DRUG COURT HELPS ADDICTS REGAIN CONTROL OF LIVES

Hundreds Get Back On Track Through Model Program In Lexington County

Holly Long went to her high school graduation, but not to pick up her diploma.

She was working that day, selling marijuana to celebrating classmates.

Smoking, dealing grass and drinking was all that motivated her - until
about a year ago.

"I never thought I was one of the in-crowd unless I was high," she said.

Long, now 23, quit school at 17, after skipping so many classes she
couldn't move beyond 10th grade.

But in the middle of December, Long became Lexington County Drug Court's
101st graduate.

"The only thing I ever graduated from was kindergarten," she told the
audience. "I never thought I'd get to this day."

A MODEL COURT

Long is one of almost 300 people who have enrolled in drug court since it
started in July 1996.

Lexington County's adult drug court is one of about 550 nationwide.
Richland, Charleston and Greenville counties also have them. Lexington
County also has a drug court for juveniles.

Carson Fox, as an assistant solicitor in 1996, helped 11th Circuit
Solicitor Donnie Myers set up Lexington County's drug court, the first in
the state. Now Fox works for the National Drug Court Institute and trains
drug court professionals worldwide.

"Lexington County created a model that's being used all over the country,"
Fox said. "Donnie is always looking for alternatives. It was a risk for
him. Talk about foresight."

Nonviolent offenders identified as drug addicts qualify, said coordinator
Jenny Russ. Graduates get charges taken off their records; dropouts serve
their time.

Applicants pay a $20 fee. People who are accepted pay at least $1,000 - $20
every week.

ON THE ROPES?

Money raised by participants mostly pays for drug tests and intense
professional counseling, contracted with the Lexington/Richland Alcohol and
Abuse Council Detoxification Center, Russ said.

The program is a deal for participants, most of whom probably couldn't
afford private drug counseling, Russ said. And compared to prison costs,
she said, it's also a bargain for taxpayers.

It would cost the state at least $17,000 a year to incarcerate each drug
court participant, Russ said. Thirty-eight are in the program. "If they can
stay in the program, that's worth millions down the road."

Drug court costs about $236,625 per year to operate, but "the county does
not give us all that money. We have to pick from everything we can get,"
Russ said.

Myers said it's difficult to keep drug court going. "It's trying to keep
it's head above water."

He might be forced to end drug court because it's harder and harder to find
money to keep it running.

"It doesn't look good. It's operating on a shoestring. I'm really concerned
about it."

PUT TO THE TEST

Drug court is tough. Each week, most participants must attend several
nights of counseling, submit to drug tests, attend court, and get jobs or
go to school full time. That's a lot to ask of someone who hasn't had any
structure for a long time, Russ said.

"Most people are naive to the fact of how complicated these people's lives
are," she said. "It's drama for them."

Drug court participants are allowed to make some mistakes - showing up late
for court or for group therapy. But mistakes come with sanctions, including
working at the county landfill. Short jail stints can be ordered after
positive drug tests.

Lexington County drug court's recidivism rate, last checked in 1999, has
been about 7 percent.

"It probably has gone up," said Russ, who is planning to study the rate
next year. "Even if it went to 10 percent, I wouldn't be crying.

"We can't expect all of them to make it. Addiction is a disease, and
(failure) is always going to happen."

DAY AT A TIME

Long's graduation a few days ago started as most drug court sessions do. As
Russ called participants' names, each took a seat in front of Judge Marc
Westbrook, who reviewed performance reports.

He ordered one man to spend a day in jail and gently admonished a woman who
hadn't found a job.

Long nervously waited for her name to be called.

She was the first graduate introduced that night. Her classmates, program
graduates, friends and relatives applauded as she took a seat before the judge.

"You've shown a lot of leadership during the last six months," Westbrook
said. "That's what we expect.

"This has been a really strong group of graduates. You get attached to
these people, but I'm delighted to give you this certificate."

Each graduate stood before the audience and offered thanks. Some made
promises they would return, but not Long. She's learned to live one day at
a time.

Her father, Frankie Long, approached the front to congratulate his daughter
before the hushed crowd. They both cried.

"Nobody thought you'd make it," he said. "You fooled me, too, girl. You
made it through. You've grown up and can make adult decisions. Now, if I
have troubles, I call her for advice. She's been there for me during some
tough times these last few months. I love you from the bottom of my heart."

REGAINED TRUST

Long is optimistic, but cautious, about her future. While attending drug
court, she's worked at USC's facility services office and had begun
studying for a degree in psychology.

Drug court and all its requirements filled the rest of her time. Idle days
threaten addicts.

"When you quit using drugs, you have all these voids to fill," she said.
"Drug court became my routine. Every day, it was work, drug court, work,
drug court."

Long relies on her Alcoholics Anonymous sponsor and friends from her group
for help. The responsibility and trust she's regained from her family makes
her feel good.

"I've paid back every dime I've stolen from my parents. I paid them off
back in October. It took $600 a month for five years."

She has more goals.

"I want to travel. I want to go to France. My class went there for its
senior trip, but I didn't get to go. I can't go back and get a lot of that
stuff."