Sober N Clean

During the month of October, many people push their livers to breaking point as every pub, club and restaurant runs its interpretation of the Bavarian beer festival, Oktoberfest.

But one organisation is hoping to buck the trend and encourage alcohol abstinence for a good cause.

Called Ocsober, the fundraising initiative by non-profit organisation Life Education urges Australians to embrace sobriety for one month to raise money for drug and alcohol awareness among school students.

Statistics collated by the Drug Info Clearinghouse revealed one third of Australian teenagers engage in binge drinking, with those who start before the age of 15 becoming five times more likely to become alcohol-dependent than those who don't start until they are 21.

During Ocsober, a fleet of mobile Life Education centers will visit more than 120,000 school students to raise awareness of the dangers of binge-drinking.

Brisbane students at Middle Park Primary School will tomorrow release personal messages attached to balloons, as part of a sobering reminder for adults to halt alcohol abuse this month.

"When you read what the children have written, it moves you to tears," Ocsober Project Manager Michael Fawsitt said.

"How can any of us tell a 12-year-old that we can't stop drinking alcohol for one month for such an important cause?

"Ocsober is about the future health and well-being of our children and it's up to adults to set an example and give children the best opportunity to grow up safe and healthy."

The Australian Family Association has supported the fundraising gimmick, as has the Community Alcohol Action Network.

Australian Family Association spokesman John Morrissey said the use and abuse of alcohol was deeply rooted in Australian culture.

"For young people, drinking is ingrained as a rite of passage," Mr Morrissey said.

"Yet, for all of this, drinking is celebrated as if it were quintessentially Australian."

He said the responsibility fell upon adults to lead by example.

Those adults keen to support the cause, but unable to resist the occasional cold one have been accounted for since participants are allowed to buy "leave passes".

"If you have a special event during October and you need a break from your Ocsober campaign, there's an easy option so you don't break your commitment to a whole month without alcohol," the guidelines read.

"Simply buy a one day or two day Leave Pass and then complete your Ocsober month as planned."

Families, friends and colleagues are encouraged to band together and remain grog-free for 30 days, beginning in October.

Life Education CEO Jay Bucik said rather than being a "wowser" event, Ocsober was more about encouraging adults "get real" about their alcohol intake.
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source: Brisbane Times

The Ottawa area will be getting two residential drug treatment centres for youth between the ages of 13 and 17, says the chief executive of the Champlain Local Health Integration Network.

The long-awaited plan, which will goes before the health network board for approval on May 28, calls for a 15-bed residential facility for English-speaking youth on the west side and a separate five-bed facility for francophone youth on the east side.

The program already has strong support from the province, the city and police Chief Vern White, Dr. Robert Cushman said in an interview yesterday. "It's gonna happen."

As it stands, there are no residential treatment facilities in the region for youth under the age of 16. Some addicted young people are sent to Thunder Bay and even farther away for treatment.

Community leaders have been pushing for a youth residential facility for about 20 years and a handful of plans have never come to fruition. In June 2006, for example, then-mayor Bob Chiarelli said he would ask fellow councillors for support to buy the former Rideau Correctional Centre near Burritts Rapids and convert it into a treatment centre. The proposal never coalesced.

The treatment centre, as outlined yesterday, is scaled down from earlier plans, which called for as many as 48 beds. The most recent report, delivered only last month, considered a 28-bed model.

Dr. Cushman said the new model is even smaller because the centre can't sacrifice quality. Research shows that the best residential programs result in a success rate of up to 80 per cent. This is what the Champlain region should aim for, he said.

That means the program must invest in the best interventions and staff and have supports in the community for youth when they return home from the residential program.

"You don't just want to parachute these kids back into the community," said Dr. Cushman. "It's better to start with a few beds and do it right and build it over time."

Although there has been no cost suggested for buying or renovating facilities to house the centres, the cost of running the residential program is estimated at more than $2 million a year, which would come from health network's budget for addictions and mental health.

The health network is considering a Carp Road facility as the west-side location. The building is currently used by the Royal Ottawa Health Care Group as the Meadow Creek adult addiction centre, but the program is scheduled to be moved into Ottawa this summer, said Dr. Cushman.

The youth program is to accept about 80 teens a year, each for a stay of about 90 days. Dr. Cushman estimates that triple that number of addicted teens would benefit from a residential program.

Pauline Sawyer, executive director at the Alwood Treatment Centre, said the residential facility with 14 beds for 16- to 22-year-olds near Carleton Place has a waiting list that is three to six months long.

"There's a huge need for beds for those 16 and under," she said. "We've been waiting for this for 15 or 20 years."

Mike Beauchesne, executive director of the Dave Smith Youth Treatment Centre on Bronson Avenue, said there may be considerable pent-up demand for the program because nothing like it has been available before.

He has sent teens as far away as Manitoba for treatment, which he admits is not an optimum solution because they are so far from their families. "We're seeing kids come through the door who commence use at 12 or 13 years of age."

While the number of beds in this proposal is smaller than the original plan, the important thing is that the centres are being established, he said.

"I can't say at this point that it is a fait accompli," said Mr. Beauchesne. "It looks good. I'm not ready to pop the champagne yet."

Dr. Cushman says youth addiction has been the "orphan" of health care. Although he can't explain why little has been done about establishing a residential program for drug-addicted youth, despite decades of effort, he says he should be held responsible for his term as head of the health network.

"What we're doing is building a foundation. We want to build from there."
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source: © The Ottawa Citizen 2008

Alcoholism, like many addictions, is a disease of reinforcement. When you take drugs or alcohol, you feel better and when you stop drinking, you miss the feeling. By this same mechanism, the people you associate with can start to reinforce your drinking behavior.

Even though, for many, alcoholism ends up being a disease of solitude and loneliness, but it could start off completely differently. The divorced alcoholic that drinks half a bottle of whiskey every night before going to bed, probably started off drinking socially with friends.

That is not to say that everyone you might drink with is an alcoholic, but when trying to recover, it is wise to cut ties with people who could influence you to drink. If you have friends that you only saw on the weekends at the bar, these friendships reinforce your alcohol use. And when you're trying to get sober, it can be challenging to be with these friends.

Aside from the obvious fact that you need to have great self control to be around other people drinking and not drink yourselves, often times your friends can try to persuade you to drink. This doesn't make them bad people. It can be hard for someone who does not suffer from alcoholism to understand the disease. Most of the time, these friends just want you to be having fun with them.

Even if you are completely committed to getting sober once you've realized you have a problem, being around other drinkers can be too hard and lead to relapse. You might find yourself faced with a choice between sobriety or your friends. Usually, you end up either leaving these old noxious friendships behind and getting better, or maintaining your friendships and potentially giving up to alcoholism.

