Pubdate: Sun, 6 Dec 98 Source: Des Moines Register (IA) Contact: http://www.dmregister.com/ Copyright: 1998, The Des Moines Register. Author: Lee Rood, Register Staff Writer METH'S DAMAGE IS TRAGIC SIGHT AT 'GROUND ZERO' He was emaciated, sitting there in the school office. Fourteen years old, and the boy couldn't sleep, couldn't concentrate, couldn't sit still. Methamphetamine had burned the lining of his nostrils. He might have been the first hard-core crank user Kittie Weston-Knauer ever saw. And in his vacant eyes, the seasoned school principal got a glimpse of the scourge to come. "If this is what this drug does to people," she remembers thinking, "Lord help us when the masses get hold of it." That was four years ago. By now, a third of the 354 students at Casady Alternative High School in Des Moines have experimented with methamphetamine or are somehow involved in its sale or production, Weston-Knauer estimates. Some of the users get it from parents; most get it from friends and dealers. Next to marijuana and alcohol, perennial favorites among Iowa teens, it has become Casady's drug of choice. The number of schools like Casady tripled to 74 in Iowa during the past decade, largely because a growing number of students have become violent and disruptive. About 6,600 youths now attend such schools, several of which are scattered in such central-Iowa towns as Grimes, Altoona, Perry, Indianola, Newton, Knoxville, Marshalltown and Boone. Des Moines has two; West Des Moines one. Their students have troubled home lives, learning disabilities, sometimes children of their own. Some struggle with periods of homelessness or are habitually tardy or absent. Many experiment with drugs. Weston-Knauer says that 95 percent would be a low estimate in a tally of those who drink. With so many obstacles before them, it is no wonder Casady students often reflect those hardest hit by the state's meth epidemic. While the drug has taxed the resources of schools statewide, it is here, in an aging inner-city Des Moines school building, where its effects can be felt most starkly. "We are," Weston-Knauer said, "at ground zero for at-risk kids." While on-campus drug busts typically lead to a move for automatic expulsion, the school principal is not naive enough to think deals do not go down in school. Crank is available many places - football games, pool halls, outside convenience stores, from the windows of passing cars. Most afternoons, those who indulge can score on a street corner a few blocks away or at a friend's home. The small-time dealers readily make themselves known. "Meth's all they talk about," said Amanda Gamblin, 17. "They say, "I work on the street." That"s pretty much how you know." Users, also ubiquitous, are even more obvious. "Livin' Raggedy" "Meth is it" for these people, Gamblin said. "All they worry about is getting high. They're all broke down, livin" raggedy." In her old neighborhood near 22nd Street and Forest Avenue, Gamblin regularly dodged addicts and dealers. One woman, she said, offered her and a friend the rings off her fingers for crank money. Experiences like that - firsthand dealings with the pathetic nature of the drug users - are what keep a lot of students from using meth. Some have parents, friends or siblings wrapped up in meth life; others have learned the hard way. Sixteen-year-old Mandi Stone, one of several young mothers at Casady, says she started using crank when she temporarily lost custody of 2-year-old son Christopher, a hemophiliac, for denial of critical care. Friends offered her meth, and it dulled the emotional pain. "It was a big ol" rush," she said of that first time. "I wanted more. I haven't stopped wanting more since." Stone says the drug gave her boundless energy. She spent her rent money on drugs and eventually turned friends on. Her heart beat like a tom-tom day and night, she lost weight and, eventually, she began to look the part of the hard-core user. Losing her son became a probability. One day, she was caught stealing $1,000 worth of clothes at a store. Two weeks into her probation, she failed another drug test. "I turned myself in at 9 p.m. Aug. 4," she said. She admits that probably saved her life. Weston-Knauer says that in her five years as principal at Casady, she has seen all kinds of students succumb to meth. Rural kids. South-of-Grand types. Teens who flop from place to place. "It's clearly up," she said. "This year alone, use or distribution of meth increased by about 50 percent. Last year, too, we saw a marked increase. Four years ago, we had two, maybe three students who were users." She says it's almost impossible to teach them when they're using meth. "They're just hyper. They talk extremely fast, nonsensical. They can't concentrate. "They'll tell you it makes them work better, but that is not true. There's no logic to their thinking, but of course if you burn your brains out, you cannot think logically." Some "meth heads" will stay up Sunday and Monday, and sleep all day Tuesday. By Wednesday, they're back in class, zoned and lethargic. The ones who are the worst off binge on junk food, if they eat at all. Clothes hang from their bodies. Pockmarks riddle their skin. Casady has on-campus drug counseling and a health clinic - help available for the asking. But while students talk openly about drinking and smoking pot, meth users typically fear admitting their habit. Always a Struggle For Stone, who has been clean for more than three months, breaking free has been a constant struggle. "I feel like I'm still at risk," she said. "I still can't be around people who use." Reunited with her son, she now lives at a Des Moines home that offers programs for substance-abusing mothers and says she is grateful for the second chance. In time, she says, meth would have destroyed everything she held dear. "I was going that way," she said. "But, with the grace of God, I didn't get that far." - ---