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• Wisconsin’s government is failing to enforce basic protections for owners of manufactured homes at a time when private equity firms are buying up parks to maximize profits.

• State regulators rarely inspect parks, allow many to go unlicensed and don’t even know which parks are operating.

• A patchwork of laws and regulations governing manufactured housing leaves residents unsure of where to turn when conditions deteriorate.

Priced out of traditional homes during an affordability crisis, many in Wisconsin have found another way to pursue an ownership dream.

Experts estimate that more than 100,000 Wisconsin residents live in manufactured homes, the more accurate name for what many call mobile homes or trailers — structures that make up the country’s largest portion of unsubsidized low-income housing. Many live in parks where they own their homes but rent the land beneath them. 

But Wisconsin’s government is failing to enforce basic protections for residents at a time when private equity firms are buying up parks to maximize profits, a Wisconsin Watch/WPR investigation found.

Wisconsin law requires operators to keep parks “in a clean, safe, orderly and sanitary condition at all times.” The Department of Safety and Professional Services (DSPS) is supposed to enforce that law and licensing standards. But it rarely inspects parks, allows many to go unlicensed and doesn’t even know which parks are operating.

Separate state and local agencies handle issues related to leasing, water quality, and health and safety at parks. That patchwork leaves residents unsure of where to turn when conditions deteriorate.

“I don’t know what to do or if I have any rights,” a park resident in Wisconsin Rapids wrote to the Wisconsin Department of Agriculture, Trade and Consumer Protection.

“Why is our government not looking into any of this?” a Hudson resident asked DATCP while facing septic tank failures and surging rent.

In Forest Junction: “I picked this location over a decade ago because of its affordability. I have nowhere to go.”

In Amery: “They know we do not have the resources to move the trailer out of the community.”

In Whitewater: “I don’t know who to reach out to. I’m so stuck.”

WPR and Wisconsin Watch spent six months speaking to manufactured home residents statewide. Some described tight-knit, peaceful and affordable communities. But others detailed sewage backups, dramatic rent hikes, hazardous dead trees and foul-smelling water — all while frustrations simmered with unresponsive landlords and regulators.

What many call mobile homes aren’t actually mobile. Moving them can cost more than $10,000, with risks of damaging older structures. That traps residents when park conditions worsen.

Predatory companies know this, said Paul Terranova, Midwest community organizer with the nonprofit MHAction, which advocates for park residents nationwide. 

While tallying every U.S. manufactured home community is difficult, experts estimate Wisconsin has more than 900, with 80 tied to private equity, according to data from the Private Equity Stakeholder Project, a nonprofit watchdog. 

Wisconsin regulators are paying little attention, industry professionals, advocates and residents say. That’s as neighboring Michigan and Minnesota offer more resources for residents and stronger oversight. 

WPR and Wisconsin Watch also found:

• DSPS produced documentation of just 15 parks inspected between 2022 and February.

• DSPS lacks an accurate count of manufactured homes statewide. The agency previously published comprehensive data on all licensed communities, but it now posts records for only some counties, with many parks lacking identifying information. At least 27 parks filed evictions in the last two years but do not appear in current DSPS data.

• Of the roughly 700 parks DSPS lists in licensing data, roughly 30% have expired licenses. Some park owners say poor communication and a technology overhaul made applying for licenses more difficult.

• A legislative task force as far back as 2002 flagged problems with “a scattered state regulatory approach” to the industry that leaves residents confused about who regulates what. It hasn’t been fixed.

Affordable option has roots in Wisconsin

Cindy Philby, 60, sold her traditional, fixer-upper home after realizing she couldn’t afford needed repairs.

She poured all of her money into a manufactured home she found from an Iowa seller on Craigslist. It cost $4,500 plus $10,000 to deliver it to a rented lot at the Woodland Park community in the town of Fond du Lac.

She slept at a homeless shelter in late 2023 while waiting for the home to arrive.

“My next best thing to keep a roof over my head was a trailer,” Philby said.

She was embracing a housing option pioneered in Wisconsin. 

A Marshfield man’s innovation in the 1950s set the stage for the manufactured homes we see today. Rollohome Corp. founder Elmer Frey’s “mobile homes” — wider than recreational trailers — could be lived in year-round, more affordably than traditional homes.

Manufactured homes can be made quicker, on a larger scale and with less waste than other homes. Today Wisconsin owners of manufactured homes pay a median of $553 per month for housing, compared to $1,118 for all homeowners and $917 for all renters, according to the Lincoln Institute of Land Policy.

Local zoning laws often exclude manufactured homes from residential neighborhoods. Parks allow owners to anchor their homes without requiring expensive modifications. 

Philby, like many community residents, owns her home and pays a monthly fee for the land and additional costs for utilities. Her lot is owned by Florida-based COARE Communities, a subsidiary of the private equity-backed conglomerate COARE Companies, which touts a focus “on establishing platforms across niche investment strategies.” 

Beneath an option to click on an “investor portal,” the COARE Communities website says it is “focused on solving the challenges of affordable housing through the acquisition and preservation of the most affordable type of housing in America – Manufactured Housing Communities.” 

The company hiked Philby’s base rent this year from $425 to $500, six times the rate of inflation. It declined to comment on the record for this story.

Philby has struggled to absorb the hike while relying largely on disability payments to get by. 

