A NEW ALTERNATIVE FOR DRUG OFFENDERS

BREWTON -- They walk quickly, nervously, one by one to stand before the
judge. They smile, laugh, and talk about job-hunting, graduation equivalency
degrees and their families. And about clean drug tests.

Six months ago, they would all have been in prison or on probation, perhaps
eventually to appear again before Circuit Judge Bradley Byrne. Now, they
come to court for encouragement.

The 24 defendants are part of a fledgling alternative sentencing program
started last October in Escambia County. The approach -- known as drug court
- -- has begun to gain acceptance in rural Alabama, where some even describe
it as an answer to the state's prison crowding crisis.

Under the Escambia program, people arrested for possession or nonviolent
offenses linked to addictions to drugs or alcohol can plead guilty and get
treatment. Prosecutors, social workers, therapists and court officials
screen the defendants. No drug dealers or violent criminals are eligible.

The defendants agree to a vigorous schedule of group therapy three nights a
week supervised by workers with the Southwest Alabama Mental Health Center
in Monroeville.

They pay $31.25 a week for their treatment. They also agree to report to
court every Friday, and in the 12 months of the program they must undergo
frequent drug testing, get a high school equivalency degree, get a job,
register to vote and remain drug free for the final six months.

If they successfully finish, their charges get set aside.

According to Tom Parker with the state Administrative Office of Courts,
Alabama now has 16 drug court programs out of 39 judicial districts. Six new
drug courts formed just last year.

Most of the courts are in counties with large urban centers, such as
Jefferson, Madison and Shelby, but several largely rural counties in north
Alabama have joined in, including DeKalb, Etowah and Cullman, among others.

Central Alabama's 2nd Judicial District, comprising Butler, Crenshaw and
Lowndes counties, has run a drug court for two years. And the Poarch Band of
Creek Indians, with a justice system under federal jurisdiction, established
a drug court on tribal lands in 1998.

Escambia is the first rural county district in Alabama's southern end to try
the concept.

The program's staff members include the director, a circuit judge, a court
reporter, three counselors, and prosecutors and defense lawyers. All have
volunteered their time, and most said they would continue working even if no
grant funding comes through.

If you ask the people who run the program how it got started, they credit
each other. Byrne said Larry Pearson, a substance abuse counselor with
Southwest Alabama Mental Health, was the one who mentioned it to him.

"We had talked about it, and he had been involved with a drug court program
in Pensacola. We felt it was worth a try," said Byrne. "Otherwise, I could
see we weren't accomplishing much. Putting people on probation or sending
them to prison -- it was just a revolving door."

Escambia officials said they gleaned information from federal sources and
studied programs in Mobile and Baldwin counties. Byrne (no relation to state
Sen. Bradley Byrne, R-Montrose) said the program began with no budget,
although ideally, the court would need around five full-time workers.

"It is different to have so much interaction with the defendants in positive
situations, but it is very satisfying," Byrne said. "We have so many in our
prisons now, we need to have an alternative for drug cases and felony DUIs.
Those are the number one and two charges that land people in prison and this
program addresses both."

Pearson, for his part, said he knows how drug court defendants think,
because he has been in their situation.

"A counselor told me 25 years ago I wouldn't make it," he said. "The
counselor told me I was dysfunctional, and I would never beat my addiction.
So I got my high school diploma, my associate's degree, my bachelor's and a
master's degree. It became a calling for me.

"There is some point of motivation for everyone," he said. "We've just got
to find it."

Pearson said many of the defendants "are really great kids, talented people
who will do anything for you. They have a substance abuse problem and prison
won't help them get better."

Rural settings are ideal for drug court, Pearson said, because of the
close-knit communities. Participants find it tougher to sneak around, and
know that people are concerned about their success.

And while they're in the program, pushing for diplomas and jobs, they aren't
out committing other crimes, he said.

Federal studies by the Justice Department show that drug court programs
reduce crime rates and save taxpayers $10 in prison costs for every $1
spent.

According to statistics on the agency's Web site, there are 946 drug courts
nationally, and 441 being planned. They enroll more than 300,000 adults and
12,500 juveniles. Of the 73,000 adult graduates, 73 percent have retained or
obtained jobs.

Drug courts were born in Miami in 1989 and subsequent studies found that the
intensive therapy and monitoring were effective in reducing crime. The
programs have been dubbed "therapeutic jurisprudence" by some.

"This is working here," Pearson said. "It can work in other rural counties."

About 30 people serve on a council to help the Escambia program stay on
course.

Sheriff Grover Smith, who endorsed the drug court idea, says the jail is
filled with drug offenders who could be helped by treatment.

District Attorney Mike Godwin, a 30-year veteran of criminal justice work,
said the drug court is the "best program I've ever seen. For us to keep
building prisons when we can have a program like this is the height of
folly. This treats the root cause of the problem."

Godwin recommended for legislators "to put a moratorium on prison
construction, and redirect money into treatment like this."

"If every county in the state dealt with drug court, even with just 10
defendants, that would save 670 inmates a year," Godwin said. "These are
people who contribute, people with treatable illnesses."

Godwin said the state had 4,000 inmates shortly before the habitual offender
laws took effect in the early 1980s. By 1982, there were 8,000.

"We told them there would be 20,000 by the year 2000 and they laughed at
us," Godwin said. "Well, now Alabama has 26,000. It's like a professor of
mine used to say in college, 'You can swat mosquitoes or drain the swamp.'
This program drains the swamp."

On Friday, as the staff prepared for the weekly face-to-face meetings with
defendants, they talked about progress in counseling, trouble spots for
some, and the long-term damage done by drugs like methamphetamine.

They all seemed proud of progress made by most defendants, particularly
Leroy Hayes.

Just weeks ago, Hayes spoke at the group's graduation from the first phase
of treatment. He urged them all to "press on, press through."

Hayes, 24, agreed to have his name in the newspaper. He said he's unashamed
of who he is.

"I'm glad to be here," he told the group. "I'm glad to have purpose, to have
direction. It's not good to overlook anybody, because everybody matters."

Hayes recounted how he stayed "out in the cold so many nights, hungry, my
mind clouded. I wouldn't go home to eat. I refused to go home where love
was."

Hayes said he started using marijuana and cocaine in the military. When he
got out in 1999, he was addicted, he said. He dropped out of college, and
was eventually arrested for stealing a checkbook from a parked car.

He reluctantly joined the treatment program. Now, he is "clean and sober,"
he said, and has a job as a project manager for a Pensacola construction
company.

"Spiritually, I feel so close to God, to my Lord Jesus Christ," Hayes said.
"I am emotionally well-balanced. I can identify my feelings and why I have
them. My mind is so clear. Life is wonderful again."

But even in successful drug court programs, some fail.

On Friday, two of the Escambia participants stood before the judge in prison
coveralls. One, Anthony Gee, never showed up for treatment. He was found
later and arrested, but managed to run away. Officers said they discovered
him days ago in a stolen car with $500 in crack cocaine on the seat beside
him. He told the judge that whatever sentence he got wouldn't hurt.

Byrne sentenced Gee to 10 years in prison -- consecutive sentences for three
separate charges -- and more than 15 years' supervised probation to follow.
Gee is not eligible for parole or time off for good behavior.

Bobby Jackson, whose son recently died of a drug overdose, was sent to
prison to complete a seven-year sentence for bringing the highly addictive
painkiller oxycontin to group therapy and selling it. The other participants
reported him to officers.

"What this whole process is," said Pearson, "is taking the caterpillars and
putting them through treatment, which is a cocoon, and then letting go a
butterfly. We want them all to be butterflies."