California homeless man wins $2.4 million wrongful termination lawsuit but he's nowhere to be found
A homeless man in California has won a $2.4 million wrongful termination lawsuit, but no one can locate him.
Eight years ago, Daniel Ridge, 49, sued his former employer, Alameda Health System, claiming he was wrongfully fired from his job at a county morgue. He was also battling mental health issues at the time.
Last month, an Alameda County Superior Court jury ruled in his favor and awarded him $2.4 million for his wrongful termination, according to the Los Angeles Times.
When the verdict dropped, Ridge was not in court.
According to the paper, Ridge's mental condition has deteriorated over the last eight years to the point where he was unable to testify in his case and eventually fell into homelessness. He reported becoming estranged from his family, including his 10-year-old son.
Even Ridge's lawyers cannot find him. Lawrance Bohm, Ridge's attorney, said that finding him will require a "tremendous effort."
Donald Whitehead, the executive director for the National Coalition for the Homeless, had similar concerns, telling the LA Times that there's only so much information shelters can collect and provide when someone is searching for a specific individual.
'I've seen many times people searching for loved ones,' he said. 'But there's protections for people and their identity, so it's a challenge when people get lost in the system.'
What's known about Ridge is that he lived somewhere in California during the 1980s and 1990s. Six of his friends died in gang-related violence, and in his 20s his uncle was reportedly killed in front of him when a co-worker set him on fire with a Molotov cocktail.
Two of Ridge's cousins died by suicide after that incident, according to a news statement released by the Bohm Law Group, which represented Ridge.
'The terrible life of Mr. Ridge left him with PTSD that went undiagnosed or untreated for decades as [he] lacked the resources to treat his condition,' the law firm wrote.
Ridge eventually became a certified nursing assistant and began working as a part-time morgue attendant at Highland Hospital in Oakland, which is run by Alameda Health System.
His work was generally complimented in his evaluations until 2013, when the morgue's full-time attendant took a leave of absence and then retired the following year. The full-time duties at the morgue fell to Ridge, and he was forced to work seven days a week while only receiving part-time pay.
'This meant that, among other things, Mr. Ridge did not receive any employee benefits, including health insurance,' according to the lawsuit.
Ridge reportedly complained about his work hours and lack of proper compensation on multiple occasions. In 2015, the hospital opened up hiring for the full-time position and made Ridge re-interview and apply for the job he was already doing. He was ultimately awarded the job.
His issues with his job continued. He complained that he was forced to use a landline and go to a hospital library on a different floor when he needed to research medical conditions relating to the bodies in the morgue, which other employees did not have to do. He also raised concerns after the hospital changed the way it disposed of formaldehyde, saying the new process left him feeling dizzy and suffering from shortness of breath and blurred vision.
Ridge asked for respiratory equipment multiple times but was only granted his request after 17 months of asking.
He raised further concerns about how the hospital handled bodies, noting that some would be left on gurneys outside the morgue with just a sheet covering them.
'The spilling and leaking of bodily fluids from dead bodies was not only due to a lack of body bags, but also due to the fact that bodies would occasionally be delivered to the morgue with intravenous tubes still attached to them and with needles and other hospital 'sharps' still lying on the gurneys,' the lawsuit said.
The attorneys claimed that Ridge's working conditions triggered his undiagnosed PTSD — which he was formally diagnosed with in September 2015 — leading to him being put on medical leave until October 4 of that year.
After he returned to work, he suffered a panic attack and was told by his psychiatrist to take another six days off work.
When Ridge returned to work on November 1 — with Family Medical Leave Act paperwork that he was told would enable him to take unpaid, job-protected leave while he recovered — he was told her was being fired. He was escorted out of the hospital by law enforcement, and later filed his wrongful termination suit.
According to his lawyers, Ridge was doing alright until the pandemic hit in 2020, and his condition degraded and ultimately left him homeless and disconnected from his family.
Alameda Health Systems said in a statement that it takes its employees' mental and physical health seriously, but noted it disagreed with the jury's verdict and suggested it would appeal the ruling.
'After a thorough investigation, AHS determined that Mr. Ridge's allegations were not supported by fact and that AHS acted appropriately and consistently with all laws and regulations,' it said in a statement. 'However, AHS otherwise disagrees with the jury's verdict and believes that, when reviewed by the Court of Appeal, the portions of the jury's verdict favoring the plaintiff are not supported by the evidence.'
