JUVENILE DRUG COURT PROGRAM CUT OFF FROM ANY NEW FUNDING

A Juvenile Court drug treatment program is top heavy in executive salaries
and the only drug court in the state cut off from new waves of government
money, a state Supreme Court administrator said.

James Boulware said Tuesday that the East Baton Rouge Parish Juvenile Drug
Court program is not now in line to get any of the $15.6 million in state
and federal money being allotted to the state's other 31 drug courts.

Executives at the local Juvenile Court program, called the Straight and
Narrow Drug Treatment program on Quida Mae Drive, have not followed even
the basic requirements to get the money, he said.

The executives did not send him information about the program requirements,
budget forms, treatment standards or a survey, Boulware said.

"They haven't done anything," said Boulware, appointed by the Supreme Court
to disburse the drug court money.

"They have not done any of what you need to do for a proper application."

Boulware also questions why a juvenile drug court is promising to treat
adults from a six-parish area, as executives of Straight and Narrow Drug
Treatment told him.

What's more, the center's top two executives are paying themselves more
than $117,000 a year from other grants, that are rapidly shrinking, just to
supervise three other people on the payroll and run a program that oversees
25 to 40 clients at any given time.

Boulware said other drug courts in the state with the same case load pay
one person $30,000 to $40,000 to coordinate the program, pay a case manager
even less and use the services of a probation officer who works for the court.

The salaries of the local program's administrator, Peter Q. John, who makes
more than $67,000 a year, and treatment director Ferlenzo Holmes, who is
John's roommate and makes $50,000 a year, are "way off the scale compared
to any other drug courts in the state," Boulware said.

"It's not even on the same scale," he said. "One-hundred and
seventeen-thousand dollars. How many kids could you treat for that?"

Boulware said the local Juvenile Court is the only one in the state running
its own drug treatment center. Other courts farm out the work to area
clinics, he said.

In those other cases, the money Boulware dispenses goes to court appointed
administrators, who pay the local centers, which then report treatment
results to the judges.

Juvenile Court Judge Pam Taylor Johnson, who set up the local Juvenile
Court drug treatment program with $500,000 in federal and state grants she
got in 1999, said she did not want to set up a treatment center.

However, a lack of quality centers in Baton Rouge that closed because of
federal budget cuts forced her to open a court-backed center, she said.

Despite Johnson's contention about the lack of centers, Boulware said other
drug courts around the state found qualified clinics in cities such as
Breaux Bridge and Homer.

"You mean to tell me Baton Rouge is backward or something?" Boulware asked.
"There's got to be treatment available."

Running a drug-treatment center the way Johnson has set up the local
program loads a court with "heavy responsibilities," Boulware said.

"That's almost a needless thing," he said. "That gets a little bit strange
in terms of the best use of money."

Last week, Boulware sent a letter to John citing his failure to comply with
minimum funding regulations. A copy went to Juvenile Court, but Johnson
said on Monday she expects to get the money to keep the center open.

Boulware declined to comment on Johnson's optimism.

"I can't account for what the judge is saying," he said.

Straight and Narrow, located behind Earl K. Long Medical Center, appears to
be in dire straits if it does not qualify for a piece of the newly
appropriated money that Boulware is dispensing. It has less than $60,000
left from the $500,000 in grants Johnson secured in 1999, money that was
designed to last until June.

Johnson hired John in April 2000 as the center's treatment director at a
salary of $40,000 a year. John signed on with Johnson after questions arose
about the first administrator, a full-time city-parish employee who worked
at the center on a contract. An audit report from last year says there are
no records showing how that woman divided her workday between the two jobs.

John is a lawyer, who formerly worked in the Office of the Public Defender
in Juvenile Court. Besides being the top man at the Straight and Narrow
center, he runs his own law practice, The O'Neal Legal Clinic.

Johnson's letter to Carter, the court administrator, announcing John's
hiring on April 8, 2000, does not say whether John had any previous
experience in drug treatment work. The letter does say Johnson would give
Carter a copy of John's contract, but Carter said she never got one, and
there is none in files requested by The Advocate.

In a letter dated June 1, 2000, Johnson promoted John, saying he would
serve as administrator and treatment director of the center.

That letter says John's salary would go up to $45,000 a year. However, a
hand-written note at the bottom of the letter says John would make $50,000
a year in July or August of 2000 for "additional responsibilities,"
including payroll.

