USER, MAKER, SELLER: A METH ADDICT'S LIFE

'Meth Has Ruined A Lot Of Me,' Summit Man Says In Recounting His Descent

The night of Nov. 21, 2001, seemed like business as usual at Nick Kline's
home. He had set up the methamphetamine lab in his garage, cooked the usual
amount, then tore it all down before he locked the door.

With his work done for the night, Kline was standing outside his home when,
shortly after midnight, he saw the cars racing toward him with flashing
lights -- Summit County sheriff's deputies' cars.

"They stopped 50 feet behind me," Kline said. And (someone) yelled, "
'Freeze!' "

Today, at the age of 27, Kline recalls: "I was kind of relieved it was over."

But in truth, it really wasn't.

Kline's story is one from inside the burgeoning meth craze, which Ohio law
enforcement officials have warned is a major developing problem.

The illicit do-it-yourself drug called crystal meth -- long prevalent in
large cities -- has spread to the Midwest with a vengeance. It is alluring,
packing a punch unlike any other drug, according to experts and users
alike. And, it's easy to make.

But it is highly addictive and often leaves devastating side effects that
experts have just begun to study.

In the past two years, labs have proliferated in Northeast Ohio,
particularly in Summit County, which now claims the highest concentration
of such operations in the state.

Kline used meth, made it, sold it. For doing so, he went through drug
treatment and served prison time. And after getting clean in rehab, he
started using the drug again -- the typical course for a crystal meth addict.

But this summer, once again in a residential treatment program, Kline said
he = [100.0]would quit.

"Meth has ruined a lot of me... It's taken away a lot of me," he said. "I
will never let it take any more from me."

Many times, people look to their past to explain their troubled present.
But Kline -- one of four brothers raised in the suburbs -- recalls no
dramatic events that set him up for such a fall.

Yes, his parents divorced when he was a schoolboy, but he said his dad took
custody of the boys and did his best by them. And they saw their mother
regularly.

Like his brothers, Kline attended Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic School
in Cuyahoga Falls and went to church on Sundays. He said he earned B's and
C's, played baseball and peewee football, and loved to do odd jobs such as
clean the grounds at the local miniature golf course. Like a lot of
youngsters, he experimented with cigarettes.

After eight years of parochial school, he enrolled in Cuyahoga Falls High
School, where he knew nobody, so he hung around with his older brother, a
senior, and his brother's friends.

Descent into addiction

It was on a summer evening between his freshman and sophomore years that
Kline smoked marijuana for the first time, at a park down the road from his
home.

Then came other drugs.

Today, sitting in a conference room of the center where he is again
undergoing rehabilitation, Kline recalled: "My sophomore year was a blur."

Kline, who joined the high school's distributive education program, said he
would leave school before lunch, go to his afternoon job, then use drugs at
night.

Sampling everything, he found he liked stimulants best. "I've always been
more of an upper than a downer," he said.

Drugs at night, school during the day. Then, after high school, Kline, who
liked working with his hands, joined the plumber's apprenticeship program,
making his way up from residential apprentice to commercial work.

"Better pension, better annuity, hospitalization, better dollar amount per
hour," he explained.

Kline was on his way, it seemed:

"I was 21 years old with a $102,000 house in Tallmadge, with a six-car
garage in back. I had a girlfriend."

And he had meth.

"People don't understand why I didn't just quit, why I took it to the level
I did," he said.

Meth's differences

Crystal methylamphetamine -- also known as crystal, white man's crack, ice
and crank -- isn't the typical feel-good drug, experts say.

For example, the high it provides is much longer -- up to 12 hours,
compared with cocaine's 15 minutes. Users can feel omnipotent, bathed in an
"anything is possible" kind of confidence.

Nobody sleeps on meth. Energy skyrockets. Many get paranoid. Most get hooked.

In his early days, Kline said, he did a line of meth two to four times a month.

"One day I went over to buy," he said. "The guy who produced the meth was
giving it to his roommate to sell, and I knew the both of them. I went one
day when the roommate wasn't there. The baker (who created the meth) was
there."

The men had known each other since high school. "We were talking about how
things were going with each other, what was going on. He just kind of threw
me some meth out of friendship. He asked me where I was living. I explained
to him I had a house, a six-car garage... "

So, Kline started to buy drugs from the meth cooker directly.

Recruited

Soon afterward, when the cooker asked him if he wanted to "make some fast
money," Kline said, he readily agreed.

"I had credit cards, I had balances on them -- nothing outrageous... He
just asked if I wanted to make some money.

"I pretty much knew what he was talking about," Kline said.

The cooker offered a deal: He'd pay Kline for use of his garage. If Kline
agreed to that, he was to leave his garage door open that night.

"I went home and thought about it for five or 10 minutes and said (to
myself), a couple of thousand dollars would be really nice," Kline said.

He started watching the meth production, and gradually, he said, he got
involved doing the "prep" work, and eventually he learned the mechanics
involved. Some of the ingredients -- agricultural products -- were
available in another state; others were common home and garden items easily
bought at the nearest superstore.

The drug pseudoephedrine, a core ingredient, was easily acquired via
generic cough and cold medicine that at the time was sold on open shelves
at area pharmacies.

So, Kline took over the production.

High life

The money was fast and easy. Kline said he stopped cashing the paychecks
from his day job for weeks on end and treated friends to big dinners at Red
Lobster, dropping hundreds of dollars at a time.

Kline, who loved gadgets, regularly went to the Sears store to cruise the
hardware aisles. "It was Christmas every time," he said.

Plumber by day, meth lab operator, user and seller by night. Energy wasn't
a problem. Kline could stay up for days.

"I worked steady through winter and layoff seasons," he said. "It's not
like meth made me forget to glue a fitting on or tighten down a band."

All three evils

By 2001, he said, his recreational use had turned into a necessity. "The
progression of my illness was getting worse and worse," he said. "I had to
have it."

As a manufacturer, seller and user, Kline said, he had all three evils.
"You got the fast money, the process of making it and distributing it to
people -- which I now understand ruins lives."

Kline didn't worry much about who got the drug when he sold to adults. If
he knew that someone had trouble making ends meet but wanted to buy meth --
so be it.

As for selling to children, Kline said he didn't do it -- at least not
directly.

"The people who bought off of me, the bulk of it... " he paused. "I never
asked."

"They paid me what I wanted, they were the ones who nickled and dimed it --
however they got rid of it -- I didn't ask."

Relapse

After he was arrested on that November night in 2001, Kline went to drug
treatment, then spent 13 months in prison, followed by three months in boot
camp, then a month in a halfway house.

He returned to Akron and his plumbing work and stayed clean for about nine
months, until he was laid off during a seasonal falloff in plumbing work.

"I used again, lying to my wife, lying to my family, lying to my stepson,
lying to everybody," he said.

To make money to buy drugs, Kline said, he offered his meth recipe to an
acquaintance, offering himself as sort of a consultant. "I was giving tips,
using, testing, telling them what to do differently," he said.

"Then it was sell, sell, sell, use, sell, use, use, use, use, sell."

On April 29 of this year, he was arrested again -- for possession of
illegal drugs.

Looking ahead

Back in treatment again, Kline looks to the future with regrets, hope and
the desire to finally gain a foothold in the world -- clean.

"There are many things I have to live with," Kline said.

"I can't take away the past. I can't take away the fact that people's lives
were ruined.

"I can't take away my prison record," he said. "All I can do through my God
is accept it. Unless I accept it and forgive myself," he said, "I don't
think I could recover.

"It's too hard," Kline said.

"It's way too hard."