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Human Earth Animal Liberation
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HEAL HEAL’S MISSION STATEMENT HEAL is an egalitarian network of activists self-empowered to plan events, create change, and make the world a better place for all life. Our goals include the liberation of humans, nonhuman animals, and the earth! We work in cooperation with like-minded organizations that put compassion in action! |
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THE TRUTH ABOUT STRAIGHT, INC & TEEN
CHALLENGE
(Including Survivor Reports & History) Check Out The Teen Challenge Survivor Site at: www.teenchallengeexposed.com/index.html
and The New Teen Challenge Cult Blog at: http://teenchallengecult.blogspot.com/
The Drug Free America Foundation/Straight Inc./Franklin Cover-Up Connection: http://drugfreeamericafoundation.blogspot.com/ Drug War Casualties--Innocent Children Tortured at Straight: http://www.webdiva.org/fox/ Straight to Pathway--How Straight Inc. led to Pathway Family Center Click Here to Skip to Straight, Inc. Survivor Statements Click Here to Skip to Teen Challenge Survivor Statements KHK, PFC, Straight, and Straight Spin-Off Program Survivor Message Forum Teen Challenge--The Battle in Meansville, GA (Special Thanks to Rhoda Dunn)
AARC--Straight Spin-Off in Canada Protested in June, 2009, Follow Links Below:
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=67367255929&ref=ts
http://www.flickr.com/photos/thivierr/sets/72157619185396811/
AARC--Straight Spin-Off in Canada--Powerless--CBC News Special Report (fair use notice):
Powerless (Entire video): Straight Inc By Charles C. From fall of 1989 to the summer of 1991 I was held against my will for 22 months in the Atlanta, GA chapter of an organization called “Straight Inc”. Straight was arguably the most flamboyantly brutal behavioral “drug and eating disorder treatment center” in American history. At least the government thought so. By 1993 every chapter of Straight had been shut down after having deemed to be in violation of multiple state laws. My personal experience with Straight was so bad that it is difficult to describe, even a decade after the fact. It had the characteristics of prison, mental hospitals, ‘70’s-era cults, and “boot camp” facilities, but was actually a lot worse than any of the latter. It remains, to this day, the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Straight’s approach to “treatment” was not new. As early as the mid-twentieth century, it was fairly well known that you could change an individual, at least temporarily through severe and long-term behavior modification. To do this, you simply cut them off from contact with all friends, family, news or information about the outside world (not to mention access to reading materials, TV, movies, music, writing, the telephone, the internet, or sunshine), strip them of all markers of identity (clothes, or hairstyles), make them repeatedly, publicly confess their most humiliating or shameful secrets, insult and humiliate them repeatedly in front of large groups of people, shout at them until they weep on a regular basis, give them an inadequate amount of sleep, and place them in situations of long term stress, pain, and discomfort. Subject an individual to these conditions for long enough and they will do, or think anything you want them to, at least for a while. Either that or they just go crazy, and people in Straight Inc went crazier than anything I ever witnessed in jail, the psyche ward, or anywhere else. After the Korean War, when returning American POWs who had been subjected to similar conditions described them to researchers this process was given a name: brainwashing. Unfortunately, the latter term doesn’t really accurately describe a process that is both physical, and emotional, not to mention a very long and intensely unpleasant process that does not, in many cases, succeed in doing what it intended. Straight was popular because it produced short-term results. Parents put their misbehaving teenagers in Straight, and got back girls and boys with short conservative haircuts and bland clothing, who couldn’t seem to do enough apologizing, and seemed to deeply, tearfully regret all previous antisocial behaviors, to a degree that must have seemed downright eerie. Unfortunately, any positive results that Straight produced were almost always temporary (in the last ten years I have not met anyone who was in the Atlanta Straight program that has stayed “sober”). The negative side-effects (including, in my case, reoccurring bouts of overwhelming rage, nightmares, and permanent estrangement from my family) tend to linger. Parents of “Straightlings,” the only people standing between the kids and the staff in Straight, were not allowed to see or even talk about what went on behind closed doors. Kids in the program were not allowed to talk about it either (especially to police, lawyers, or state government officials). As a result Straight was able to conceal beatings, broken limbs, suicide attempts, sleep deprivation, and keeping kids out of public school for years at a time. What follows is an abbreviated history of the Straight organization and its offshoots. My sources for this article (aside from what I saw for myself in the Atlanta program) come from “The Straights,” the largest assembled collection of news articles, government documents, and personal histories online. If you feel that any of the information in it is inaccurate, feel free to write HEAL. Straight’s Origins Straight is largely a product