“They are squeezing everybody in this park to death,” she said. 

Philby and her neighbors describe a host of additional problems, including poor water drainage and crumbling roads. 

The community turns into a “mud puddle” or “lake” following heavy rains or snowmelts, they say. 

Wisconsin law requires manufactured homes to sit in “a well-drained” and “properly graded” area to prevent flooding. It’s up to DSPS to enforce the law, but the agency could not locate any inspection records for the park. The park does not appear in DSPS’ licensing database, even though the town of Fond du Lac has separately licensed it.

Philby wants more action.

“Do something,” she said. “Make these people do their work.” 

Calling for state regulators to ‘do their damn job’

Following months of door knocking in manufactured housing communities, Steve Carlson has little faith in Wisconsin regulators. He has seen dilapidated, abandoned homes and met residents who fear management will retaliate if they complain.

Carlson, a retired social worker and organizer from Washburn County, co-founded the Wisconsin Manufactured Home Owners Alliance late last year. It aims to keep manufactured home communities viable by pushing for stronger legal protections and helping residents organize. 

Carlson hopes his work will inspire state regulators to “do their damn job.”

They could look to Michigan, which recently created an inspection team focused on improving conditions at manufactured home parks — visiting them each year. 

DSPS inspects parks only when they are built, changed or draw a complaint that officials believe warrants one.

It’s possible parks built decades ago haven’t since been inspected. DSPS lacks records to show otherwise.

More regular inspections would likely require legislative action and more staff, DSPS spokesperson John Beard said in an email.

Local governments can help. 

Wisconsin law allows them to monitor parks and enforce regulations on top of state requirements.

“Some municipalities are very good, they go through the property every year,” said Amy Bliss, executive director of the Wisconsin Housing Alliance, a manufactured housing trade association.

“Others just ignore the fact that they even exist.”

The town of Fond du Lac did not inspect Woodland Park while issuing its permit. It inspects parks only when complaints relate to town ordinances, said town Clerk Patti Supple.

DSPS can separately delegate its authority to local health departments. One municipality and 16 of Wisconsin’s 72 counties regulate parks in that way. DSPS holds them to a higher standard than itself, requiring annual inspections of each park.

“What’s going on in the other 56 counties in Wisconsin? Well, it’s anybody’s guess,” Carlson said. “Maybe there aren’t a lot of problems out there. The point is we don’t know, and somebody should find out.”

He hoped Dunn County would seek delegated authority over its housing parks.

But learning the rules and carrying out inspections would require significant time and resources, Dunn County Health Director KT Gallagher said. 

DSPS would allow the county to keep 63% of community licensing fees, nowhere close to covering extra costs, health department staff said at a meeting in August.

Parks are supposed to pay licensing fees every other year that haven’t increased since at least 2006. The minimum fee of $250 would need to rise to $400 just to account for inflation since that time.

While DSPS can raise some fees, Beard said, spending extra dollars would require legislative action.

Dunn County could also raise fees, but officials worry residents would bear those costs. They also fear a scenario in which an owner closes a park instead of fixing issues flagged by an inspection. 

That happened in Eau Claire, Gallagher said. City and county inspectors closed a park, leaving some residents with nowhere to go.

That’s why DSPS avoids levying financial penalties even when inspectors find major problems. 

“DSPS focus is on gaining compliance,” Beard said. “Forfeitures are a last resort, especially when action could leave residents looking for a new home.”

States like Minnesota help address this dilemma by setting aside licensing fees for grants to defray relocation costs following a closure. Minnesota has also allocated millions of dollars in recent years for manufactured home park owners to make repairs. 

Lawmakers reject help for homeowners

One program helps owners of manufactured homes in Wisconsin. 

A portion of titling fees flows to the Tomorrow’s Home Foundation, which grants owners up to $3,000 for repairs or modifications or up to $1,500 to dispose of uninhabitable homes. The foundation received $120,000 from the state during the last budget cycle and raised additional funds on its own. 

Democratic Gov. Tony Evers this year proposed adding $40,000 to the program over two years. The Republican-led Joint Finance Committee rejected the proposal and a separate provision to add $1.68 million that could help owners repair failing septic systems.

Meanwhile, the state is missing out on uncollected fees from potentially hundreds of parks without active licenses.

Without extra funds, Dunn County declined to pursue state authority over inspections.

“This is a terrible situation without any easy answer,” said Dr. Alexandra Hall, a family physician on the county health committee. “But maybe we wouldn’t have gotten here if the state was actually enforcing its own laws.”

Licensing system causes headaches

DSPS records show Philby’s Woodland Park community had an active license in 2020, but the department lacks updated information. Beard said the agency is reaching out to the park about renewing.

Confusion has swirled around DSPS licensing dating back to 2020, Bliss said. Frustrations escalated last year — the first time park renewals were done using the LicensE, an online system for the 200-plus industries DSPS regulates. 

Among criticisms aired at a February legislative hearing: Park owners weren’t told DSPS would no longer process paper renewals; an online application asked some owners to fill out unnecessary information; and the portal charged just an $8 renewal fee instead of the accurate minimum of $250.

Addressing the rollout across all industries, Deputy Secretary Jennifer Garrett called LicensE “an overwhelming success, vastly expediting document handling and licensing decisions.” 

