AFTER MANY TRIES, PRISON REHAB PROGRAM WORKED FOR FORMER ADDICT

Jail Made Him Free

In one month's time, Roger Wade, 37, will mark his third full year of
sobriety. He'll celebrate the occasion in the Allegheny County Jail.

Unlike three years ago, though, Wade will enter the jail as a valued staff
member of a groundbreaking drug and alcohol treatment program, and not the
crazed crack addict he was in 2002 following his arrest for rifling through
an unlocked car.

His take that day was $2 in loose change.

"Any time I walked past a car and it was unlocked, I was going in. If I had
a gun, I was sticking it in your face," Wade recalled recently. "I was
breaking the law in some way at least 30 times a day to support my habit."

A habit that was actually a full-blown lifestyle, to hear Wade describe it.

He smoked marijuana regularly and drank from age 10, upshifted into
freebase cocaine at 20, then traversed the next 15 years in a drug haze
while getting arrested 23 times -- with 15 convictions -- for various
drug-related crimes. When he was high, he could go a week without sleeping,
giving him more time to steal, rob or sell drugs to feed his $500 a day
"habit."

"I lived to use, and I used to live," he said, a motto that nearly killed
him more than once.

Today, it's hard to reconcile Wade's friendly manner and smiling face with
that former life.

It's harder still to imagine the transformation that carried Wade from that
life to this one, where he's a dean's list student at Community College of
Allegheny County, a responsible husband and father, and a regular once
again at Macedonia Baptist Church in his Hill District neighborhood.

The best explanations may come from the women most prominent in his life --
his mother, Patsy, and his wife, Anita. It was Patsy who, during the bad
years, would put her last dollar in Roger's jail commissary account -- but
only after she "whapped him on his behind" for landing there again. It was
Anita who had the courage to knock on crack house doors late at night,
looking for Roger to bring him home.

She did it because she saw a potential in Roger. "And because I love him."

The two women credit Roger's spiritual faith, first and foremost, for his
turnaround.

But quick second billing goes to the county jail's drug and alcohol program
which, by Roger's good luck, began the same month he arrived there in
September 2002.

"This has opened the door to him to rescue himself and educate people about
drugs," said Anita, who is expecting their first child in December. The
household also includes Anita's daughter, Maya, 11.

Roger acknowledges the fortuitous timing. As he sat in his cell following
his 23rd arrest, Roger realized he'd spent five of the previous 15 years in
jail, usually in couple-of-month stretches. The obvious corollary: He was
never free more than a few months either.

As he contemplated his wasted adulthood, he said he felt "suicidal and
homicidal."

Then word came through the jail that they were looking for volunteers for a
new drug and alcohol program. He jumped at it.

Roger was one of four inmates in that original class, which was housed
within the jail's mental health pod.

At first, Roger noted with a smile, the mental health inmates envied them
for all the time they got outside their cells attending classes. And they,
in turn, envied the mental health inmates because they got psychotropic
drugs every day.

But, almost right away, Roger knew this time was different.

"Everything they taught me was something new. Everything they told me gave
me hope. This was the only thing I had left to hang onto. I was going to
try everything they gave me."

What differed from the previous 15-20 rehabs he'd been through, he said,
was the emphasis on personal responsibility and personal choices, the
special focus on motivation and awareness of cravings, and building the
skills to fight those cravings.

Before, "I went in [rehab] wanting to believe but, at the same time, I
thought I was a chronic relapser. I would stay clean for a couple of
months, but as soon as something happened I couldn't deal with, or if some
money came in, I would go back."

Roger said he hasn't used once since he left the jail's program in January
2003. The program taught him about "being aware of how you respond to
people, being aware of how you walk." It's almost a form of meditation for
him, down to the deep breathing exercises. In the four months he was there,
he practiced his new awareness every day until it became his second nature.
He practiced four months longer at a community residential program before
returning home.

"You have this fear when you leave rehab: 'Oh Lord, I'm going back out
there.' When I left 5MC I was hopeful. I knew I was going to be able to do
this."

His re-involvement with the program came gradually. Following his release,
Roger worked as a barber Downtown so he could pay bills and make
restitution payments. A few months later, the jail program director asked
him to speak to the inmates. His presentations became more frequent, and
Roger felt drawn to what he now considers his calling.

After initial hesitation by jail officials about hiring someone with such
an extensive criminal record, Roger began work as a counselor's assistant
in December 2003. He's working toward certification in drug and alcohol
counseling. His long-term goals include an advanced degree in social work
and his own community-based drug and alcohol program.

"I made more money in the barber shop than I do now. But when I get home, I
feel better. I feel better because I'm helping people. I'm not helping them
from the outside, I'm helping them from the inside."

He's also helping the rest of us, in crimes not committed and jail time not
served. "Just think how much money I would have cost the county the past
three years," he said. Given his pattern to that point, he figures he would
have gone through 6-7 detoxifications, 3-4 rehabs and more than a few jail
stays in that time.

The Wades live one block from his mother's house -- the house where Roger
grew up from age 9 -- so he still bumps into people from his former life.
At first, he said, they'd smile and say, "You'll be back. I'll see you when
you decide to get high."

More recently, though, the tone has changed.

"They tell me, 'Roger, please don't get high. You're my hope.'

"So I have to stay clean for them."