It is not easy to stop being friends with people. Some, when faced with this situation, just slowly phase out those old friendships. But this can be hard to do. It also helps to talk to your friends and try to make them understand the nature of your condition and why you cannot be around them when they're drinking. This can cause a lot of fights, but in the end your real friends will see you through your recovery and those that only wanted the fun drunk you get phased out.

The important thing to remember is that you need to do what is best for you when you're trying to recover. Friendships are great, but not if they are damaging your health and your body. Being sober trumps good times with your old drinking buddies.
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source: associated content

Joyce Walker's short hair is covered with bleach as she stuffs some last-second items into her bulging duffle bag. The rest go into a worn leather carry-on with a broken handle, and how appropriate is that?

One journey leads to another. A battered spirit is in need of repair. It's time to get sober again.

She grabs a paperback, but must leave her well-worn razor behind. No sharp objects allowed. A dainty diamond stud earring comes out of her right nostril, another no-no in rehab. Walker changes jeans twice and asks, "Do these make me look fat?"

A few drags on a cigarette calm her nerves, and there's a final snuggle for Taylor, an 11-year-old Peekapoo who doesn't judge her shortcomings.

"I love you, little man," she says. "Mommy has to go for a while, but I'll be back, better than ever."

A framed Seattle Times page leaning against her apartment wall proclaims Joyce Walker the state's greatest female high-school basketball player of the 20th century. But Walker, who won state championships at Garfield as a player and as a coach, feels anything but legendary. She is filled with shame, remorse and resolve as she readies for the road back that starts with the Recovery Centers of King County (RCKC).

After nearly 17 years of sobriety, one of Washington's best-known athletes had relapsed. It led to a journey the past year filled with alcohol, marijuana, cocaine and crack that emptied her bank account of at least $50,000 and left a trail of deception.

Now Walker has resurfaced after 26 days in rehab, recommitted to her recovery and dreaming of coaching the Garfield girls again. Some days, she feels back on top of the world. Other days, it's a struggle to get out of bed. Every day, the addiction gnaws at her.

"It's not like I don't think about it every day," she said of the temptation to use.

"I'd like to come home"

Starting over is nothing new for Walker. The 1980 Garfield grad and two-time All-American at Louisiana State played with a flamboyant style befitting one of the first female Harlem Globetrotters.

But the party lifestyle that accompanied her fame opened the door to alcohol, marijuana, cocaine and crack addictions that wiped out a six-figure income and sent her back home to Seattle.

"There's something about this damn town," Walker said, reflecting on now and then. "It's both a blessing and a curse."

Walker, who first smoked marijuana in high school, got clean and sober through Alcoholics Anonymous in April 1990 and became a drug and alcohol counselor who toured the country as an inspirational speaker. Her raw stories made fellow addicts laugh and cry.

She longed to give back to the game she loved and began training young basketball players. Coaching seemed the next logical step. Walker spent one-year stints as assistant girls coach at Ballard and Garfield, then took the head girls job at Rainier Beach for two seasons, 1994-96.

Eventually, she was drawn back to her old high school. The Garfield girls program she led to a state championship as a player was in disarray, and she cried as she sat in the bleachers watching one lopsided loss.

"If the job's open, I'd like to come home," Walker told Garfield administrators.

She was hired in 2000 and took the Bulldogs back to the top, winning a state title in 2005.

A year later, though, the unraveling began. Walker lost her father to prostate cancer, received a promotion to treatment director of the Milam Recovery Center in Renton that added to on-the-job pressure and opened her South Seattle home to two relatives.

One of them brought along crack cocaine.

"I hadn't had dope in my house for a long time," Walker said. "It opened up the craving for me."

She fought the urge, and focused on her basketball team and a growing desire to raise a child, her biological clock ticking at age 44. As last season's basketball season neared, she discussed options with her family doctor.

A routine physical ended with a sucker punch that Walker said ultimately sent her over the edge. Lung X-rays showed several spots, including one that her doctor said appeared suspicious, according to Walker. Three words echoed in her mind: I have cancer.

Trying to save face

The spots on her lung turned out to be benign, but Walker said the scare stirred her addiction.

"Everything toppled from that," she said. "It was just what I needed to justify."

Some in the Garfield community believed she made up the cancer story to at first cover up her relapse and later to excuse it.

When someone dropped a piece of crack on her living-room floor one day before Christmas 2006, Walker's foot instinctively slid to conceal it. Weeks later, she smoked it.

She says her cocaine use didn't escalate until after the basketball season. With crack in her home, she knew it was only a matter of time before the addiction roared back to life.

"I never dreamed I'd get loaded again," she said.

Walker also had started drinking again, and it began taking a toll. She missed practices and lost weight. Lies multiplied. Players noticed she lacked her normal fire.

"Her behavior during the season was pretty erratic, and we knew something was wrong for a long time," said Lily Ramseyer, now a senior.

Walker told the team in late January she had cancer. Rumors swirled in the community, but Walker publicly dodged questions about her health until talking to The Seattle Times in mid-February 2007.

Walker told The Times that three spots on her lungs were malignant. Her explanation now is that she used the wrong word and meant benign.

But Walker admits she was juggling her stories at the time.

"There was another factor going on," she said, referring to her addiction. "You can't save your face and your ass at the same time. You have to decide. At the time, I was trying to save my face."

Ramseyer said she never saw her coach drunk or high at practice or games. Walker insisted that's a line she would not allow herself to cross.

"There were some rules, some principles," Walker said, adding her conscience forced her to take a leave of absence from Milam in February. "I didn't come to practice high, but I was scattered at times."

"I wasn't done using"

Sometime in April, Walker said she went through an MRI exam that confirmed she did not have cancer. But her descent into drugs and alcohol was well under way.

"I had already opened Pandora's box again," Walker said, adding she knew she was in trouble when she quit talking about her addiction. "It's almost like I was running, I was running from myself."

Tricia Ross, Walker's partner and best friend, had been sober for nine years. She also started using again and joined Walker's downward spiral.

"It was a dangerous time," said Ross, who left her job as a pharmacy technician and still is trying to rebuild her life.

Walker called Garfield principal Ted Howard in early May to take a leave of absence from coaching. Players were told she needed time to get healthy. By then, though, they suspected Walker's issues were drug-related.

"Nobody really talked about it, but we all knew," Ramseyer said.

When Walker isolated herself from sober family and friends, her younger sister Shirley Wroten worried.

"I knew something was wrong when she stopped coming around," Wroten said. "We're a very close, tight family and she was just kind of distancing herself."

Wroten, a former track star at Garfield, demanded answers as rumors of a relapse swirled at the end of the basketball season.

"I went to her house and confronted her, but she denied it," she said.