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The Herald Scotland
6 hours ago
- The Herald Scotland
Mohamed Soliman's antisemitic attack deepens divisions in Boulder
They ignore the taunts and epithets flung by college students and counter-protesters, focusing on their goal: Bring them home. These moments, these footsteps, they weren't political. It wasn't about their personal views on Israel's war against Hamas. "We just want them home," said longtime marcher Lisa Turnquist, 66. "That's why we do this," she said. The small group of "Run for their Lives" marchers in this college town were sharing their message on June 1 - 603 days since Hamas snatched concertgoers and ordinary people from southern Israel and vanished them into Gaza's tunnels. But halfway through the Sunday afternoon march, a suicidal Muslim immigrant attacked them with a flamethrower and Molotov cocktails, injuring 12, including an elderly Holocaust survivor. Many regular marchers of the group are Jewish. Six of the injured in what federal officials have described as a terror attack were from the same synagogue, Bonai Shalom. But instead of bringing the community together, the attack appears to have further exacerbated existing fault lines across this wealthy, liberal city where pro-Palestinian protests verging on outright antisemitism have become a way of life for elected leaders and college students. After the attack, someone posted "Wanted" signs on the Pearl Street Mall just steps from the scene, naming the majority of city council members as guilty of "complicity in genocide" for refusing to pass a ceasefire resolution and not divesting from businesses that are helping Israel wage its war against Hamas. "Not only has the rhetoric become increasingly centered around violence and division but we have an increasing amount of cowardice, from cowardly administrators, cowardly government officials," said Adam Rovner, who directs the Center for Judaic Studies at the University of Denver. "We're seeing it much more clearly now. And unfortunately Jewish communities are paying the cost." Egyptian national Mohamed Sabry Soliman, 45, faces more than 118 state and federal charges in connection with the attack, including hate-crime accusations. Investigators say he confessed and remains unrepentant, telling them he deliberately targeted the marchers because he considered them a "Zionist Group." Divisions continue after Pearl Street attack Amid the extreme positions on the Israel-Hamas war, Run for their Lives believed most people could get behind their message. The national Run for their Lives organization has sponsored walks or runs in hundreds of cities and towns since Oct. 7, 2023, the day of the deadliest attack on Jews since the Holocaust in which over 1,000 people were killed and 240 were taken hostage. As of June 5, 56 hostages are still being held by Hamas, although that number includes both the living and presumed dead. On June 1, as she had dozens of times in the past, Turnquist was pushing her Australian shepherd Jake in a stroller as the group made its way past the historic Boulder County Courthouse on Pearl Street pedestrian mall. She saw a man dressed like a landscaper - odd, she thought, since it was a Sunday - and thought it would be best to just keep walking, as she had done so many times before when counter-protesters screamed and yelled. There had never been physical violence against the group, but there were insults, jeers, accusations that the marchers themselves support genocide. Turnquist and others who have marched said they often felt unsafe. "We ignore the people who are against us," said Turnquist, who is Jewish. "We can't let Boulder tell us what to do. We can't let university students tell us we can't do stuff like this, because that's what they do. Week after week, people are yelling at us all the time, saying we are causing genocide. We're not causing genocide. We were attacked and we are fighting to get our hostages back." The conflict between the marchers and counter-protesters is a microcosm of the vicious disputes that have long been on display in Boulder, where Palestinian students disrupted classes earlier this year. Turnquist, the protest marcher, said knowing the group lacked the full support of local elected officials made it harder to feel comfortable during those Sunday protests. She said she went into a Boulder shop at the start of the Gaza war while wearing a necklace with a Jewish symbol on it. The shopkeeper suggested she hide it, so she didn't become a target, she said. "One of the things I remember saying was ... the masks are going to come off and we're going to see who the antisemites are. We're going to see them for who they are. And sure enough it started happening all over," Turnquist said. "It was people that I didn't even think would be antisemites - it was some friends." Nationally, polls have shown that younger Americans are more likely to side with Palestinians than with Israel, including young Jews. And an April 2024 poll by the Pew Research Center found that 31% of Jews younger than 35 felt Hamas' reasons for fighting were valid, compared to just 10% for Jews aged 35 and older. Turnquist said the Sunday marches were deliberately non-political: They didn't call for attacks on Hamas or for more retaliation by Israel. Instead, they focused on the one thing they thought everyone would agree with. To Soliman, that apparently didn't matter. According to investigators, he researched