of the 1970’s, an era when people were experimenting with living on isolated communes, joining cults, and attempting to change themselves for the better by taking part in voluntary quasi-psychological programs like “EST,” and other manifestations of the “human potential movement”. All of the cryptic language that was still used in Straight by 1991, such as “rap sessions” and “copping out” had its roots in the 70’s, a time when many parents were terrified by fallout from the ‘60’s counterculture, and the increased availability of new drugs. This climate of parental dread probably helped Straight’s founders attempts to justify the program’s brutality. The organization that birthed Straight was called (weirdly enough) “The Seed,” and was fairly similar to Straight in the way that it applied hardcore physical and psychological abuse to disobedient teenagers in hopes that it would make an ordinary life without drugs seem pleasant in comparison. As the story goes, fed up parents who had tried everything else, who’s lives had been torn asunder by their raging, out of control, drug-dependent offspring banded together to create a new kind of guerilla anti-drug program so severe and awful that it could fix even the worst addicts forever. At least that’s the legend that my father was told about The Seed by the “parent group” of Atlanta Straight. The Seed was actually begun by a retired comedian named Art Barker. Incorporated in 1972, The Seed conducted business for only four years before it became the subject of a Senate investigation, which dubbed its methods “potentially harmful,” and subsequently shut down. Two of the parents whose children were involved in The Seed, Mel Sembler and Joe Zappala started Straight in 1976, vowing apparently, that it would be a more humane program. It wasn’t; out of the ten “board members” who founded Straight, almost all quit within the first year of Straight’s operation claiming that the new program was just as bad “if not worse” than The Seed had been. Nevertheless, Melvin Sembler was able to expand his operations fairly quickly. Though Straight’s techniques (sleep and food deprivations, beatings, humiliation exercises, etc.) had originally been used on the most serious drug addicts, Straight quickly began taking kids who were not (at least in the sense of physical addiction) addicts at all, and young teenagers who had barely experimented with controlled substances. Eventually, Straight chapters appeared in Texas, Ohio, California, DC, Virginia, and Georgia. Throughout the 1980’s Straight would expand itself from a drug treatment facility, to a program that claimed it could fix just about any disobedient teen behavior from “behavior problems” to “eating disorders”. The program gained a new veneer of respectability with endorsements from the Reagan Administrations, as thousands of teens were placed in the program by fearful parents, or the courts. The Fallout Then came a deluge of lawsuits, state investigations, and horror stories that lasted more than a decade. Among a plethora of suits against the program, the Massachusetts chapter of Straight was forced to pay several thousand dollars after a judge found them guilty of “false imprisonment” in 1983. Two former Straight clients won two lawsuits against Florida Straight chapters on the same grounds (Straight decided to settle in both cases). The mother of a 17-year-old named Michael Daniels who had been in St. Petersburg Straight attempted to sue the program as well, claiming that it drove her son to “psychic breakdown and paranoid schizophrenia”. Dr. Ali Kashfi, Daniels’ psychiatrist confirmed in court that his patients’ condition was “10 times worse after Straight”. In 1984 the Florida State Department of Human Resources threatened to revoke Straight’s license to operate unless it stopped coercing or tricking clients into entering the program. Florida Assistant State Attorney David Levin compared Straights techniques to “child abuse” and “torture”. Before the Cincinnati, Ohio chapter of Straight was shut down, Cincinnati ACLU director Marge Robinson likened its practices to “psychic murder”. The Santa Ana, CA District Manager for The Department of Social Services accused its state’s Straight chapter of “infliction of pain, humiliation, intimidation, ridicule, threat” and “mental abuse”. Jacqueline Ennis, former head of licensing for Virginia’s Department of Mental Health criticized the Virginia Straight for unreported suicide attempts on the part of teens in the program, forcing kids “to reveal their sexual fantasies during group sessions,” as well as the practice of “spit therapy,” where “children would spit on each other to reduce their egos”. According to Canadian Researcher Dr. Barry Bereyson, “Straight often left ‘restrained’ group members sitting in their own urine, feces, or vomit until suitable concessions were extracted”. Atlanta Straight, the chapter I attended, was cited by the state DHHS for (among other things) denial of water, sleep, and medical attention, as well as illegal dispensing of medications. Strip searches, kidnapping, hair pulling, beatings, broken bones, denial of food and water, “marathoning” (keeping kids awake for days at a time), “nitpicking,” (in which teens were held down and pinched or poked), and a procedure called “the spanking machine” (where kids were forced to run a gauntlet of people beating them on the ass), are only a few of the other accusations leveled at Straight by former clients, parents, and state investigators. The kids getting physically injured weren’t just the “misbehavers” trying