German Twp. Police Officer Jeremy Blum is a veteran and father working two jobs. He is trying to get a full-time career in law enforcement off the ground, but while he waits he sometimes helps out working at his brother’s sub shop.
Michael L. Ferryman, also a Clark County native, followed a path through life littered with beer cans, descending into mental illness.
Severe mental illness
For Ferryman, his violent death ended a life marked by a diagnosis of severe mental illness, and early bouts of drinking that may have contributed to a divorce and lost jobs, according to public records.
Ferryman was born Oct. 6, 1953, to James and Carol Ferryman in Springfield. He told psychologists later in life that he was raised by “supportive” parents and never saw or experienced abuse, according to court documents. Ferryman graduated from Shawnee High School in 1971.
At 19, he married a classmate, Linda Mader, and went to work for her family’s company, Mader Electric. The Ferrymans had two sons in 1976 and 1978.
The Ferrymans divorced in 1982. In one court record, Linda Ferryman claimed her husband abused and threatened her, once laying a gun on the couple’s living room table in an apparent threat. Linda gained custody of the children and Michael was allowed visitation from noon to 9 p.m. Sundays, but was cautioned not to drink alcohol before or during visits.
Alcohol consumption was by then a major force in his life.
He first tasted beer as a teenager, he told psychologists later, and for a decade in the 1980s drank as much as 12 cans of beer a day, every day. During that time he was arrested twice for drunken driving.
Ferryman’s ex-wife once requested a psychological evaluation of him after the divorce but the court overruled the request. He fell into arrears on his child support, owing Linda more than $6,600 by 1989 after he was fired from Honda of America for “conduct” a couple of years earlier.
Linda Ferryman declined to be interviewed for this article.
Nomadic life
In the late 1980s and into the 1990s, Ferryman worked as a self-employed landscaper, he told psychologists. He is believed to have moved frequently during that time, living in Georgia and Texas before moving to southeast Ohio around 2000, according to Morgan County Sheriff Thomas Jenkins.
He continued a nomadic lifestyle in southeast Ohio, telling psychologists that he moved from campground to campground, living with his girlfriend, Maria Blessing, in a silver Airstream trailer.
But by 2001 Ferryman’s mental state had deteriorated to a point that it sparked an incident eerily similar to the New Year’s Day shooting at Enon Beach.
On Sept. 5, 2001, Ferryman fired a shot at campers who were trying to take firewood from a community woodpile, Jenkins said. When deputies arrived, Ferryman fired a shotgun into the air and barricaded himself in his trailer with Blessing.
Asked later by a psychologist why he fired the gun into the air he said, “It seemed like a good idea.”
During a 26-hour standoff, Ferryman fired at deputies 16 times. No one was hit. He came out around 3 p.m. the next day and was arrested and charged with four counts of felonious assault of a peace officer.
Blessing was also charged but never prosecuted.
Ferryman offered a different account of the standoff to psychologists who evaluated his mental stability after the arrest.
He claimed that he fired the original shot when he heard someone threaten to kill him and Blessing. He claimed he fired his gun “in the air” at authorities to “keep them at bay.”
“If it wasn’t for my strength, they’d have killed us. The only thing I tried to do was protect this woman’s life,” Ferryman said in a March 2003 interview.
When asked about the number of shots he fired, Ferryman reportedly said “I can’t say. I’d guess 10 or 12 ... every time I felt their insanity building up, I’d shoot a round off up in the air so we could negotiate properly.”
Claims of deity
Ferryman’s compromised mental state was clear, said Morgan County Prosecuting Attorney Mark Howdyshell, who was an assistant prosecutor at the time.
“When he was initially arrested, he was obviously incompetent to stand trial from the standpoint of an inability to assist his lawyer with his defense, because he was just all over the place with wild types of statements and claims of being a deity,” he said.
Ferryman, his evaluations concluded, believed he was an “ordained high priest” of God and was persecuted because of it.
Ferryman claimed at one point that he had witnessed the resurrection of Jesus Christ in Vidalia, Ga., in 1995.
“Read the Bible and you’ll know ... you’ll know that witnessing the resurrection of Jesus Christ says you’re a priest,” he told a psychologist.
Throughout mental evaluations in 2002 and 2003, Ferryman frequently claimed that he could see evil and that he had made a covenant with God that would include eight wives and many concubines.
