JUDGES: DRUG COURTS NOT SOFT ON CRIME

LUCEDALE - The fog of living with a 20-year drug habit is slowly lifting for
Lisa Kyle.

"I never remember a sober life before drug court," the 28-year-old Lucedale
resident said Thursday as she joined her husband Tommy and a dozen other
George and Greene County residents at a weekly meeting with 19th Circuit
Judge Kathy King Jackson of Pascagoula.

Kyle's use of drugs and alcohol started when she was 8. By the time she was
13 she used drugs - marijuana being her drug of choice - every day. It
stopped last November.

Two weeks away from a first-year anniversary, the George and Greene counties
drug court has kept 22 people out of the state prison system and saved the
state up to $400,000 in jail costs.

In a state corrections system with a $300 million budget, that may not seen
like a lot, said Circuit Judge Keith Starrett of McComb, whose 14th Circuit
Court district covers Pike, Lincoln and Walthall counties. Starrett started
Mississippi's first drug court in 1999.

But Starrett said when the 19th Circuit's $1 million plus savings for
incarceration costs are added along with other drug courts around the state
and those that are in the planning stages, it will make an impact.

The financial savings and rescuing drug offenders from a life of addiction
and incarceration is what Circuit Judge Bob Helfrich hopes for when he
starts a drug court for Forrest and Perry counties.

Unlike other drug courts, though, Helfrich is getting help from a private
foundation. He recently received a $459,000 grant from the Hattiesburg-based
Asbury Foundation.

The grant is the envy of Starrett and Jackson. Jackson said she got a
one-time $50,000 grant from the attorney general. She's getting $45,000 a
year from George and Greene counties.

Helfrich approved the circuit's drug court two weeks ago and is screening
five people to be the first participants. He is in the process of hiring a
coordinator.

"I've heard nothing but positive comments about what we are doing," Helfrich
said.

For the Kyles, facing years in prison after they were arrested on drug
charges, the chance to stay out of prison was worth the requirements of drug
court.

They became the first two members of Judge Jackson's fledging drug court.
While Lisa Kyle relapsed four months into the program, she said she picked
herself back up and has been clean for eight months.

"We got six year suspended sentences and if we don't complete drug court
we're going to jail," Kyle said. "We're going to make it."

Kyle is working as a cook in town; her husband is working a construction job
in Mobile.

Boot Camp, Day Camp

Jackson operates the George and Greene program out of a small white building
with green shutters - painted by the program participants.

The building is near the county courthouse, nearly hidden behind the justice
court building.

There's no sign up, nor benches outside the building, but that's changing
today.

Drug court participants were to spend this afternoon building picnic benches
as part of their required community service.

Jackson's court is a mixture of boot camp and day camp, of praise and
discipline.

Fourteen participants crowded into a small office Thursday with chairs
squeezed between shelves holding court records and old law library books.

Jackson sat behind a desk part of the time and then gave her desk to the
participant speaker and stood casually in the door. She was not wearing
robes.

But don't let the smile or the lack of robes fool anyone. One of the
participants failed to show up Thursday. The judge issued a bench warrant
for his arrest.

Coordinator Joanne Byrd spent much of Thursday night tracking him down.

A newcomer to the program made her first meeting Thursday, but had failed to
call the coordinator Monday. Jackson informed her she would spend the
weekend in jail.

But the 22 participants of the 25 who've remained in the program have forged
a bond of friendship that's evident in their laughter, their teasing and
their concern for each other.

Thursday, everyone passed the drug test and everyone - except the newcomer -
had a job.

It was a high-five time for the group. Jobs are critical. Everyone in
Jackson's court works.

They're on a buddy system - each assigned a buddy - and they are watched and
monitored daily.

They have to work, spend at least an hour a week in the library reading,
attend weekly alcohol and narcotics anonymous meetings, parenting classes on
Saturdays and be drug tested at least twice a week.

Participant William Darden found out last week there are still some
misconceptions about the drug court program when he was stopped at a road
block.

"I thought they were going to harass me which they usually do," Darden said.
"I was waiting for them to start some mess. I was going to call the judge."

And Jackson would have welcomed a call for Darden.

It's the hand-on approach from judges that sets this program apart.

"Hey, I got the judge's number on speed dial," said Tommy Kyle, much to
Jackson's delight.

Darden, 25, said the law officer at the road block wanted to know how he got
out of a 20-year sentence.

"I told them I was in drug court," he said. "They didn't believe me. They
kept asking me who I knew."

Darden said when they asked to search his car, he didn't break into a sweat.

"It was a good feeling not to worry about what they would find," Darden
said.

He said people in the community are still shocked that he has turned his
life around.

Not Ashamed

Each week, one of the participants talks about his week. Thursday, it was
Michael Mills' time.

"This program has improved the way I live, he said "It has improved me."

Mills, 31, said he talks about the court at the auto repair shop where he
works.

"People will come in and start talking about dope heads and I say 'wait a
minute, I'm a dope head.' We are not all bad. We are not all out there
committing crimes. Some people are ashamed to be in drug court, but I'd
rather tell someone about drug court than be having to give them my
penitentiary number," he said.

Jackson reminded participants that the community is watching all the
participants.

"They started out suspicious of what was going on," she said. "They thought
it was a free ride and that all of you ought to be in the penitentiary."

In the five years since Starrett started the state's first drug court, he
estimates the 60 inmates who would have gone to prison saved the state more
than $1 million. That figure is based on a $20,000 a year cost to house a
state inmate.

Starrett said people need to understand that a drug court is not a free ride
for people caught in crimes.

"It's not a 'hug-a-thug' program," he said. "It's not an easy way out of
criminal trouble nor is a plea bargaining tool. We are not soft on crime."