to escape, but also the young teenagers (some as young as 12) who were kicked, punched, or head-butted, or smashed with elbows in their attempts to “restrain” the disobedient. By 1993 all Straight chapters had been closed down. The truth about Straight needs to remain in steady circulation, for it’s model is still being promoted, or mimicked by adults who have never experienced its egregiousness firsthand. Straight founder Melvin Sembler, former Straight bigwig Dr. Miller Newton, and others have spent the last twelve years since Straight closed down attempting to re-open the program under new names such as Atlanta’s “Phoenix Institute,” New Jersey’s “KIDS,” Teen Challenge (in association with Drug Free America Foundation, founded by the Semblers) or Florida’s SAFE. Newton and Sembler are perhaps the two ultimate supervillians of torture therapies, and their own backgrounds are as bizarre as Straight’s “recovery” techniques. Newton authored the pro-Straight tract entitled Gone Way Down, that helped popularize Straight’s brutal approach in the 1980’s. He was a former Straight Assistant Director who resigned his post amidst lawsuits against Straight, including one by a teenage girl who claimed he had thrown her into a wall. Since Straight’s closing he has been attempting to open Straight-like organizations, many of which have had chapters shut down, during the past decade including KIDS in northern New Jersey. Newton settled for 4.5 million after KIDS was sued by a former client alleging abuse. KIDS was also forced to settle after being sued for 254 counts of insurance fraud and several of the staff at KIDS received criminal convictions as well (for beatings carried out in the program), and soon KIDS, like Straight was forced to shut down its operations. Quite a few former KIDS clients have reported being beaten by Newton himself, and his track record in this regard is worth looking into, as connotations of sadism seem in evidence, at least to me (See “Closure for a Quack Victim,” from the January 2000 issue of New Jersey Law Journal, available online). Recently Newton decided to become a priest and changed his name to “Father Cassian,” and is being monitored by a watchdog organization that looks into the backgrounds of abusive priests. The last I heard, he was living in Florida. Straight founder Melvin Sembler was George W. Bush’s first-term and extremely wealthy American ambassador to Italy, and former ambassador to Australia (he very literally “purchased” this last title), with large landholdings in the United States and elsewhere. A powerful political friend of and fundraiser for the Bush family, Sembler is nonetheless dogged constantly (as much as it is possible for one to be dogged while living in another nation) for his involvement in Straight and Florida’s SAFE. Without his millions, and his political connections, it seems unlikely that Sembler would have been able to survive the swamp of lawsuits lodged at Straight and its subsidiary programs over the years, but he has pursued the marketing of the Straight model with a rabid enthusiasm unmatched by anyone on the planet. Along with his wife Betty, Sembler continues to cheerlead for Straight-type programs, and fight the prescription of marijuana on medical grounds Betty Sembler can be reached at betty@dfaf.org. To this day the Semblers insist that Straight is a functional, safe, and legal way to prevent drug use. I imagine that they have not bothered to look into the number of people who actually stayed “sober” after graduating the program, the number of people who avoided drugs after disobediently escaping, or the amount of ex-Straightlings that did more drugs (or killed themselves) after release from Straight, due to the trauma they experienced there. Because Straight, (and most of the program’s based upon it) breaks off all contact with families who “withdraw” their children from it, or anyone who criticizes it, no one knows these exact numbers. The key to defeating the Straight model, I think, lies in proving that it doesn’t “work”. The physical and mental torture aspects are well documented, and should continue to be heard and researched, but there will always be ethically flexible individuals out there arguing for its merit in “extreme cases,” as we have seen from recent sick situations at Abu Ghraib, and Guantanamo Bay. Of course, most of the kids in Straight were not extreme cases in the sense of physical addiction, or long term heavy usage. Above all, Straight’s story shows us how quickly a “last ditch” effort in curing alleged out-of-control junkies in the seventies quickly became a cure all for any type of borderline teenage disobedience. I am interested in hearing from any ex-Straight people, especially anyone who was involved with Atlanta Straight between ‘89 and ’91. Criticism from pro-Straight forces is also encouraged. It does not really surprise me that there is so precious little information on the web documenting Straight “success stories” or defending its model, but I’m eager to let former staff members know how I feel and what my life has been like since my “withdrawal” from the program. Write me at HEAL. My Personal Straight Experience(s) Note: All Straight lingo has been capitalized to avoid confusion with ordinary North American English. I spent most of my life before Straight being bounced back and forth between my Mother/Stepfather’s house and Father/Stepmother’s house. My Mom was fairly out to lunch during the 1980’s (like me she’s been hospitalized and medicated for “clinical depression”), and when it seemed like