Edgar Tirado’s killing by police on LBJ Freeway was a ‘failure’ of Texas’ mental health system, his family says

Dr. Brian J. Dixon, a North Texas-based psychiatrist, said the mental health system in Texas makes it difficult to force a person with severe mental illness to get committed to a mental health hospital.

In Texas, the person with the mental illness has to say they want treatment or a loved one must apply for a mental health warrant at a local county clerk’s office. The process then requires several other court proceedings, including an evaluation by a medical professional and a court hearing.

But many in such a mental state are often not able to rationalize their declined health, he said.

“That’s the social discussion we need to figure out,” Dixon said. “There are nuances to this whole thing, and having one blanket policy for every single instance is difficult. Now, on the flip side, creating 100,000 different micro-policies is equally problematic.”

At the same time, Tirado’s story also reflects the complexities in law enforcement responding to people in crisis.

Research indicates that as many as 1 in 4 police killings involve mentally ill people, said Hernandez Stroud, counsel for the justice program at the Brennan Center for Justice, an independent think tank in New York.

That’s a conservative estimate because there are no national data tracking methods to ultimately know how prevalent fatal force among the mentally ill may be, said Stroud, who is a professor at Columbia University.

The mentally ill often struggle with substance abuse and end up in the jail or prison system for low-level crimes instead of getting the treatment they need, Stroud said. All of this raises questions about the effectiveness of law enforcement responding to people in crisis, because most officers are not trained mental health professionals who can recognize symptoms of mental illness.

“This incident [puts] a glaring light on the absolute failures of the mental health system in this nation,” Stroud said. “Maybe the police are doing their best, but it’s the absence of a mental health framework that is to blame.”

‘He just was amazing’

As a child, Tirado had a natural talent as a trumpet player. “He excelled,” said his father, Edgar Tirado Sr., who now lives in suburban Chicago. “He just was amazing.”

His copper-red hair and big smile made him stand out. He never wanted braces because it would affect his embouchure, or lipping, which gave him the clearest sound on the trumpet. He earned top accolades in band.

In addition to the band, he was active in the theater program at Lakeview Centennial High School. He also spoke three languages: English, Spanish and Portuguese.

After high school graduation, he joined the military just like his father, who is a U.S. Navy veteran.

Tirado made it through weeks of basic training for the Air Force. He earned his first rank as a Basic Airman and received an Air Force Good Conduct Medal in 2012, according to records from the Department of Defense. But after six months of active duty, he was discharged for reasons the military declined to disclose publicly.

His family said it was after Special Forces training in the Air Force that some of his mental health symptoms began to show. Tirado began to lose sleep at night. His nightmares tormented him. His parents suggested he see a medical professional. His discharge was a devastating moment. He felt like a failure, Tirado’s father said.

Doctors in North Texas told him he possibly had bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or both, his family said. He told his family he didn’t need medication to treat his mental illness. “I’m not crazy,” he assured them.

When his parents moved to the Chicago suburbs in 2014, Tirado was no longer living with them. He enrolled in community college and did not want to go to Chicago because he hated the winters. He stayed in Garland with friends in the area.

After cycling in and out of jobs, Tirado opened up a small business as a tree cutter in 2017. When he designed his own business cards, he put little beavers on them, a reference to his two big buck teeth. “Beaver Tree Cutting: Tree Trimming, Tree Removal, Bush Trimming. Se habla español!” the card read.

But the business did not work out. In the ensuing years, his health began to decline. His parents noticed he began to have angry outbursts when he perceived that someone was trying to demean or hurt him. His bizarre behavior continued.

He’d pick up his trumpet and play as loud as humanly possible. This bothered his parents when he would go visit them.

“Son, why do you play so loud?” his father would ask.

“That’s the only way I can stop the voices,” he’d say.

A rapid decline

Tirado started to call his parents at unusual hours in the middle of the night. Sometimes there would be no coherent conversation, just wild, uncontrollable laughter.

His parents suggested that he get professional help, but it was like walking on eggshells. It guaranteed an angry reaction. Tirado began to self-medicate with drugs and alcohol.

In 2019, Tirado experienced homelessness for the first time. He lived in a storage unit building. In April of that year, a man called Garland police after Tirado came up to him at the storage unit facility “talking all kinds of crazy” and hit him, according to a police affidavit.

His grandfather died in September 2019. Tirado agonized over memories from when he got kicked out of his grandfather’s home after one of his episodes on a visit.

Three months later, Tirado attempted suicide, his parents said, and ended up in Garland’s psychiatric ward.