the protest group online, took concealed-weapons classes and planned his attack for a year. Video recordings of the attack captured Soliman shouting "Free Palestine" as he threw Molotov cocktails into the crowd of marchers, setting fire to several victims, including an 88-year-old Holocaust survivor. "Mohamed said it was revenge as the Zionist group did not care about thousands of hostages from Palestine," Boulder police wrote in an arrest affidavit. "Mohamed said this had nothing to do with the Jewish community and was specific in the Zionist group supporting the killings of people on his land (Palestine)." Soliman's motivation, as reported by police, mirrored similar language used by the sole member of the Boulder City Council who declined to sign onto a group statement from city leaders condemning the attack. Councilmember Taishya Adams condemned the attack but said she declined to sign the group statement, which identified Soliman's actions as antisemitic, because it didn't specifically note that he was also motivated by what she considers anti-Zionism. "If we are to prevent future violence and additional attacks in our community, I believe we need to be real about the possible motivations for this heinous act," Adams wrote in a statement explaining her decision. "Denying our community the full truth about the attack denies us the ability to fully protect ourselves and each other." Responded Councilmember Mark Wallach: "Your efforts to make what I think is a pedantic distinction as to whether a man who attempted to burn peaceful elderly demonstrators alive - to burn them alive, Taishya - was acting as an antisemite or an anti-Zionist is simply grotesque." Jewish groups in Boulder have previously tangled with Adams over what they say are her own antisemitic remarks regarding Palestine, and pro-Palestinian protesters repeatedly disrupted city council meetings. Adams did not return a request for comment from USA TODAY. On June 5, the first meeting after the attack, the mayor announced that in-person public comment would be prohibited because pro-Palestinian protesters have so often disrupted meetings. Among those who have watched protesters disrupt council meetings was Barbara Steinmetz, a Holocaust survivor burned in the June 1 attack. In a video interview last year, Steinmetz recounted what it was like to attend council meetings alongside pro-Palestinian protesters, including one interaction with a woman carrying a sign referencing "from the river to the sea," the rallying cry of the Palestine Liberation Organization, which called for erasing Israel. "I turned to her and said, 'Do you realize that that means you want to kill me? You want me destroyed?' But she just turned away," Steinmetz said. "Jews in Boulder and maybe Denver and probably in cities all around the world, are afraid of wearing their Jewish stars. They're taking down their mezuzahs so that no one will know that it's a Jewish house. They're not identifying themselves because they're frightened." Soliman's attack didn't happen in a vacuum Rovner, from the University of Denver, said pro-Palestinian college protests helped lay the groundwork for increased violence, in part because many students don't truly appreciate what it means to repeat and thus desensitize the meaning of chants like "globalize the intifada" and declarations that Palestine should run "from the river to the sea." Says the Centre for Israel and Jewish Affairs: "Calls to 'globalize the intifada' are not calls for civil disobedience, general strikes, or negotiations. They are calls for the murder of Israelis and Jews around the world and must be taken seriously by governments and law enforcement agencies." Like CU-Boulder, the University of Denver was home to an encampment of pro-Palestinian protesters last year, and Rovner said there were repeated confrontations between the protesters and Jewish students walking to class. Rovner has a close friend who often participated in the Boulder walks. "These are precisely the kinds of things that cause terrorist groups to pick up weapons to attack people," Rovner said. "When you heighten the rhetoric of hatred and demonize one country and claim to only be opposing an ideology, you are almost inevitably going to see action based on that rhetoric." Jewish scholars and community leaders say the attack on Boulder was frustratingly predictable given the sharp rise in antisemitism sparked by the war in Gaza, with escalating rhetoric, protests and demonstrations nationwide, particularly on college campus and college towns. In response to those warnings, President Donald Trump specifically targeted pro-Palestinian protesters on college campuses, launching investigations into 40 campuses that his administration has accused of not doing enough to protect the Jewish community from participants. Security and extremism experts say a significant factor in driving violence is that many protesters draw no distinction between someone who is Jewish and someone who supports Israel's attacks on Hamas in Gaza, which is home to about 2.1 million Palestinians. In April, a man firebombed Pennsylvania Gov. Josh Shapiro's house hours after a Passover celebration, telling police he targeted Shapiro over "what he wants to do to the Palestinian people." And on May 22, a man shot and killed a young couple outside the Lillian & Albert Small Capital Jewish Museum in Washington, D.C. "Free Palestine," the man shouted. "I did it for Gaza," he later told