Judge believes drug court offers solution

 By Karin Grunden

 January 24, 2003

She made it: Crystal Helderman (right) shakes hands with Judge Barbara Brugnaux after receiving a certificate of achievement during graduation from Vigo County Drug Court on Dec. 18. (Tribune-Star/Joseph C. Garza)

About two dozen people -- mostly men -- fill the long, wooden benches inside Vigo County Superior Court Division 5, chatting as the clock ticks past 11 a.m. Wednesday.

The hushed conversations continue as court staff and addictions counselors filter into the room, taking their places seconds before the judge hustles in, wearing the traditional long, black robe.

"All rise," a court official announces.

Silence.

Judge Barbara L. Brugnaux takes a seat at the front of the room, as Vigo County Drug Court gets under way.

Brugnaux helped initiate the program in 1996, a few years after seeing a television show feature a Miami drug court.

Earlier, as a deputy prosecutor and then later as judge, Brugnaux was bothered by the revolving nature of the system. She saw many people with addiction problems back in court time after time.

Drug court offers a real solution, she believes, with earlier intervention than the traditional court system, more intense supervision and more accountability.

It is typically available for defendants with class-D or C felony drug charges or multiple drunken driving charges. Participants enroll voluntarily after being screened by a deputy prosecutor. The program is limited to 85 people and does not include defendants with violent pasts.

Those enrolled in drug court are required to undergo regular drug testing, attend counseling and enroll in a self-help group as well as pay for at least a portion of the program's costs. Grants totaling $120,000 fund the salaries of the drug court coordinator, a case manager, a field officer and urine screening technicians.

Participants are usually in the program for 15 months. They report periodically for progress updates during weekly drug court sessions, held for about 1 1/2 hours on Wednesdays.

In turn for successfully completing the program, charges are dismissed.

On this day, Brugnaux calls Crystal Helderman to the stand. Wearing jeans, a red shirt and gray fleece jacket, the 20-year-old cuddles her infant daughter against her chest as she makes her way through a swinging wooden gate to the front of the courtroom.

Standing before the judge, Helderman acknowledges that her financial situation won't allow her to graduate from drug court today. She still has fees to pay, and the judge sets Helderman's graduation in three weeks.

The pace is quick. One by one, others stand before the judge, each handing in paperwork that documents attendance at self-help meetings.

"Keep up the good work," Brugnaux says to one defendant during the string of status hearings.

"Everything looks good," she tells another.

One girl, who is pregnant, marks her one-year anniversary with the program. "Take care of yourself," the judge says.

Not everyone receives such glowing words from Brugnaux.

A woman with layered brown hair and heavy eyeliner approaches the judge. Just three weeks earlier, Brugnaux had ordered the woman to spend 24 hours in jail, a sanction for testing positive for amphetamines -- the class of drugs that includes methamphetamine. Yet, even after being locked up for a day, the woman's urine screens continued to show the presence of the same drug.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Brugnaux asks. With tears welling in her eyes, the woman gives an inaudible answer.

"You made the choice for yourself," Brugnaux says, ordering the woman to more jail time.

Continuing to cry, the woman walks to a nearby bench, sits down and sticks out her wrists, awaiting a jailer to slap on the cuffs.

Before long, two men join her on the bench. Both tested positive for amphetamines.

Others who are newer to drug court watch as the three are led away.

"Everyone else in the courtroom can have a big sigh of relief," Brugnaux says, a comment that elicits a few chuckles.

At an April statewide summit on methamphetamine, Brugnaux said organizers realize relapse is part of drug court.

Sanctions are part of what makes the program work, said Paul Southwick, coordinator of Vigo County Drug Court. "It holds them accountable," he said.

He acknowledges that drug court isn't for everyone. "You can have the greatest treatment program and, ultimately, it falls back on the individual's desire to change," he said.

Since its inception, 456 people have enrolled in Vigo County Drug Court as of mid-November. Of those, nearly half -- 223 -- have been expelled or were awaiting expulsion.

"If I didn't know anything about addictions, I'd be a little frustrated," Southwick said of the expulsion numbers.

But even some who fail drug court can be considered successes, Southwick said. He's aware of participants who used drugs their entire adult lives, yet quit using for a few months. Others ultimately find help in other ways, Southwick said.

More than 150 people have graduated from drug court over the past six years. Of those, 19 people have been re-arrested on drug charges in Vigo County.

Southwick points to results from drug screenings to show the program does work. Since drug court began in Vigo County, 88 percent of all participants' urine screens have come back clean. Comparatively, 69 percent of people under general court supervision in the county have had clean urine screens.

One Terre Haute addictions counselor gave the program high marks. "It's a breath of fresh air," said Ed Ross, supervisor of addiction services at Hamilton Center.

Helderman, who maintained sobriety during her 13 months in the program, said drug court clearly offers a chance to recover.

On a chilly December day, she arrives back in the courtroom for her final day in drug court. Along with three others, she's presented a certificate of achievement and key chain for completing the program.

Helderman, the same woman who was escorted to court months ago chained to other inmates, stands in front of the courtroom smiling.

For Brugnaux, it's one of the better moments of being judge.

"We have a lot to celebrate today," she says.