FREED TO BE A FAMILY

Court, social services pool resources to rebuild lives

Esther Marquez is the mother of six children but says she only recently
learned how to be a parent.

A former cocaine addict, Marquez paid the price of drug use with her five
oldest children. Shortly after Marquez gave birth to a second daughter that
had cocaine her system, the state of California took her baby and three
older children into custody. Marquez's oldest son was living with his
father, but the four others were adopted to California families.

Born in Medford, Daniel, her sixth child, may have grown up with his
brothers and sisters if Marquez had received the support in California that
she has had since found living in Jackson County, she said.

Marquez is among 10 families to graduate recently from the county's
Community Family Court, a unique partnership between the criminal justice
system and social service agencies. One of the program's first success
stories, Marquez has been drug-free for a year and a half and now has a job
counseling expectant mothers who use drugs.

"I'd hate to see them go through what I went through," Marquez said. "I was
really in my addiction. ... It was a bother for me to be a mom."

Marquez' situation is not unique in Medford. Her life, in fact, shares a
common thread with other families who put themselves in the hands of Jackson
County's Community Family Court.

"What I found was families that were at their wits' end with what was going
on in their house," said John Hamilton, coordinator for Community Family
Court.

Almost without exception, families in the program struggle with alcohol and
drug addiction. They live in violent homes. In many cases, they face losing
their children to state custody.

Judges and social service workers saw the cycles of addiction, abuse and
crime. Yet families were dealing with multiple social service agencies and
more than one judge, whose orders often conflicted. Families were being
pushed through the system like rats in a maze.

In 1998 with funding from the Legislature, Jackson County embarked on a
pilot program to bundle a family's cases together - whether they be
criminal, juvenile dependency or domestic relations cases - to be heard by
one judge.

Given the link between family drug abuse and cases filed in court, the
county's Family Court in 2001 incorporated a "drug court," a move that
promised federal funding.

Drug court offenders are required to undergo drug treatment, frequent
testing and close monitoring, which includes regular court visits. The
approach has been used since the early 1990s in various locations across the
country to ensure short-term accountability for offenders while reducing the
rates for re-offending over the long-term.

Twenty of Oregon's 36 counties operate drug courts, but only Jackson
combines adult and juvenile cases with criminal charges and child dependency
petitions. The model has been studied for implementation in other states,
such as Colorado and Hawaii, Hamilton said.

An entire household must sign up voluntarily for the program and agree to
give up their rights to certain legal proceedings. But the process not only
provides a huge safety net for struggling families but also allows judges
and social service agencies to take a closer look at each family member,
resolve their cases and, hopefully, keep them out of the system for good.
"I'm firmly convinced that we're having more success with these families,"
said Jackson County Circuit Court Judge Rebecca Orf. "We're not just pushing
paperwork or processing cases, we're actually talking to people."

Although they sit on the high bench, Orf, along with Judges Mark Schiveley
and Patricia Crain fulfill many roles in Community Family Court. They can be
arbitrators and mediators, financial planners, teachers, disciplinarians and
cheerleaders.

Orf coordinates efforts to provide families with items and services they
need, including housing, and transportation, even Christmas gifts and school
supplies. She encourages fledgling families to swap child care and requires
them to plan a budget. Just as easily, she counsels female defendants on
what kind of men make the best dates.

"We'll do that for any of you," she tells the rows of offenders waiting
their turn. "We'll run a records check on potential dates."

But Orf ultimately has to judge those who fail to uphold their end of the
bargain. Sentences can range from a verbal warning to community service,
from jail time to termination of parental rights.

Debra Roberts stood before Orf on Tuesday to own up to a secret, a fact she'
d kept hidden from the court for more than a month. Police cited her in June
for driving under the influence after she rolled her car into a ditch after
leaving a Central Point bar.

It's bad enough that Roberts violated all of the court's orders by drinking,
but she lied about it. What if she had hurt or killed someone, Orf wondered.
Where were her kids at the time?

"If you blow out of this program and kill or hurt someone, you will
jeopardize this program for everyone else in it," Orf said.

Roberts tried to explain, but Orf would have none of it, and advised her of
her right to remain silent. The judge struggled with the question of
terminating Roberts from the Community Family Court program but decided to
give her eight days in jail - the maximum that can be imposed - to think
about what she'd done. Her kids would be placed in a foster home.

"I'm not sure there's much more we can do for you," Orf said before Roberts
rushed from the courtroom with orders to report to the jail later that day.

The exchange sobers the next defendant whose family is considering signing
up with the program. Many families hesitate at voluntarily signing away
their rights but decide for various reasons that they ultimately will gain
more than they lose.

Most defendants say Community Family Court offers them the chance to stay
out of jail, complete probation faster, keep their children and kick their
addiction. James Shewmaker had simply reached the end of the road.

A methamphetamine addict for 17 years, Shewmaker has been arrested more than
60 times and faced about 40 criminal charges in Jackson County. On his last
trip to jail for a drug possession charge, he found it too easy to summon up
the criminal instincts that would sustain him through his incarceration, he
said.

"I'm sitting in the holding cell thinking 'Is this what my life is reduced
to?,' " Shewmaker said. "I'm not thinking I should feel this old at 35." But
the final straw came when he discovered that his two sons, ages 8 and 4, had
been put into foster care when his fiancee also was arrested. It was the
first time they'd ever faced the prospect of losing their children.

"That was pretty devastating," he said. "That was the eye-opener. That was
the stopping point."

After 23 days in foster care, Shewmaker's sons were reunited with their
parents. The family entered a program that allows parents to live at
treatment centers with their children. It was Shewmaker's ninth trip through
treatment, but he's convinced it's his last now that his family is under the
umbrella of Community Family Court.

"I feel like the courtroom is there to help," Shewmaker said. "It's a
helping hand rather than a smack on the hand."

Indeed, courts have found that probation and jail time rarely motivate
addicts to quit. Most alcoholics and drug addicts in Oregon undergo
treatment an average of five times before they can stay clean and sober for
a period of two or more years, according to Rita Sullivan, director of
OnTrack Inc., a local treatment provider.

Community Family Court works because the consequences are unlike any
conventional model. No where else does an addict face the prospect of going
to jail for relapsing once or simply hanging out with other addicts.

A recovering meth addict, Jeff Pruitt has never faced a single sanction
since entering Community Family Court about six months ago. Giving his
year-old son a better life motivates him like nothing else.

Pruitt's son was "red-flagged" from birth. His mother was a drug addict who
had lost four other children born from previous relationships to state
custody. The newborn Jeffrey Jr. was taken from the hospital into foster
care.

Child welfare workers never expected Pruitt to be involved in his son's
life, but he made a bid for custody from the beginning, he said. His
interaction with his son during five months of foster care must have
convinced caseworkers, he said. "I was just never gonna let him go."

Pruitt entered treatment for his own drug addiction and regained custody of
Jeffrey Jr., which initially motivated him to stay clean. Now the prospect
of their future keeps Pruitt on track. He got a job, moved from a
state-assisted transitional home into his own apartment and will attend
Rogue Community College in the fall.

"I have a really great life," Pruitt said. "Now, me and my son ... we're
happy. If I went out and got loaded, that would all disappear."