“There is a gene pool deficiency now,” he said in 2003. “That is why he wants the gene pool set up. God is not happy about what is going on today. He looks toward a new nation to solve the world’s problems.”
Ferryman claimed other people could discern his position as a “high priest.”
“I would go to the grocery store and people would say ‘There he is’ and they knew,” he said. “They want to call it a mental illness but people have seen it through my eyes.”
Treatment
After his arrest the court ruled that Ferryman was not competent for trial but that competency could be restored. He was moved frequently between jail and mental institutions over the following months. At one point, a treatment center received an order allowing them to give Ferryman medications involuntarily to restore his competency.
In November 2003, psychologists recommended that he be found not guilty by reason of insanity. Morgan County Common Pleas Judge Dan Favreau issued that finding and committed Ferryman to the T.B. Moritz Forensic Unit, a maximum security facility on the Columbus campus of Twin Valley Behavioral Healthcare.
About five months later, after improvements to his mental state, he was moved to the less restrictive Appalachian Behavioral Healthcare-Cambridge campus.
Howdyshell described the process to be found not guilty by reason of insanity as “extremely rigorous and extremely rare for those to be successful.”
Throughout his time in the criminal and mental health system, Ferryman received diagnoses that he was paranoid, bipolar and delusional.
In 2004, Ferryman was approved for “level five” movements from the treatment center, which allowed him to spend most of his time in the Springfield area, returning to the Appalachian Behavior Healthcare campus every two weeks, according to court documents.
Trudy Sharp, spokeswoman for the Ohio Department of Mental Health, said records show that Ferryman was allowed increasing freedom of movement at the Cambridge state hospital based on clinical reports indicating he was responding to treatment.
“It looked like his levels of movement increased, which must have meant he was getting better,” she said.
In March 2005, in accordance with laws requiring that anyone found not guilty by reason of insanity be kept in the “least restrictive environment,” Ferryman was placed on conditional release.
“It was a very comprehensive conditional release in that there were a lot of conditions on his release,” Howdyshell said.
The terms of the release stated he was allowed to live at the Enon Beach Recreation Park, could not have any weapons, must take medications as determined in his treatment plan, must submit to drug testing, and meet with case managers and monitors.
Under state law, a defendant found not guilty by reason of insanity may be monitored by mental health officials for a time period equal to the maximum sentence for the crime that was committed. In Ferryman’s case, that would have been 10 years, ending in May 2013, Sharp said.
At the time he was allowed to move back to Clark County, it was determined that while Ferryman remained mentally ill, the psychotic symptoms were in remission.
“That was a big question but he had no family members, no support system within the local area (in Morgan County),” Howdyshell said. “He wasn’t from here. He was just camping here when the offense occurred. He was from the Springfield area, apparently was raised there, worked there. The treating physicians felt he had a support system there so that was the place for them to be.
“It wasn’t just he was sent over there because the family was there. Arrangements were made for his continued support through mental health offices in Clark County.”
Ferryman moved in with Blessing in Enon Beach. Neighbors this week said he had lived there quietly, almost without incident.
At a required six-month review and one two years after that in 2008, Ferryman appeared to be keeping up with his treatment plan and required meetings with his case manager and psychiatrist, and his symptoms remained at bay, according to evaluations.
But he did not understand the chronic nature of his mental illness and believed he would not experience a change if he stopped taking his medication, records show. That led the evaluating psychiatrist in 2008 to determine that he should continue to be monitored to make sure he takes his medication and is compliant with his treatment plan.
The March 2008 evaluation is the last in his file that was made public this week by the Morgan County clerk of courts.
The mental health evaluations in his case record had been under seal, a requirement of Ohio law. After his death, Morgan County authorities this week sought a court order to lift the seal so the evaluations could be reviewed by investigators and they became public records.
Risk factors
Throughout Ferryman’s years of evaluations, psychologists noted that he knew a lot about weapons and had a history of gun ownership, and that he was at-risk for not taking his medication.
Ferryman’s time at Enon Beach was not without signs of trouble.
In 2009, a son of Blessing’s reported to the Clark County Sheriff’s Office that Ferryman had threatened him with a knife and he believed Ferryman was “mental” and would do anything he believed God told him to do. He told authorities that Ferryman had said he was evil and God would take care of him.
