SPECIAL COURT GIVES DRUG-SHATTERED FAMILIES LAST RAY OF HOPE

DURHAM -- Head east down Durham's Main Street, a few blocks from the
County Courthouse.

Hang a left on Commerce Street.

There you will find apartments with dull yellow exteriors. Where junk
litters many of the small strips of grass that pass for yards, and
battered and broken-down automobiles adorn the parking lot.

Hardly the lap of luxury.

But 37-year-old Alice Campbell sees it differently. In her mind, her
tiny apartment in Building No. 143 is a family palace.

Telltale signs of a happy home life are abundant: a box of oatmeal
cream pies is open on the kitchen table, brightly colored toys and
games are scattered on the floor, cartoon characters screech from a
small TV set. A fan stirs the air to make the summer heat bearable.

This is where Campbell cooks breakfast every morning for her three
children: Kimberly, 4; Laura, 7; and Emily, 10.

It is where she fixes their hair before bundling them off to day care
or school. It is where she reads to them, watches TV with them and
plays with them at night.

But there was a time when Campbell, a single mother, couldn't be
bothered with such down-to-earth details.

By her own admission, she was a prostitute and crackhead, so high on
cocaine that she couldn't see straight. She lived on the streets, in
the nearby homeless shelter and in a facility for drug-addicted women.

It wasn't a life she enjoyed.

A man once put a gun to her head and refused to pay for sex, she said.
There were frequent, vicious street-corner fights with competing
prostitutes. And deep inside, there was a feeling of emptiness that
seemed as wide as the Grand Canyon.

"I have been in many dangerous situations," Campbell said. "It's only
through God's grace and mercy that I am alive. I was jumping in and
out of cars and didn't know who I was jumping in with. I knew I might
catch HIV or AIDS."

But she saw no way out.

"Cocaine is a drug you can't get enough of," she said. "It'll take
everything you've got. The longer I was on it, my addiction got
progressively worse. It caused me to be homeless. I even lost myself,
my self-respect."

Then Campbell lost something else.

One night in February 2002, before she had her current apartment, she
returned from her carousing to find a note from the Department of
Social Services.

She had been found to be an unfit mother, it read. Her children had
been taken away from her.

"It was like somebody stabbed me in the heart," she said. "I didn't
feel like living. I wanted to commit suicide. Then my addiction got
worse. I didn't care. I didn't want to feel the void anymore. I didn't
have nothing else to live for."

But, for soul-stirring reasons she can't articulate, Campbell
eventually decided it was time to change.

"I came to a point where I wanted help," she said. "I just asked the
Lord for help. I didn't want to live like that anymore."

Family court

Fortunately for Campbell, a family treatment court opened in Durham in
May 2002. It continues to be one of only two programs of its type in
the state. The other is in Mecklenburg County.

The court seemed tailor-made to help Campbell, as long as she was
willing to help herself.

It differs from traditional courts, because its participants are not
criminal suspects. They are parents -- like Campbell -- whose children
have been taken away by DSS and put in foster care. DSS officials take
that step when they believe the biological parents have abused or
neglected their offspring.

For an addicted parent, the family treatment court offers a last ray
of hope. Those who kick their drug habits and successfully complete
the program, which lasts at least a year, can be reunited with their
kids.

Campbell became one of the first participants.

But it wasn't always easy.

"The first time you [test positive for drugs], you are locked up for
24 hours," she said.

The second time, it's 48 hours. The third time brings 30 days in jail.

Similar penalties come into play when participants miss their required
Narcotics Anonymous meetings, or when they fail to perform
court-ordered community service.

Campbell, who stayed clean for 10 months, had an unexpected relapse
while in the program and was locked up overnight. But she persevered
and never got high again. Now, she has been free of drugs for nearly
two years.

Last month, she graduated from the special court program -- and she
has been reunited with her children.

Life for Campbell has changed dramatically from the cocaine-crazed,
street-corner days of the not-so-distant past.

"My days are beautiful now," she said. "It is beautiful to know who
you is, to see, to smell. I never thought being clean would be this
great."

After seeing her daughters off to day care or school in the mornings,
Campbell attends her NA meeting. In the afternoons, she volunteers for
about three hours at the homeless shelter, helping to hand out food
and clothing to the residents. In the evenings, she helps her children
with their homework, plays games with them or takes them to a park.

"I have no reason to get high anymore," she said, smiling. "I thank
God for family drug court. They are very strict, but it's the best
thing that ever happened to me. They help you in every area of your
life. Finances, clothes, but mostly support and love."

Funding problems

Campbell is one of only five people to graduate from the program since
it started a little over two years ago. And although there are about
15 participants now, the special court has chronic funding problems.

A $150,000 grant from the Governor's Crime Commission expired in June,
so the program is operating on a $67,200 stipend approved by the state
Legislature.

Peter Baker, Durham's drug court director, described the current
funding level as "bare-bones minimum."

Program officials have applied for a federal grant of $447,922 over
three years, but no one knows if it will come through.

Baker said the money is needed to pay for a full-time coordinator,
treatment services and help with housing and transportation for court
participants.

Coordinator Alexia Smith acknowledged that she makes program
participants toe the line, imposing severe penalties when they don't.

"Traditionally, the courts have not held these people accountable,"
Smith said. "We really do. Bottom line. That's what they need. They
need some sanctions as a wake-up call."

One woman was jailed for seven days last week, for example, after she
missed treatment sessions and broke other rules.

But there also are benefits.

"The ladies will definitely find a lot of support here," Smith said.

Chief District Judge Elaine M. O'Neal presides over the family
treatment program.

"Drug courts have probably been around since the 1970s, but they are
fairly new in North Carolina," she said. "We're playing catch-up. But
it's good, because it gives us an opportunity to reunite families."

O'Neal said at least three people in Durham have failed the program
and stand to permanently lose their parental rights.

"But it works more often than not," she added. "I think it's the best
thing that has happened to the judicial system here in a long time. I
believe it's where we need to put our money in terms of reuniting
families. People who are addicted to cocaine and heroin generally lose
everything -- their houses, their jobs, their ability to parent. We
help them put their lives back together."

Little Emily Campbell has her own perspective on the situation.

Emily said it was "not so good" when DSS took her away from her mother
and placed her in foster care.

"I just missed my mom," the 10-year-old said. "She's good to me. It's
great being back home with Mama."