THE NEW GUY

The New Guy Faced With A Budget Mess, Scott Addison Is Charged With
Reviving The City's Largest Nonprofit Drug-treatment Center.

When Scott Addison walks into the second-floor classroom in the women's
drug-treatment center, three students turn their heads. The teacher casts
him a can-I-help-you? glance, and Addison introduces himself as the new
executive director.

"Oh," she says with a tight smile. "I got a letter from you Friday."
Addison winces ever so slightly. It wasn't a good letter.

Addison, 34, came from Wyoming a month ago to take on a tough job in the
toughest of times. His first task as the new director of Rubicon Inc., the
city's largest nonprofit drug treatment center, was to lay off 20 employees
before he had the chance to meet them. And more drastic action will be
needed to get Rubicon back on track. Its budget last fiscal year was $4.2
million; this year, it must make do with $2 million. The agency lost $1.7
million from state cuts that hit the Department of Corrections, which used
to provide most of the agency's clients.

The nonprofit has been without an executive director for two years, since
former director Evangle Watley died after a 29-year tenure. Rubicon's board
of directors started a nationwide search for a leader this year, hoping to
find someone with experience in social service and business. Addison, who
was serving as executive director of the Wyoming Substance Abuse Treatment
and Recovery Centers, and who has twin master's degrees in counseling
psychology and public administration, fit the bill perfectly.

"He's energetic, he's young," says Clarence Jackson, chairman of the board.
The board sought someone who would aggressively promote the organization
not just to potential clients, Jackson says, but also to donors, other
nonprofits and the General Assembly. They want to make Rubicon secure
enough never again to be so injured by the loss of a single funding source.

Addison flew here twice for interviews before deciding to make the leap
from one of the few states with a sizable budget surplus to one crippled by
cuts. You have to ask: What was he thinking?

"I think it was the challenge," he says. "Also the diversity." Addison
believes that strong, decisive leadership can help Rubicon fulfill its
much-needed mission. Despite the financial problems, he says, "the
potential is still there to provide amazing service to the city of Richmond."

Addison advocates a "strength-based model" of drug-addiction treatment,
which teaches clients to focus on their assets - family, friends,
spirituality, support groups - instead of obstacles. He's taking the same
approach to reviving Rubicon. Knowing it was beset by problems, he asked
himself, What are its assets?

The big one is the agency's 12-acre campus on Front Street, at the end of
Brookland Park Boulevard. On the tree-lined grounds stands a stately
Victorian house where women and children in the program live, a large brick
building that Rubicon leases to a private school, and the recently built $4
million men's treatment center. It's an unexpected oasis in a rough
neighborhood; young men loiter in the surrounding streets but seldom dare
to go inside the graffiti-scrawled brick walls.

The place amazed Addison when he first saw it, but he wondered why it
wasn't being fully used. The halls on the second and third floors of the
men's center are silent, with only 40 out of 150 beds occupied. Ninety beds
are available for women, but only about 30 live in the center now, along
with a few infants and toddlers. (On one visit, Addison smiles to see six
little ones messily eating pudding in the nursery.) A few smaller buildings
on campus are vacant.

Finding more money and more people to fill the facilities is paramount.
Rubicon currently has a contract with the city for $1.4 million - a
combination of grants and treatment fees. Addison plans to seek clients
from Richmond's homeless and the agencies that serve them, and institute a
sliding fee scale to help defray costs.

He also plans to solicit Rubicon's former mainstay, the Department of
Corrections, for referrals and possible grants. "Getting those individuals
out of the prisons and into our facility is going to save them money," he
points out. Hospitals may also be interested in partnering with Rubicon, as
the nonprofit can treat addicts much cheaper. Its typical cost per patient
is $90 to $110, while a private hospital may charge $200 to $350.

Addison's responsibility extends beyond just keeping the nonprofit afloat,
says Frank "Pepper" Laughon Jr., a board member since 1969. Drug-treatment
programs are needed "to maintain some sanity in our community," he says,
especially at a time when crime rates are climbing as government aid to
social services is minimal.

In order to fill its beds and bank account, Rubicon must begin to make its
name known, Addison says. Though well-respected by fellow nonprofits,
Rubicon keeps a low profile and records no statistics on its success rates,
a risky oversight in an age where funding is often based on performance.
Addison's Wyoming agency helped 62 to 68 percent of its clients overcome
their addictions. "And I feel assured that we can too," Addison says.

Rubicon takes a "bio-psycho-social approach" to treating drug addiction,
Addison explains - that is, addressing not only physical dependence but
also mental illness and reintegration into society. Simply put, "we teach
people how to lead better lives," he says. Clients live on the Front Street
campus with 24-hour supervision and help from addiction specialists,
educators and counselors. When clients first arrive, they undergo detox, if
necessary, spend 30 days in treatment and then transition into employment
and an independent life.

The idea is to inundate each client with coping skills, Addison says,
teaching them ways that don't involve drugs to deal with stress, anger and
"life in general." He believes firmly in holding clients accountable for
their own rehabilitation. "It's not just come live with us and hang out and
do your thing," he says.

By June 1, Addison plans to move the organization's administrative
headquarters from a dingy office in Scott's Addition to a now-vacant
building in Rubicon's Front Street complex. He thinks that consolidating
operations will save money and improve the agency's image. "The carpets are
filthy - just not my style," he says. "I like it clean."

Board members hope the new director's drive will be Rubicon's salvation.
They know he's not afraid to make a stir. Addison's an ACLU member, an
unabashed liberal and a self-proclaimed fan of "anarchist" musicians such
as Ani diFranco and Utah Phillips. And the board considers him tough -
Addison played on the defensive line at the University of Wyoming, Laughon
points out. "If you ever saw a place that needed a linebacker, this is it."