CITY OFFICIAL'S SON CONQUERS ADDICTION IN MONTANA REHAB

BENICIA - Lying on the cement floor of a solitary confinement cell known as
"the Hobbit," Brandon Whitney had a lot of time to think about his addiction.

After months of stealing from his parents to buy marijuana, Ecstasy and
alcohol, the son of City Councilmember Bill Whitney was forced to dry out
at a strict rehabilitation facility in northwestern Montana.

Now 19 and a member of the firefighter academy, Brandon returned last
spring, deciding "I don't want to do this any more." And his family has
re-inherited the loving teen who once spiraled out of control.

"One side of me is angry that I went there for two years," Brandon said.
"The other side - I got sober because of it. I think being sober and clean
is the better way to go about it."

Brandon and his parents are publicly telling their story in hopes that
Benicia parents and teens will understand that drug addiction can strike
any family regardless of wealth, status or education. They hope their
experience will act especially as a wake-up call to many parents who they
say turn a blind eye to widespread teen drug use.

"I don't care what the neighbors think," Bill Whitney said, referring to
Benicia citizens in general. "Being embarrassed out in the community was
not an issue for me. This is my son. I love him, and if you don't get that,
then bummer for you - because he's my kid."

Too many parents have "put their heads in the sand," Whitney said during a
recent interview with his wife, Leslie, at their home. This tight-knit,
upper-middle class community of about 27,000 has been lulled into believing
that "it happens to every kid but mine," Whitney said.

Brandon was a good student and rising soccer star at Benicia High when
occasional pot smoking in the restroom led to more addictive drugs. His
grades fell and he was booted from the squad.

But those were the least of his problems. While quite drunk one day, he had
crashed a car into the side of the family's garage. He stole money from his
folks to buy dope, shoplifted alcohol from a drug store and was quickly
becoming addicted to the club drug Ecstasy.

He admitted getting physically abusive with both parents, stole from his
siblings and snuck out at night. He smoked dope at home, at school and
around town.

"It was beyond our ability to cope parenting wise with the situation," Bill
Whitney said. "He had gotten beyond what we could do in the real world."

During a seperate interview at Double Rainbow Cafe, the mayor's First
Street eatery where Brandon works part-time, the mellow teen told how
boredom pushed him and many friends toward using drugs. He answered a
barrage of probing questions without shame.

"There's nothing else to do in the town, so all the kids get involved in
drugs, and it's just something you do to fill up time," Brandon said.

He said he started using marijuana in the seventh grade and a year later
was "smoking pretty much every single day." A year later, he was "doing
'shrooms" and graduated to Ecstasy, a hallucinogen that has stimulant
effects similar to methamphetamine.

Brandon sought help from Kaiser Permanente's drug abuse counselors, as well
as Reach Out Benicia, a drug and alcohol recovery program run by Realtor
and reformed drug user Earl Miller. He failed both programs.

"I would smoke right before a drug test," Brandon said. "I just didn't
really care."

Drugs aren't cheap, especially for a 16-year-old.

He funded his habit with money earned by working at Pizza Pirate and the
cash he stole from his mom's purse, he said. He bought dope from other
students at school - $10 "dime bags" at first, but later graduated to
higher quantities sold at a discount.

Meanwhile, a storm was brewing between his stressed-out parents. Smelling
the marijuana, watching her son's grades plummet, seeing him get kicked off
the soccer team - Leslie Whitney knew something was wrong.

But she felt hamstrung because her husband admittedly believed, at first,
Brandon's problem was merely typical teenage rebellion.

"You're kind of stunned - how can this be happening to me?" Bill Whitney
said. "These kids are pros at manipulating their moms and dads."

As Brandon got drunk and high more often, the couple began working in
tandem to punish him.

After he came home drunk and admitted to stealing a bottle of liquor at
Rite-Aid, the couple called police and had them arrest Brandon. They hoped
the mere threat of jail would knock some sense into him.

Sgt. John Daley arrived, talked to Brandon briefly in his bedroom, then
"cuffed him and marched him out of the house in broad daylight," Whitney
recalled.

At the station, police put Brandon in the "drunk tank" to sober up and
every officer on-duty walked past to say hello, calling him by name so he
knew "he was on everybody's radar screen," Whitney said.

Police later cited and released Brandon to his parents, and the charges
were dismissed through the teenage diversion program, Daley said. Many
parents are reluctant to turn their children into police because they don't
want to see them enter the criminal justice system, he added.

