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Jason Russell (right) leads a praise-and-worship service in which the brothers lay hands on David Anis and pray for guidance to weather daily struggles. Adis was addicted to pain-killers and came to the ranch in April, after he had been to other rehab programs that used psychology and medicine.
Raymond Johnson focused on the positive parts of the program while negative influences surrounded him.
Brothers Austin Griffin (left) and Pete Diaz share a laugh and a meal of pork chops and gravy, rice and dessert. Neither stayed the full year; Griffin left to go back to work in Fauquier County, and Diaz was asked to leave after he threw a Bible at a staffer.
Austin Griffin (left) closes his eyes in prayer as other brothers around him listen to a testimonial. Griffin, 24, had been a heavy drug-user since age 18, but really got into trouble with heroin. He remembers overdosing at least 10 times.
Mike Arcidiaicno and Chris Jones load bags of garbage on a truck to take to the dump during a bitter rain last winter. Men at New Life are expected to stay busy and are assigned chores around the ranch, in the kitchen, at the church's thrift shop or in local food banks.
Last November, Raymond Johnson of Forestville, Md., was filled with spirit during chapel, held in the basement of the ranch dormitory. He had worked for the government until his addiction to crack cocaine got out of control.
Scott McKinley (center) helps Michael Currie turn his life over to Jesus while praying with him at the New Life ranch. McKinley, a 1990 graduate of the program and pastor of the Chesapeake Christian Center, returns monthly to minister to the students.
The men at New Life for Youth don't rely on medication or psychology to change their lives, but are encouraged to turn their lives over to God and follow biblical principles in their ongoing struggle to overcome their addictions. |
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THE SERIES Day 1: Seeking New Life Day 2: Dealing with Old Habits |
The Maryland man was ready to beg for help from anyone, anywhere. He had tried a rehab program through his government job, but it didn’t work for him, and Ray’s family searched for something different.
His brother heard about a faith-based facility near Fredericksburg where men like Ray spent a year learning how to control their addictions and rebuild their lives.
Ray’s family drove him almost 100 miles from the suburbs of Forestville, Md., to a winding, unlined strip of asphalt called Log Cabin Road. They ended up in a backwoods-sounding place called Beaverdam, on the border of Caroline and Spotsylvania counties.
They turned left at the sign for New Life for Youth and rode up a gravel driveway to a rambling white dormitory surrounded by open fields and patches of pines.
All over “the ranch,” as the men called it, were references to II Corinthians 5:17. The Bible verse was even carved into a tree and spoke to the divine changes that were possible:
“Therefore, if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: Old things are passed away; behold, all things become new.”
It was here, in this peaceful refuge far from the city life he’d known, that Raymond Johnson would try to get rid of the old habits that haunted him.
Thousands of men in need of a new start had been through the ranch doors since 1976. The program was created by Victor Torres, who later wrote a book about his life on the “evil streets” of New York City. He had converted from the same kind of lifestyle as those he tried to help.
He and his wife, Carmen, first ran the rehab program from their home, then developed it into a million-dollar-a-year ministry.
New Life current operations include the men’s facility in Spotsylvania and a women’s home, Bible institute and thrift shop in Richmond. They’re all directed by New Life Outreach International Church in Richmond.
The Torreses are senior pastors of the church, and their portrait hangs on a wall or mantel of every New Life facility.
Ray checked into New Life for Youth in Spotsylvania on Oct. 24, 2002. The ranch isn’t for young people only—as the name suggests—but for any man, age 18 or older, who’s sincere about changing.
The yearlong program is free and usually has about 35 to 40 students. There’s a $300 processing fee, which often is waived if students can’t afford it.
The men at the ranch call each other “brothers,” and there’s typically an equal mix of white, black and Hispanic students.
Ray was 34 when he made his bed on the second floor of the dormitory. He was in a 12-bunk room, right next to the bathroom, and he covered his bed with a quilt decorated with toy soldiers.
It was the only blanket his sister had in the car when his family brought him there, and he kept it because it was so warm.
Ray met others at the ranch who started smoking weed as teenagers, then got so hooked on alcohol, cocaine or heroin, some ended up living under bridges and eating out of trash cans.