“We knew that the transition to an all-digital environment would present challenges to parts of this industry,” she testified to lawmakers.

The agency reached out to park representatives ahead of the change, but it lacked some contact information, Garrett added. Communities with expired licenses may have closed, rebranded, changed owners or failed to transition to the online system.

DSPS is working with the Wisconsin Housing Alliance to update missing information on its list of licensed communities, Garrett testified in February. 

Seven months later, the department’s licensing site still does not list each of the group’s members. 

Bliss said DSPS struggles to make time to meet with her alliance, making it feel like the “red-headed stepchild of the regulated community.”

The former Wisconsin Department of Commerce, which regulated manufactured homes until 2011, communicated far better, she added. 

That’s why she pushed DSPS to restart the state’s Manufactured Housing Code Council, an advisory body of representatives from across the industry and the public. 

State law requires the council to meet at least twice a year. It met this summer for the first time in more than a decade. 

To whom should residents complain? 

DSPS received just 18 complaints related to manufactured housing between 2023 and early 2025, only some from park residents. The data understates industry-wide disputes, considering that multiple agencies regulate the parks and residents don’t know where to turn.

In Minnesota, the Office of Attorney General compiled all state laws related to manufactured home parks into an online handbook. Nothing that comprehensive exists in Wisconsin’s sprawling system.

Have a problem with roads? Try DSPS, which regulates community standards and licensing.

Leasing? That’s the Department of Agriculture, Trade and Consumer Protection.

Questions about park well water? The Department of Natural Resources is likely your agency.

County and local health departments generally handle other health and safety concerns.

Philby and other Woodland Park residents sent all of their complaints to DATCP, including ones related to conditions DSPS is supposed to regulate. 

DATCP received more than 100 complaints related to manufactured homes between 2023 and this March. Dozens mentioned issues in DSPS’ domain, like flooding, sewage and roads.

DATCP must identify a pattern of violations before launching an investigation, said Michelle Reinen, an agency administrator. It cannot legally represent individual consumers.

The agency and the Wisconsin Department of Justice in 2023 reached a $75,000 settlement with a Colorado-based park operator doing business in Wisconsin. That was after fielding more than 50 complaints about “unfair and illegal” renting practices.

DATCP and DSPS say they sometimes get information from other agencies. They collaborated on a 2023 investigation — responding to the Boscobel Dial’s reporting — that found violations at Cozy Acres Mobile Home Park in Boscobel.

Lawmaker seeks more clarity 

Rep. Scott Krug, R-Rome, wants to clear up confusion for homeowners and landlords.

His legislation, AB 424, specifies landlord-tenant laws for parks and expands on reasons residents may be evicted. It would also require park owners to issue a 90-day notice before closing. He hopes to hear more ideas from the operators and residents if the bill draws a hearing.

Krug calls manufactured homes “a forgotten segment of real estate” that won’t help solve the affordability crisis without state action.

Lawmakers might look backward for inspiration. 

A 2002 government task force on manufactured housing suggested consolidating oversight of manufactured home communities to address the state’s “disparate and confusing array” of oversight efforts.

‘They can just do whatever they want’

Park residents also battle public perception. 

Members of a North Fond du Lac Facebook group complain about the condition of Woodland Park, calling it a dangerous eyesore. 

Responding to one post, Philby explained people’s struggles to afford rent and urged people to push for local solutions.

“Should just flaten it,” one commenter responded.

Residents have sought state help. Stacey Murillo complained to DATCP in 2024 about issues including roads and garbage. 

DATCP sent her complaint, with her name, to the park’s manager for mediation. Woodland Park management provided the state with evidence that it was addressing some issues.

But Murillo said too little has changed.

Philby complained to DATCP after management gave her a lease that pre-checked a box to opt out of a yearlong contract. Wisconsin law requires landlords to offer 12-month options, more protective against evictions and rent increases.

DATCP reached out to Woodland Park to mediate Philby’s complaint in April but received no response, it told Philby in a letter. 

The agency cannot order businesses to participate in mediation, but it can issue notices of noncompliance, which it did in Philby’s case.

“Since your complaint was not resolved through mediation, you have the option to contact a private attorney to discuss your legal remedies,” the agency’s letter said.

“No one in this park can afford an attorney,” Philby said, still waiting for a longer lease.

“They can just do whatever they want,” she said. “The federal government’s allowing them to do it, the town’s allowing them to do it and the state’s allowing them to do it.”

‘They are squeezing everybody in this park to death’: Owners of manufactured homes get little protection as private equity moves in is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Maintaining relationships between children and incarcerated parents helps mitigate the negative impacts of the separation. Family visits have been shown to reduce recidivism. 

• At Camp Reunite, children spend a week at a traditional summer camp, with access to outdoors activities and trauma-informed programming. Two days out of the week, campers spend an entire day with their incarcerated parents.

• The program is accessible only to children of those incarcerated at Taycheedah and Kettle Moraine prisons, but the camp is discussing an expansion to Racine Correctional Institution.  

• Stigma surrounding incarceration and transportation barriers have limited growth of the camp.

The thunk of a plastic bat followed each pitch and question Tasha H. lobbed toward her 14-year-old son. She cheered after each hit as she tracked down the whiffle ball and prepared her next throw. 

“Maybe baseball next year?” 

