Being in the right state at the right time likely saved Ronald MacKinnon prison time when he made the decision to not seek immediate medical care for his wife.

Debbie MacKinnon, 52, was experiencing what then-71-year-old Ronald had thought was a seizure in the front seat on their drive from Keene to Brattleboro, Vermont, just across the border. He also knew that she had a history of seizures and drug overdoses, which combined with the seizures, “may require emergency medical attention,” he later wrote in a court narrative. But instead of seeking immediate medical care for Debbie, he ordered his daughter not to call 911 and instead pulled the car over to splash water in her face.

Court diversion advocates across the country say diversion saves money and reduces crime. But in New Hampshire, and nationally, the data to support this claim is hard to find.

Without more data collection and analysis, experts warn that it will be difficult to prove to funders and the public that diversion is as effective as advocates say.

Joshua Deveer doesn’t try to fight his place in life anymore.

“I used to think doing something was everything, and now I’m starting to realize that, maybe not doing something is everything,” says the 23-year-old from outside of a modest North Conway inn, where he pays $600 per month to live. “Maybe restricting my footprint here, making sure that I watch my steps is what’s most important.”

Nicole E. Rodler, chair of the New Hampshire Juvenile Court Diversion Network, calls school resource officers (SROs) “the gatekeepers” of the juvenile diversion system.

While their exact roles vary by school district and police department, SROs are generally tasked with keeping school campuses secure, protecting staff and students, mentoring students, and handling in-school juvenile offenses. They are the officers most likely to know the background and circumstances of young offenders because of their frequent contact with them in school (at least during non-pandemic times).

Only a few months away from graduating from Spaulding High School, Dillon Guyer made a seemingly small decision that would change his life. He remembers his 17-year-old self as a typical rambunctious teenager who skipped a few classes a day to smoke weed with his friends behind the school. Something anyone at that age may have done.

This time, they got caught.