"Putting them in jail wasn't working."

JUDGE STEPHEN THOMPSON
Camden County Superior Court

Wayne O'Toole of Camden, with his wife, Lisa, holds his mug shots that
were given to him by Judge Stephen Thompson, who runs the drug court
in Camden County. O'Toole, a former drug addict, successfully
completed the rehabilitation program and was given his release by
O'Toole.

Addicts get a second chance

Drug court gives offenders treatment, counseling instead of prison

By Kathy Barrett Carter
STARLEDGER STAFF

It's graduation day. The 30yearold, curlyhaired "valedictorian"
in white jeans and a sleeveless blue rib shirt rises, looks out on
the room and offers his speech.

"My name's Wayne," he says, "and I am a drug addict."

"Hi Wayne!" is the response from a gathering you will never
encounter at a local high school auditorium. Here, wives break down
in tears of joy, grown men embrace. There are no caps, no gowns, no
pomp and no circumstance.

This is drug court.

And this graduation, in the court of Judge Stephen Thompson of
Camden County Superior Court, is part of a nation's attempt to
confront the legacy left by 20 years of the War on Drugs. With
jails overflowing from mandatory sentencing and the legal system
swamped with petty drug crimes, even some of the toughest lawand
order advocates are beginning to think there must be a better way
to deal with drug offenders.

This, they hope, may be it.

(photo)

A drug addict, known only as John, appears for his progress report
in Camden drug court before Judge Stephen Thompson, background.

Mushrooming across the nation, drug courts give addicts who are
facing stiff prison sentences the choice of going into treatment
instead. They operate on the premise that prison space should be
reserved for bigtime drug traffickers while addicts, and
ultimately society, will be better served by treatment. Camden was
the first to get started in New Jersey. Three other counties have
programs in the works.

Hatched in Miami in 1989, the program now includes some 45,000
people enrolled in 350 drug courts throughout the U.S.,
authorities say.

Drug court uses a carrotandstick approach. Addicts are sent to
treatment programs, offered job counseling, helped with family
problems.

In exchange, they are supervised intensely by a judge and the
probation department. Regular drug tests are mandatory and
escalating punishment, including prison, is imposed on those who
relapse or fail to live up to the standard set by the program.

Like many judges, Thompson, who oversees the longest running
drug court in New Jersey, was frustrated. He did his job the old
way for years and came to feel he was part of a philosophy that
was simply filling up jails.

"I was tired of seeing the same people. Putting them in jail
wasn't working," said Thompson, who has been on the bench eight
years.

Before he could sentence someone to treatment, but he never
knew whether they went. He never knew if treatment worked.

It's very different for people sentenced to drug court as
evidenced by the six graduates who came to celebrate their
achievements on a recent warm spring graduation day.

A middleaged bespectacled judge, Thompson comes down from the
bench and stands like a proud father, congratulating and
extolling the accomplishments of those who have made it through
the program.

The judge describes Wayne O'Toole of Camden as the
"valedictorian" of this first graduating class.

For over a year, he has remained drugfree even after losing
his job said Michaeleski, the drug counselor who worked with
O'Toole.

"The spiritual principles of recovery, you actually live them
one day at a time. Recovery is tough. There was stress. You got
married. You had a job loss. But you chose to stay clean," said
Michaeleski.

"All I did was smoke pot for six years," said O'Toole,
telling a sad and familiar tale, making the graduation seem part
religious revival, part 12step recovery meeting. "By the grace
of God I just celebrated a year of sobriety," he told the
approving audience.

Silent tears of joy streamed down the cheeks of Lisa, his
wife, who before he entered treatment would not marry him even
though they have a young daughter. She knew the old Wayne. She
is reveling in the new Wayne.

"It's amazing," she said later. "He even looks different. His
skin looks better. He looks better."

The Reality House outpatient program, which he had been
ordered to attend, has "taught me how to live without using,"
O'Toole said.

"Without this (the drug court) I would probably be sitting in
Riverfront Prison," O'Toole admitted. "I would buy pot before I
would pay my rent."

When Richard Green, 60, of Collingswood was hauled into court
more than a year ago he was unkempt and "reeked," recalled Anna
Paladino, a social worker who works with the drug court. She
frankly did not hold out much hope for him because of his age.

It was a different story when the tall, lanky Green strode
into the courtroom dressed in a gray pinstripe suit, a light
blue dress shirt and looking every bit the church deacon.

Cocaine, marijuana and beer were his drugs of choice, he said.
Now, however, he can report being drugfree for more than a year.

"I'm really proud of myself," said Green, with a bit of a
southern drawl in his voice.

When protective counselors rushed over to warn him that he
might get more publicity than he bargained for talking to a
reporter, he emphatically declared: "You can put my picture on
the front page."

The six graduates will be the high point of the day, later
others who are still struggling with their addiction will come
through Thompson's courtroom. For some, there will be good news
to report. They are clean, working, attending treatment. Others
have not done as well. Having failed to live up to their
obligations, Thompson will not be so munificent. Two will be sent
off to prison that day.

"The link between substance abuse and crime is clear and its
costs to society are overwhelming," said James J. Ciancia,
administrative director of the courts, who has been pushing the
concept of drug courts in New Jersey. "By bringing to bear a
combination of treatment services and judicial sanctions, drug
courts have been successful in shattering that link."

Ciancia, a former Superior Court judge, called the drug courts
one of the "most promising tools available to the criminal
justice system."

Fueled, in part, by federal dollars, the number of drug courts
in both the planning and operational stages has tripled in the
past year.

The Clinton Administration has proposed $75 million for drug
courts in fiscal year 1998Äa 150 percent increase over 1997. If
Congress approves the expenditure, more than $1 million of that
money is earmarked for New Jersey to help develop or expand drug
courts in Hudson, Essex, Passaic and Camden counties, court
officials here said.

The Superior Court program in Camden County is expected to
receive $385,000 to expand from 50 to 500 offenders and to
provide a fuller range of treatment services.

Hudson County plans to join just a handful of courts
nationwide with a program exclusively for juveniles. It hopes to
get $250,000 for its project.

Essex County is slated to get $375,000. Its program just got
off the ground this month. Fifteen Superior Court employees will
devote all or a portion of their duties to the program.

Passaic will receive $20,000 in seed money to begin planning a
drug court that will target nonviolent drug offenders who commit
crimes in school zones and are in need of inpatient treatment.

Some see the drug courts as another arrow in the quiver of a
system that must take a multidimensional approach to fighting
drugrelated crime.

Others see it is a rebuke of the gettough rhetoric of the 1980s
which led to a huge boost in New Jersey's prison population as
mandatory drug laws cast a wider net, ensnaring even lowlevel
drug users.

A year ago, Assistant Camden County Prosecutor Sally Smith,
whose caseload includes drug court, said she would have balked at
the idea of giving people caught with drugs a chance to go into
treatment rather than prison. But after seeing how this program
works, it has made a believer out of her.

She has seen the most unlikely people transformed, she said.

"I think more and more the law enforcement community is coming
to the conclusion this is an extremely valuable tool," said
Attorney General Peter Verniero. "I'm very supportive of it."