No, he responded before hitting the ball over his mom’s head. He plans to try out for varsity football instead.

“You’re getting a lot better than you give yourself credit for,” Tasha told him.

Standing in a patch of green grass in late June, working to extract more than one-word answers from her son, Tasha looked like a typical mom of a soon-to-be high schooler. But as the ball landed on the wrong side of a chain rope fence, it was clear they were not standing in a backyard or baseball field. 

“I can’t go get that,” she said. 

The fence stood only about 2 feet high. But Tasha could not cross it or the much taller, barbed fence bordering Taycheedah Correctional Institution in Fond du Lac — not for at least another year. 

The brief batting practice was part of Camp Reunite, a program for children with incarcerated parents. Before camp, Tasha had not seen her son in the year since she was arrested for crimes she committed related to a drug relapse.

WPR and Wisconsin Watch are withholding the last names of parents or kids included in the story at the request of Camp Reunite to protect the campers’ privacy.

One of the first things Tasha noticed about her son was that he’s taller than her now. 

“Then he spoke and it was like a man, and I was appalled,” Tasha said. “I know that sounds crazy, but I just want to be there as much as I can, even though I’m in here.”

They both needed the visit, she said. 

Maintaining relationships between children and incarcerated parents helps mitigate the negative impacts of the separation, experts say. Family visits have been shown to reduce recidivism. 

Camp Reunite allows children to spend a week at a traditional summer camp where they can hike, canoe and participate in trauma-informed programming like art therapy. Two days out of the week, campers get to spend an entire day with their incarcerated parents in a more relaxed setting than typical visits.

Despite the camp’s success for parents and their kids, it remains unique to Wisconsin and has operated in just two prisons this summer: the women’s prison at Taycheedah and Kettle Moraine, a nearby men’s facility.

Public opinion is the camp’s biggest obstacle, said Chloe Blish, the camp’s mental wellness director. Prison and camp staff described hearing and reading concerns over the perception that the program is a safety risk — and that it rewards incarcerated parents. 

Past media coverage of the camp has prompted online backlash against named parents — personal attacks that older campers can read and absorb, Blish said.

She wishes skeptics could experience a day at Camp Reunite, she said. “It’s electric.”

Tasha and her son started their reunion playing the board game Sorry!

“I miss you,” she said before moving her pawn 10 spaces and asking if he signed up to attend the winter camp. 

He nodded before knocking her piece back to the start, softly telling his mom “sorry.”

Between turns and debates about the rules, she asked about school, football, friends, food at camp and where he got his shoes. He reminded her that she bought them for him. She told him he needed to clean them with an old toothbrush, which led to a short lecture about how often he should replace his toothbrush. 

He asked her why she didn’t spend extra money to get Nikes with her prison uniform, a gray T-shirt and teal scrub pants. They joked about her all-white Reebok sneakers.

“I’m glad you came,” she said. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

Not like other camps

When Taycheedah social worker Rachel Fryda-Gehde heard officials were trying to host a camp at the prison, her first reaction was: “Nobody’s ever going to entertain such a crazy idea.”

This summer, she helped run the prison’s eighth season. 

She and other camp leaders plan to present on the program’s success at national conferences this fall, she said. They want to see the camp grow, but there are barriers, including public perception.

The nonprofit Hometown Heroes runs the camp in coordination with the Wisconsin Department of Corrections.

Camp Hometown Heroes started as a summer camp for children whose parents died after serving in the military. The camp paid to fly Blish and her sister from California to Wisconsin during summers when they were teenagers.

She still loves Hometown Heroes, but Camp Reunite has more impact, she said.

“There’s a lot of camps for gold star kids, that’s easy support,” Blish said. Things are different at Camp Reunite.

She and other camp leaders often work in the kitchen, filling in to wash dishes during Camp Reunite. During Hometown Heroes, that’s never necessary, because so many community members volunteer to help, she said. 

Hometown Heroes, an exponentially larger operation, also receives more individual donations because of people who have a passion for helping veterans and military families, wrote Liz Braatz, the camp’s director of development. 

She has heard the stigma around supporting people in prison, she wrote in an email. But discussing the camp as a way to help children affected by trauma “has made all the difference” in reshaping perceptions, she said. 

Outside of camp, the organization provides campers with new clothing, school supplies and hygiene products. 

“It does not matter who your God is or who you vote for, if your passion is helping these kids,” Braatz wrote. 

The camp is in conversation with Racine Correctional Institution and now has plans to expand its program next summer. 

The Wisconsin Department of Corrections would welcome Camp Reunite in additional facilities, spokesperson Beth Hardtke said. 

Barriers stifle attendance 

The camp faces additional obstacles in expanding its service. 

This summer’s camp at Taycheedah was far from capacity. There were enough camp staff for more than 100 kids, Blish said. But just over a dozen families showed up. 

“We started out with a lot more,” Fryda-Gehde said. 

There are two major requirements for moms to join the camp: no sex crime convictions and no major conduct issues in the six months leading up to camp. This year’s attendance shrank after women were placed into segregation cells after breaking prison rules.

Prison social workers spend months with the moms to prepare for camp. Moms create posters to decorate their campers’ bunk beds, while prison staff set up activity stations like a beauty parlor and photo booth in the visiting room.

