TREATMENT IS KEY TO ENDING ABUSE

Ray Newby beat his wives, all three of them, and some girlfriends, too.

He blackened their eyes and slapped them from one side of the room to the
other.

He was arrested in summer 1999, spent a night in jail and was ordered into
a treatment program. He's still in therapy.

"I used to say it was their fault that I got angry, and I would leave,"
says Newby, 45. "Really, I just couldn't deal with the guilt."

Even the best estimates put the success rate of abusers in treatment at
about 40 percent, and that means only that they refrain from violence for
at least one year. Some are sent back two or three times.

In Arizona, about half the abusers sent to treatment complete the programs.
The rest either drop out or never show up in the first place.

In a report to the Governor's Commission on Prevention of Family Violence,
a group of abuser-treatment providers put together by the Men's
Anti-Violence Network asked that there be consequences such as jail time or
fines for not complying with court orders.

Often, abusers are simply reprimanded and told to go back to treatment,
says Carl Mangold, a social worker at Dynamic Living Counseling in Mesa who
has worked with abusers for 29 years.

Dianne Post, a lawyer and advocate with the Arizona Coalition Against
Domestic Violence, says they should go to jail.

The providers also recommend that abusers be ordered to a minimum of 26
weekly counseling sessions for a first offense, 36 sessions for a second
and 52 for any subsequent offenses.

Currently, the number depends on where the person was arrested and can be
as few as 16. In Colorado, the minimum is 40 sessions; California requires
52. Arizona has no such requirement.

The commission, which advises the governor on legislation, will likely
review the report at its Oct. 15 meeting.

Newby was arrested in Tempe and charged with assault after he poked his
wife in the chest during an argument, causing her to fall and hit her head.

His 10-year-old son called 911.

"That really drove a stake through my heart," says Newby, a father of five.
"When you're like that, you don't see the kids cowering in the corner."

Newby spent the night in jail. He was ordered to undergo 36 weeks of group
counseling.

It took him a year and a half to finish the program, finding any reason not
to go.

"It was really hurtful to deal with what's inside, to say I'm really that
bad, that I'm that kind of person," he says.

Newby finished only when a probation officer threatened to put him in jail.
In Tempe, abusers are assigned probation officers, though not all cities do.

Newby is getting individual counseling and attending group therapy: "Now I
go because I know I need the help."

Newby grew up with a father who would hit his mother and put a gun to his
children's heads when they got out of line.

"My dad learned from his dad and I learned from my dad," he says. "It has
to end with me."

As a kid, Newby threw a hatchet at a friend who made him mad. He has
screamed at bosses and lost jobs.

He was a Marine for 20 years and ordered by superior officers to anger- and
stress-management courses.

His first wife left him after he threw a pot at the wall and it fell on her
and their baby. He tracked her down and beat her.

He's 6 feet 4 inches tall, 230 pounds. "I used to scare guys, and I'm
leaning over a 5-foot-2 woman and doing the same thing."

Now when he gets angry, he retreats, goes for a walk and slows his breathing.

Most men don't think they need help, Mangold says. They say, "I never
punched her," he says, but they yell, break furniture, slap and call her names.

"They move from woman to woman to woman, and it's still the woman's
problem," Mangold says.

"No. It's your problem," he tells them.

In treatment, abusers learn not to blame their partners, alcohol, drugs or
their temper. They learn to manage their rage and to argue without fists.

"There is no cure for domestic violence," Mangold says. Newby knows he'll
deal with his problem forever, but promises not to "cross that line again."

He has a new girlfriend, and she is in counseling, too.

His son is 13. He has been to anger management, too. He does well in
school, and his dad talks to him about how to deal with rage.

"He has to learn from me," Newby says. "If I teach him the correct way,
we've broken the cycle."