LAW HELPING DRUG USERS

PROP. 36: Therapists are pleased, but some officials see hardened
criminals avoiding prison.

Rodney Martinez, 37, says he has spent much of his adult life messing
up, and much of it high on methamphetamine.

His rap sheet goes like this, Martinez says. Possession. Under the
influence. Possession with intent to sell. Strong-arm robbery.
Conspiracy to sell. Possession.

"From the day I was 18, I was in andout of jails," Martinez said.
Peter Phun/The Press-Enterprise Nicole Chrismon, 33, left, and
Elizabeth Millward, 24, are clients at a recovery house who are
getting treatment through Prop. 36.

Arrested last year with two-tenths of a gram of meth hidden in a
shirt pocket, the Moreno Valley resident faced seven years in state
prison because of his checkered past.

But something happened on the way to the big house: a Riverside
County judge qualified him for Prop. 36, the state law that,
beginning July 1 last year, sends nonviolent drug offenders to
treatment instead of jail or prison.

Martinez, with his long criminal record and $300-per-day habit, is
not the casual drug-user some thought Prop. 36 was meant for. But the
small quantity of contraband found on Martinez was not enough to
charge him with intent to sell, and Martinez is now free on probation
after graduating from treatment.

"The authors of Prop. 36 either misjudged or misrepresented who we
should expect coming into the program," said Marie Whittington, chief
probation officer for Riverside County. "They were representing that
these were young, low-level offenders, nonviolent, new to the system."

But treatment advocates say the law is working as intended -- pushing
society's addicts into recovery instead of locking them up, time and
again, at great expense to taxpayers.

"If they got treatment a long time ago, they might not have these
records," said Michael Brady, the public policy consultant for Senate
President Pro Tem John Burton.

Supporters estimate it will save as much as $1.5 billion in jail and
prison expenses over the next five years.

UCLA researchers paid to evaluate the program will focus on
re-imprisonment, relapse and employment rates of offenders, cost
savings to taxpayers and the problems of implementing such a sweeping
change in the criminal justice system. State lawmakers will decide
whether to extend the program after 2005.

"It's hard to know anything until things settle down," said Doug
Longshore, the principal investigator for UCLA. "We're shooting for
solid answers to all the big questions at the end of year four."

Chronic Problems

Like Martinez, many people being referred to in-house treatment under
the new California law are chronic addicts with criminal pasts.

Nearly three-fourths of Prop. 36 offenders in Riverside County were
convicted of felonies, not misdemeanors, according to the latest
statistics. More than half sought help for substance abuse or
mental-health problems in the past. And half are age 35 to 54 -- not
the age of experimental dabblers.

Prop. 36 coordinators in San Bernardino County said they see similar
trends but have yet to compile statistics. The phenomenon is being
reported in other California counties, raising concern that the
pioneering drug law could jam treatment centers and cost more than
expected in the long run.

In-house treatment in Riverside County is more than four times as
expensive as simple drug-education classes, which are offered to the
least-severe users.

"What we discovered, and what's been happening throughout the state,
is many of the people need higher levels of care," said Al Bell, the
Prop. 36 coordinator for Riverside County's Department of Mental
Health.

More than 95 percent of the county's 782 Prop. 36 offenders from July
1 to Nov. 15, 2001, were referred to outpatient or residential
therapy, rather than simple drug education, Bell said.

Riverside and San Bernardino counties reported that about three in 10
people referred to treatment fail to show up. But that's good news.
Los Angeles County, for instance, is reporting higher no-show rates,
state officials said.

"Historically, this population has about a 75 percent failure to
appear rate," Bell said.

Riverside County last month took $741,000 sooner than expected from
its $4.5 million annual treatment fund provided by the state to pay
for more residential slots.

"We had to go back and increase our spending limits," Bell said. But
for "right now, we're able to provide the service that we need within
the budget that we have."

Authorities Frustrated

For some law-enforcement authorities, the first six months of Prop.
36 has deepened their fears that hardened criminals are getting
breaks they don't deserve.

"The law is really frustrating," said Tim Freer, a deputy district
attorney for Riverside County in the major narcotics unit. "If people
really knew that it was affecting people with such big prison
records, I don't think a lot of people would be in favor of it."

Freer said Prop. 36 is largely unnecessary because existing diversion
programs that send first-time drug offenders to education courses
have worked well.

The new cases, Freer added, are also clogging up court calendars as
deputy district attorneys wait for mental-health specialists to
screen Prop. 36 offenders.

"These things slow everything down to a halt," Freer said.

For Nicole Chrismon, Prop. 36 was a ticket out of prison. Chrismon
said she spent 2 1/2 years at the California Institution for Women in
Chino for manufacturing meth, and was sent back after she tested
dirty for meth use and her parole officer found a drug pipe in her
house.

She qualified for treatment under Prop. 36 and is doing a 90-day
stint at the Gibson House for women in San Bernardino -- a place she
had been before but bolted two weeks before her 60-day graduation.

"I feel like I'm in the right place," said Chrismon, 33. "I'm not
walking out this time."

On Friday, Chrismon sat in the visitor's room with fellow drug
offender Elizabeth Millward, a 24-year-old who said she had been
arrested at least nine times on drug-related charges. Millward also
qualified for treatment under Prop. 36.

Millward said she faced four years in prison after the police, who
had come to arrest her for violating an earlier drug-diversion
agreement, chased her down with a helicopter spotlight as she ran
through neighbors' yards breaking fences. She was charged with
possession, under the influence and having drug paraphernalia.
Millward said her drug use worsened after her mother died three years
ago. Her father died in February.

"I'm learning to deal with issues that trigger me to use," Millward
said, a photograph of her 6-year-old son dangling from her neck. "I
think Prop. 36 is a lifesaver."

Worries Not Confirmed

Early on, Jack Ketsdever, president of the California Association of
Addiction Recovery Resources, said he was skeptical about the law. He
worried that people forced into treatment would rebel and spoil the
atmosphere for those earnestly seeking sobriety.

"But it hasn't been the case," said Ketsdever, who is also the
executive director of Riverside Recovery Resources. The agency runs
several treatment programs in Riverside County, including the one
Rodney Martinez attended. "I've seen some dramatic turnarounds. I
mean hard-core offenders. People who have been doing this for years.
Tough guys."

Ketsdever said Martinez is a case in point. When Martinez arrived for
treatment in Hemet, Ketsdever harbored little hope for the long-time
gang member.

"I wouldn't have given him a snowball's chance in hell," Ketsdever said.

Today, "Rodney is an absolute walking, talking miracle."

For Martinez, Prop. 36 seems to have provided a turning point. In
prison during most of the 1990s for drug-related crimes, Martinez
said he was never offered treatment until Prop. 36 was launched in
July.

A mental-health counselor recommended that Martinez take
drug-education classes, he said, but he continued to use. A few days
later, Martinez said, he came clean and was sent to the First Step
House in Hemet for 90 days. He graduated three months ago.

Martinez landed a full-time job with an RV company in Perris three
days later. He attends support groups regularly and returns to the
First Step House to counsel newcomers. He celebrated six months of
sobriety Friday -- his longest drug-free period since he was 15, he
said.

He also is trying to repair his relationship with his girlfriend, the
mother of his 6-year-old son.

"My son told me yesterday, 'Dad, I like you. You're not the way you
used to be,' " he said.