But the biggest reason for lower attendance: getting some caregivers on board. 

Some kids might not be ready to visit with their incarcerated parents, Blish said. Other times, caretakers are hesitant to allow them in a prison or struggle to get them there. 

Women are more likely than men to be the primary caretakers for their children at the time of arrest. That often leads to major life disruptions for campers visiting the women’s prison who are more likely to live with foster placements or more distant relatives. 

Even caretakers comfortable with the camp might struggle to get there. Many families lack cars, Blish said. The camp tries to arrange rides for as many kids as possible, but it can’t always pick up kids who live farther away. 

‘You’re here to have fun’

Nyzaiah and his three younger siblings live with their grandparents in Milwaukee. Camp was the first time they’ve made the more than hourlong drive to visit their mom since she was incarcerated. 

“I was trying not to cry because I don’t like really showing my emotions to people, but I did drop a tear,” he said. “Me and my mom are really close.”

They talk on the phone around four times a week, but seeing her in person felt different, he said. 

Most of his classmates get picked up by their parents. Only his close friends know why his grandparents pick him up each day.

“At home, I’m big brother. I gotta do everything and make sure it’s good. I don’t like to bring a lot of stress on my grandma,” the 13-year-old said. 

But at camp, his brothers and sister are in separate cabins. 

“The counselors told me, ‘You’re here to have fun. Don’t worry about your siblings. We’ve got them,’” he said. 

Glitter, braids and tearful goodbyes 

Moms aren’t the only ones asking questions at camp. 

“You’ve got a TV?” asked Deloise L.’s 11-year-old son.

“Of course,” she answered. The morning before camp she woke up early from excitement and watched the morning news while she waited. 

Deloise’s children are staying with her sister who brings them for somewhat regular visits throughout the year. But camp is different.

“I love this,” she said. 

During a normal visit, her family is under the supervision of correctional officers, and her movement is more limited. At camp, most of the prison staff present are social workers. Moms walk from activity to activity without asking permission, including to the camp’s crowded “salon.”

Deloise clipped hot pink braids into her teenage daughter’s hair and applied glittery makeup over her eyes. Her son picked out a fake mustache.

As counselors warned that there were 10 minutes left until they would bus back to camp, kids scrambled to get close to their moms. Even the knowledge that they would be back later that week failed to stop the tears.

“When you got to separate from them, that’s when it gets bad,” Deloise said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “It just gets bad when you want to be around your kids.”

This is her family’s second camp. They plan to attend one more summer camp before her release in 2026.

“I’m learning from my mistakes,” she said. “They won’t have to worry about this again.”

‘I did drop a tear’: Camp Reunite helps kids connect with their incarcerated parents is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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Like millions of other Americans, I have a loved one who faces substance use challenges. I can still remember the gut-wrenching feeling early in the pandemic whenever I encountered headlines describing rising rates of overdoses and fentanyl poisonings.

But around 2022, some of that news coverage contained hope. Millions of dollars from a national legal settlement with drug makers, distributors and pharmacies was headed to communities reeling from the opioid epidemic, with the potential to help families like mine. 

I was immediately curious about how communities would spend the money. I’m from Nebraska, which has no public reporting requirements for opioid settlement funds, leaving the public in the dark. When I moved to Wisconsin last year, I was excited to see significantly more transparency. 

Within my first few days at WPR and Wisconsin Watch, I pitched a story on how local governments were spending these dollars. My editors were interested, but that idea got buried under other pressing reporting — from seniors getting kicked out of nursing homes, to people losing health coverage. 

May offered a fresh opportunity to revisit the settlement story. That’s when a legislative committee published a fresh batch of spending reports from Wisconsin counties and municipalities that received payouts. 

A 2021 state law requires Wisconsin governments to report basic information about their opioid settlement accounts each year. But when I started looking at those reports, they weren’t easy to digest. They are published in massive PDFs. Some included handwritten responses, with occasional missing or incorrect information. 

An assignment I thought would take a couple of weeks to report and write, lasted well over a month. 

I used a tool called Google Pinpoint to scrape information from three years or reports submitted by 87 different local governments. It took multiple late nights to check, edit and combine information from each report into a set of spreadsheets. I spent hours each day calling county and municipal offices, listening to hold music as I tracked down missing or corrected spending numbers.

As a self-proclaimed “words person,” the toughest part was calculating each government’s total earnings, spending and interest from settlement payouts. 

In response to my questions, seven governments filed reports that had been missing. Others corrected mistakes I identified on reports they had filed. 

The exhausting process was worth it. We did our best to create a place where people can  easily learn  — without sifting through meeting minutes or long PDFs — how their county or municipality is spending dollars intended to address a crisis. Or in the case of nearly 30 governments, that they have yet to spend any of it.

I’m not done with this reporting. If you have questions about my process or findings, please reach out. I hope to hear from anyone with opinions about how their local government is spending these dollars, whether positive or negative. You can reach me here: acostello@wisconsinwatch.org. 

Why we’re tracking opioid settlement spending is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Wisconsin is expected to receive about $780 million by 2038 through national litigation surrounding drug companies’ role in the opioid crisis, with 70% flowing to the state and 30% split between 71 counties and 16 municipalities. 
  
• The state has reported spending $36 million so far. Local governments have spent about $20 million. 
  
