Tim's story, partly, to tell people it is important to seek help for mental illness. There are many people with bipolar disorder who lead full and happy lives given proper treatment, Kathy said.

Tim, unfortunately, had a different ending.

Kathy and Lowell emphasized that they do not blame law enforcement for using deadly force on Tim.

"I don't hold the police responsible," Kathy said. "They were protecting others."

Lowell said: "He's flashing a gun. You have to assume that it's real. I don't think they had any choice."

But Kathy blames the lack of coordination between law enforcement and mental health professionals in dealing with mentally ill people who come into contact with police.

A week before Tim's death, Kathy called his psychiatrist to report that her husband was exhibiting strange behavior. The Rapid City doctor, she said, advised her to request a welfare check with the police, who would call the mental health people to take Tim to the hospital.

She called police for a welfare check on April 24 and 25. Kathy said she was told that nothing appeared out of the ordinary.

Call for service

Rapid City Police Chief Karl Jegeris said South Dakota law provides two ways in which law enforcement can deal with mentally ill people they encounter. One is to assist or transport a person who agrees to seek treatment. Another is to take a person to the hospital, even if it's against his will, if the person is "currently, actively suicidal or homicidal."

Holmgren did not fit either of the scenarios when police conducted his initial welfare checks. He qualified for involuntary mental health commitment the day of the standoff, Jegeris said, but the situation ended up necessitating the use of force.

Mental health professionals do not conduct house calls at the behest of local police; rather, local police need to bring patients to the mental health professionals, he said.

Local police receive a "high degree" of training in how to deal with mentally ill people and also have crisis negotiators, Jegeris said. He believes the system in place is effective but said he is open to doing more to serve mental health people in crisis.

Kathy said local and state officials, as well as mental health care providers, also need to step up with the services for ordinary, middle-class citizens.

"If Tim had been treated properly 10 years ago, would I still have him, the man of my dreams?" she said in an interview at a one-bedroom apartment she is now renting on the south side of Rapid City.

The community is now in the midst of addressing local mental health issues after Rapid City Regional Hospital announced early this year that it would no longer take in mentally ill patients if they did not have acute medical needs.

In March, members of the public and private sectors formed an alliance to come up with solutions to what is deemed a severe lack of long-term and crisis mental health services in the Black Hills region. Rapid City and Pennington County law enforcement officials were among the alliance's founding members.

Living with bipolar disorder

Lowell, 86, lost his son in April, but he says the process started 10 years ago when Tim was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.

Also known as manic-depressive illness, it is a brain disorder that mental health experts say causes unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels and the ability to carry out day-to-day tasks.

People with bipolar, according to information from the National Institute of Mental Health, experience periods of unusually intense emotion, changes in sleep patterns and unusual behaviors. They also do risky things during manic episodes and contemplate suicide during depressive episodes.

A few years before he was diagnosed, Tim rewired his garage lights so they could not be turned off, telling his dad he couldn't understand why anyone would want them off.

Shortly before his diagnosis, Kathy said, Tim began replaying and editing in his head conversations he has had with people.

"He described it as like a radio going in his head all the time, on, changing stations," said Kathy, who married Tim the day they graduated from Chadron State College in 1989. "'I should have said this, I should have said that.' That was going on all the time."

Tim apparently could not sleep and self-medicated with alcohol. He had a breakdown and quit his job at Regional Health.

Last summer, after Donald Trump won the Republican primary, Tim told Lowell some Republicans were looking for a third-party candidate. If Tim were to be that alternative candidate, he wanted to show his dad what his stump speech would contain.

"He emailed me a 40-page stump speech," Lowell said in an interview at his Rapid City home, surrounded by family photos and mementos. He and Tim's mom divorced when Tim was a young boy.

Since his diagnosis, Tim had been seeing a local psychiatrist who prescribed him with bipolar medication. But Tim could not find a suitable counselor in town, which Kathy said was a crucial counterpart to his medication.

In search of better health care, the couple lived in Colorado for five years, where Kathy continued working as an English teacher. The couple did not find much better options, and later returned to Rapid City.

The bottom line, Kathy said, was they did not have the money to get the treatment Tim needed.

"We couldn't afford really good help. Insurance doesn't pay for really good help," she said. "If you're from Hollywood, you can get those good things. But if you're not from Hollywood, you can't afford those."

The day of the standoff, Kathy did not find out about her husband's shooting until shortly after it was over. She read about it online at her younger son's home.

Leaning on faith

Tim was cremated the following day. On May 13, his family held a memorial service at Faith Temple church on Kansas City Street.

During Lowell's interview later that month, his voice filled with pride whenever he talked about his son's accomplishments.

He recounted how Tim, the youngest of his five children, turned a college summer job into a two-year stint as a newspaper sports editor in Alliance, Neb.

Several years later, he said, the owner of a Valentine, Neb., paper asked Tim to move from the printing room to heading the newsroom after learning of his editing experience.

Tim and Kathy didn't have any children. He helped raise her two sons, who were 3 and 6 years old when they got married.

Today, a wooden urn with his cremains rests in Kathy's living room, beside a crystal cross and a photo of Tim hiking with three friends.

Kathy, who now works as a part-time guide for a government agency, credits her faith and her church's support for helping her cope with Tim's death and find peace.

During her moments of grief, she looks back at their 28 years together. Even after he was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, she said, he continued to be a loving husband with an eventful life.

"We went on vacations, celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, had morning coffees, political debates, I watched him write four novels, numerous novellas, and hundreds of poems and essays," she wrote in an email.

"He had all the love and support of his family and friends that a man could have, but sometimes that just is not enough."