A Place Called Hope : Addicts Rehabilitate in Strict Program That Has Long Waiting List

Jheri Hatten is banished to The Bench whenever she breaks the most minor rule at Hope House.

Refuse to do her chores, tell someone to “shut up” instead of “be quiet,” or even call another resident “dude,” and she could be sentenced to spend up to 45 solitary minutes in a corner of the room--on The Bench.

But Hope House is no kindergarten.

It is a rigidly structured and highly disciplined program for 40 men and women who are among Orange County’s most chronic drug abusers.

And The Bench--which looks like any other varnished pine seat, about five feet long and almost three feet high--is at the core of the residential facility’s philosophy, a blend of tough love and intensive therapy.

Judges and county officials say that in the war on drugs, which frequently has placed more emphasis on punishment than rehabilitation, the treatment center is a very effective weapon that also offers hope for addicts who want to kick the habit.

“We need more rehabilitation opportunities, more places like Hope House,” said Superior Court Judge David O. Carter, who has sentenced up to 20 hard-core drug users to the facility in lieu of hefty terms in state prison. “Your heart feels good for someone and their family when they use this chance to turn their life around.”

Hope House is a three-story, blue and white California bungalow sandwiched between a tortilla factory and a doctor’s office on Anaheim Boulevard, and just across the street from a child-care center. Its dormitories house 28 men and 12 women.

County officials estimate that there could be more than 20,000 people in the county with drug problems serious enough to qualify them for the 145 beds at Hope House and at the four other county-funded residential centers.

But finding a slot at one of these residential facilities is almost always a test of an addict’s commitment to recovery.

The demand to get into Hope House is so high that addicts who crave help sometimes wait up to three months before their names reach the top of the waiting list. And they must call the program daily to keep their position on the list.

If a would-be resident fails to call, his or her name goes back to the bottom of the list.

This year, Orange County will spend $18.6 million on treatment and prevention programs involving drugs and alcohol. Based on a federal formula, that figure is about 30% of the money spent locally in the war on drugs, officials said.

But rehabilitation programs like the one at Hope House may become more common here and across the nation under the Clinton Administration’s upcoming health care reform plan.

Lee P. Brown, the nation’s new drug policy coordinator, said recently that First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton had pledged that drug treatment will be included in their health care program.

Brown said he and President Clinton both see treatment and prevention programs as more humane and effective than what he termed a previous overemphasis on interdiction and law enforcement.

Addicts “who want to be treated should be treated, but that’s not the case now,” Brown said. “A big part of the money we spend goes into our prison system, and yet the crime rate is not going down.”

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The vast majority of Hope House residents come from broken homes; more than half of them have suffered some form of sexual or physical abuse during their childhood, center officials report. And most have lived more than half of their lives spending the $200 to $300 a day it takes to support their addiction to cocaine, heroin or methamphetamines.

About one-third of the residents at Hope House are sentenced to the facility by judges such as Carter. The others are referred by other agencies, or enroll for themselves.

Like 26-year-old Hatten, who said she had posed for adult magazines and performed as an exotic dancer before she moved into Hope House four months ago.

Her life began a downhill slide at age 9, she said, when some family members began her on marijuana.

She and other family members were molested during their childhood, she said, and at 16, she became addicted to cocaine and heroin, an addiction that has sometimes cost her up to $2,400 a week.

“Sometimes I want to run away from here because this little voice in me says that I am a drug addict and I’ll always be a drug addict,” said Hatten.

“But I want to achieve certain things in life. Simple things like getting married some day, and giving my (future) kids a safe and healthy relationship.”

Another resident, Mark Bunce, 33, described the center as his only hope to break away from cocaine. The former sailor said he realized that cocaine was destroying his life when his two sons, ages 6 and 4, were taken from him by county social workers because Bunce was neglecting them.

Under a court-ordered plan, Bunce must complete Hope House’s 18-month regimen--he has been there almost a year--and additional parenting classes before he can regain custody of his sons, who are now in foster homes.

“I’ve been learning here that there’s hope for addicts,” Bunce said.

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Marc Corradini, the center’s executive director, attributes the center’s success to a social model based on peer pressure, heavy doses of therapy and instilling in residents the ability to think through and make good choices for themselves.

Newcomers to Hope House are assigned a big brother or big sister, a veteran resident who tells them about house rules and the struggle to recovery.

Addicts, who must acknowledge that they have lost all self-esteem during their addiction, are taught basic tasks like how to dress neatly, how to make a bed and even personal hygiene.

Residents follow a firm schedule, attending group meetings and individual counseling sessions or they go to The Bench.

Corradini described The Bench as a “timeout tool” that encourages residents to manage their frustrations and impulses.

“Without The Bench, Hope House could not really function,” Corradini said. “It is a place where you sit down and get in touch with your feeling and your actions. . . .”

During their last few months in the program, residents must be able find a job in the community. After giving the center half their wages, residents are expected to save $200 a month.

Residents are graduated only when they meet certain requirements, including having at least $1,200 in a bank account.

Surveys of Hope House graduates three years out of the program show that 75% to 80% of them have stayed off drugs.

The center, which receives most of its $560,000 budget from the county and a United Way grant, said it costs $50 a night for Hope House to rehabilitate a drug addict, about $20 less than the daily cost of maintaining an inmate prisoner in state prison.

Cathy Stills, the center’s clinical director, said it would cost $500 to $1,100 a day for similar treatment at a private hospital.

The center’s success is widely praised by county officials.

“It’s a very good deal for the taxpayer,” said Len Liberio, who manages the county’s contracted drug programs.

Judge Carter, who has attended several graduations at Hope House, said he believes that Hope House provides “a better balance between the punishment aspect and the rehabilitation aspect” in the battle against drug abuse.

“People have to know that they are going to state prison if they fail in this program,” Carter said. “They need to have a hammer over their heads. . . .”