• Nearly 30 local governments have yet to report any spending, with some citing a need for more guidance. 
  
• Transparency varies among local governments. Seven filed required spending reports only after a reporter asked why theirs was missing. Wisconsin Watch and WPR found errors on reporting filed by more than a dozen local governments.  

Wisconsin and its local governments are expected to receive more than $780 million by 2038 as part of a national legal settlement over the role of drug makers, distributors and pharmacies in the opioid crisis — potentially transformational funding in efforts to reduce drug deaths.

But it’s not easy to track where some of that money is going. 

While Wisconsin does a better job than many states in making that information accessible, advocates say it has room to improve, particularly when it comes to transparency around local spending. Not every local government has filed required reports on time, and Wisconsin Watch and WPR found reporting errors on documents submitted by more than a dozen local governments.

The state gets 30% of the settlement funding and documents its spending on a web page.

The rest flows to 71 Wisconsin counties (all but Polk, where the county board declined to join Wisconsin’s lawsuit) and 16 municipalities, according to Wisconsin’s settlement agreement finalized in 2022.

It’s considered compensation for a public health crisis that killed at least 14,747 Wisconsinites between 2000 and 2023.

Local governments have spent $20 million during the first three years of disbursements, investing in strategies ranging from residential treatment and jail recovery programs to technology for police and T-shirts for school-based drug prevention programs.

The millions spent so far make up less than 15% of what local governments have received. With more than $115 million sitting in county and municipal accounts as of last December and about $400 million more on the way, local spending will likely ramp up in the coming years.

But transparency varies across local governments. 

A 2021 state law requires that local governments spend opioid settlement dollars within a list of approved uses related to the opioid crisis. But the law does not require local officials to tell the state how they spend it. Instead, counties and municipalities are required to report only how many settlement dollars they have received and spent, alongside their year-end balances.

Debates have unfolded nationwide about how to use settlement funds — including about the merits of spending on policing or programs that promote supervised drug use to reduce harm.

In making those decisions, local governments should be transparent and involve people directly impacted by the opioid epidemic, experts say.

Rick Schaefer lost his job and house after developing an opioid addiction. He accepts he’ll never be made whole.

“But we should be more involved in how the (settlement) money is spent,” Schaefer said, adding that most people he talks to know little about the settlement funding. While he wishes people would pay more attention, he wants governments to better engage the public.

“I want to see more people with lived experience doing the work,” he said.

Some localities have followed that practice by including people with lived experience on advisory committees. Others post detailed spending information online, conduct regional surveys and hold community listening events.

The majority of Wisconsin’s local governments elaborate on their plans in supplementary annual surveys by the Wisconsin Counties Association.

Milwaukee County is seen nationally as a model for transparency and public involvement. It submitted nearly 30 pages of details to the state this year alongside its required figures.

But a dozen counties and municipalities have skipped or minimally answered the optional questions. Multiple municipalities failed to report opioid settlement spending totals one to two years after state deadlines. And seven governments submitted reports only after a reporter asked why theirs was missing. 

The Wisconsin Department of Justice reviews the reports annually and has flagged and reported issues when they are identified, but the department “does not have any enforcement role with respect to the submission of these reports,” spokesperson Samantha Standley said in an email.  

The Legislature’s Joint Finance Committee also receives the reports annually. Co-chairs Rep. Mark Born, R-Beaver Dam, and Sen. Howard Marklein, R-Spring Green, did not respond to requests for comment.

Lessons from tobacco settlement 

Drug overdose rates dropped in 2024 across Wisconsin and the country, the first annual decline since 2019. 

The decrease represents major progress, said Giavana Margo, Wisconsin program manager for Vital Strategies, a national nonprofit working to reduce overdose deaths.

Still, plenty of work remains, and progress is uneven.

Black and Indigenous communities continue to face disproportionate harm from the opioid epidemic. In Milwaukee, for instance, older Black men are accounting for a growing share of drug deaths as fentanyl creeps into cocaine supplies. 

Wisconsin still saw more than 1,000 drug-related deaths from February 2024 to February 2025, preliminary U.S. Centers for Disease Control data show.

Settlement dollars have the potential to save lives if spent strategically, Margo said.

That did not happen the last time states reaped billions in compensation for a public health crisis. 

States, including Wisconsin, settled with tobacco companies in 1998 for an estimated $246 billion over the first 25 years. 

While states promised to use the funding to fight tobacco use, the bulk went toward plugging budget holes. Most states still spend less on tobacco prevention than the CDC recommends.

For its part, Wisconsin receives hundreds of millions each year from settlements and taxes on tobacco but spends less than 12% of what the CDC recommends on prevention. 

Advocates want to avoid a repeat as opioid settlement funds flow in, said Kristen Pendergrass, vice president of state policy at Shatterproof, a national nonprofit focused on the addiction crisis. It’s why experts call for transparency.

Wisconsin is off to a better start this time.

The Department of Health Services opioid settlement web page details $36 million in department spending so far — much of it funding treatment center construction and renovation. 

Wisconsin is among 20 states with some level of public reporting requirements for 100% of settlement funds at the state and local levels, according to OpioidSettlementTracker.com.

Many states lack any reporting requirements for locally disbursed funds, leaving interested residents to sift through county board minutes and a scattering of local government websites. 

