'COURT' OFFERS HOPE

NORMAN - It's high noon and drug court is in session.

The judge is on the bench preparing to conduct the raffle for a free
dinner, and the assistant prosecutor is sitting quietly in the
witness box.

The two tables where the lawyers and their clients usually sit have
been pulled together to give the 10-member "drug team" a place to
offer moral support.

Twenty-five men and women have packed into the first four rows of one
side of the court room. Two others sit in the jury box, handcuffed
together.

Before the hour is up, one by one, they will be called before
District Judge Tom Lucas. All will be applauded for their sobriety,
whether it has been 300 days or three hours. Three will be led away
to jail. Five will be promoted to the next stage of the program, and
two will be given permission to leave the county to attend a picnic.

It may not be justice as it's typically dispensed, but, as Lucas
says, "Whatever works."

There are growing indications that the unique concept of drug court
does work in Oklahoma.

- - In Norman, only two of the 48 people who have been in the program
have been booted out and sent to prison since it started a year ago.

- - Recidivism for drug court graduates has been found to be half as
much as that of a comparison group, according to a statewide study.

- - A growing number of prosecutors and police, tired of seeing the
same faces show up in jails, have hailed drug court as the best
weapon they've found to fight the drug war. There are now 27 drug
courts in Oklahoma with 13 others in the planning stage.

"I spent five years trying to put a lot of these people in jail every
chance I got," Lucas said. "Now I hate to see a drug user go to jail
because I think we can help them."

Creating believers

Drug court is a special court given the responsibility to handle
cases involving less serious, non-violent, drug-using offenders
through a closely monitored supervision and treatment program.

Critics say the judicial system wasn't intended to be transformed
into a social engineering vehicle, but Lucas sees it differently than
he did five years ago.

"Jail isn't working for alcoholics and substance abusers," he said.
"In AA, if you don't call your sponsor and say, 'Come help me,' they
can't help you, but if a user had to come to court once a week and
look at the judge, it might be different.

"I've seen a deputy sheriff and a policeman who are hard-liners on
crime, just like I am, change and come to believe in the program."

Although drug court is voluntary, the treatment plans are aggressive,
contact with the court is frequent and the price of failure is high.

"They're coming to stay out of jail, but after four to six months
we're seeing a dramatic change in the attitude of the individual,"
said Ronald R. Boone, assistant district attorney for Cleveland,
Garvin and McClain counties.

"I'm not sure I'm sold on treatment because treatment has often
failed, but the criminal justice system has failed in dealing with
these folks, too. By putting the two together, we've had some
success."

Most of the offenders who sign up for drug court are looking at 10-
to 20-year sentences if they fail to complete the program, which
takes about 18 months and consists of five phases.

However, participants say it's the people - as much as the strict
rules - that make them stay.

In drug court, the team approach to justice and a family atmosphere
have replaced the traditional adversarial setting and the thunder of
a judge's gavel.

When participants violate their agreement, the drug court team airs
the appropriate punishment at a round-table discussion prior to the
session.

Sometimes, Lucas takes a vote and the majority rules.

Generally, it's easy to reach agreement among the team, which
includes Boone, Lucas, two defense attorneys, two representatives
from law enforcement, a probation officer and drug treatment and
mental health counselors.

While Lucas is proud of his team's caring approach, he also is
cognizant of what's taking place in the tightly-packed rows in front
of him.

"The importance of peer pressure is something I can't describe,"
Lucas said. "The other participants - we don't call them inmates -
want this program to work and they help each other through this
process.

"Nobody wants to sit in 'the box' in front of their peers."

Turning it around

George knows what it's like to take a seat in the jury box, the place
a participant goes to be sanctioned.

He was the first offender to enroll in drug court, April 27, 2000,
and he was one of the first to break the rules.

George said he wasn't surprised, given "my talent for being
manipulative and being the great liar I was."

What did surprise him was that the drug team didn't dump him and that
he didn't want to be dumped.

"I was hard-headed and was trying to get out of it right after I got
in," he said. "I thought it was unfair until I realized this isn't
about being fair. And it's not about the consequences. It's what you
eventually learn about yourself that makes the difference."

Wins and losses

"Don't let me forget that we have to draw for the Golden Corral gift
certificate before we leave," Lucas said. "Those in the box aren't
eligible."

Jason wants to advance from stage 2 (breaking through denial) to
stage 3 (acceptance of the problem). "Don't get nervous up here. You
did good. You look good. I've got your certificate here."

A woman, wearing a long print skirt and dark blazer, petitions the
court to move from phase four (continuing recovery) to phase five
(aftercare/relapse prevention).

She said she is living by the 12 steps of Alcoholic Anonymous and now
wants to adopt her granddaughter.

"The love I have for her will help me stay clean and sober after drug
court," she tells the judge, "and I'd like to thank the drug court
team for making this the best thing that ever happened to me."

Obviously pleased with her progress, Judge Lucas responds: "You've
changed yourself."

The day's court docket brings disappointment as well as joy.

One woman loses her freedom and is ordered to complete a residential
treatment program; one man isn't allowed to leave the county to
attend his mother's birthday party; another man is ordered to find a
different job.

"We understand relapse is part of a treatment program, and we expect
some to relapse," Boone said. "It's expected, but it's not tolerated."

Lisa, who is still in her first phase, learned that the hard way when
she failed to show up for court that day.

The drug team, which was going to recommend that she be allowed to
leave home before 6 a.m. for work, was quick to respond.

A Norman police officer went to her home and she was brought back,
crying and in handcuffs.

She had overslept and missed work and court.

As she stood before Lucas, her face was filled with fear and remorse.

Lucas and the drug team, realizing that sleep difficulties are a
common side effect for addicts who quit using, sent her to work
instead of jail with the warning that she would have to be
responsible for getting there on time.

Court ends moments later with Steven, the raffle winner, approaching
the bench to claim his free dinner.