DRUG COURT FIGHTS TO SOBER ADDICTS

Lawyers And Counselors Work Together To Straighten Out The Lives Of
Men And Women Hooked On Narcotics.

RANCHO CUCAMONGA -- Terry Marble stood in drug court and choked back
tears as he read homework he wrote for San Bernardino County Superior
Court Commissioner Ronald Gilbert.

It was a brief autobiography of his life as an addict.

He first plunged into narcotics in 1968, "in the jungles of Vietnam,"
said Marble, 50, of Fontana.

"I hid behind smoking every day," he said, referring to marijuana and
other drugs.

By 1985, his health was poor, he was divorced from his wife -- the
mother of his two daughters -- and he was using cocaine and speed to
the point where his addiction was unmanageable. He kept losing jobs,
so he went into business for himself -- manufacturing drugs. He was
sent to jail and when he got out he went back to using narcotics
until he was arrested again.

"I was relieved to be caught this time," Marble read, his voice
quivering. He was given the chance to go to drug court and took it.
He owes his life, he said, to everyone in drug court.

"I promise not to use again," he said, once more on the verge of crying.

He hugged deputy public defender C. Christian Cruz. He received a key
chain as a token of completing the first 13-week phase of a
four-phase yearlong treatment program. Then he sat down. And he wiped
away the tears he could no longer hold back.

Marble's effort to reclaim his life is one side of drug court, the bright side.

There's also a dark side.

The same day in court, Quinlan Strong was steaming mad. The drug
counselor working with the drug court's addicts railed at the 80 or
so men and women sitting on benches on the right side of the
courtroom. Three women in the group had admitted to falsifying their
progress reports.

"All of you guys need a wake-up call," Strong said angrily, standing
in front of the group. "Absolutely none of you guys look good in
orange." Jail inmates wear orange jumpsuits.

"I want you guys to think if you really want this program," Strong
continued. "Either take this program seriously or get out."

Gilbert, who runs the drug court at the West Valley courthouse, had
just ordered the three women to jail for one week. The women turned
in reports saying they had attended Narcotics Anonymous meetings when
they hadn't.

"There are two things I will not tolerate," Gilbert told the group.
"I will not tolerate false [Narcotics Anonymous reports] and I will
not tolerate false urines," he said, meaning falsified urine tests.

"Any questions." he asked. "No!" the group shouted in unison.
"Everyone clear." Gilbert said. "Yes!" the group replied.

The previous Friday a male addict was caught with a hose-like device
taped to his body. Through it he squirted "clean" urine into a cup
for a random test. But the urine was cold; fresh urine is warm. A
bailiff held the device for the other addicts to see.

"I hate deception," Gilbert said on that occasion. "Throws me over
the edge." He sent the man to jail for 15 weeks.

In drug court, repeat offenders who are addicts are given a chance to
avoid jail or prison, usually for drug possession or being under the
influence of narcotics. In return they undergo a 52-week regimen of
classes, 12-step meetings and urine testing and six months of less
intensive follow-up.

Unlike other courts, it's non-adversarial. No one testifies, no
attorneys cross-examine witnesses. In drug court, prosecutors and
public defenders want the same result: clean and sober people.

It's only available to a small percentage of addicted criminals. They
cannot have committed violent crimes and probation officers have to
see potential in them for recovery. Most of the people in Gilbert's
court are addicted to methamphetamine or cocaine, he said.

In Rancho Cucamonga, drug court meets every Friday. In Gilbert's
hands, it has its rituals, partly influenced by 12-step programs.
Before court begins, he meets with a team that includes a prosecutor,
public defender, probation officer and drug counselors to go over all
the cases.

Once the court session begins, he takes the bad cases first to set an
example for the rest of the group. For people staying on target, Cruz
rings a bell. For those hitting key milestones, Gilbert hands out
certificates and tosses a key chain to a bailiff, who then hands it
to the recovering addict. The addicts applaud everyone.

If they initially think drug court is an easy way to avoid jail or
prison, they soon learn otherwise.

The addicts start the recovery process by going to classes at Matrix
Institute on Addictions in Rancho Cucamonga five days a week, which
is gradually reduced to two days a week.

"We're reconditioning the brain," Strong said of the classes.

They learn to avoid the triggers that can send them spiraling back
into drug abuse: mingling with their drug-abusing friends, living
with drug-abusing relatives, going to locations where they used to
take drugs.

"It's like Pavlov's dogs," Gilbert said. In the same way the
scientist's dogs began salivating when presented with a stimulus that
customarily preceded feeding, drug addicts will crave drugs again if
faced with these triggers, he said. "Smart, not strong," is one of
Gilbert's favorite admonishments. It means recovering addicts
shouldn't think they can be with drug-abusing friends and be strong
enough to resist taking drugs themselves; they have to be smart
enough to shirk those friends in the first place.

The addicts come to drug court every Friday at first then eventually
get down to once every four weeks if they progress according to plan.
Throughout the year, they are subject to regular and random drug
tests and must attend three Narcotics Anonymous meetings every week.

Gilbert calls the recovering addicts "clients." A public defender for
10 years, he knows they struggle. He'll give second or third chances.
But he cracks down on the ones who make no real effort to get better,
the ones with too many "dirty" urine tests, the ones who skip
Narcotics Anonymous meetings. He sends them to residential treatment
programs, to 30 NA meetings in 30 days or even 90 NA meetings in 90
days. If he believes it's necessary, he sends them to jail.

"I have the carrot and the stick," he said.

Gilbert clearly prefers to see the addicts succeed.

"Most of my clients are not criminally disposed," he said. "Most of
them are just pure addicts."

Proposition 36, which voters approved in November, will set up a new
series of drug courts statewide -- but without urine tests and the
threat of jail. Gilbert expects to see many of the addicts fail to
break their addiction in the Proposition 36 courts, he said.

In his court on a typical Friday, more people are making progress
than falling back, Gilbert said. That's the way he likes it.

"I go home for the weekend feeling charged," he said.