The son did not want to press charges, and Blessing and Ferryman denied that threats had been made, according to the report.
Blessing, who describes herself as Ferryman’s “best friend,” said this week she knew he had weapons in the home the two shared at Enon Beach — the same trailer he shot at police from in 2001.
“For hunting only,” she said. “He liked hunting and he liked fishing. He’d been an outdoors person ever since he was a little kid.”
Blessing said Ferryman did not miss dosages of his medication but said he often became confused and had recently been diagnosed with dementia.
“He got all confused every once in a while and that but it wasn’t very often,” she said. “He had a stroke or seizure or something and he’d maybe forget what day it was or something like that or if he took his pills or not.”
She also said that his medication was changed in December. She said she had not seen a change in his personality or mood after that.
Blessing said she left the trailer about an hour before Saturday’s shooting to go to the store and that when she left, Ferryman was calm and had not been having any problems with neighbors.
She returned to find police cars surrounding her home.
“The system works the way it’s designed to work,” said Howdyshell. “There may have been a breakdown somewhere that contributed to this tragedy. I think that’s what everyone’s looking into. But it’s also entirely possible that the system worked exactly the way it’s designed to work.”
Hopper: A perfect storm for public service
At the Bauer farm in the 1970s and 1980s, a typical day for sisters Marie and Annette Bauer would include feeding chickens, milking cows, seeing after the horses.
But, their biggest chore in the house was dragging their little sister, Suzanne, away from the television.
“It was like she was in a trance,” said Annette Bauer. “‘Batman,’ ‘Our Gang,’ ‘The Brady Bunch.’ She just wanted to watch TV.”
At their Pike Twp. home tucked far off of the main road, there wasn’t much else for the Bauers girls to do.
It’s why Suzanne, the youngest, plunged into every school activity that would take her — volleyball, track, FFA, cross country.
“It was a chance to be around people,” said Marie (Bauer) Lundgren. “Knowing that she loved people so much, it’s no wonder she ended up in the job she did. She wanted to help.”
All the angles of Suzanne’s personality became the perfect storm for public service, according to her family: she was a “softie,” she liked people, she loved to lend a helping hand.
It took some time to get there, said her father, Charlie Bauer.
“Suzanne marched to her own drum,” said Bauer.
Through the early-to-mid 90s, Suzanne dabbled in agricultural education and other career possibilities.
It was a brother-in-law that piqued Suzanne’s interest about the job where she would spend the last years of her life.
Her brother-in-law was a deputy sheriff near Denver, and Suzanne was full of questions.
“She just wanted to know everything,” said Lundgren. “That’s about the time she bought her first gun.”
She took classes at Clark State Community College, earning a degree in criminal justice, and joined the Clark County Sheriff’s Office in 1999.
She was reliable and held her own with her male counterparts, other officers have described her. They said she never shied away from a struggle if that’s what it came to.
Personable and chatty, she became a familiar face in parts of the county where she worked.
Enon Beach was one of those places.
“She was a really nice lady,” said Sherry Dudeck, a resident there. “She did her job really well.”
Suzanne was known for her professionalism and efficiency on the job.
“She was driven to get that call done,” said Clark County Deputy Sheriff Andrew Biggert.
It was that combination of forces that lead her in the direction of Enon Beach the morning of New Year’s Day, as she answered a report of shots fired.
One officer, almost full-time
Despite working two part-time jobs, Jeremy Blum calls himself a “stay-at-home dad.” The German Twp. patrolman would never just rush out the door to work.
“He always gave us a kiss and a hug,” said his wife, Mandie, and mother of his two kids, ages 7 and 8.
That is why the 32-year-old was drawn to police work after a stint in the Marines.
“Police work is something I always wanted to do,” Blum said this week after being released from four days in the hospital. He still had 50 shotgun pellets in his arm and side.
“Being a police officer allows me to fight the good fight, if you will, but then I get to come home and see my kids when the work is done,” he said.
Blum has worked long and hard to become a cop. He has been a part-time officer on the German Twp. force since graduating from the Police Academy at Clark State Community College in July 2007.
In addition to serving in the Marine Corps Reserve from 1999 to 2003, with an active duty stint in 2000, Blum’s resume to the township says he holds a bachelor’s degree in history from King’s College in Wilkes-Barre, Pa. He graduated high school in Arlington, Va.