Walker's appearance said what her words wouldn't: She was using. Sixty pounds had melted from Walker's 5-foot-9 frame. Even Walker didn't like the image in the mirror. Not just the tired eyes, but the emptiness inside.

Wroten spoke with Walker's AA sponsor, who said: "There's nothing you can do until she's ready to get help."

Walker wasn't ready. Mike Tretton, a longtime friend and her former assistant coach at Garfield, took her to two treatment centers in March and April. She walked away both times. Wroten coaxed her into detox July 4. Again, Walker fled.

"I wasn't done using," Walker explained. "It still had a hold on me. I wanted some more."

"A hazy time"

Walker sometimes spent $200 to $500 a day on her habit. Bills piled up. She sold her house in August. The cash helped feed her addiction.

"That has a hazy time," Walker said.

She took a road trip to Las Vegas in early November after blowing $24,000 on a new Chevy HHR. Walker totaled it in Eastern Oregon and later found out her insurance had lapsed.

Walker, with Ross and another friend as passengers, was driving eastbound on Interstate 84 near Ontario, Ore., in the early afternoon of Nov. 5 when she lost control. The SUV rolled three times, flipped over the median and landed in oncoming traffic.

Walker said she swerved to avoid a merging semi. No citations were issued, according to police, and, amazingly, injuries were minor.

"Obviously, God wasn't done with me," Walker said. "I paid this price for this journey, and I know that. Sometimes, a lot of things had to go so I could just stand alone in the presence of a power greater than myself."

That experience didn't stop her out-of-control downward spiral. She rented a car and continued to Las Vegas. A weeklong vacation turned into a month, as Walker hit the blackjack tables and slots, drinking and getting high.

Anything to escape. Anything to run away.

"I don't think it was about the gambling or getting high," Walker said. "It felt so excruciating, I didn't want to face any of it."

Walker spent a night in jail there. She was arrested for auto theft because the rental-car company claimed she hadn't returned the vehicle in time. Details are fuzzy, like many of the events in her life. But she didn't need a jail cell to make her feel trapped.

"I was in my own prison for about six months," she said. "I always knew I had the key, but I couldn't get it in the lock. Maybe I wasn't supposed to."

Walker's inner demons run deep, perhaps back to her childhood. The seventh of 10 children, she was born with spinal meningitis and needed more care than her mother and alcoholic father could provide. As a baby she was sent to live with her great aunt in Los Angeles. Walker was 7 years old when she returned to Seattle, but never outgrew the feeling she hadn't been good enough to live with the rest of her family.

As her recent crisis deepened, she felt drawn back to L.A., back to the now-ailing great aunt who raised her. It was time for some tough love.

"This is not you," her great aunt told her. "I know you're hurting, but you need to get back to your life."

Rock bottom came when Walker, longing for a high, nearly took the woman's life savings. She forced herself to put back all but $100.

The next day, four days before Christmas 2007, Walker flew home. It was time to get clean and sober.

"I was done before I got back here," Walker said, "and I was lucky. Most people don't get back here."

She still had a place to stay, an apartment in the Renton Highlands, but little else. Friends and family refused to lend more money, beyond a few dollars for cigarettes and food. Call when you get to treatment, they'd say, skeptical that day would come.

New clothes were returned for cash, some of which went for crack. She got high the night before going to rehab.

"Walking the sewer"

On Jan. 9, Walker learned a bed was available at the RCKC detox center. She called for a ride and hurriedly finished packing. A few quarters for the pay phone would be her only connection to the outside world.

"I know this is the only way," Walker said. "I want to rest. I want to get healthy again."

Her sponsors strongly advised against her publicizing her story so early in her recovery. But Walker decided to tell it anyway.

"It's hurtful to walk the way I just walked in broad daylight," she said. "Not everyone can do it. I didn't know if I could do it. But I felt it was the road to freedom. I know what society could say, but I know I had to walk it. When I found that inner freedom, it was the freedom of knowing there was something greater for me.

"But it was ugly at times."

Walker spent four days in detox before entering the treatment program at RCKC. The shakes from alcohol withdrawal were manageable compared to restless nights, when she dreamed of chasing drugs and woke up with the sweats. Her legs cramped, her arms went numb. Mood swings left her yelling one minute and crying the next.

"I went back to walking the sewer most people wouldn't walk through," she said a week into her recovery, "but I knew I wasn't staying. I stayed a couple of months longer than I wanted to, but I'm back and I'd pay any price to do it."

"A legend in the house"

Walker was released and awarded her certificate for completing treatment on Feb. 4, a week early. She slipped and injured her back, requiring treatment at Harborview.

Her thoughts immediately turned to Garfield. The next day she called Howard, the principal and her longtime ally, for a pass to that night's boys game at Eastlake in Sammamish. She couldn't wait to see her nephews, Tony Wroten and DeAndre Taylor, play for Garfield.

She headed for the gym at old Lincoln High School, where Garfield students are attending school until Garfield's renovation project is completed next fall.

"Get ready to get mobbed," Howard told her.

Lily Ramseyer is the first to see her, and her screams echo down the hall. Others follow.

"I love purple and white," Walker says, scanning the championship pictures on the window of an office that used to be hers. "I don't know anything else."

Walker shoots jumpers and shows off one of her Globetrotter tricks, spinning a ball on her index finger, then punching it up and through the net.

She scores a pair of purple and white sneakers and two practice jerseys bearing her number, 21, the one she has tattooed on her right biceps along with the words "Top Dog."

More confirmation and hugs come the next day, when the Garfield girls play at Eastlake. Walker knows she let players and parents down. She understands they all won't be forgiving.

"I've been mad at Joyce," says Judy Ramseyer, Lily's mother. "She made some bad decisions. But I love her, and I'm glad to see her back ... She was fighting her own demons."

But Lily has reservations.

"I guess I can forgive her, but I can't really forget it," she says.

"Shame is good for me"

Howard, wearing a Garfield jacket, is thrilled to see Walker in the crowd. He continues to be one of Walker's strongest advocates, as he has been since the day she schooled him on the basketball court when he was a Garfield freshman.

"Joyce means more to us than just a basketball player," the principal says. "She's part of the culture here. She's part of the kids, she's part of us. Every time the kids take the court, they're either dribbling like her or shooting like her. Her legend continues to live on."

Could she be back as Garfield coach? Howard won't say, but plans to talk with both her and Craig Jackson, the interim coach.

Walker believes she has a gift to give on the basketball court and already is back in the gym. Some days she has only enough energy to attend an AA meeting or study group. Ninety meetings in the first ninety days, that's the recommended regimen following treatment, and Walker says she attends one most days. She started an aftercare program Friday that includes weekly counseling.

