DRUG COURT - PROGRAM BRIDGES GAP BETWEEN LAW AND TREATMENT

At a little past 2 on a Tuesday afternoon, 15 or so people in the courtroom
rise to their feet as Judge Wayne S. Trockman enters. Trockman wears no
judicial robe or jacket - just a white shirt and tie - and he seems almost
embarrassed by the deference as he makes a "please be seated" wave.

Over the next hour, the Vanderburgh Superior Court judge will act as father
figure, psychologist and motivator as he presides over this week's session
of Day Reporting Drug Court. Despite the varied roles, Trockman wields
unmistakable judicial authority over an intensive treatment, rehabilitation
and supervision program for nonviolent, nondealing, felony drug offenders.
Trockman is the chief tough-lover, personifying a fusion of humanity and
enforceable accountability that has been the hallmark of drug courts since
the first experiment more than a decade ago in a drug-infested Florida
jurisdiction.

The judge wastes no time bringing forward the first of several participants
scheduled for court appearances. He knows each participant's history in
detail. Where successes have come, he takes a moment to celebrate.

Today, "Jane" is up first. She's just received her "chip," a simple but
coveted memento marking 90 days of freedom from illegally obtained
prescription drugs, which held her in their sway before her arrest. She
comes forward, and Trockman asks to see the chip.

Trockman: "Feel good about it?"

Jane: "Yeah."

Trockman: "One more day?"

Jane: "Huh?"

Trockman. "One more day. One day at a time?"

Jane: "Oh. Yeah!"

Trockman: "... I think you're doing great. I'm proud of you. I hope you're
proud of yourself."

Drug Court is not always a feel-good experience. True, it's a different
approach to alleged criminals whose chief offense is falling prey to drug
or alcohol addiction. But it remains a court of law. In the beginning,
participants must report daily - weekends and holidays included - to a Drug
Court staff member, submit to unannounced urine tests, report for recovery
programs, stay on schedule, find jobs, pay program fees and otherwise offer
evidence they are serious about recovery. Some succeed. Success can mean
the judge will dismiss the original charge, reduce or set aside sentence or
offer a lesser penalty. But others fail, or slip and need protection from
themselves. In those situations, Trockman will summon a deputy sheriff, who
will place the violator in handcuffs in plain view of all and escort the
violator to jail.

Then again, at least one participant - jailed recently after a positive
test for alcohol - was ordered set free by Trockman, who gave him a word of
encouragement, an admonition to make sure he made a 12 Step meeting that
evening and an order to report to the court staff first thing in the
morning. Conversation later about the fledgling program brought to
Trockman's mind a memory of when he was in private practice.

"I represented an individual in private practice who kept coming in
occasionally on minor charges - forgery, theft. When he came in on the
fourth charge in four or five years, I said to him, 'You know, you don't
have a steady job. You obviously have some kind of drug problem.'"

The client confessed his problem was a $300- to $500-a-day cocaine habit.
"He began rattling off the stores he knew that would take return
merchandise for cash." He'd spent years shoplifting and returning the
merchandise for cash to fund his addiction.

A crush of overt drug and alcohol crimes clog today's courtrooms. But there
are also hidden drug crimes - masking themselves with labels such as
robbery, theft, forgery, assault and domestic violence, yet committed to
finance a habit or because of reckless, anti-social minds of typical users.

Local judges estimate 75 percent to 85 percent of criminal cases in the
Vanderburgh County court system are directly or indirectly tied to
substance abuse. More than 1,700 criminal cases have been filed in
Vanderburgh Circuit and Vanderburgh Superior courts this year.

Said Trockman: "They make bond and they don't stop drinking and they don't
stop drugging, and they don't stop the ways they typically use to support
their habits. So you release people into the community who are highly
likely to commit crimes.

"His family, and sometimes you or I, are the direct victims. And if we are
not direct victims, you and I are certainly the indirect victims from the
higher prices we pay at Wal-Mart (to cover losses through theft), from the
tax dollars spent for the narcotics force, not to mention all the
additional officers required."

Eventually, offenders may earn nonsuspendible prison time, but usually it
only takes them off the streets for a while.

Judges, prosecutors and law-enforcement officers have shared the
frustration of seeing addicts moving from street to jail to street to jail
as if through a revolving door. Out of these realities - and the need to
bridge the gap between the authority of law courts and the need of
offenders for accountability and treatment - the local Drug Court "more
evolved than was planned," Trockman said. The clear truth that stiffer drug
penalties have not caused users to become "scared straight" probably
accounts for the open reception a variety of agencies gave to the local
Drug Court.

Trockman recalled joining Drug Court Executive Director Debbie Mowbray in
early meetings with county and city narcotics police officers. "Some of the
officers mentioned individuals they wanted to see in a program of this
type, rather than giving these users executed time and certainly rather
than releasing them back to the street."

Vanderburgh County Sheriff's Department Maj. Steve Woodall, a
law-enforcement representative on the Drug Court's advisory board, said
officers, "as they become more educated" about how drug courts operate,
grow more open to them. "If they see decreased (relapses) by drug offenders
(as a result of their involvement in drug court programs), you will see a
greater warming of the law-enforcement officers (to the concept)," Woodall
said.

Mowbray, Trockman's choice to head the day-to-day operations, became
interested in the concept five years ago, while on the staff at the SAFE
House, the county's community corrections complex. "Some of the training I
had with the (U.S.) Department of Justice for Community Corrections showed
that's where things were going," said Mowbray, who began passing literature
about drug courts to Trockman and fellow Superior Court Judge Robert J.
Tornatta.

Bill Carey, director of the Indiana Judicial Center, has supervised visits
this fall to every drug court in the state. A pilot program approved by
Indiana Chief Justice Randall Shepard seeks minimum standards for the
courts, which Carey believes are a priority for the state judiciary.

"Consider we're spending about $35,000 to incarcerate a person per year,
and that drug courts cost about $5,000 per person per year, which includes
putting a person through treatment," said Carey. "Usually we have a 50
percent success rate. Granted, there are about 25 percent of that
population that's not going to change. But of the remaining 75 percent (who
could be candidates for a drug court program), about 50 percent of them are
being successful. That means changing a person from being a drain on the
economy to being a contributor."

Those familiar with drug courts are fluent in the numbers Carey cited,
which come from the U.S. Department of Justice. The Justice Department has
a history of funding drug courts, including the first one founded in Miami
12 years ago.