When Powder Spills and Police Don’t Show

This is a tale for our times about a doctor, an envelope and some unexplained white powder. I’ll try and relate it in a way that doesn’t jangle your nerves.

I got the story from the doctor, Fred Galluccio, who has a family practice in Newport Beach and teaches at UCI Medical Center.

Two weeks ago in the early afternoon, one of Galluccio’s regular patients showed up unannounced at his Newport Beach office. The man, in his late 30s, told the doctor he’d been at work when he opened an envelope containing a letter folded in thirds. As he did, a “puff” of white powder escaped and covered his hands.

For obvious reasons, the man was upset. He told company officials, who sent him to his doctor.

When he showed up at Galluccio’s office, the doctor closed up shop as a precaution. Not sure how to proceed, Galluccio telephoned the county’s Health Care Agency.

That set off the chain of events that still has Galluccio angry and wondering how seriously some local law enforcement officials are treating the specter of bioterrorism.

The county health official told Galluccio to notify police. That’s in keeping with procedures drawn up years ago that make law enforcement officials the first line of response on such matters.

Under those procedures, police or Sheriff’s Department dispatchers determine from the caller if a “credible threat” exists before sending out an officer. If an officer is dispatched, he or she decides whether to summon more police help or, possibly, health officials and the FBI.

That makes sense. As a practical matter, health officials can’t respond to every such report.

The problem, Galluccio says, is that when one of his staff members notified the Irvine Police Department--the city where his patient worked--the dispatcher declined to send an officer.

Disbelieving, Galluccio then made the call himself, thinking his position might carry more weight.

It didn’t. Galluccio says a dispatcher told him police would send an officer only if they had indications, based on various factors, that there was a credible threat. Galluccio says he can’t imagine why even the limited details he knew wouldn’t have warranted sending someone to the scene.

To protect his patient’s confidentiality, Galluccio won’t identify him or his company.

Lt. Sam Allevato, an Irvine police spokesman, couldn’t find a record of Galluccio’s phone call but says the department basically follows the same policy as other law enforcement agencies in the county. Not knowing what was said between Galluccio and the dispatcher, Allevato says, makes it impossible for him to pass judgment.

With Hoaxes Plentiful, Police Pick and Choose

Allevato says, however, that it is department policy to send a squad car if a caller insists. He acknowledges that the presence of unexplained white powder in an envelope perhaps should have been enough to trigger suspicion.

Pat Markley, a spokeswoman for the county’s Health Care Agency, says health officials are satisfied with the way local law enforcement agencies handle such calls.

A large number of hoaxes raced through the county after the first anthrax-related crimes hit America in September, Markley says. Irvine alone was getting about a half-dozen a week during that period, Allevato says.

Beyond that, Markley says, “It wouldn’t be possible to send [health officials] out on every single incident of white powder that’s spilled.”

Galluccio concedes that health officials shouldn’t automatically respond to every such report, but says that law enforcement should. After all, if someone opens a letter at work and white powder spills out--and there’s no obvious explanation for it--why isn’t that worth investigating?

I’ll add this: If health officials don’t get involved until police ask them, and if police don’t check out all possible incidents, how are citizens being protected?

“I think the police should have gone out there,” Galluccio says. “I think they should all be investigated,” he says of anthrax reports. “The bottom line . . . is that there have been no [cases of] anthrax in California yet--and because of that, we’re not going to worry about it. . . . I understand that. But I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

Galluccio isn’t trying to drum up a scare and doubts his patient has anthrax poisoning. He put him on three weeks of antibiotics anyway.

“I’m doing it out of an excess of caution,” he says. “The consequences of taking antibiotics are pretty benign. The consequences of it being anthrax, which I don’t think it is, are pretty significant, so I’m opting to protect my patient.”

With the enormous amounts spent on the war-on-terrorism effort, Galluccio says, surely more money could be directed on the home front to ensure law enforcement would automatically respond to potential threats. “If they say it’s not a problem, let’s send an officer out and reassure people,” he says.

Meanwhile, his patient is back at work and recently told Galluccio there’s “a lot of anxiety” at the company over the episode, the doctor says.

Galluccio says he never was panicky about anthrax exposure. But when I ask how he reacted when the patient first showed up, he said, “I often hug my patients; I didn’t hug him.”

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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at The Times’ Orange County edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com.