Pubdate: Wed, 19 Jul 2000
Source: San Francisco Examiner (CA)
Copyright: 2000 San Francisco Examiner
Contact:  http://www.examiner.com/
Forum: http://examiner.com/cgi-bin/WebX
Author: Jim Herron Zamora, The Examiner Staff

ANOTHER OPTION: JAIL OR TREATMENT

She woke up Monday morning pondering suicide and began to look for
heroin.

Instead, Rhonda Maynard bumped into a couple of cops who gave her a
different choice: Go to jail or enter drug treatment.

She chose treatment and spent Monday night in a halfway
house.

"I was praying for something like this," said Maynard, 30. "I'm sick
of living like this - selling my body for heroin - but getting
treatment is a real pain in the ass. It's easier to buy dope and
forget about everything for another day.

"I've been shooting up since I was 13 and I look so strung out that
nobody wants a date with me. I just want to die," Maynard said. "This
program might just save me."

Maynard went into a program with the help of a collaboration between
the city police and health departments.

Called the Campaign Against Drug Abuse, it gives cops the option to
take drug users off the streets and "book them" into a treatment
program - usually a halfway house - instead of jail.

"The strength of this is that we have law enforcement understanding
the need for treatment, and that treatment is the solution to
addiction, not jail," said Barbara Garcia, deputy director of the
Public Health Department.

The City works with nonprofits to provide 20 to 25 beds a month in
drug treatment programs. Although there are waiting lists for such
programs, the police slots get a fast track.

"You've got to be able to get people in something right away," said
Lee Boone, a counselor with Positive Directions Equals Change, who
volunteered to help police interview users Monday. "Addicts aren't
good at waiting."

The approach began nearly three years ago when police Lt. Kitt
Crenshaw and Dave Tresmontan, head of the state Bureau of Narcotics
Enforcement's San Francisco office, applied for a federal grant for
new programs targeting users.

"The idea is treatment on demand," said Crenshaw, who has moved on to
another assignment after nearly 20 years specializing in drug
enforcement.

The state and The City also kicked in funds to get the program
started. Officers said it ultimately should save The City money by
keeping drug users out of jails and emergency rooms.

"We determined that each overdose case cost San Francisco General
Hospital $2,500 to $4,000," Tresmontan said. "We decided that San
Francisco needed a program that focuses on getting hard-core users out
of jail and the hospital."

It's a cultural adjustment for cops.

"I've participated in more than a thousand arrests," said Officer Bob
Hernandez, who has spent most of his 29 years as a cop in narcotics
units. "I love to put drug dealers in jail. But you look at these
addicts and they are pathetic. Jail alone is not going to help them.
They need some kind of treatment. They are obviously sick."

Hernandez, who administers the program with Officer George Nazzal,
said he was skeptical at first.

"I never thought of myself as a social worker," he
said.

In effect, Nazzal, Hernandez and their colleagues are learning how not
to arrest people who violate the law.

"Never has the Department of Public Health worked so closely with
police," Nazzal said. "This is a huge change fo us."

The program has gotten about 100 users into treatment in nine months.
Another 600 opted for jail. The reason, cops say: Treatment requires
more work and more commitment, and to many, jail is familiar turf.
Often, minor drug offenders are released in a day or two - or less.

One of them was Jeremy Cerny, who was arrested Monday on Polk Street
and admitted to police and a reporter that he had shot heroin earlier
that day.

"I just want to get the hell out of here," said Cerny, 24, who was
arrested for being under the influence of narcotics. "I'm all for drug
treatment. But not today. . . . I'm going to do this my own way on my
own. I'm in control of my drug use - not the cops."

He told police that he would only enter a drug program if police flew
him to New York City "or take me to Tibet. That would be a really cool
place to get clean."

Cerny, who did not have drugs in his possession, was released from
custody Monday afternoon and returned to the streets.

The program's success varies from day to day, shift to shift. Nazzal
and Hernandez go on their drug treatment operation about four times a
month. Each shift they can find beds for about only five or six users.
Often, they have to turn away a person who wants treatment.

"We've had days when we took 30 people into custody and only found
three willing to enter treatment," Hernandez said. "But then we've had
days where we had 25 people and 10 wanted treatment, and we had to
turn them away."

It's not clear how many of those who enter treatment stay enrolled or
remain clean. The Police Department's attempt at a follow-up study is
complicated by patient privacy concerns.

Nazzal notes that no charges are filed against people who join the
program, so if they drop out, there is no threat that they'll go to
jail unless police see them using again.

One of the people police encountered Monday was Patricia Sollid, 32, a
self-described prostitute and heroin addict in the Tenderloin. Sollid
readily agreed to treatment but said she had failed several times before.

Nazzal warned her: "This is a lot of work. Don't let us down and come
back out here."

Her reply: "I turn dates and I shoot dope to forget about it. Then I
wake up and turn more dates so I can get more dope. It's not like I've
got anything to lose anymore."
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