her third marriage was starting to dissolve she sent me to live with my Father, a Methodist Minister who had me institutionalized; first in one of those half-assed “charter hospitals” and then in Atlanta Straight. I was fifteen at the time, and had been using drugs for less than nine months (some kids in Straight were as young as twelve). On the day of my “Intake” into Straight I had such a bad case of the flu that I was more or less delirious with fever. Rather than taking me to the emergency room, Straight’s “Staff” placed me in a “Host Home” (a house rigged with extra locks and burglar alarms where teens in Straight got their meager amounts of sleep at night). Within a week I had short hair, bland clothing, an aching body, and a glassy look in my eye; I had become a Straight “Phaser”. Like many “treatment programs,” Straight was divided into increments and one had to work one’s way to the top in order to “Graduate”. Unlike most treatment programs, most people in Straight who actually Graduated (a process that took an average of 18 months to two years to complete) spent about a third or more of their time on First or Second Phase, the bottom two rungs on the ladder. Out of the 22 months I was there, I spent at least ten of them on Phases One or Two. First Phase was utter hell and Second Phase wasn’t much different. Phasers at these levels were not allowed any contact with friends, family, the opposite sex, TV, movies, reading materials, music (First and Second Phasers were not even allowed to talk about music), the outdoors, daylight, or news from the outside world. First Phasers were called “Newcomers” although one could end up stuck on First Phase for literally years at a time, or be “Set Back” to Newcomer status at any time, irregardless of how hard one had worked to move up. Most people in Straight were Set Back at least one or more times, and ended up spending quite a while on First Phase. First Phasers were not even allowed to talk to each other, look each other in the eye, walk, touch, or pick up objects without permission, or wear belts, or watches. Like everyone else in Straight, they were not allowed makeup, jewelry, or any type of clothing, shoes, or hairstyle that seemed the slightest bit nonconformist (Converse All Stars for example). First and Second Phasers were not allowed to attend school or read, even so much as the back of a cereal box (Second Phasers were allowed to read the Bible and the Alcoholics Anonymous “Big Book,” however, Hooray!) Like all the other young teens in the program they were not allowed to speak to any old friends, use curse words, smoke cigarettes, touch or flirt with the opposite sex, masturbate, or speak to any of Straight’s “Staff Members” without being spoken to first. Criticizing “The Program” or talking about what actually went on in Straight, especially to parents, police, lawyers, or state investigators, was considered one of the most serious offenses and would be punished. In addition to the deprivations of First and Second Phase, Straight broke people, in part, by keeping them in a constant state of tension, irritation, and terror. During the 10 to 14 hours spent in the “Grouproom,” (a large white-walled former supermarket), this was achieved in a variety of ways. First was the overall claustrophobia of the “Group” set up. Phasers were seated practically on top of each other in purposefully uncomfortable plastic or metal chairs that had to be touching at all times. 95% percent of the time in the Grouproom was spent in this cramped position, in addition to the half-hour to forty-five minutes where we were forced to stand each day in a long line with our bodies pressed together. Phasers in group were forced to sit “up straight” for 9 to 14 with their torsos completely straight, and back arched, hands motionless on knees, feet together, and necks twisted in the direction of the person who was standing and talking. Slouching, stretching, contact with the back of the chair, or any other type of back support was forbidden. Sitting in this position for 9 to 14 hours a day was, of course, painful and uncomfortable enough for young teens who had been in the program for months or years, but for people who had just entered the program and were not used to it, this was nearly impossible. Staff seemed to anticipate this and anyone who slouched even slightly had the knuckles of the person behind them run forcefully down their spine. This technique of “sitting up” other phasers was often used on kids who weren’t actually slouching. Anyone who continued to slouch had a person seated behind them who would place their fist in the small of the other kid’s back while forcefully yanking back their shoulders. Anyone who wouldn’t keep their hands completely still had their hands grabbed, wrung, or slapped. Anyone who did not keep their neck twisted in the direction of the person speaking would have their neck grabbed and jerked in the proper directions. Anyone talking would have a hand slapped hard over their mouth and held there. Speaking to, making eye contact with, or attempting to in any way signal other Phasers in Group was forbidden as well. All kids in Group were also forced to “Motivate” or wildly and violently wave their arms in order to get “called on” to speak in group. Like the awkward position that we were forced to sit in, motivating created constant tension and soreness in the back, neck, and arms, and I can remember getting accidentally punched in the jaw by the person Motivating next to me on at least a couple of occasions. We were expected to Motivate