investigators. "These attacks and many more in recent months - on campus, at Jewish institutions and this time at a peaceful gathering here in Boulder - have targeted people whose only 'offense' is that they are Jewish. Or someone thought they were Jewish. Or they were standing as allies alongside Jews," the Rocky Mountain Anti-Defamation League said in a statement to USA TODAY. A report released last month found that antisemitic incidents across the United States in 2024 hit a record high for the fourth consecutive year. The FBI and Department of Homeland Security on June 5 issued a security alert warning that more antisemitic violence could be coming. "The ongoing Israel-Hamas conflict may motivate other violent extremists and hate crime perpetrators with similar grievances to conduct violence against Jewish and Israeli communities and their supporters," the security agencies said in the warning. "Foreign terrorist organizations also may try to exploit narratives related to the conflict to inspire attacks in the United States." Survivor returns to site of the attack Run for their Lives organizers say they remain undeterred as they gear up for this weekend's march. "This didn't happen in a vacuum. It is the result of increasingly normalized hate, dehumanizing rhetoric, and silence in the face of rising antisemitism. But we will not be deterred," Rachel Amaru, the founder of Boulder Run For Their Lives said at a June 4 rally for the victims. "We invite everyone to join us, not just with your feet, but with open hearts and minds. Choose humanity over hate, curiosity over judgment, and learning over condemnation." The day after the attack, Turnquist returned to the scene of the attack to lay flowers and display a small Israeli flag on behalf of her injured friends. Still shaken by the attack just 24 hours earlier, she visibly shook as she recounted her efforts to help the victims. "I woke up this morning and didn't want to get out of bed. I didn't want to get out of bed and didn't want to talk to my friends who were calling me. But this is when we have to get up and stand up, and we have to push back," Turnquist said. And she promised to be back walking every Sunday until all the hostages are home.
The Herald Scotland
2 days ago
- The Herald Scotland
Holocaust survivor burned in Boulder speaks after antisemitic attack
The one thing that remained constant: their family stayed together. It's a message that resonates with her nearly 90 years later and why she was marching in Boulder on Sunday. She was part of a small group bringing attention to the Jewish hostages held by Hamas to bring them home when she was attacked. A man threw Molotov cocktails at the group, injuring 12 people. Steinmetz, 88, told NBC News earlier this week that she and other members of the group Run for Their Lives were peacefully demonstrating when they were attacked. "We're Americans. We are better than this," she told the news outlet. They should be "kind and decent human beings." Steinmetz spent much of her life trying not to talk about what her family endured. Her father's message to her was always to move to forward. In 1998, she sat down to share her story with the University of Southern California's Shoah project, which documents the lives of Holocaust survivors. In an interview stretching almost three hours, Steinmetz talked about her family's escape, the relatives who died in the war, and the lessons they learned. She was 61 when she did the Shoah interview, one of thousands of 52,000 stories recorded over eight years. "Family is what's most important," Steinmetz said. She was too young to remember much from her family leaving Italy in 1938 when Benito Mussolini stripped Jewish people of their citizenship at the direction of Adolf Hitler. What she remembers, she said in the interview, was an atmosphere of trauma. Boulder attack: Firebombing suspect Mohamed Soliman charged with 118 criminal counts Her father, who had run a hotel on the northern Italian coast after leaving Hungary, visited embassies and wrote letters to various countries to try to move his family as Hitler's power grew. Each time, their move was temporary. Each time, they brought only what they could carry. But each time, they stayed together. "Things were not important, people are important. What you have in your brain and in your heart that is the only thing that's important," she said. "And that's totally transportable." In the past few years, Steinmetz has told her family's story at Holocaust remembrance events and classrooms, libraries and churches. She wants people to understand history to understand that Jewish people are being targeted again. "Hitler basically took (my father's) life, his dream away.... The rest of life was chasing, running, trying to make a living," she said. The family eventually settled in in Sosua where the Dominican Republic Resettlement Association (DORSA) had established a refugee camp for Jewish people. Life was difficult there, she said, as her family and had to learn to build houses, farm the rocky terrain, and raise their families. Steinmetz and her sister, three years older, were soon sent to a Catholic school, where only the head nun knew they were Jewish. A nun used to let her change the clothes of the Baby Jesus figurine at the church, and for a few minutes each day, she felt like she had a doll. She remembers sleeping next to her sister, and crying inconsolably. "I never cried again. Years and years and years later, when