The mood swings continue. One day, Walker is upbeat and excited about her future. Another, she feels sorry for herself. Depression lingers and humility is around every corner. She has no car, no job and, at the end of this month, no place to live. She hopes a school will take a chance on her again.

Walker tries not to worry about what people think.

"I'm not ashamed to let people see me go through difficult times," she says. "Shame is good for me. I messed up and did things wrong."

Step 9 in AA's 12-step program is making amends, face to face. Step 8 is making a list of those you have wronged.

"Hers is probably pretty long," Tretton says.

Some will never understand. Others will never forgive.

"There are those who don't understand it's a disease," says Tretton, who celebrated his 28th year of recovery Tuesday. "But once you know you have the disease, it is your responsibility to take care of it. From that standpoint, she has a responsibility. But once you start using again, you don't have a choice."

Walker knows her road back is only beginning.

"For some, there's no explanation necessary," she says. "For others, there's no explanation possible."

Joyce Walker makes no promises. Her addiction doesn't allow it. If she stays sober today, it's a good day.
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source: Seattle Times

The Yellow Quill reserve's drinking problem turned deadly long before Kaydence and Santana Pauchay were left to freeze in -50 prairie winds by a father, suspected by his family of being drunk.

Two years ago, after several young people on the Saskatchewan reserve died of alcohol-related causes, the band council began a fierce debate about how to fix the community's rampant alcohol problem, councillor Larry Cachene said.

A group of elders advised them to establish a dry community - a common but rarely successful solution to epidemic drinking.

The Yellow Quill Tribal Council immediately championed the idea.

But, like hundreds of Canadian communities before it, the reserve soon learned the difficulties of turning a community dry.

"There were legal issues, enforcement issues, issues around housing - all sorts of issues preventing us from going through with it," said Mr. Cachene, a six-year veteran on council.

"We all supported the idea, but we wanted to do it right. That takes time."

Two years after the idea of a dry community arose, a council resolution to ban alcohol is on the books, but there is still no bylaw.

Searchers discovered the bodies of three-year-old Kaydence Pauchay and her baby sister Santana, dressed in nothing more than T-shirts and diapers, in a snow-covered field Tuesday and Wednesday.

Their father, Christopher Pauchay, was found nearby Tuesday morning and taken to hospital suffering from frostbite and hypothermia. Eight hours passed before he was able speak well enough to ask about his daughters.

Yellow Quill Chief Robert Whitehead expressed remorse Wednesday that a drinking ban was never enacted, saying that it may have prevented the deaths.

Those who've witnessed other dry towns suggest otherwise.

"The chief shouldn't be agonizing as if a ban was a magic bullet," said sociologist Richard Thatcher, author of Fighting Firewater Fiction: Moving Beyond the Disease Model of Alcoholism in First Nations. "In many cases, you're having to rebuild family systems and personal thinking styles. The solution isn't as simple as, 'Let's have a dry reserve.' "

Yellow Quill council's enthusiasm for an alcohol ban diminished soon after the idea was first proposed.

It considered penalizing drinkers with fines, but realized financial punishment could do more harm than good. "The majority of people on our reserve barely make enough money to support a family," Mr. Cachene said. "By fining a person, you're also penalizing the children in their family. You're caught with a double edge."

One section of the community even threatened to challenge any such bylaw on human rights grounds.

More than 230 native communities in Canada have enacted intoxicant bylaws, according to Margot Geduld, spokeswoman for Indian and Northern Affairs Canada.

Many of those are remote northern communities with no road access, where banning alcohol sales usually sparks a hearty trade in black market and bootlegged liquor.

In Kimmirut, a dry Nunavut community, liquor distribution carries at $10,000 fine. Even so, alcohol use is common, say residents, many of whom believe liquor played a role in the murder of Kimmirut RCMP Constable Douglas Scott last year.

In Alkali Lake, B.C., a dry town famous for curing many of the substance abuse problems that plagued it during the seventies, stopping liquor sales alone didn't solve the problem.

"There was no quick fix," band councillor Irene Johnson said. "We found that we had to help heal people as well, set up treatments centres, hold sobriety events and healing circles."

Nearly 25 years after the town started drying out, substance abuse still lingers.

"We still have our struggles, our suicides, our car accidents," Ms. Johnson said. But with a 65-per-cent sobriety rate, "at least the young people have some community members as role models."

Had a ban been in place, Mr. Cachene believes the deaths of Kaydence and Santana Pauchay "probably wouldn't have happened."

But he also knows it will take more than bylaws to dry out his community. "You've got to sell the idea that there is a better life without alcohol," he said.

"That's tough, especially at a time like this."

source: The Globe and Mail

Newport Beach seeks to rein in unlicensed 'sober-living' homes for recovering addicts, but faces suits from the firms and their foes.

The company's brochure features an aerial shot of the Balboa Peninsula and describes its 90-day drug and alcohol recovery program as "located in the warm, healing climate of Southern California."

It's that kind of promise -- in this case from Sober Living by the Sea -- that has made Newport Beach an unlikely capital for drug- and alcohol-free homes. There are at least 76 such facilities in Newport, according to a city survey, a number that has rocked sensibilities in a town where a premium is put on fun, sun and the good life.

"There has been an institutionalization of our streets and a taking of our neighborhoods that does not serve the residents or the addicts, only the for-profit operators," said Cindy Koller, a member of Concerned Citizens of Newport Beach, a group formed to fight the proliferation. She and other community activists say the heavy concentration of sober-living group homes, where recovering drug and alcohol users live several months at a time, has turned their neighborhoods into quasi-hospitals.

Tonight, the City Council is expected to pass one of California's most extensive ordinances regulating sober-living homes. Operators of the homes have threatened to go to court to block the law. The debate here is being watched closely by communities up and down the coast as a test of how far local governments can go in reining in a largely unregulated cottage industry.

Newport's fight mirrors tensions in beach cities throughout California. In 2000, San Clemente residents pushed with little success for state legislators to regulate sober-living homes. A few years earlier, San Pedro tried to limit "special needs" homes, which include sober-living facilities, without success.

Residents of Malibu, famed for its high-end rehab centers catering to the rich and famous, have begun to mobilize against the recovery homes popping up in their canyon neighborhoods. The homes number at least two dozen, city officials said.

"It's this daisy-chain effect that we're concerned about," said Malibu Mayor Jeff Jennings. "At some point, instead of living in a residential neighborhood you begin to live in something like a hospital zone."

Newport's ordinance would require unlicensed group homes of any size to apply for city permits. It would also subject unlicensed homes that share staff -- so-called integral facilities -- to city regulation. New group homes would be limited to areas zoned for multi-family residences -- about 1,000 acres of the city. Some activists insist that the city go further, but city lawyers say additional restrictions could be discriminatory.