“Dad, what should I do?” he asked his father, calling him from North Texas.

Perhaps, this time, he was committed to healing.

“Son, take the medicine. Do anything they say,” his father said.

Tirado ended up on the streets again. In 2020, when stimulus money arrived, he called his family saying he believed the CIA was spying on him. He fled to Florida, his family later learned.

When he returned back to North Texas, a friend put him up in a hotel room. His mother, Susana Tirado, called the North Texas Mental Health line after not hearing from him.

“They told me they couldn’t help him because it was a Saturday and to call 911,” she said.

Then months later, in an email to a county official in January of this year after Tirado had been detained, Tirado’s father told officials his son was a danger to himself and others and “letting him out on the streets could be the last that I hear that he is alive!”

Days after, Tirado went to Audubon Park in Garland looking for food in the trash on a chilly day. The park was less than five minutes from where he grew up.

Someone recognized him and called his father, letting him know he had seen his son. Calls from friends who saw Tirado on the street became more common for the family.

Tirado needed court intervention because he resisted committing to medication or intense treatment, the father wrote in another email.

“I would love to know how to file an involuntary commitment process against my son!” Tirado Sr. pleaded in an email on Jan. 20.

Then, months later, they got the call that is every parent’s worst nightmare: Edgar was dead.

Encounters with police

After the fatal shooting, the Tirado family said Dallas police officials held a meeting to show them the video of their son’s death before they released the footage to the public. Police also revealed they had come into contact with Tirado on two incidents prior to April 19.

On Feb. 23, 2021, police got a low-priority call of a prowler in Oak Cliff. Tirado had not committed a crime, according to the police report, which had no offense attached. Police arrested him on the Apprehension by Peace Officer Without Warrant and took him for a mental health evaluation.

On March 3, 2021, police got another report of a prowler. They took him into custody for another mental health evaluation.

Tirado’s family believes that they could have saved his life had they been able to have him committed to an institution. “The system is saying to us, these people that have these disorders, they have to come forward and say, ‘All right, I need the help,’ ” his father said, fighting back tears.

It’s not clear where Tirado got the replica gun, or why he was allegedly robbing stores. His family says he only stole some milk and cookies.

His parents believe the escalation on April 19 was a delusional episode — as if Tirado believed he had to do something to get “captured” and get help after multiple failed attempts. “You could put two and two together and realize that’s what he was looking for,” his father said.

Walking through grief

On a misty Saturday, about a month after Tirado’s death, his family and friends gathered at Audubon Park in Garland. Laura Olson, Tirado’s high school girlfriend, had organized a mental health walk with the National Alliance on Mental Illness. They remained friends for about 11 years.

“We knew the person he didn’t get to be,” said his high school friend, Jonora Stimpson, as they made poster collages of Tirado in his Airman uniform, performing in the band.

The park was a place of comfort, said his mother Susana Tirado. He told his mother of his imaginary friend there. “He was all over the place, but he would come back here,” she said.

Texas ranks second to last in access to mental health treatment, according to a 2021 national report.

The Tirado family said they’re committed to raising awareness about the failures of the mental health system and its reliance on police officers to be the frontline responders to people experiencing psychotic episodes. Most police officers are trained a mere few hours on how to handle mental health crises.

Happier memories ease the pain of family and friends. Olson, Tirado’s longtime friend, shared a story about when Tirado sprang into action in 2010 when her father, who lives with schizophrenia, was having a psychotic episode.

Olson’s father believed she needed to be at a dentist appointment and took her out of class one day. Olson, a freshman trumpet player at the time, texted Tirado. She was confused about where they were going, and then realized her father had not taken his medication.

Tirado informed his band director that Olson had an emergency, they called police and reported the license plate number.

She cried as she recalled seeing Tirado near the In-N-Out Burger off Interstate 75 in the summer of 2020. She was working as a nanny, taking care of two kids, when she spotted him. She rushed them home before coming back to find her friend. It was the last time they talked. She bought him a meal.

Tirado assured her he was fine and that he enjoyed how he lived. But she could tell he wasn’t. He had blisters on his face from the sun. His clothes were filthy with dirt. The heat was around 100 degrees.

“Remember how you helped me?” Olson told Tirado.

His friends and family began to cry as Olson told the story.

“It can happen to anyone,” her mother Brenda said.

How to get help

• Texas COVID-19 Mental Health Support Line: 833-986-1919
• National Alliance on Mental Illness in Texas: 512-693-2000
• Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration’s National Helpline: 800-662-4357
• Suicide Prevention Line: 800-784-2433