Carter, who at the time was in charge of keeping the treatment center's
books, said she never got a copy of that letter. And payroll records show
John earned $40,000 in salary from April through September 2000.

On July 7, 2000, John dropped the treatment director part of his title, to
serve only as the administrator of the program, but took no cut in pay.
Instead, John wrote a letter dated that day to Johnson saying he was hiring
Holmes, who has a degree in business with a minor in psychology, as
treatment director. Holmes had been working as a bank manager supervising
19 people.

Although Holmes' salary was set at $30,000 a year according to John's
letter, Johnson wrote a different letter to Holmes on the same day, which
he did not sign, saying he'd make $40,000 a year. Holmes did sign a letter
from Johnson dated Aug. 30, 2000, saying he'd earn $45,000 year.

Carter, who was trying to keep track of who was making what, said she never
got a copy of Johnson's letters to Holmes. Payroll records show that Holmes
actually was paid $36,000 a year from July through September 2000.

In September 2000, a new grant Johnson was counting on -- this one for
$125,000 -- appeared to be in jeopardy, records show. Despite that, John
and Holmes got raises that month.

John's pay soared to $67,692 a year, and Holmes got a bump to $50,000,
payroll records show.

The raises appear to be retroactive to July 2000, although no paperwork
could be found authorizing the $8,402.14 John got that month, or the
$5,461.67 Holmes collected.

In July, John picked up administrative duties that Carter formerly performed.

The raises remain in effect although the $125,000 state grant never
materialized.

John cannot always be at the center because of work he does in his law
practice. But he said he does not consider himself bound by a standard,
eight-hour workday because he puts in many hours at the treatment center
outside regular work hours.

John also said he and Holmes are succeeding in turning around children with
drug problems.

"The bottom line is the kids can really connect to us," he said.

In October 2000, John hired a woman who works at his law practice, Leinani
Mallory, to do clerical work on a contract basis at the drug-treatment
center. A review of Mallory's records, who makes $10 an hour, show that she
was paid $10,436 from October through June. However, many of her time
sheets do not detail any work performed, but just list hours.

John recently acknowledged that Mallory also is the mother of his child.
But he said Mallory does not live with him and Holmes in a Sherwood Forest
home that Holmes bought late last year.

"Ms. Mallory has her own apartment on the other side of town," John said.

Although records show that Holmes bought the house for $189,500 in December
2000, John and Holmes together signed a lease-purchase agreement for the
home a year earlier, in October 1999.

Rent was $1,400 a month during the lease, records show, but John declined
to explain how he and Holmes share the mortgage on the home, located at
12346 E. Robin Hood Drive.

Johnson said she knows now that John and Holmes have a home, and recently
found out about John's and Mallory's child. Johnson also acknowledged that
public money going to a tight knot of people could pose a problem.

"It's almost like in the family, I understand," she said. "I'll look into
that."

However, Johnson said other employees of Juvenile Court have relatives
working alongside them, and that John and Holmes are providing a good
treatment program for children.

Trouble from the start

Johnson became a judge in 1995, joining Judge Kathleen Richey, who had been
the only Juvenile Court judge since the court opened in 1991.

Johnson contended that Richey bucked most of her ideas for the court,
including the idea of a drug treatment center.

"Judge Richey was resistant," Johnson said. "Not because they were not good
ideas. Most probably because they were not hers."

Richey countered that she had looked forward to working with Johnson
because she desperately needed another judge in Juvenile Court, and worked
hard to get a seat added there.

But, Richey said, Johnson's insistence on a court-backed treatment program
is an example of how the two differed over the court's mission.

Some children in Juvenile Court obviously need drug treatment, she said.
But Richey echoed Boulware's belief that the court should not be in the
treatment business.

Children she sees in court need a wide variety of services that the court
should not provide, she said.

"If I need a psychiatrist, I'm not going to look for one in a courtroom,"
Richey said.

Although there is a need for new clinics in Baton Rouge, Richey said,
children here were getting treatment before Johnson started her program.

And she contended Johnson's criticism of her is a "red herring" to keep the
focus off problems at the Straight and Narrow Drug Treatment program.

"If you're going to spend public money, there needs to be accounting for
public funds," Richey said. "This center is not accountable."