Critics say the owners of the homes, mostly for-profit companies, market themselves to recovering substance-abusers who pay tens of thousands of dollars to attend rehabilitation programs in a beach town.

"These are businesses that are being operated in residential neighborhoods," said Lori Morris, an activist with Concerned Citizens of Newport Beach. "It's not the rehab homes we're against; it's the over-concentration." The bulk of the facilities in Newport are in two pockets on the Balboa Peninsula.

Opponents of the homes also argue that the peninsula -- home to about 11,000 people and swelling seasonally with vacationers and college students -- is the wrong place for rehabilitation facilities. The peninsula is known for its night life and raucous Fourth of July partying. According to Newport Beach police, 75 establishments sell liquor in the 2-square-mile strip.

"Why do they send rehab kids to the worst place to stay sober other than Tijuana?" wondered resident Ken Kuhlman, a retired salesman.

Sober-living providers say they are offering a much-needed public service and call Newport's proposed ordinance illegal and discriminatory.

Their patients are not the cursing, incessantly smoking nuisances neighbors make them out to be, said John Peloquin, a vice president of operations for CRC Health, the company that owns Sober Living by the Sea, the city's largest provider of recovery homes.

"They've portrayed our homes as nothing but flophouses," said Bill Swiney, Sober Living by the Sea's executive director. "These are professionally run, tranquil and peaceful facilities."

Swiney said his programs aim to give a realistic experience of life without chemical dependency, and that Newport is as good a location as any.

"We can't hide them behind the oleanders of Betty Ford [Center] any longer," he said. "We're trying to give them a support system so they can live in any environment. We want them to be able to walk right by the bars."

Newport Beach's 76 sober-living homes provide more than 500 beds, according to a survey done by Assistant City Manager Dave Kiff. Only 28 of the facilities are licensed by the state. The survey showed that Newport Beach has four times the number of licensed sober-living homes than it would have if they were distributed evenly per capita statewide.

The California Department of Alcohol and Drug Programs requires licenses only for homes that provide treatment on-site. Since many sober-living homes merely offer an alcohol- and drug-free environment, they are not licensed.

Cities may regulate group homes only if they have more than six residents. Under state and federal law, homes with six or fewer people must be treated like any other residence and are not subject to local control.

It's that lack of regulation, critics say, that has allowed the homes to spread through the city unchecked. The operators can lease multiple homes, house fewer than seven patients in each, then treat them off-site at a central facility.

The group homes are also moneymakers for the homeowners who lease to them. Because the operators can rent to as many as six people in each dwelling and charge a premium, renting to them is more lucrative than renting to vacationers, college students or families.

There's little doubt that Newport Beach will be sued if the council approves the regulations. Sober Living by the Sea plans to file suit once the ordinance passes, as does Concerned Citizens of Newport Beach if the city's ordinance lacks the teeth to substantially limit the group homes.

The state attorney general's office said in an opinion issued last month that neither state nor local government has the authority to limit substance-abuse treatment facilities, even if the community has more than enough to meet the local need. The opinion came at the request of state Sen. Tom Harman (R-Huntington Beach), who made a failed attempt this month to give cities more rights to regulate recovery homes.

Backers of Newport's ordinance, however, contend that the city is being unfairly burdened. Newport has the highest number per capita of sober-living facilities in the state, they say, although no comprehensive statewide statistics exist. The state keeps track of only the 910 licensed residential programs, which have a total bed capacity of 21,000.

Michael Cunningham, chief deputy director of the Department of Alcohol and Drug Programs, said California does not want a limit on recovery facilities. "We actually need more treatment facilities in the state, not less," he said.

Cunningham said he didn't believe there was an over-concentration of such homes along the coast -- though no such statistics are kept -- but acknowledged that that was where most complaints had come from.

The anticipated legal fight has turned cities throughout the state into avid spectators, said Laguna Beach City Manager Ken Frank.

"We definitely have group homes in residential neighborhoods; we definitely get complaints about it, and we definitely can't do anything about it," he said. "As you might suspect, we'll be watching this."

source: Los Angeles Times

SEASIDE - Helping people clear the "cobwebs" 12 steps at a time.

That is the mission of Awakenings by the Sea, a rehabilitation facility that has opened its doors in Seaside.

The state of Oregon is ranked 47th in available addiction treatment in the country and ranked fourth in need for addiction treatment, according to Jim Arnold, chief executive officer of Awakenings by the Sea.

"Our goal is to help restore the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual health to these individuals, so they can be productive members of society," said Arnold. "Unfortunately, many of these people have more than one addiction," said Arnold. The programs are 30, 60 and 90 days with the first 30 days costing patients $7,500 and declining by $500 increments from there.

In defense of the cost, Arnold said a $21,000 price tag for a 90-day round of treatment in the Awakenings facility is what some facilities elsewhere charge for 30 days. In comparison, the Betty Ford Center charges $24,000 for a 30-day inpatient treatment program, according to the Web site.

"(For the cost) people are hopefully getting well," said Arnold. "What kind of price tag can you put on that. The cost also covers individual and group treatments, room and board, family visitations on Saturdays and aftercare. "There is also a discovery of the disease process and hopefully the tools to lead a happy, healthy, normal life."

Aftercare is for those patients who need additional support after completing the program.

"It's not unlike out-patient care. If they have issues with life on life's terms, they can come back for additional counseling," said Arnold.

He also said that initially the plan for the facility had been to provide care for "high-end" clients, working professionals, but realized that "we were kind of missing the point."

"White collar, blue collar, no collar, we're here to help," said Arnold. "We didn't expect to get rich off of this."

Arnold says that while Awakenings is a business, it is also a service to the community and that the facility has taken on eight patients in the last three months who could not pay for the care they received. Those patients who received care without being billed were locals referred to the facility by LifeWorks and individuals seeking treatment for their addiction.

According to LifeWorks Director Michel Meiffren, it would be "advantageous to the recovering community here" for Awakenings to be certified to receive clients who are without insurance. The uninsured would be covered by the Oregon Health Plan under indigent care. Awakenings is in the process of being OHP certified.

"We have referred four clients to Awakenings and they took one in," said Meiffren. "To their credit, they opened two beds for indigent care."

Meiffren says the most important part of the recovery and care process is to have a continuum of care that follows through from a 12-step program to inpatient care to detox to aftercare to the 12-steps again.

"The more that continuum of care is established, the better for the community, and Awakenings is part of that continuum," said Meiffren.

The facility is licensed to care for 15 patients in a residential treatment program, during which patients are allowed to have supervised walks and are escorted to two Alcoholics Anonymous meetings a week outside the facility.

"Individuals spend 98 percent of their time confined to the building," said Arnold.

Those in treatment are free to leave, if they wish, but for the duration of their stay in the facility, they must participate in group activities and are either supervised by staff or self-supervised in groups of no fewer than three patients.