There were men from all parts of Virginia and the East Coast and as far away as Puerto Rico.
They represented all walks of life; there were corrections officers and carpenters, accountants and mechanics. There were men who looked like they lived in back alleys and others who were so clean-cut, the brothers nicknamed them “Harry Potter.”
Some of them made deals with the court system to go to New Life instead of jail. Others were brought by loved ones who didn’t know what else to do.
Most of the students fit a profile described by substance-abuse counselor Dwight McCall. He works with the Rappahannock Area Community Services Board and says a third of his patients have lost everything to drugs—jobs, families, homes.
Nine of 10 men who show up at the ranch have hit that kind of rock bottom, McCall said.
In 30 years of working with substance abusers, McCall knows that addiction isn’t limited to age or race, social or economic group. It affects one of every nine people nationwide—almost 17 million—not counting cigarette smokers.
The disease wreaks havoc on the mind, body and spirit. “It’s not a simple disease,” said Elaine Wescoat, director of substance-abuse services at Snowden of Fredericksburg, “and recovery is not a simple process.”
Those at New Life believe it takes years—even decades—to develop the culture that goes along with drug abuse and at least a year to break those habits and start new ones.
The approach is different from secular programs, where most substance abusers are treated as outpatients and attend group therapy three times a week for one to two years.
There, they talk about attitudes behind addiction and are encouraged to stick with support groups, such as Alcoholics Anonymous.
Many New Lifers have been through those treatments, and some still have drugs in their system when they arrive.
They’re expected to get with the program as soon as they claim a bed. No one at the ranch has medical training, so students coming off hard drugs, such as heroin, have a brother check on them the first few days.
That’s when the user has the shakes, his skin feels like it’s on fire, and he can’t get comfortable.
When Brother Austin went through it, the 24-year-old from Fauquier County said his mouth felt like “somebody had crapped in it.”
After the withdrawal period come the daily Bible classes and chapel services.
And the work.
Director Roy Rivera, who graduated from New Life 13 years ago, wants the men to stay busy and out of trouble. Some have to go on “campaigns,” where they stand outside stores and ask for money to keep the program going.
Others unload furniture and stock shelves in the church’s thrift shop or work in local food banks.
The brothers are not supposed to cuss or fight, smoke or drink. They get no TVs or radios in their rooms “because of all the junk that comes across,” Rivera said.
The men don’t have to accept the Christian doctrine, but can’t criticize it, either.
“We’re not shoving no Bibles down no throats,” said Jesse Gines, the assistant director earlier this year. “We’re not asking you to be holy rollers or religious freaks, just use the talents God gave you.”
But God was the last thing on Ray’s mind when he came to New Life. He didn’t even believe in God. He thought somebody who lied and stole the way he did must be a child of the devil.
He hated the things he had done for drugs, the way he’d hocked his mother’s jewelry and stolen her ATM card—and his sister’s. He smoked away several thousand dollars before they stopped him.
Everyone in his tight-knit family knew he needed help. Even the drug dealer who drove a black limo through his neighborhood recognized Ray’s problem.
Ray thought he was “getting over” on all of them, and he liked the feeling. It was almost as good as the high that came when he was alone, when he cut a rock of cocaine into chunks, fired up a clear lighter and inhaled the sweet smell.
But even when Ray was at his worst, when he had nothing in the fridge but German beer, he always spent time with his son.
Nine-year-old Javan lived with his mother, and Ray picked him up every other weekend and took him, between visits, to get his hair cut or to the park.
He didn’t always keep his promises about taking Javan to places like Chuck E. Cheese—he was too tired from drug binges—but at least he was there.
Ray thought about how much he wanted to be a good father to Javan—all the time—when he checked into New Life.
But the man who once worked for Maryland’s Department of Social Services didn’t know what to expect from a program that encouraged men to let God heal them.
At morning chapel services, he watched the hug fest that happened after men praised God. They clapped and raised their hands in the air during songs, hugged the brothers beside them and sometimes fell on the floor when the spirit moved them.
The first time Brother Vance saw it, the 33-year-old Tidewater man who’d been in and out of jail, thought, “Man, what are these cats high on? If God is real, I want it.”
