Pubdate: Wed, 27 Nov 2002
Source: Washington Post (DC)
Copyright: 2002 The Washington Post Company
Contact:  http://www.washingtonpost.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/491
Author: Courtland Milloy
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/heroin.htm (Heroin)
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/rehab.htm (Treatment)

LOTS OF LOVE AND A LOT LESS DRUG ADDICTION

For months, friends of Carmelita Witherspoon have been looking for a way to 
thank her for the years she has spent helping people escape the bondage of 
alcohol and drug abuse. But Witherspoon, 62, just can't understand what the 
fuss is all about.

The latest plans call for a Mother's Day fundraiser next year at Lincoln 
Theatre, which is near Ben's Chili Bowl, the popular U Street NW restaurant 
where Witherspoon was working in 1960 when, at 20, she met a customer who 
turned her on to heroin.

Her triumph over addiction, which lasted 15 long, hard years, and her 
subsequent devotion to others in trouble, has led many in the Washington 
area to call her the "Mother of Recovery."

For some, however, a nice name is not enough.

"I met Carmelita 12 years ago, and she was very instrumental in helping me 
get clean," said Arthur Ashby, a hairstylist in Washington. "To see her now 
in a nursing home, waiting to be served by nurses on Thanksgiving Day, 
reminds me of how we tend to give our loved ones flowers after they are 
gone instead of while they can appreciate them."

In her room at the Washington Center for Aging Services, Witherspoon spends 
much of the day making collages for friends. Most of them feature 
photographs of people celebrating years of sobriety.

"I used to think men, money and jobs were the only important things in 
life," Witherspoon said. "Today, I have no money. I made some bad decisions 
about my retirement funds. But I'm okay with that now. I've had bypass 
surgery, and I'm a diabetic. My body is starting to give out. But I'm safe 
here. And l have a purpose in life. I believe it is to help people."

Helping her is what Ashby and Calvin Woodland Jr., an aide to D.C. Council 
member Jim Graham (D-Ward 1), and others have in mind.

"This is not a bleeding heart thing, and we're not asking people to go kiss 
her feet," Ashby said. "It's just that she has helped a lot of us move on 
to better lives. So all I'm saying is, why not thank her by giving a little 
something back?"

Witherspoon, the second of seven children, grew up in rural Croom. She said 
she always felt odd as a child because, "I liked to play in dirt and tear 
up my clothes." She recalled being punished often for her tomboyish ways: 
"For a long time, I felt my mother hated me."

Witherspoon graduated from high school in Prince George's County and spent 
a year at Morgan State in Baltimore before going to work at Ben's Chili Bowl.

"One day this guy walks in and says, 'Hi, baby,' and I guess that was all I 
needed," she recalled. "By the time I found out he was a heroin addict, I 
felt I was in love. I remember one night telling him that I was feeling 
down and he offered me a hit. Seven days later, I was hooked."

Witherspoon's life became a descent into shame and isolation until one 
"horrible night when the drugs didn't work and I knew I had to do something."

She entered a 24-month treatment program called Last Renaissance. She spent 
the first eight hours there seated before a sign that read, "Don't blow 
this chance." She didn't. After completing the program, she began working 
and volunteering at addiction treatment centers. A few years later, she was 
named chief drug and alcohol counselor at the veterans hospital in the 
District.

In 1976, Witherspoon helped start the first Narcotics Anonymous group in 
Washington and began inviting women to her home for "recovery retreats."

She is known for speaking from the heart.

"There came a day when I understood how much my mother really cared about 
me, and I was able to make amends," Witherspoon said. "Out of seven kids, I 
was the one with our parents when they died. That's when I knew I had been 
forgiven and that I could forgive myself."

Witherspoon became teary-eyed when told that plans for a tribute to her 
were moving forward. "I keep telling Arthur to stop it," she said. "People 
don't have to remember me."

Ashby said: "It's hard for her to accept credit for benevolent deeds 
because she lives by the rule of unconditional love. But if I have to, I'll 
twist her arm and make her let us give thanks."
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