Patients are examined by an "on-call physician" when they initially check in to the facility, undergoing a basic physical and an inspection of all medications they may be taking to ensure that "what's in the bottle matches what's on the label." The patient's state of addiction is measured by standards created by the American Psychiatric Association, thus placing that diagnosis in the hands of physicians and councilors rather than in the hands of family members, as would occur in a traditional treatment program.

Internally, Awakenings has round-the-clock care on hand for those in residence and also provides in-house counseling that is supervised by Kris Hansen.

Hansen used to be employed by LifeWorks and according to Meiffren, the staff at LifeWorks has "the highest regard for her."

Hansen says the program uses a combination of the Minnesota Model which, according to the National Institute on Drug Abuse, is "typically characterized by a thorough and ongoing assessment of all aspects of the client and of the multimodal therapeutic approaches," and is employed by Alcoholics Anonymous and other similar recovery programs.

Hansen says she has been working in recovery treatment since the early 1990s, including in- and out-patient treatments.

"I prefer the intensity of residential treatment programs," said Hansen. She said that she "had a career change sort of midlife" from business management to psychology.

"I realized I wanted to help people," said Hansen.

The level of addiction assessment also determines the length of stay for a patient.

In the long-term, Awakenings will be comprised of three facilities - the Seaside site, a site in Bend and a site in Portland. The proposed Bend and Portland facilities are still in the theoretical stages at this point.

The building housing Awakenings, at 1325 N. Holladay Dr., Seaside, is a renovated church but is far removed from its roots as such. It was purchased by other owners as a potential home and then purchased by Arnold and his investors. According to Arnold, the community as much as the building helped him make the decision to locate the facility here. Annually, Seaside plays host to conventions for those in recovery and that, says Arnold, was one of those important community factors.

"Clearly, the community here is supportive of people trying to better themselves and get well," he said.

Arnold said the venture was a first-time effort for him and that his group of investors are all private investors who are in recovery.

"This is an avenue to give back," said Arnold.

The facility is unique, according to Arnold, in the features provided by Awakenings. There are bedrooms that are two or three beds to a room, several bathrooms, two sets of stairways that connect each floor of the house and a feeling of a large home.

'Feeling of home'

"Every client here or that has come through, said we have given them the feeling of home," said Arnold. "One man said this facility had done in 30 days what another hadn't done in 90. That bodes well for the treatment modality."

Arnold praised local business owners and the neighborhood around Awakenings for being supportive and understanding the economic and social impacts of addiction upon a community.

"All the neighbors are elated that we've improved the look of the neighborhood and increased their property values," said Arnold. He said neighbors were most concerned about the possible increase in traffic through their neighborhood but said their fears were eased when it was explained that the facility encourages patients to be driven to the facility, rather than driving themselves.

"We are not a lock-down facility and we believe it's better not to have extra cars sitting around outside," said Arnold.

When a patient completes a treatment program, they are given a party of sorts that includes their fellow recoverers as well as their families.

"People are so grateful to get their loved ones back," said Arnold.

source: Daily Astorian

For some Dalton Township officials, the house at 3071 Second is a zoning problem -- a boardinghouse in a single-family residential district, struggling to meet the legal requirements to remain in business.

For Ken Brink, it's a whole lot more.

It started out as a safe refuge when he left prison -- a quiet, structured environment where he could nurture his newfound sobriety.

Sixteen months later, it's become his permanent home. And he's become the lighthouse keeper for other substance abusers seeking recovery under the same roof.

"It's a plus to be a role model and example for other residents, but I also learn from the people who come here right off the street," said Brink, 51, the live-in manager of Serenity Springs Sober House, Muskegon County's only boardinghouse for men who are recovering from addictions.

"They remind me of where I came from, remind me not to get too complacent. There's no cure for this disease. It's a one day at a time process," he said.

But Brink and his housemates could be dealt a blow Wednesday at 7 p.m. at Dalton Township Hall, when the Zoning Board of Appeals considers granting Serenity Shores variances for several issues, mostly involving parking.

If the variances are granted, the township board will grant the sober house a special use permit to remain in business. If it's not, the boardinghouse will be closed soon.

That would be a shame, according to Joel Kruszynski, the owner of the house.

While he said he would probably try to find another location for the sober house, that would take time. And the people who need what the house has to offer might be out of luck in the meantime.

"There are some people who are clean and sober today who wouldn't be without that place," Kruszynski said. "It has done some good."

Relating to a need

At first glance Kruszynski, doesn't seem like he would be champion for men like Brink.

He's the owner of several successful businesses and rental properties, and spends a good deal of time traveling, fishing and otherwise relaxing.

But Kruszynski also is a recovering alcoholic with more than two decades of sobriety, so he understands what it takes to get and stay clean.

"I remember one of the things I noticed were people trying to recover, but getting thrown back into the same environment and circumstances," said Kruszynski, 55, who grew up in Holton and lives in Whitehall. "They go back to the same spouse, same friends, doing all the things they used to do. It makes recovery difficult."

As the years went by, Kruszynski's time was swallowed up by family and business concerns. But his interest in helping recovering addicts remained, and his chance to act came about two years ago.

That's when a friend who was struggling to stay sober needed a roof. Kruszynski let him use an open apartment in the upper level of the rental house he owned just a few yards from Twin Lake County Park. Eventually, another recovering alcoholic needed shelter and moved in.

A few months later, in the summer of 2006, Serenity Shores was born.

It's not a treatment center. It's simply a quiet residence reserved for men who are trying to maintain their sobriety.

There are rules for residency. Applicants are screened to determine their interest in staying sober. Rent is $450 per month, but residents don't necessarily have to be employed, or pay rent, during the early part of their stay.

"Most of the people we see have burned up all their assists," Kruszynski said. "Their families and friends have usually tossed in the towel. A lot of times they have nothing left."

Until recently, the house, which has three apartments, averaged six to eight residents at a time, Kruszynski said. The average stay is about 60 days, although some stay longer, he said.

The majority of residents make it through their stay without reverting to alcohol or drug use, Kruszynski said. If they use, they have to leave.

Even with the rental income, the house costs Kruszynski approximately $10,000 to $15,000 a year to operate.

While he would like to see the house become self-supporting, Kruszynski said he doesn't mind the expense.

"It's important that I go out of my way to give something back, and I think this is an extremely important thing that needs to be done," Kruszynski said.

Mark Apman, program director for West Michigan Therapy Inc., agrees.

Apman said the Muskegon area lacks an in-patient substance abuse recovery program for men. That makes residential programs like Serenity Shores, with its sober environment and strict lifestyle, crucial for some recovering addicts, he said.