Vance came to the ranch the same day as Ray, and he was waiting for God to hit him like a lightning bolt.
So was Ray. But his conversion was much more private than what he witnessed around him.
On his third day there, Ray heard a voice speak to him during the morning song service. It said, “I gotcha. You’re gonna be OK.”
He kept thinking something else was supposed to happen, that he hadn’t been through the hard times men around him had. He never had the shakes or cravings they did.
He hadn’t been using since he was 10, the way Brother Carlton from Brooklyn had. Nor had he progressed from stealing a bike to owning a machine gun and going to Riker’s Island on drug-conspiracy charges, the way the New York man had.
Ray thought his conversion was too easy. He didn’t know that his trials would come later, months after he gave his life to God.
Ray didn’t think much about doing drugs again or “fiend” for them the way others around him said they did.
It wasn’t because he didn’t like getting high; he didn’t mind that one bit. It was the ugly aftermath he hated, the way drugs turned him into a liar and thief.
Every morning, he made himself quote Proverbs, about trusting the Lord with all his heart and letting him keep his paths straight.
Ray was assigned to the kitchen and often spread out his Bible, after he served up grits or sausage, salmon cakes or chicken patties.
He told those who came up to the counter, for chats between meals, that he was ready to give up everything associated with the “old man,” as students called their former lifestyles.
In December, he threw out an old gray shirt he’d brought with him. He was wearing it the day a dealer came to collect money, then hit Ray in the head when he didn’t have it. The shirt was still stained with blood.
“I was like, ‘Man, that’s in the past. Throw it away.’”
Other students accused him of putting on a front, saying he just wanted to be a staff leader. Student staffers got special privileges and could keep TVs and PlayStations in their rooms, and the brothers figured Ray was bucking for a position.
Lord knows there were plenty of students who talked the talk—and reeked of cologne.
That was a sure sign of smoking. The brothers used their hidden stashes of contraband—some nicotine, some stronger—then doused themselves in after-shave to cover up the smell.
Ray didn’t pay much attention to them, even in the spring, when it seemed like a week didn’t go by without someone getting busted for Marlboros, wine coolers—or worse. New students came, and others left earlier than expected.
New Life doesn’t force anyone to stay a year, and some of the men can’t take the atmosphere.
One called for a ride home after a couple hours. Another decided he’d rather go to jail than stay in church all the time, as he described New Life.
The comings and goings didn’t bother Ray, but a shake-up in late spring did, when three brothers he admired “fell.” That’s what the men call it when someone goes back to using drugs.
Ray’s roommate, Brother Jim, a man who talked about the ministry he wanted to create and the wife he came to cherish, took a crew to North Carolina for fund raising.
Jim dropped off the men at a shopping center and went to get high. He stole the van and about $500 in donations. He also got another thousand dollars his father wired him, after he told him there was an emergency at the ranch.
Brother Sam, the kitchen boss, was a short man with a big smile, a song leader who often reminded men of the need for reverence.
He went off to do the grocery shopping one day and never came back. He took $900 with him.
Ray tried to focus on Scripture, not those around him. But finding a focus was tough in May, when things got worse.
Brother Mark, who had graduated then stayed on to teach Bible classes, got drunk, then brought cocaine to the ranch.
He passed the drug on to other students, spreading crack from the dorm rooms to the mechanic’s shop.
When the director told him to pack his bags, Mark stole an old blue pickup used to haul trash. The police went after him, and the teacher, who said in November 2002 how blessed he was to get a whole year to change his life, ended up behind bars in Henrico County.
The ranch was in chaos. A student who’d been in prison said it was as bad as a jail riot.
Ray didn’t know what to do. He came to New Life, to this peaceful refuge in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, to get away from the drugs that almost ruined him.
After he heard “the voice” tell him he’d be OK, Ray made a deal with God to spend 12 months in the program before he struck out on his own.
But he was barely past the halfway mark when he was surrounded by drugs, again.
Ray wanted to get away from New Life as fast as he could.
Tomorrow: Raymond Johnson makes his decision.
To reach CATHY DYSON:
540/374-5425
cdyson@freelancestar.com