Wisconsin’s annual reporting requirement creates a central location for spending information, Margo said, even if it’s not as robust or accessible as it could be. 

States such as Minnesota and Indiana break down local spending on dashboards and spreadsheets linked on health and substance abuse-related websites. Wisconsin’s reports aren’t as easily findable. They are published as PDFs on the Joint Finance Committee website, alongside hundreds of other spending reports unrelated to opioids. The reports are also available by request through the state DOJ. The Wisconsin Counties Association separately published the 2023 and 2024 spending reports to a resource page created for county officials.

The city of Milwaukee receives more settlement funding than any local government except for Dane and Milwaukee counties. But it failed to initially report two years of spending and receipts after “an oversight resulted in delays,” wrote Comptroller Bill Christianson. After being contacted by a reporter the city submitted reports detailing more than $500,000 in spending, and it created procedures to meet future reporting deadlines.

Some local government officials said they didn’t know they were required to submit reports if they had yet to spend any settlement money. Several corrected missing expenditure figures, misreported receipts and mismatched account balances between years after a reporter flagged discrepancies. 

Calls for public input

The overdose reversal drug Narcan saved Schaefer’s life multiple times before he started his recovery journey and became a certified peer support specialist. Growing availability of Narcan and other harm reduction resources is likely fueling the decline in overdose deaths — at least in part, Schaefer said.

Many Wisconsin local governments have reported purchasing drugs like Narcan and training for its use. 

“Things are going in the right direction,” Schaefer said. “So let’s decide where to throw more money. What else can we try?”

He and other members of DUO Wisconsin, an organization for current and former drug users, hope governments will listen to people with lived experience. Their proximity to the crisis forges unique perspectives.

Many local governments have launched advisory councils and seek public input, including from people affected by the opioid crisis. Twenty-one local governments in annual reports to the state mentioned soliciting some form of community input. 

But even in those cases, people don’t always know how to get involved or whether they will be listened to, said Jess Morrow, a DUO member.

“How do you even begin to look or find out?” she asked. 

Morrow and Schaefer live in Dane County, which holds public meetings on opioid settlement spending and includes people with living experience on its advisory committee.

“When you look at the successes of other counties and other states, it’s meeting people where they’re at,” said Dane County Supervisor Rick Rose, who helped create that committee.

He aims to streamline the county’s allocation process so more dollars can more quickly flow where needed.

“This disease is changing every day,” Rose said.

Several local governments reported spending money on test strips for the potent drug fentanyl and xylazine, a veterinary sedative increasingly found in illicit drugs. But DUO members say people are also unknowingly buying drugs cut with harmful substances strips don’t test for, like plastic and dog dewormer.

“Everybody who uses probably has way too many (test strips), because they’re everywhere,” Schaefer said. “We need something that does a better job of accurately telling you, really what’s in everything. … The technology is improving to get us there.”

Some local governments have yet to spend

Nearly 30 counties and municipalities reported spending zero settlement dollars so far, including several who said they weren’t sure how to spend it.

Monroe County in 2023 cited as a barrier “minimal information available and guidance on how to appropriately use opioid settlement funds.”

Delaying spending could make sense in some scenarios, Pendergrass said. Governments might want to take extra time for research and outreach. Or they could invest in interest-earning accounts that grow funds for ambitious future projects. But they owe an explanation to the public, she said.

And the funds could save lives now.  

“It’s great news that overdose rates are going down,” Pendergrass said. “But we can’t take our foot off the brake because people are still dying every day.” 

How are Wisconsin’s local governments spending millions in opioid settlement payouts?  is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Sauk County’s public nursing home will remain county-owned — and open — after a resolution to begin closing the facility failed to advance during a chaotic Board of Supervisors meeting. It was a win for organizers who have relentlessly resisted efforts to privatize the facility. 

• Tensions have escalated since last year, when the board approved selling the nursing home to the for-profit Aria Healthcare. Opponents sued the county to halt the sale, and Aria backed out of the deal. 

• Some county board members say a sale is the best way to keep the facility open as costs increase. Opponents argue the board should prioritize investing in the home, rather than risking inferior privatized care. 

• Similar debates have unfolded in at least four other Wisconsin counties over the last two years.

Sauk County’s public nursing home will remain county-owned — for now. That’s after a resolution to begin closing the facility failed to advance to the full county board during a meeting that ended in chaos last week.

It was the latest twist during a relentless campaign by local residents to keep county control of services that have existed locally in some form since the 1800s. Heading into a special meeting Thursday, proponents of keeping the Sauk County Health Care Center public feared defeat. 

The Sauk County Board of Supervisors was expected to vote on a resolution to close the nursing home if it weren’t sold. The meeting drew more than 80 attendees to the county board room. Several held signs, declaring “SAVE OUR SAUK CO. HEALTH CARE,” and “WE LOVE OUR SAUK COUNTY NURSING HOME.”   

Instead, no vote took place, and the board adjourned the meeting within two minutes without allowing public comment.

Organizers yelled “shame on you” as board members left the room.

 “You won,” County Board Chair Tim McCumber shouted at the chanting organizers. “The damn nursing home hasn’t been sold, and it hasn’t been closed.”

Tensions have escalated since last year, when the board approved selling the nursing home to the for-profit Aria Healthcare. Opponents sued the county to halt the sale. The litigation and broader opposition prompted Aria, which did not respond to a request for comment, to back out this month, according to Thursday night’s tabled resolution. 