something happened, my mother and father died, I had a hard time crying. And to this day, I have a hard time crying," she said. "It is just something I don't do." The family didn't speak of these moves for years, she would say. "They couldn't help where they were living, it was the only thing they could do to stay alive." The family settled in Boston in 1945, and soon learned much of their family in Europe had died, some in the war, others after. The family would move several times again as her father found different jobs, and she and her sister began going to Jewish summer camps. It was there, she said, that she "fell into the Zionist spirit. I loved the feeling that there would be a state of Israel." She finally felt like she had a community, she said. "These were my people,"she said. "This group was very tight. I was very welcome there. It was a really important part of my life." Her life, she said, was shaped by the war. "It was an experience that affected everything we did," she said, lessons she and her husband, who died in 2010, passed to their three daughters. In all the years of moving from place to place, she remembers they never went to sleep without saying a prayer for their family in Europe, to "bless Aunt Virgie, Emra and Oscar and Pearl... our grandparents." When she met some of this family again in the mid 1950s, "I knew them. They had been part of my everyday life ... they were part of my vocabulary." At the end of telling her story, of two hours and 54 minutes of mostly emotionless factual testimony, the interviewer for the Shoah project asks if there is anythingshe hopes people could take away from her story. "We need a broader picture of all of humanity," she said. "We need to educate ourselves and always need to be on top of what is going on in the world and be alert and be responsive to it." And it's why she continues to tell their story, to warn about antisemitism - even as hate against Jews soars to historic levels. Just last year, Steinmetz showed up to a Boulder City Council meeting in support of her local Jewish community. A woman sat down next to Steinmetz, she recounted in a video interview in June 2024. The woman had a Palestinian flag and a sign that read, "from the river to the sea," a phrase that can be used to promote antisemitism. Steimetz turned to her and said: "Do you realize that that means you want to kill me? You want me destroyed?'" The woman just turned away. "Jews in Boulder and maybe Denver and probably in cities all around the world, are afraid of wearing their Jewish stars," Steinmetz said. People are taking down their mezuzahs so that no one will know that it's a Jewish house, she said. But in the following breath, Steinmetz rejected the notion that silence is ever an option. "It is up to each of us to say something, to say something and do something. 'You can say no; I'm a human being just like that other person. We are all humans.'"
The Herald Scotland
2 days ago
- The Herald Scotland
Boulder firebombing suspect charged with 118 criminal counts
Soliman faces over a dozen attempted murder charges, two counts of using explosive devices, over a dozen counts of attempting to use an incendiary device, five counts of assault on someone over the age of 70 and one count of cruelty towards animals. Those charges could add up to as many as 384 years in prison, according to Boulder County District Attorney Michael Dougherty. More state and federal charges could be added as the investigation into the Boulder, Colorado attack at a pedestrian mall continues, authorities have said. Soliman appeared in court behind a transparent parition where he was asked to shake his head or nod in response to questions. Judge Nancy Salomone ordered him back in court on July 15. The June 1 attack, in which Soliman is accused of hurling Molotov cocktails and using a makeshift flamethrower, targeted Run for Their Lives, a group advocating for the release of the hostages held in Gaza since the assault on Israel by Hamas on Oct. 7, 2023. Authorities say Soliman, who's lived in Colorado Springs after coming to the U.S. on a tourist visa in late 2022 and stayed after it expired, injured 15 people ages 52 to 88, with burns ranging from serious to minor. The 45-year-old Soliman said "he wanted them to all die . . . He said he would go back and do it again and had no regret doing what he did," Boulder Detective John Sailer wrote in court papers. Soliman explained that, to him, anyone who supported the existence of Israel on "our land" is Zionist. He defined "our land" as Palestine, court documents said. Soliman threw two of the 18 Molotov cocktails he'd brought with him to the pedestrian mall, authorities said, yelling "Free Palestine. A federal affidavit charging Soliman with a hate crime and attempted murder says he learned about the demonstration from an online search. He planned the attack for a year and waited for his daughter to graduate from high school before executing it, according to the affidavit. He hoped to use a gun and had taken classes, but his immigration status prevented him from purchasing a firearm, the affidavit says. Instead, court documents say, he taught himself to make Molotov cocktails from YouTube videos. No one knew about his plans, he told investigators, though he left a journal behind for his family. Soliman's wife and five children are currently in the custody of Immigration and Customs Enforcement officials; the Trump administration plans to have them deported.
