Series: Four Lives, One Last Chance - A Year In Drug Court: Part 32 Of 41

ACT V. VERNON: MAKING HIS CASE

Judge H. Vincent Conway Jr. never intended to let Vernon back into the program.

He had thrown him in jail, and he viewed his decision as final.

Nearly everyone else in the Drug Court community thought that the
troublesome addict deserved another chance. But few people had seen the
judge as angry as he was the day he sent Vernon to jail. The odds of
changing his mind seemed slim.

Charity decided to fight for Vernon anyway. In his seemingly dispassionate
manner, the hard-nosed parole officer went to work on behalf of a man he
would rarely admit to liking. For several weeks, he slowly built a case for
Vernon.

The judge, however, wasn't convinced.

So Charity suggested assembling a jury of Drug Court peers, then allowing
Vernon to plead his case to them. After that, the judge could decide.

Conway agreed to the plan.

More than a month after Vernon's excruciating expulsion from Drug Court,
Charity calls the names of the jurors - mostly Drug Court veterans such as
Linwood, Darlena, Antoinette, Nelson and Robert. They rise from the
courtroom gallery and sit in the jury box, where they wait for the deputy
to bring Vernon in.

Several tense minutes pass before he emerges from the side door, wearing an
orange jumpsuit and leg irons, sporting a mini-afro after six weeks of
unchecked growth.

The judge tells Vernon - standing at attention alongside a deputy - that he
can sit in the witness box or stand in the middle of the courtroom. Vernon
shuffles around a table, dragging his leg irons as he walks, then halts in
front of the jury box.

The judge says he had planned to send him to a prison boot camp because he
believed Drug Court wasn't working.

"However, I must, on your behalf, recognize that you have been clean in
excess of 229 days," Conway says. "You have supporters in the Drug Court
program, and your peers have seen something in you and want to see you grow.

"This court has determined that they don't deserve someone in class who
doesn't pull his equal share," the judge adds.

"The bottom line is, if you come back to the program, are we wasting our
time? So we'll start with you."

With a furrowed brow, Vernon turns to his peers seated in the jury box and
tells them that he needs help.

In the past, he says, his ego prevented him from asking for their advice
and aid. Instead, he hid his feelings by joking around and saying the wrong
things at the wrong time.

As he speaks, Vernon is haunted by the idea that he could be sent to prison
for saying the wrong thing again. He chooses his words deliberately and
delivers them slowly.

"I did look at the basic fundamentals of Drug Court and decided that some
things weren't as important," he says. "But it was never the attitude of
'Yo, just forget it.' I ain't never felt like that."

His voice is low and uncertain as he continues to carefully pick his way
through the speech, then he searches for the right thought to end his plea.

"If I hadn't changed and this had been '91, I would've quit," he says. "I
do want the program."

Then, in a strange reversal of roles, Vernon stops talking and becomes a
captive audience.

As his peers begin peppering him with questions, Vernon bows his head and
casts his eyes upward, like a child unwillingly enduring a lecture from a
parent. The tense, pained expression that comes across his face is not the
look of contrition.

But as they unload all their frustrations on him, Vernon begins a slow
transformation. For the first time, he must listen as they explain how his
joking and boisterous attitude has affected them.

One woman, Trina, says frankly, "You hurt me a lot."

"Some of the things that come out of your mouth were intolerable," Darlena
scolds. "Are you aware of how you affected some of your peers and the
newcomers?"

Vernon closes his eyes as the barrage wears him down, and he shakes his
head plaintively.

"No, I didn't," he says softly.

"I love you, and I want you back in the program," Darlena adds, "but you
can't say whatever you want and fly off the handle."

Others are encouraging, too, and they plead with Vernon to seek help.

"We can be your family," says Robert. "We miss you. Let us be your family.
Open up to us, talk to us."

"You had a lot of things you wanted to say and get out, but instead, you
turned to joking," Vanesta says. "Sometimes you got to put the joking aside."

This discussion continues for several minutes before the judge stops it.
Then he allows Vernon to say some closing remarks.

"I've been locked up a long time, and I've had time to think about a lot of
things. It's been running through my mind, everything I did," he says. "The
only thing I can honestly assure everyone in this courtroom - I'm not going
to make the same mistake again.

"I can't say I'm never going to laugh and make jokes. That's been a part of
me since I was a child, before I used drugs," he says. "But as far as the
things I do that annoy someone, that's something I'm focusing on."

When he finishes, the judge asks whether there is anything else he'd like
to add. Vernon pauses for a moment to think, then turns toward the judge.

"I'd like to apologize to you, your honor," he says.

Then he exhales audibly and lowers his head.

"I don't really know what to say. All I can do is apologize to the court
for my behavior, for not following the rules and regulations," he says.

"I do truly want to be reinstated into the program."

The judge nods and stares hard at Vernon. When he finally speaks, it
becomes clear that he, too, has developed some respect for the man standing
before him in the orange jumpsuit.

"It is obvious that these 12 people represent a large group that cares for
you," he says. "When I listen to you, I see a lot of strength, but I also
see a lot of street.

"You're like a talented athlete who can run very fast, but you don't know
anything about track and field," he says. "You're running into the
bleachers. You're running across the field. You're running down the street."

Vernon clutches his twitching hands behind his back as the judge explains
his thinking. He stands in a strong military stance, chest out and
shoulders back. Whatever happens, he seems determined to take his fate proudly.

Minutes pass as the judge's words wear on, leaving Vernon and the Drug
Court audience in suspense. Then Judge Conway tells Vernon that he must sit
down with the Drug Court staff and sign a written contract of what is
expected of him in the future.

"I want there to be no doubt, if you come back into this program, what is
expected of you," Conway says.

"This program exists to promote growth. I think you're growing. I will
reinstate you into this program."

Vernon doesn't move or react as the judge continues.

"If I hear you're not joking, you'll be in trouble. If I hear you're joking
too much, you'll be in trouble. I want you to find that balance," he says.

"I want the good of your personality and strength, but I don't want the
negative attitude," he says. "I hope, when you're 70 years old, you'll look
back and see that you started something today that has stayed with you.

"A person of your ability should not be wasting time in jail."

With that, the deputy leads Vernon out of the room. Vernon betrays no
emotion. He shows no reaction - except when he points to the jury and
raises his fist.

A few hours later, Vernon appears from behind a heavy steel door at the
jail. The deputies lay his belongings on the counter in the processing
area. Vernon collects his wallet and his belt. He puts a comb and a pick in
his hair and grabs a crumpled pack of stale Newport cigarettes. Then he
walks silently through the magistrate's courtroom and out the sliding glass
doors.

Outside, it's pouring the cold, miserable rain of late winter.

Vernon's wearing the same clothes from six weeks ago. His pants hang low
off his hips while he threads his belt through the loops.

While he was in jail, he lost his apartment, and his brother came to town
to store his furniture.

So Vernon is homeless. All his possessions are on his back.

He trundles off, lighting a cigarette in the rain.

"I don't care if it was snowing," he says.