"I think it definitely fills a niche," Apman said. "I'm familiar with a couple of men who stayed there, and it definitely helped to support their recovery."

Rules of residency

Residents of the sober house are forced to live a very structured lifestyle.

Rules include: a 10 p.m. curfew; no sleeping late; spending at least 25 hours per week working or going to school; doing volunteer work or a combination of all three.

Daily Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous meetings are mandatory. Rooms must be kept clean, household chores must be performed and overnight guests are limited to residents' children.

Most importantly, no drugs, alcohol or drug paraphernalia are allowed on the premises. Prescription drugs must be kept in locked drawers. Residents are encouraged to observe their neighbors and turn in violators.

The manager has the right to administer a drug or sobriety test at any time.
The daily rules of the sober house may sound rigid, but they provide the type of structured lifestyle the residents say they need to stay sober.

Brink is a good example.

He once was the owner of a successful used car lot, and lived with his wife and five children in a beautiful home on Bear Lake.

But then alcohol and drugs started playing bigger roles in his life. He lost his wife and business. He was convicted for possession of narcotics. He became desperate and moved to Arizona, in violation of his probation before moving back six years later.

The law caught up with him quickly and he was sentenced to prison. By that time, he had decided to get sober and started working the Alcoholics Anonymous 12-step program during his incarceration.

Afterward, he moved in to Serenity Shores.

"I was afraid when I got out that I would end up in a bad environment," Brink said. "I didn't want to take any chances."

source: The Muskegon Chronicle

IF YOU NEED HELP AND SUPPORT NOW PLEASE VISIT US AT The Sober Village or Sober Musicians where we care, understand and have been there!!

The holiday season between Christmas and News Year's Day can be a testing time for recovering alcoholics trying to stay sober.

If alcohol has a season, it is right now.

Alcoholics feel particularly vulnerable during holidays by pointing out to them the shortfalls in their lives. It's self-delusional, of course, but many alcoholics believe that because life has failed them, it's a reason to drink.

As if alcoholics needed a reason to drink.

Some drinkers believe New Year's is coming up so it's OK to drink. But, after the holidays, they are filled with guilt and remorse.

Other heavy drinkers say the holidays mean nothing -- that when you drink, it's just another "drinking day," as they call it.

At open-to-the-public Alcoholics Anonymous meetings in Lewisburg and Sunbury on Friday, members were eager to share their experiences and talk about temptations to drink during the holiday season.

Because AA members prefer anonymity, the names of those interviewed might or might not be fictious.

Shawn, of Lewisburg, said, "At this time of year, I tend to stay away from parties where I know alcohol is being served, but if I do go I just remember that I shouldn't be drinking because I am an alcoholic. I refuse any kind of alcohol. I have to keep on my toes and pour my own drinks if I can because somebody might spike it, or someone might pass you something and say it's just Coca Cola' or juice. I'll watch the drinks being poured or pour it myself. Those are some of the precautions I personally have to take."

Shawn recalls being at a New Year's party one year where there was much toasting going on. "I was with another AA recovering person and everyone was raising their wine up or champagne at midnight... we raised the soda up, and a woman looked at us quite derisively, and said, Oh look, AA has got the soda,' and laughed at me. I remember that."

Shawn has been sober eight years.

Steve, a recovering alcoholic (sober for almost five years) from Lewisburg, said, "The holiday season isn't really a difficult time for me. I've been in the AA program for quite a few years and I think that particularly at this time of year, you should go to meetings on a regular basis. If I start to feel a little uncomfortable, I try to hit more meetings. If I have to go to parties or other social events, it's always good for me to bring along another member of AA. If I can't, I always have a way out. I drive myself, so that if I am not feeling right about a party, I can just get up and leave. I don't have to stay until the end of the party, like I used to, when I was drinking.

"At this time of year, no doubt about it, I've had thoughts about drinking," he said. "I've driven by a liquor store and thought, ah, look at the price on that bottle. It's really cheap.'

"I always thought that if I went to a party and someone offered me a drink and I asked for a Coke, they would say, What's wrong with you?' But what I've learned through the years is, people don't really care one way or the other."

A woman who chose to call herself anonymous (she also refused to say where she is from), said, "This is a difficult time of year. Particularly because there are more memories associated with the holidays than any other time. I don't remember what I did on March 7 or April 20. They are not prime numbers in my mind. But Christmas and New Year's have family memories, memories of people who are gone and people who are here. So it's more nostalgic. There's more emotional booby traps than we'd have at other times of year.

"My advice for alcoholics is to do the same things they do every day. Use a sponsor, go to meetings, read the literature, stay connected. I don't go around alcohol a lot. I don't have it in my house, I don't hang out with people who drink it, I don't go to places where it's served. I'll occasionally go out to dinner, but if I'm uncomfortable I don't go. Or I leave. It's important to have a way to get away if you need to.

"Alcoholism is sneaky," said anonymous. "You're never over it. It's always there. It can be arrested, but never gotten over completely and it doesn't matter how many years you've been sober. If you are an alcoholic, you think about drinking in ways that are different from other people. There is always that illusion that it's been a while or I could do this or I could have that. All the excuses. If I drink here, it wouldn't be a problem. And there are stories of people who have relapsed after really long terms and they end up dead.

"I've probably gone to 8,000 hours of AA meetings in a 25-year period since I became sober," she added, sadly. "And many people aren't here anymore. They would disappear. There is a lot of loss. A lot of recovery too, but more loss than you'd imagine."

Bob, from the Mifflinburg area is 60 days sober. He said, "this holiday season has been a difficult time of year for me. I come from a family of party people and now that I don't drink, it was a little rough at first to be with them. They did, however, support me and took away the alcohol at Christmas parties.

"This time of year, I felt more alone than I have in a long time Even being with my family, I felt alone, because when you give yourself to AA, give up the bottle after drinking for two-thirds of your life, you also give up your friends you've known all your life. Your drinking buddies."

Bob is able to deal with the season by knowing he has a sponsor to turn to. "If I have that urge, I can call him if everything went wrong at work. I would come with all kinds of excuses to stop and have that beer. One won't hurt,' I'd say to myself. But it will. So you need a support group. The sponsor will come get to you, talk to you... and the urge will usually pass."

Ben, sober for five and a half years is originally from Pittsburgh, and lives in the Lewisburg area. "In the beginning, I had a very rough time. I was a terrible person. My holidays were tougher on my family than they were on me. I was drinking, blind drunk. I wouldn't remember anything the next day. If I did remember something from the night before, it meant I didn't drink enough. My family would cry all night while I was away. It's a family illness, and if you're married with a couple of kids the emotional damage for them is 10 times worse. It should be a capital offense. I really believe that.

"Active alcoholics hurt a lot of people, mostly their families. I didn't want to, but I did. And during the holidays? Wow."

