In a recent bus ride from New York to Hartford, I made a new friend.
Let's call him Pedro.

Siting together, we struck up a conversation that lasted the whole
trip. He talked about his past as a convicted drug dealer, and about
his current hopes as a recovering heroin addict. The depth of his
transformation was striking. Friendly, polite, and astonishingly
self-aware, he recounted - and lamented - his youth.

Not interested in school, he had dropped out to enter the drug trade.
Initially, he was not himself a regular user. Instead, it was the
money and the lure of peer pressure that led him to drugs. He was
successful, able to enjoy a relatively extravagant lifestyle, a fancy
car and so on.

But gradually the narcotics that he was selling began to exert their
hold. He thought he could dabble in heroin. He became addicted.

Here, Pedro's introspection - cultivated by intense sessions of
Narcotics Anonymous - was impressive. As if repenting, he grimly
elaborated on the sins that serviced big addiction: lying, theft,
violence.

with profound regret, he recalled how he had hurt other people in
seeking to maintain his habit. He robbed members of his family,
hooked others on his poison, and got caught up in gang wars.

A member of the Los Solidos gang, he tangled with the rival Latin
Kings and participated in shootings that threatened innocent
bystanders. That memory, in particular, pains him.

Prison, and especially Narcotics Anonymous, chastened him. He was
repeatedly behind bars, for 18 months at the longest. But only in
recent years, when sentencing became more severe, did jail emerge as a
strong deterrent.

At the same time, he hit bottom with heroin. After several lapses in
rehab, he prevailed. He's now been clean for more than two years.

He cites dual reasons for his recovery, God and NA, as he calls it.
Though his mother is religious, Pedro had been (obviously) a
non-believer during his years of crime. But he's eperienced a
spiritual awakening in which faith has played a critical part.

Reinforcing this religious element is the culture of self-examination,
self criticism and group expression characteristic of NA and similar
organizations. In Pedro's case, NA has provided a vital system of
suppport. He has friends who understand his problem and mentors who
can show him how to stay clean.

It was moving to hear him speak with gratitude about having a
respectable job and about little things, such as being able to share
holidays with his family.

During his years of involvement with drugs, Pedro said, he had tuned
out those occasions in search of a quick buck or a quick fix. Now he
readily accepts material deprivations - like the lack of a car - and
savors the psychological stability, the normality, he has achieved.

His aspirations, beyond simply remaining free of drugs, include
getting an education. Clearly smart, he will soon complete his G.E.D.
and wants to pursue college study.

I encouraged him to consider becoming a counselor; the New School's
master's degree in substance-abuse counseling appealed to him as a
future possibility. Almost 30, he is eager to employ his troubled
past as a lesson for the next generation.

Pedro's observations on public policy - especially drug policy - are
worth noting. While favoring decriminalization of marijuana as well
as a greater emphasis on prevention, he adamantly opposes efforts to
legalize cocaine, heroin and other hard drugs.

They're "too dangerous and addictive," he insists.

He also credits stiffer sentencing, not only as a deterrent to his own
criminal activity but as an important factor in the national reduction
of urban crime.

As he acknowledges, Pedro still faces a difficult path. He must
compensate for years of lost schooling, and resist the temptation to
revert to the ways of his youth. But he is a changed person, who
fully comprehends the errors of those ways.

I think he's going to make it.

Josiah H. Brown,
who grew up in Hampton, is chief of staff to the
president of New School University in New York City.