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Akron Municipal Recovery Court by Chris Horne
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Pictured left: Recovery Court crew - (L-R) Rhonda Brink, Alexa Montesano, Judge Joy Oldfield, Laura Ramey, Jeff Sturmi and Emily Beers collectively work with 60 to 70 clients through the Recovery Court.
small blond boy scampers around on the burgundy
carpet, going as he pleases between the tables and chairs. He’s oblivious to the proceedings, even
to their addiction, not just drugs.
when everyone erupts into applause for his mother because she quit smoking four months earlier. Outside
Violent offenders aren’t allowed. Judge Thomas Teodosio runs the federal version, Turning Point, for felonies. Both have relationships with service providers so the clients in their courts
of these four walls, that might seem minor, but the people here understand. Every step counts. She smiles as she straps her son into a stroller, walking out of the Akron Municipal Recovery Court a little prouder than when she arrived.
get priority access.
In a movie, this would make a great ending — challenges met, victory obtained, the day and her demons conquered. But this day is just starting. Two dozen other
Oldfield says. “He had to tell me, ‘There’s relapse. It’s part of recovery.’ I learned you have to respect that recovery is not magic.”
something else, like fentanyl or carfentanil, that’s often when they die. Cassandra needs more support.
people are waiting to go next. Each faces demons that aren’t going away any time soon.
Her new understanding encouraged the judge
Perhaps ever. An estimated 80 percent of the Recovery Court’s clients are addicted to opiates. And still, they are buoyed by an optimism
to change the name from Drug Court to Recovery Court. This, she thought, put more emphasis on the solution, not the problem.
“I don’t have too many sober people in my life,” she admits.
that was in short supply before they arrived. Here, they are not bad people. They have an
It isn’t about diverting people away from incarceration, but rather helping people change
addiction. They can get help.
their own lives.
"We try to treat our clients with respect and dignity,” says Jeff Sturmi, Deputy Chief Probation Officer. “They don't often get a lot of that." As a result, they speak with a lilting hope that their future isn’t doomed by their past. They come in as addicts and leave as addicts, but
v
version of Big Brothers Big Sisters for adult addicts could fill that need.
Cassandra says she’s been doing better since her last positive drug screen. She had been sober for a month but then went out drinking.
“If I could wave a wand to change something,” Oldfield says over coffee, days after court, “I’d want everyone to have a community of support
Her caseworker, Rhonda Brink tells the judge her client is also an alcoholic, which helps
— 20 to 25 people you could call if things go bad.”
they are not defined by that alone.
explain how she ended up using heroin again with an old friend that night.
Sturmi has worked with multiple judges here
“I’m so ashamed and disappointed with
myself,” she says. but Judge Joy Oldfield, he says, was quick to grasp “the devastation of addiction.” When she “You cannot reward yourself with drugs and came in three years ago, she thought, as many alcohol in this program,” Oldfield says. “You outside the field still do, that addicts simply are someone who could have died.” make a choice to use, and they should just stop making that choice, and if they make the wrong choice, it just means they’re weak. She
This is true. When addicts relapse, their credits Sturmi with helping shift her perspective. tolerance is down dramatically. If they try to use at the same level they had when they were active, that’s when they overdose. If it’s cut with “I’m just a different person than I was,”
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This is where concerned citizens could play a role. Oftentimes, the difference between a successful recovery and a relapse is the number of people there to support you. Perhaps a
| THE Devil Strip / SEPTEMBER 2016 • VOL 2 • ISSUE #9
She calls this The Cocoon, the layering of structure and support, care and accountability that have made Recovery Court work for more than 1,000 graduates since it started 20 years ago.
“I’ve had people say, ‘I’m so glad I got arrested’,” Oldfield says, acknowledging how this imperfect scenario means addicts who aren’t in the criminal justice system wait an average of two weeks for access to finite resources. The alternative, she says, means letting things deteriorate further for those who’ve already been arrested for a crime. Because it’s voluntary, clients must agree to a set of rules and consequences. It’s designed with flexibility because the ultimate goal is recovery. However, to provide accountability, the threat of jail time is real. Each client is assessed and stabilized then they get a treatment plan. Caseworkers from Oriana House do weekly follow-ups then report back to the court, but clients can be referred anywhere for residential, detox, therapy and/ or treatment options. Service providers and law enforcement sit in court at the ready if needed. Sturmi ballparks the success rate around 75 percent, saying the “vast majority respond to the model.” Currently, the court’s capacity is between 60 and 70 clients.
v “It’s too bad everyone doesn’t have The Cocoon,” Oldfield laments.
v Clients qualify for Recovery Court by committing a misdemeanor that’s connected
There are two Christophers in court this day. One says, “I have lots of people I can turn to at church, AA, my family.” He’s going on a church retreat soon. He does temp work to pay bills, but he’s applying for something full-time.
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