A STRONG DOSE OF TREATMENT

Program Focused On Parolees With Drug Problems Aims To Save State

Mike Wulf's drug addiction began at age 14 atop a building, when a
relative offered him methamphetamine - dubbed "go fast" - to help him
get a roofing job done quickly. Mark Naylor was a returned missionary
when he was introduced to Ecstacy at a club, then got hooked on
heroin. Steve Fenstermaker began using drugs after his wife died,
leaving him three young children to raise. He eventually became a
leader in a ring that was cooking meth and stealing credit cards,
police said. Felix Strong, introduced to crack by friends, soon found
how profitable it was to sell and couldn't resist the easy money,
despite multiple arrests. For months, the men have been living at the
First Step House in Salt Lake City as part of an experiment known as
DORA, or the Drug Offender Reform Act. The goal: Give intense
treatment to addicted criminals while they are on probation,
hopefully saving the state money in the long run as they re-enter
society. Each man's focus is on how success or failure will affect
his own life. But the group's choices also will affect the decisions
of policymakers, who must decide whether to invest more tax dollars
once funding for the $1.4 million pilot program ends in 2008.

A different relationship: The up to 250 treatment slots provided
under the pilot are almost filled. But it will take
Advertisementyears for the last probationers to finish, allowing
overall success rates to be judged. For now, DORA is still in its
infancy - just eight people have completed treatment and probation
since the program began in 2005. A group of 10 are in the final
stages of probation. A larger number, 22, have been kicked out after
being charged with new crimes. Seven of them racked up new felony
charges, such as drug possession and aggravated assault. Another
large group, 17, are fugitives who fled the program. "There are a few
of them that we worked as hard as we could, increasing their level of
treatment, but they are not ready," said DORA probation officer Peg
Stewart. "They've just been in the system a long time, and they are
not ready." Most of those in DORA have served time in jail, been on
probation or tried drug court or other treatment programs. DORA may
be their last chance. Those in the program say they notice a
difference, including a new relationship with probation officers,
once viewed as enemies. "I feel like I have a probation officer who
cares about what I do," said Naylor. That's exactly what advocates
want. DORA increases communication between probation officers,
counselors and defense attorneys, who meet weekly to discuss the
progress of their probationers. "There has been a historical
disconnect between law enforcement and treatment," said Deborah
Davidson, Adult Probation and Parole's Region III supervisor. "We've
each had to move out of our comfort zone."

Personal responsibility: Another difference: time. Caseloads for DORA
probation officers are significantly lower. Officers Dan Chestnut and
Stewart were hand-picked to spearhead the effort. "The relationships
that have been created between AP&P and the treatment community just
benefit everybody," said Chestnut. "I think it's a better expense of
taxpayer dollar." If a person violates the terms of parole and needs
different or more intense treatment, DORA and its special funding can
make it happen, he explained. And deciding between incarceration and
other options is easier. "We don't make that call in a vacuum
anymore," he said. "We now make that call based on the collaboration
with the treatment provider." Participation in DORA is ultimately up
to judges hearing felony cases in Salt Lake County. They see an
assessment of defendants by a clinician at the Salt Lake County
Division of Substance Abuse. First Step House demands personal
responsibility. Once a person has been there for about 20 days, they
are expected to seek and retain a job, or begin overcoming any
obstacles to employment. "Not everybody can handle that," said
director Shawn McMillen. "The system has tried to refine their
assessment process and try to direct folks appropriate to us."
Sanctions might include not being able to leave the house for a
month. Rewards might be an overnight pass to spend a Saturday night
with family. Treatment will last between 12 and 18 months, on
average. "Some people don't have an appropriate community to move
back into, so they will move into a subsidized-housing situation, and
First Step will provide continued urinalysis or monitoring and home
visits from our staff," said McMillen. "It can be a very long period
of treatment."

Good people, good support: Stewart has been dubbed "Mama Peg" by
respectful DORA participants. There were times when 25-year-old Angel
Cordova felt she might not make it. "She made me feel like I could
talk to her, even when I had a relapse," Cordova said. "After my
[charge of driving under the influence,] I could've said 'screw it'
and kept going down that road. But I didn't." Cordova, mother of a
6-year-old son, has completed her time in DORA and plans to go to
school to become a probation officer. "The main key is to stay away
from the people you were around, to make sure you are around good
people and good support," said Cordova. She and her son are living
with her mother, Julie Cordova. The mother has struggled as both her
children have been afflicted by drugs. Her son is now serving a
prison term. "I'm very proud of her," said Julie Cordova. "Kids
having a rough time, families have to give them that support. If they
care for their kids, they have to start getting involved. You still
got to be there for them."

The Men Of DORA

The men interviewed by The Tribune are in residential drug treatment
at Salt Lake City's First Step House as part of the DORA pilot program.

Steve Fenstermaker, 41

Charges: fraud, theft, drug possession, use.

He began using after his wife's death, and now worries he has left a
legacy of drugs for his adult children.

"My 22-year-old has been in jail," Fenstermaker said. "Another
started smoking pot."

After running a major meth lab, he will have to make new connections
to succeed.

"The hardest part of it for me is, I have to get real with myself," he said.

Chet Lane, 38

Charges: drug possession, use, driving under the influence.

For the soft-spoken Lane, the lure of heroin was strong - even when
he had been picked up by police three times within one month.

"It was a social thing," he said. "Life in the fast lane, having the
money, the stuff." Most of all: "It was being the center of attention."

Ralph Lester, 38

Charges: drug possession, use.

It seemed like everything was falling apart at the same time: the
loss of infant twins, a brother, his home, a divorce.

"[Meth] was a pain inhibitor," he said. "You don't feel anything."

He views treatment as a chance to be a father again to his other children.

"I made a decision I was done," he said. "Here, they still let you be
you, but then get you the help you need."

Mark Naylor, 42

Charges: attempted possession of drugs with intent to distribute,
paraphernalia possession.

Naylor was a returned missionary for the LDS Church when he started
using heroin and meth in the club scene. He was arrested after he ran
into a telephone pole; a scale and baggies were in his car.

"Regardless of how I got here, I have an opportunity to do
something," he said. "In jail, it's just time."

He's been on probation before, but his DORA probation officers have
been different. "For me to be able to trust someone, that's the difference."

Felix Strong, 48

Charges: distributing drugs.

Strong had a good job in a warehouse, but went from using crack to
dealing. He recalls being jailed for dealing drugs, being released,
and getting picked up for dealing again that same week.

"For the last three years, it's been a monkey on my back," he said.
"I was smoking seven days a week."

He added: "I spent every dime I got on it. It just took me down into
the gutter."

* Tuesday: Improving prevention to head off addiction. In Living