GOODBYE TO COURTROOM AND THE DRUGS THAT PUT THEM THERE

Ten graduates sit at the head table exchanging hugs, tears and
expectations, contemplating what lies ahead as they embark on a new
chapter in life.

Ranging in age from barely old enough to buy alcohol to almost
eligible for AARP, this isn't a typical academics-related graduation.
Each of these men and women conquered something much more daunting
than books to reach this day. They spent the past 18 to 24 months
learning how to be themselves, by themselves. They are reborn, with
the courage to change what they can and a new set of skills-like
banishing any thought of drug abuse.

In the words of one who hasn't quite reached the end of her journey,
"I've learned to let go, to live in my own skin and be a productive
member of society."

In their genesis, each rediscovers the world forgotten while
stumbling blindly through the thick fog of addiction. They find
escape from the cold steel shackles of methamphetamine in the warm
embrace of family and friends.

About 90 well-wishers join the class of Operation Breakthrough drug
court graduates on this warm, sunny November day to celebrate. Also
attending the ceremony are all the soldiers in a small army battling
addiction in this mountain community.

Judge Robert Law presides over drug court in a tightly structured and
strictly monitored program involving drug counselors, sheriff's
detectives, the public defender and prosecuting attorney, the
probation officer and court clerk. Quietly working behind the scenes
are Operation Breakthrough alumni, board members, volunteers and
corporate sponsors. In a concerted effort and under watchful eyes,
the wagons are circled in defense while individuals fight to conquer
temptations lurking in the shadows.

Law became an integral part of the grads' lives as each made at least
52 weekly courtroom appearances, followed by at least six more on a
monthly basis. He takes a no-nonsense, get-with-the-program approach
and mixes in enough tough love and empathy to keep clients in line
and motivated. They all know the consequences for screwing up, but
somehow they know Law wants them to succeed and find themselves
wanting to please him.

It's only right that Law officially dismisses each client from his
court, and he does so one by one like a proud father sending his
children into adulthood.

From the stage in the dining room at Pine Summit Conservative
Baptist Camp, Law begins the program lightheartedly. His bright,
twinkling eyes and toothy grin reveal the judge's emotions.

"Hi, guys," he says with a wink. "This is a lot more fun, huh?"

Law then speaks of the value in drug court and tells of his efforts
to expand the program.

"One thing we lack is a place for drug court clients to go once
they're accepted and get out of jail," Law says. "We need a place
they can live for a couple of months, until they settle into the
routine and get a job. Well, I'm working on that."

Then speaking directly to the table of graduates, Law issues a warning.

"You're graduating, so when you're successful and I see you in that
Mercedes," he says as another big grin escapes, "I'll be asking for
some money."

Law calls grads to the stage one by one, and as they approach the mug
shot taken upon arrest is projected onto a large screen above. A few
faces are unrecognizable, some are downright scary, and others have
the pallor of death on the doorstep. The men take a long look at
their disheveled dirty hair, wild eyes and grizzled faces, while the
women stare at sunken cheek bones and dark bags under their lifeless
eyes. An assortment of gasps, giggles and utterances of disbelief
escape the lips of attendees.

"That's a mother's worst nightmare," Law says of an image as a grad
approaches to receive his plaque and handshake. The change is nothing
short of miraculous.

Told by his counselor that when you start drugs, you stop growing,
another recovering abuser shares his perspective on the thought.

"I was 17 when I started," he confesses about his drug use. "I had
two years in the program, so I figure I'm 19 now." As someone with an
addictive personality, he says his list is long and his addiction to
sex is at the top.

"Well, yeah," Law interjects. "You're 19."

In a poignant moment, one says he's celebrating a new life that day.

"But I'm also celebrating a funeral." Pointing at the stranger's
photo glaring back from the screen, he says, "I'm burying that guy right there."