On his resume, he listed his No. 1 hobby as “spending time with my family. Watching my kids grow.”
Blum had impressed his superiors at the township police department. He received a merit award on Dec. 17.
“If we were in a pinch, or I needed somebody to cover a shift right away, I could count on Jeremy to show up as long as it didn’t conflict with his other job,” said Lt. Michael Stitzel.
Blum, who lives in Kettering, also works part time at Jimmy John’s sub shop by the Dayton Mall. Township officials say they were planning to make Blum full-time before he got shot. In fact, it was supposed to happen the Friday before, but that township meeting was rescheduled until last week.
German Twp. police Chief William Dickerson and Stitzel also told Blum Friday that he should get a new bullet-proof vest.
“We looked at his vest and realized his vest was kind of old and tattered,” Stitzel said. “I said we’re going to get you a new vest.”
On some level, Mandie knew police work was a dangerous. But she really never expected her husband to get hurt. “I never thought it would happen,” she said.
New Years Day
The final, deadly collision of these three lives began on a cold New Year’s Day morning.
Ferryman, investigators believe, left his small, cramped trailer and walked to a neighboring trailer. He shouted “Get out here!” and without warning fired a shotgun blast that blew in the window and peppered the interior with shot. Neighbors say the only thing he had complained about recently was a neighbors dog defecating in the yard around his trailer.
The occupants of the trailer called 911, talked nervously for about five minutes waiting for officers to arrive. The first on the scene, pulling in alone, was Hopper.
She spoke with the occupants of the fired-upon trailer, then began to walk around.
What followed is still being pieced together.
A second officer arrived. Occupants of nearby trailers heard Hopper ask, without any sense of urgency, for that officer to come to her. She was standing outside Ferryman’s trailer. She was about to photograph footprints she had found on the ground, Clark County Sheriff Gene Kelly said.
Then the door to Ferryman’s trailer opened and Hopper was hit by a single shotgun blast to the head.
Blum was patrolling the parking lot of the Upper Valley Mall about half an hour into his shift — a little weary because he had snatched only a few hours sleep after staffing drunken driving patrols the night before until 3 a.m.
Then the radio crackled. An officer was down at Enon Beach.
Blum was one of the first backup units on the scene where Ferryman had retreated into his small trailer with his shotgun.
Blum was ordered to take a position under cover. (His supervisors and attorney have forbidden him from talking publicly about the exchange of gunfire because it’s still under investigation.)
In video of the incident, Blum and other officers can be seen circling around a neighboring camper, Blum with his Glock semi-automatic handgun at the ready.
From the video it is not clear when the first shot was fired. Blum dropped down to one knee and fired only yards from Ferryman’s trailer. He said he had emptied an entire clip and reloaded. Around him, other officers unleashed a flurry of bullets on the trailer with assault rifles and other guns.
Ferryman got off a shot.
Blum fell backward, rolled over and crawled away, his left arm clearly wounded.
“My first thing was to get out of the kill zone,” he said. “To get to safety.”
Sheriff Kelly and other officers reached from cover and pulled him to safety.
“I didn’t do anything different than any of those other officers there would have done,” Blum said. “It could’ve easily been any of them that was struck instead of me. It’s just, as fate would have it, it was me.”
After the fusillade there was about an hour of tension in which SWAT officers were called in and slowly approached Ferryman’s trailer. His body was found in his trailer.
Hopper was rescued from the ground next to the trailer. She was pronounced dead later at the hospital.
Blum was flown to Miami Valley Hospital in Dayton, where he suffered a collapsed lung. Doctors stabilized his condition, and determined none of the dozens of shotgun pellets in his body damaged bone.
‘I lived’
Mandie Blum got a call from the hospital. “I was just in shock,” she said. It wasn’t until the next morning that she was confident he would be alright.
She can’t describe how that felt.
Officer Blum felt lucky, but not happy. While he was going to be OK, Hopper — herself a mother of two — had died. Blum said he knew her professionally, having responded to a few of the same calls before.
Before her funeral Friday, he pondered what he would say to her family.
“I’m very sorry that she was taken from us. Words can’t make them feel better,” he said. “I might cry when I see them, because I lived.”
Staff Writers Samantha Sommer and Tom Beyerlein contributed to this story.
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