JAIL VISITS KEEP EX-INMATES GROUNDED

Henrico Program Praised For Treating Substance Abuse

Every Wednesday night, the clean-cut 47-year-old walks through the
front door at the Henrico County Jail on Parham Road.

On his way to a small conference room, he passes through a lobby
filled with sprawled characters in too-big jeans chatting on cell
phones while they wait to talk with friends or family on the inside.

Some mutter about the unfair circumstances surrounding their loved
ones' arrests.

Most are as indignant as Jerome was on that Thanksgiving evening of
2002 when he was arrested.

Jerome and about two dozen of his former jail mates are serving
self-imposed sentences that draw them back to the jail weekly to visit
their former selves.

"The reason I come back every Wednesday is I have to always be
reminded of where the heck I just came from," said Jerome, who asked
not to be further identified because of the stigma of jail as he
rebuilds his life.

The Wednesday meetings are an unplanned part of a substance-abuse
program begun nearly three years ago by Henrico Sheriff Mike Wade.
That program, unusual because of its approach, has won a legion of
devoted fans among its graduates.

Jerome takes his seat in the conference room, joining a circle of hard
plastic chairs filled with serious-looking men. They talk.

Each man's story has its own particulars, but all follow the same plot
as Jerome's: A lifetime of alcohol or drug abuse sidetracked their
lives. All served time in jail. All say they are being "saved" by the
Henrico jail's substance-abuse program.

The program relies on a social recovery model - a blend of
military-style discipline and Alcoholics Anonymous-inspired ethics.
Participants inmates are placed in a stand-alone cell block where they
eat, sleep and breathe the program. From each other's experiences,
they learn where they went wrong.

"We're the only jail with an alumni association," Wade said, somewhat
bemused that his for-mer inmates would willingly return for visits.

But his smile vanishes when he talks about how society lacks in its
commitment to reforming jailed offenders. "You can do everything in
this program, but there's no safe environment when they get out.
That's when they fall back into it."

So Jerome and other graduates of the Henrico program decided to fall
back into jail for their voluntary meetings, rather than at the forced
invitation of a judge.

The meetings look like a prayer group.

"My god, I've got a college education - I'm not stupid," Jerome said
during a recent meeting. "[Substance abuse] is a disease that causes
people to commit crimes. We've got to start focusing on that."

Not that Jerome or any of the 20-odd men in his group cast all the
blame on alcohol or drugs. All know that despite their disease, blame
ultimately rests on their own shoulders.

Jerome credits the program with finally drilling that lesson into his
head.

"I was the manager of [a] store - they were getting ready to make me a
district manager," Jerome said.

A recovering substance abuser at the time, he decided to celebrate his
pending promotion. "I took one drink of champagne and said, 'I'll be
damned, I'm fixed,'" Jerome said. "The next Friday, I decided I didn't
celebrate properly."

He bought some crack cocaine. "The party didn't end until I got
arrested."

That's how the party ends for well over half of former inmates, in
Henrico and nationally. Jails have revolving doors, and substance
abuse is the thread that weaves through many stories that Wade hears.

"Without a doubt, drugs are the biggest problem we face," said Wade,
who has his master's degree in rehabilitation counseling from Virginia
Commonwealth University.

He said he wanted to take an active stance toward the problem when he
was elected sheriff in 1999. With the help of jail staff, he based the
program on an early AA model.

Jailers allow inmates-to a large degree and with surprising success-
to take charge of their own discipline. Leaders are elected from among
the prisoners. If a group member is not toeing the line, group leaders
can consult with jailers to remove the offender from the program.

Participants are also their own facilitators. Reusable textbooks and
videos are their primary aids. The focus is on self-reflection and
acceptance of responsibility.

That emphasis on self-sufficiency may have helped inspire the
Wednesday alumni meetings.

"This was a significant point in my life, going down there to jail,"
said Rogers Elam Sr., another program graduate who also attends the
weekly sessions. He said that continuing to attend meetings after his
release is proof that "we get it now."

Now 60, Elam said he was a substance abuser for 40 years. He has been
clean for a year and a half, much to the relief of his family. "For
once in our lives, we can see a difference. My family doesn't worry."

The county's jails now have eight rehabilitative housing units that
can hold nearly 230 inmates. Because of AA's religious ties, inmates
must volunteer to participate in the program. Wade maintains a waiting
list of prisoners eager to enroll.

The program costs less than $80,000 a year and has saved the jail
money, Wade said. The number of guards required to maintain order in
housing units has fallen thanks to the program's focus on
self-discipline.

The low cost and apparent success in holding its customer base even
after prisoners complete their sentences has won over the jail's
social-services staff. Three years ago, they were not eager to try
something that in many ways limits them in the treatment equation.

Morgan Moss, who recently left his post as clinical supervisor for
mental health and substance abuse at Henrico Jail East in New Kent
County, admitted that clinicians typically prefer traditional programs
that require expensive clinical staff as facilitators.

With this program, a large staff is unnecessary. "One of the biggest
things is to get the [facilitators] to realize - to stay out of the
way and just let things develop," Moss said.

Wade's program and its unusual approach have received state and
national attention. Fairfax County officials are scheduled to visit.
Richmond officials, including two council members and Sheriff Michelle
Mitchell, toured and all expressed interest in starting a similar program.

On Monday, Attorney General Jerry W. Kilgore visited Henrico Jail East
to tour the program. He was impressed: Beds were made, and prisoners
were clean and polite during a question-and-answer session.

"It's very different from some of the facilities I've toured around
the commonwealth," Kilgore said. "It's orderly and it sounds like and
it seems like these inmates want to succeed."

Virginia Commonwealth University researchers recently began a review
of the program's success rate. If those numbers prove as impressive as
the tour, expanding the program to other facilities around the state
might be worth consideration, Kilgore said.

"The more [former inmates] that leave our facilities, pay taxes and
get a job, the better off we are," he said.

The program participants Kilgore met could not agree more with his
goal.

"My name is Jimmy and I'm an addict," announced one prisoner taking
the floor during Kilgore's visit.

What the inmate said next looked far beyond the walls that surround
him.

"I don't always want to have to say, 'I'm Jimmy and I'm an addict.' I
want to say, 'I'm Jimmy, and I'm a part of society again."