Series: Four Lives, One Last Chance - A Year In Drug Court: Part 31 Of 41

ACT V. LINWOOD: A CELEBRATION

Linwood sits in front of an audience of friends and family. As always, he
is dressed neatly, this time in a dark blue suit and derby hat.

Greeting cards are piled on the table next to him, and a cloud of helium
balloons form a canopy over his chair. The balloons say "Congratulations"
and "Happy 1st Birthday."

In the last year, Linwood has attended 312 Narcotics Anonymous meetings.
Many of them were held here - at Linwood's "home group" - in a dimly lit,
cramped room of cinder blocks and tile floors.

Most meetings are devoted to exploring the nature of addiction and
discussing the obstacles in overcoming drug abuse. But occasionally, when
an addict reaches an anniversary, the gatherings become celebrations.

Linwood has logged 368 days since he last smoked crack cocaine. And tonight
he will celebrate his improbable year of living clean.

In that year, he has become a favorite son at this East End meeting, a man
who has inspired others and been a leader of the group. So tonight his
friends have packed the room to honor his monumental achievement.

The meeting is so crowded that the chairman has to clear a cluster of
people standing by the door. He tells them they're creating a fire hazard.

In the front row of chairs, Linwood's mother, stepfather and his two aunts
wait for the event to start.

The meeting begins with a friend of Linwood's who speaks for about 30
minutes. Then a flood of people from the audience call out their
congratulations. They each say a word or two about how hard Linwood has
worked and how many lives he's touched.

"We have a lot of deep conversation, and I always end up crying," says one
woman. "And I keep coming back for more."

"You came in here and went right to work," recalls another woman. "Sitting
there with your pad and pencil like you going to class."

Then, a man chimes in with a lighter touch.

"I know you already know this because you checked the mirror," he says,
"but you wearing the hell out of that hat."

After the audience members have had their say, the chairman asks Linwood's
family whether they would like to say anything. His mom rises and
half-turns to the rest of the room, smiling with sparkling eyes.

"I just want to thank y'all for being here for him," she says shyly.

She throws her arms around her son, and the room bursts into applause. It's
a long embrace meant to wash away the years of hurt and pain between a
mother and her son. When they finally let go of each other and the clapping
dies down, Linwood's eyes have welled up with tears.

Later, one of his aunts rises from her seat to tell the audience how her
son was gunned down in Washington, D.C. Linwood and her "baby boy" grew up
like brothers.

"What he always wanted was for Linwood to be clean," she says, "and that's
why I know he's here tonight.

"He's always with you," she says.

At the end of the meeting, Linwood's friends present him with the key tag
and medallion that Narcotics Anonymous uses to symbolize a year of sobriety.

After he accepts them, people begin to shout.

"How'd you do it?" they ask. "How'd you do it?"

He stands to speak, his face wet with tears, and he looks over at his
family. Bobbing up and down, he shakes his head and puffs out his cheeks.
The words will not come, choked back by his emotions. But his friends
holler and cheer him on.

Then, finally, he speaks.

"I'm an addict named Linwood," he says.

The other voices fall silent as he collects his thoughts. He thanks his
family, and he thanks his friends. Without them, he says, he would have
never survived his addiction.

Then Linwood looks at his medallion. He looks at his mother.

"You know what?" he says to her. "Why don't you hang on to this, because
I'm going to get a couple more to hand you."