Board members supporting a sale call it the best way to keep the facility open as costs increased. Opponents argue the board should prioritize investing in the home, rather than risking inferior privatized care. 

Wisconsin counties debate nursing home sales

Similar debates have unfolded in at least four other Wisconsin counties over the last two years. St. Croix found new revenue streams to keep its nursing home public, while Washington County sold its facility to a private nursing home chain. Lincoln County approved a sale this month, and Portage County continues seeking buyers.  

Wisconsin still maintains more county-owned nursing homes than most states, but that number has shrunk in recent years, concerning nursing home residents and their loved ones.

County-owned nursing homes tend to be better staffed, have higher quality of care and draw fewer complaints than facilities owned by for-profits and nonprofits, a 2024 WPR/Wisconsin Watch analysis of U.S. Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services data shows.

Sauk County’s nursing home has a history of high care ratings, but those have recently slipped. Federal inspections between October 2024 and April yielded three “immediate jeopardy” citations related to patient care. Those citations, the most severe type, dropped the facility’s overall rating to “much below average,” CMS data shows. 

Meanwhile, the nursing home has struggled with staffing, losing 10 employees since May 23, including its director of nursing, Thursday’s resolution said. More expensive contractors, many from out of town, are filling in. 

“We need to do everything to make sure that that facility is as successful as it used to be,” said Judy Brey, a leader of the citizen group suing the county. 

Her group filled the board room Thursday night.

By tabling the resolution, the board preserved the status quo. 

“It’ll be county-run until we have more patient care problems out there and the state intervenes, or we’re able to sell it,” said McCumber, who has had family stay at the facility.

While Thursday’s resolution had left room for Aria or another company to buy the home before finalizing its closure, some board members — even proponents of a sale — were not comfortable voting to potentially close it, said Supervisor Terry Spencer.

Spencer, who favors a sale, sits on the Public Works and Infrastructure Committee, one of three committees that met before the full board meeting and took no vote on the resolution.

“If it’s going to fail on its own, we’ll just let it fail on its own, and then we’ll close it,” Spencer said. “But I’d rather see it try than just say we’re closing our doors.”

Resident: Nursing home is ‘one big family’ 

Sauk County has operated a care facility in some form since 1871 — using it to treat diseases ranging from smallpox in the early 1900s to Alzheimer’s in the 1990s, according to the county’s website. Around 50 people live in the facility today, including Robert Leopold, 84, who has been there about a year. He and two other nursing home residents came to the board meeting to speak out against a closure.

“We (nursing home residents) play cards, we have fun, and it’s one big family,” Leopold, a retired teacher and longtime 4-H volunteer locally, said with tears in his eyes. 

“If we have to go someplace else, we’re all going to be a family gone,” he added. “I just hope the board realizes what a beautiful facility they’ve got and be proud of it and do something with it.”

The meeting’s rapid adjournment left no opportunity for Leopold — who was attending his first board meeting during the nursing home debate — or others to publicly voice their perspectives. Brey and others shouted demands that the board allow public comment, pointing out that nursing home residents had traveled 30 minutes to be there.

McCumber responded: “Shame on you for dragging people out of a nursing home.” 

“(Nursing home residents) showed up and they wanted to speak, but nobody gave them the chance,” Brey replied. “That is despicable.”

Sale falls through

While energized by Thursday’s outcome, residents are bracing for a future attempt to sell or close the home.

But McCumber said the county’s best option, Aria, likely won’t buy the facility until what he calls a “frivolous” lawsuit is dropped or dismissed.

Aria received board approval to purchase the facility in September, but the county still needed state approval. The Department of Health Services previously blocked Aria from buying another nursing home, citing past citations that, the department said, “demonstrate a history of noncompliance,” according to the Cap Times.

Aria’s four Wisconsin nursing homes have federal ratings ranging from “much above average” to “much below average.”

The state ultimately approved the Sauk County purchase in May, but the lawsuit prompted Aria to instead seek a leasing agreement with the county.

While the county board approved that arrangement, the state health department required additional approval, according to the resolution. The original state-approved sale plan required Aria to take over the nursing home by July 1. Moving forward with a sale or lease after that deadline would require a new license application, which can take up to 60 days.

Aria told county officials it no longer wished to continue due to misrepresentations of the company online and “unwarranted attacks” that could interfere with business operations and patient care, according to the resolution.

Asked about the potential for a future Aria purchase of the nursing home, resident Mary Camp responded: “You don’t want to know.”

The 79-year-old has lived there for four years and described it as the “best place in the world.”

“I thought it was terrible they were going to sell,” Camp said. “I don’t think (Aria is) going to buy it now. I don’t know. I hope not.”

Her favorite part about her home? The people. At least twice a day someone asks her how she’s doing, and “it’s fantastic,” she said. Her 56-year-old son lives there too.

As they peer into an uncertain future, Brey said she has no plans to slow down her group’s work. As Thursday’s meeting ended, she collected donations for legal fees during a discussion about next steps, including potentially campaigning to recall board members who favored a sale. 

“I feel the power of people being together and united on this,” Brey said. “They know we mean business.”

Sauk County organizers fight off nursing home closure — for now is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.