All of Ben's drinking days were tough, he said, not just Christmas and New Year's eve. "Those particular days were just an excuse to do more stupid things. I even once committed a robbery during the holidays. Crazy right? But, at least I was able to do something successfully. Even if it was criminal. By that time, I was in really terrible shape. I nearly died from alcoholism. I was as close to dying as anyone could be. I came out here to die. And I started going to meetings, got some hope...and little by little, I started getting better. Things didn't get better, but I got better.

"I was divorced. My family wouldn't have anything to do with me except my sister, who lived in this area. My three kids wouldn't talk to me. My wife divorced me. I was literally alone. I had to lose everything. I had no job. No money. But once I got here, I fell in love, got married and I'm living a good life.

John, of New Columbia, sober for less than three weeks, shared his thoughts with the Lewisburg AA group and confessed that this year provided a "new experience at Christmas. It was the first time in a long time without drinking. I didn't knock over the Christmas tree. So that was nice."

At the Sunbury AA meeting, Gene, from Coal Township, who has been sober for 30 years, said, "I'm OK now. I can deal with the amateurs out there on New Year's eve, out to prove how good a drinker they are. This is a tough time of year for newcomers. They have a difficult time with the un-wise men passing off gifts of alcohol. It's that time of year. Booze is flying around pretty loosely. We advise our newer members to stay close to the fellowship, attend plenty of meetings and keep close to your sponsors, stay away from parties, events that serve alcohol if you think you might be uncomfortable there, don't stay around people drinking alcohol."

Talking about the holidays, Gene said, "for most of us alcoholics, we'd drink every day anyhow. The holidays are just a cover up to do what we do naturally. It's the time of the year when people see us in all our natural behavior and they make allowances for us, because it is the holidays and everybody's doing it. Not knowing that we do it every day."

Gene said that on New Year's eve there would be "60 of us at someone's home celebrating in our own, non-alcoholic way. And we do this every Dec. 31. We provide a safe place for people who don't want to drink that night.

"We have a feast. It's become a tradition for this group."

But there are other ways to avoid those drinks.

Consider these New Year's eve tips courtesy of the recovering alcoholics at the Sunbury and Lewisburg area AA fellowships:

Keep a non-alcohol drink in your hand at all times.

Be prepared with what you are going to do when someone opens a beer or mixes a drink, and sticks it in your hand. Be very firm.

Remember the people you know that don't drink much or any, and seek out their company.

Keep a phone list (of sponsors if you're in AA) with you. If you have problems and you feel like you might need some help, call someone.

If you're starting to feel a little thirsty, like maybe one drink might take the edge off the nervousness, leave.

Expect questions about why you are not drinking. One suggestion: Say "doctor's orders," and leave it at that.

The AA groups we talked to for this article meet regularly in St. Matthews Church on Front Street in Sunbury and in First Baptist Church on Third Street in Lewisburg.

source: http://www.dailyitem.com

Mamie Medrano, 44 and a recovering alcoholic, has struggled to find safe, affordable housing.

Living in shelters and then with relatives, she drifted in and out of homelessness for years, taking her young daughter with her.

Their lives changed for the better in November 2001, when the pair moved into The Holland Apartments in Roseland on the city's far South Side.

The building is owned, managed and operated by Mercy Housing Lakefront, a non-profit that helps provide housing, job training and other services to previously homeless residents.

The organization, which serves some 2,000 people in 15 buildings throughout Chicago, is funded in part by the Corporation for Supportive Housing. Both are supported by Chicago Tribune Holiday Giving, a campaign of Chicago Tribune Charities, a McCormick Tribune Foundation fund.

Medrano said her spacious, two-bedroom apartment brings her the type of peace one can only feel in the knowledge one has a safe, clean place to live. It's allowed her to focus on her other problems, to attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and work each day to fight her addiction.

'I can get sober,' she said. 'But to stay sober, that takes a lot of work for me.'

It's been hard to stay clean, and her resolve has been tested many times.

'I've been through so much,' she said. 'I grew up real fast.'

Medrano started sipping alcohol in her bedroom when she was 11. Now, when she's tempted to drink, she knows how to fight the urge.

Standing inside her apartment, her brow damp with sweat from cooking dinner, she's finally on firm ground.

'I thank God,' she said. 'I'm stable now.'

Her daughter, 9-year-old Mandi Walker, a playful girl who greets visitors with a hug, is thriving in the apartment, saying she's happy to have her own bedroom.

'It feels great,' she said, playing cards in the living room next to a brightly lit Christmas tree.

Residents living in other Mercy-run buildings echo the same pride.

It's been two years since Freeman Rufus moved into Wentworth Commons, also in Roseland.

He needed a place to stay after asthma forced him to quit his job as a meat cutter.

Rufus, who punctuates nearly every sentence with a hearty laugh, lived for a time in a shelter and spent a couple of nights in the lobby of a police station, anything to get out of the cold.

Wentworth Commons has not only provided him with shelter, but also has given him an added sense of purpose. Rufus, 56, spends much of his time volunteering, participating in voter registrations drives, neighborhood cleanups and other programs.

'I never imagined I'd be doing all of this,' he said, thumbing through a wall calendar that's nearly full. 'It's opened up the door to so many things.'

Rufus revels in the comforts of his small apartment. But like many residents here, he looks forward to when he can move and make room for the next tenant. Until then, he'll relish every day here.

'This is my family,' he said of the other residents.

Each tenant in Mercy's buildings has a case manager and property manager to help them take responsibility for paying rent, among other goals. In many cases, tenants are employed on site, some as custodians and desk clerks.

Part of Mercy's goal is for the housing units to blend into - and in some cases improve - the quality of the surrounding area.

Residents are invited to use the buildings' meeting spaces and computers. Tenants are encouraged to take ownership of the communities in which they live, which is why there is such a push to volunteer.

Organizations like Mercy Housing Lakefront couldn't operate without funding from other groups, such as the Corporation for Supportive Housing or CSH.

CSH, a national organization with an office in Chicago, doesn't build homes. Instead, it helps other groups formulate plans to build new housing units or convert other buildings into permanent homes by providing both money and guidance.

'Our role is to help organizations create this type of housing,' said Katrina Van Valkenburgh, the Corporation's associate director.

Peggy Haywood, 42, wanted to give her daughter and grandson a safe place to live. She and her family moved into Wentworth Commons about five months ago.

Haywood used to work for an attorney in a law firm. But when he left, she was out of a job. She now works as a clerk for another of Mercy's housing units.

'I'm very pleased with what I have,' she said of her apartment. 'It's quiet, secure. All of the apartments are well-built. It's my own little sanctuary.'

source: By Jo Napolitano
Chicago Tribune
jnapolitano@tribune.com

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