Graduation Day

It could be any graduation – a room full of scrubbed-clean graduates full of pride, joy and the thrill of accomplishment. But all 62 guys in this class are wearing pink socks and black-and-white shirts with the words “Sheriff’s Inmate” printed on the back.

We’re sitting in the chapel at the Maricopa County Jail on Lower Buckeye Road on a Friday in February, and it’s Graduation Day for the Alpha Program – Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s drug rehabilitation program that has had remarkable results.

In this room are 62 men who have committed all kinds of horrible crimes, usually under the influence of booze or drugs or both. But for the past few months, their “work assignment” has been to spend eight hours a day in a rehab program that was created to give them back their lives – a program that tries to ensure that the forced sobriety they have endured behind bars continues when they’re free men again.

Today, their counselors have filled the room to tell them they’ve made an important step. Men call out each other’s names as one by one they’re summoned to get their diplomas. The entire group applauds for each man – this one with a military style shaved head, that one with tattoos climbing up and down his arms, this one looking like a fresh-faced kid, that one resembling a guy you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley.

But all the rough edges seem to vanish as I watch those expectant faces fill with such beautiful smiles. These aren’t the smiles of hardened criminals or scary men, but of hopeful adults who think that this time – please, God, this time – they’re not going to make the same mistakes that have so far ruined their lives.

It seemed to me that for some of these men, this moment – this simple, poignant moment – was the first taste of success they’d ever had. It certainly was the first moment of respect many had felt in a long time. You just know there have been many days in these lives when there weren’t any smiles or any sense of something good.

No matter what happens in the months and years ahead, on this day, they weren’t losers. Not anymore.

Anyone who’s dealt with addicts knows that, normally, their prospects aren’t great. In fact, the national recidivism rate for addicts is nearly 80 percent – eight out of 10 addicts who leave incarceration “clean and sober” will return to drugs and end up behind bars again.

But that’s not the case here, and statistics accumulated during the past 11 years show that most of these guys will never be drug addicts again.

Sheriff Joe’s Alpha Program sees just 17 percent coming back “dirty.” Think about that for a second. Just 17 percent. Less than two out of 10. The Alpha Program, headed on this day by former Phoenix Mayor Thelda Williams, boasts a success rate that is the envy of the nation and is being copied in other states.

This is a side of Sheriff Joe’s jails that doesn’t get the kind of ink he normally earns – usually because of his publicity antics or yet another jailhouse death that ends up in court, costing taxpayers dearly. Amazingly, the one thing he really can brag about isn’t a publicity stunt at all. His successful drug program could just be one of the best-kept secrets of the jail system.

I had never heard of it until Sheriff Joe himself told me about it at a holiday party at the home of Attorney General Terry Goddard. There we were talking – both being very polite, although he was telling me he didn’t like the stories I wrote about the jailhouse deaths, while I was telling him he had to clean up his jails – when he declared that he did all kinds of “good things” I would never write about.

“If you do something good, I’ll write about it,” I told him. He said, “What about my drug program that has a 17 percent recidivism rate?” and I responded, “If you’ve got a drug program with such a great rate, I want to write about it.”

And that’s how I got into Thelda Williams’ office in Downtown Phoenix to talk about the Alpha Program, and how I ended up at this happy Graduation Day.

Here’s one of the things I learned that impressed me most: “The sheriff has never asked me how many graduates we have in this program, he has only asked how many come back,” Williams says. “He doesn’t want to see these folks coming back.”

“Never give the devil a ride ’cause he might want to drive.” Terry Russell has been in the car with the devil, but he wrestled away the keys and is now a drug and alcohol counselor.

He’s been at this jail every Saturday morning for the Alpha Program, meeting with these guys and trying to get them to see the light, and now he’s a graduation speaker. “The only person who screwed your life up is sitting in your chair,” he tells them now to murmurs that imply they know that’s exactly right.

He urges them to keep up their counseling sessions even when they get outside – Alcoholics Anonymous should be their second home, he says. He knows – it’s been 1,998 days since he straightened his life out, and he still goes to meetings to keep it on track.

“You don’t want someone else raising your kids,” he tells them. “You don’t want your wife to leave you. This program works, man.”

Another speaker introduces himself like this: “My name is Jeff and I am definitely a drug addict.” Jeff has been here every Sunday – even Super Bowl Sunday – because he made a commitment to these men and kept his word. He knows how important that is – Jeff himself is a graduate of the Alpha Program.

Jeff didn’t start out in trouble. In fact, he started out as class president at Ohio High School and attended college before entering the Navy and being sent to Vietnam. He remembers his first big drug night. It was after his unit had destroyed a village that had two Vietcong in it, but also had 16 women and children. “That was the first time I ran from my problems,” he remembers. “I was called a baby killer, and I was.”