"The obvious goal was an intervention," Daley said. "At that point, (the
parents) didn't know where to turn. It took a lot of courage on their part."

Daley said he did not make the house call simply because Whitney is a city
councilmember.

"It's a service we would provide for citizens of the community," Daley
said. "We'd much rather get involved with youth at the earliest onset of
substance use. Hopefully you can truly stop the cycle from beginning."

Yet, the arrest had little impact. Brandon continued to drink and smoke
dope. Then, a slight car accident sparked a new approach by his parents.

"That's when he got it," Mrs. Whitney said, pointing to her husband.

As she see's it, Brandon started the car inside the garage in order to
drive to a friend's house, when she came outside and forbade him from
driving. Before she could crawl behind the wheel, Brandon got out of the
car, leaving it in gear with the driver's side open.

The car started rolling as Mrs. Whitney was jumping into it. They both
stepped on the brake, but the car hit the side of the garage, ripping the
car door off.

"The whole thing probably looked hysterical except that we could have been
killed," Mrs. Whitney said. "I don't know what he was on, but he was
definitely not in his right mind."

Before, Bill Whitney said he thought, "It'll just get better.' It just
became crystal clear to me that we would have to be with Brandon 24 hours a
day, 7 days a week, and it was about serious behavior modification."

After researching treatment options, the Whitneys chose a boot camp for
troubled teens called Worldwide Association of Specialty Program and
Schools in Thompson Falls, Mont. Just three years shy of paying off their
home, the couple re-mortgaged to afford the $3,000 monthly tuition.

The real challenge, however, would be getting Brandon there.

The couple hired a private escort service of off-duty cops from around the
state, and again enlisted local police to help. Brandon was called to the
principal's office while in sophomore summer school and found a Benicia
officer waiting to take him to the police station.

Brandon's parents were waiting there and told him about the treatment
center, and he was off on a flight from Oakland to Spokane, Wash., then a
long drive to Montana.

The decision to send Brandon away was as heartbreaking for his parents as
it was scary for him.

"By then it seemed like the only option," Mrs. Whitney said. "You realize
you're saving their life. It was such a relief that we were finally doing
something. I don't think I've ever cried so hard in my life, but I also
looked at Bill and said, I don't have to lock my purse up.'"

"Initially, you're just devastated - you're about as low as you can get,"
Whitney said. "There was, unquestionably, a sense of serenity that came
over our whole family. We missed him terribly for the 20 months he was gone."

But, Mrs. Whitney interjects, "We didn't miss his behavior."

Brandon describes the rural Montana school as "Diablo's kitchen" - a drug
rehabilitation, therapy and boot camp where physical exercise, forced
sobriety and academic training make up the rigorous routine. No
fraternizing with the opposite sex and plain oatmeal every day for
breakfast, he said.

"You become a walking zombie, like a little robot," Brandon said. When he
defied teacher's orders, he was sent to "the Hobbit," a solitary
confinement where he slept on the floor and stared at white walls.

For the next 20 months, "the school itself was its own little outside world
and nothing else existed," Brandon said. "All you're entitled to in there
is your free thought. Beyond that, you're theirs."

After about a year, he said he turned a corner and realized he had to quit
fighting the system or he'd never get home. "I hadn't seen my family in so
long," he said. "I was unbelievably homesick."

Residents can leave when they're 18, regardless of whether they graduate.
But parents are encouraged at the beginning to strike a deal that penalizes
drop-outs.

The Whitneys told Brandon if he came home unauthorized by the school, he
would be arrested for trespassing. "But if I graduated, then I would be
able to come home . and get on with who I was," Brandon said.

The day after he returned in March of last year, he went straight back to
Benicia High and graduated in May, with credits earned in Montana counting
toward his diploma. He didn't care if people knew where he'd been.

"Benicia is a small town," Brandon said. "Everyone knows what is going on
with everyone else."

Given his father's status in the community, loving support was key to
Brandon's recovery. He said his dad never looked at his drug and alcohol
problem like "the politician with the bad son. He was like, This is my son.' "

What his parents saw when he returned was the calm son they thought they'd
raised. "It's amazing to me how powerful these kids can be when they stop
this self-destructive behavior," Bill Whitney said.

Benicia didn't change just because he was gone, Brandon said, but his
outlook on life is different now. He realizes he can build his own adult
life somewhere else in California if he wants.

"I never felt like Brandon was broken when he left and I don't think he was
fixed when he came back," Bill Whitney said. "What I think happened is that
he was very confused about what was important in his life and he came back
much clearer about who and what he is as a person and the things he can do."