He was arrested the first time in 1988 and counts the next 18 years as one arrest after another, one jailhouse after another. He met a good woman during this time, but she was disgusted by his drug use and told him, “If you’re ever sober for a year, give me a call.”

The Alpha Program saved him. “I didn’t want to face anything in my past. My counselor had me start a journal,” and in writing about the pain that led him to drugs, he started battling his demons.

When he got out of jail, he got a job with the Veterans’ Administration Hospital, and already has been promoted once. Two years ago, he made that call to the good woman he never forgot. She hadn’t forgotten him, either. They’re now married.

“How many of you were proud six months ago?” he asks. Not a single hand goes up. “How many are proud now?” he continues. Several hands go up – some men are still embarrassed to admit the pride that’s so obvious in their posture, in those beautiful smiles.

Thelda Williams has since retired from the sheriff’s office, but everyone knows she is the reason the Alpha Program is such a success. And she, in turn, credits Sheriff Joe for giving her the directive to develop a program that works, and then leaving her alone to do it.

They started the Alpha Program in March 1996, focusing first on female inmates. “We knew just treating addiction wasn’t sufficient,” she says. “Addiction is a symptom of a trauma. Until you can get them to the core trauma, you won’t be totally successful.”

It’s no secret that the core of the trauma is often sexual abuse. “With women, it’s more than half; with men, about 25 percent, and it’s almost always tied to family relationships,” she explains. “The drug abuse problem in America starts at home,” she says with disgust. “I couldn’t believe it when I first learned how many addicts get their drugs from their parents.”

And that starts the vicious cycle. Williams knows that when she looks at inmates, “their kids are most likely to become our next customers.”

The Alpha Program started with women because, “women have fewer resources and greater needs,” she says, pointing to the main problem for the female population: “Women users are very co-dependent, they have super low self-esteem if they don’t have that man, and the men they pick are manipulators and users.”
As they introduced the program into the jail system, the criteria was simple: Inmates had to have “a sincere wish to change their lives” and had to commit to an intensive counseling program that would last until their sentences were up. “They have two weeks to prove themselves and we lose about half of them,” Williams reports.

This is a program that doesn’t know the word “coddle,” and is known to kick out anyone who isn’t serious. (The very day of the February graduation, one of the guys didn’t make it – he was ejected from the program that morning when it was found he was breaking jail rules.)

While in jail, they get intense counseling in self-respect, accountability, sobriety, responsibility. They learn to speak about their lives and own up to their crimes. They’re also trained in what most of us would think were simple things: how to fill out a job application, how to do a job interview, how to find a job, what’s required of someone who has a regular job, how to use the Yellow Pages, how to manage money.

Before they’re released from jail, they receive help finding a job, they get transportation from the jail to their new home, and they have in-hand the schedule and location of AA meetings. But they also have something you wouldn’t expect: both the e-mail and cell phone numbers of all their counselors, with assurances they can call whenever there’s a hurdle.

In the past 11 years, 4,000 inmates have graduated from the Alpha Program (about 7,000 have been enrolled). It costs about $1,000 per inmate to go through the program, and the money comes from the inmate service funds, not taxpayers. But it’s the low recidivism rate that is most impressive. “We’ve saved $96.4 million keeping them out of jail. That’s the price of a new jail,” Williams says with pride.

Early this year, Williams went to the Maricopa County Board of Supervisors to brief them on the Alpha Program. Most had never heard of it, but they became very enthused at the results she’s been getting. “The Board of Supervisors wants to know how fast I can expand the program,” she says with a smile. “My counselors haven’t had a raise in 11 years, and we can’t expand because we can’t find more counselors.” She thinks the board got the message.

“It’s very rewarding to see [people] changing their lives,” she says. “Maybe there’s a kid out there whose life will be changed because we helped Mom or Dad.”

Williams has encouraging words on graduation day: “The sheriff never wants you to come back, and he never wants to see your kids here,” she tells them. “Life isn’t easy – changing your lifestyle out there is what it’s all about. That’s the bad news. The good news is everybody is here to help you. You have a rough day, you call or e-mail us. Promise?”

In unison, 62 men yell out, “Promise!” Leland has been chosen by his group to speak for the graduates. “We all have grown so much,” he says. “We are prepared to be accountable for our own lives. We’re letting go of blame.”

Everyone applauds boisterously as he returns to his seat. Bryan also is a chosen graduate speaker. “We learned how to be honest and respectful,” he says. “We learned how to fill out a job application.”

Michael only wants to say, “Thank you for giving us another chance.”

Todd reminds everyone, “We tasted the misery and sorrow of an empty life.”

Preston wasn’t a chosen speaker this day, but you couldn’t miss his excitement as he waited his turn to be called forward. By then, the graduates were just expected to smile, take their diplomas and go back to their chairs. But Preston had another plan.

“I want to say something,” he says as he clutches his diploma. “Respect yourself. Respect others. Respect the law.”

Everyone cheers – including me.