all day long, and we did, at least until state inspectors put an end to it on the grounds that it could do permanently damage the muscles of the elbow. Watching a group of a hundred kids motivating is one of the most freakish things that I have ever witnessed in my entire life by the way. Like everything else in Straight, it had to be seen to be believed. Phasers who had recently entered The Program, and disobedient “Misbehavers” were forced to spend all day sitting in specially-designed punishment chairs called “Blue Sliders” (Note: These were not the same as the flat blue plastic chairs common to all Straight chapters). As the name suggests, the front-most part of the seats of these punishment chairs was literally a slide, and one had to keep the muscles of the calves and ankles stiff and taught to keep from “sliding” off. The worst aspect of the Blue Sliders was two raised plastic bumps that jabbed into the buttocks at the same places where the points of the bone meet the skin. After a day sitting in a blue slider, my ass ached as if it had been bruised or beaten. I have no idea who manufactures these chairs or why. By far the most painful of Straight’s punishments was the “Restraint”. The word “restraint” in misleading, considering that people were placed in Restraints who weren’t fighting, or trying to run (one could be Restrained for almost any infraction, if Staff felt like it). A person in a Straight Restraint had two people pressing or sitting on their shins and another Phaser sitting back-to-back with them yanking their arms toward the ceiling, a position deliberately designed to hurt as much as possible (there are, after all, much more practical ways of holding someone down). Kids in restraints would generally end up screaming in agony and I remember at least a couple of kids getting their arms broken or sprained as a result, not surprising considering that angry young teenagers, rather than health care professionals were doing the Restraining. That this used as a means of literal torture was evinced by staff members who would stand over the person being restrained howling “Make that restraint tighter! Make him want to go back to group.” Often, there would be so many restraints going on at one time (I saw as many as six at once), and so many people screaming in pain that it was next to impossible to hear the person that the “Group” was supposed to be listening to. If the danger to the person in a restraint was unethical, the danger to the people doing the restraining was worse. Kids were bitten, hit with chairs, and seriously beaten up in the process of trying to apply Restraints. Because the Phasers in Group were seated so close together, everyone else was in danger of getting kicked or smashed by the thrashing bodies of those trying to fight back. I was not one of the macho dudes who were the first to jump at the chance to apply a Restraint, but I still managed to get kicked, headbutted, spat on, and had my fingers pinched between metal folding chairs in the day-to-day chaos of The Grouproom. Trying to “Get Sober” in this environment was not particularly easy. Hardcore sleep deprivation was also an old Straight favorite for years, and was not halted until Straight was on the verge of shutting down nationally. “Marathoning,” or keeping kids awake for days at a time while screaming at them was used often until state investigations made it less popular. At the time I was in Atlanta Straight it had fallen out of favor somewhat, though I remember that a few people were indeed threatened with sleep deprivation (and probably subjected to it, though I never did this to any “Misbehavers,” that I supervised). Ultimately it didn’t matter, for even compliant Phasers were often lucky to get five hours worth of sleep. The long days in group, the long drives back to the Host Home, the time spent cleaning the host home, supervising showers, supervising dinner, washing dishes, writing “Moral Inventories,” and “Reviewing” Moral Inventories, and the complex procedure necessary for going to bed ate up one’s whole day for the majority of people in the “Program”. A Moral Inventory, by the way, was an idiotic essay that everyone had to write per evening about the “changes” or moral growth we made during the day, which is pretty funny considering that most people spent their days doing little but sitting on their ass in the Grouproom. All boys in the program were forced to sleep in only their underwear in a room that was completely bare except for mattresses and sometimes sheets. Because all windows and doors in this “Phaser Room” had to be either locked, or equipped with burglar alarms on the outsides to prevent escape, all Phasers had to go to bed at the same time, and wake up at somewhere between six or seven in the morning. As part of the ongoing harassment, some Phasers were made to wear purposefully humiliating clothing, (this happened to me), some were refused regular meals (a practice that was abandoned when Straight began treating “eating disorders”), and the most disobedient were placed in “Intake Rooms”. The latter were small, moldy rooms in the back of the Straight building where “Misbehavers” were continually screamed at, Restrained, and probably beaten. Like sleep deprivation, beatings, along with systematic hair pulling, “Spit Therapy,” and “Nitpicking” (holding Phasers down and pinching or poking them), were common in Straight until they were pressured to stop, by lawsuits from parents and state investigations. I only saw a Staff Member beat a young teenager (knock the crap out of him in fact) once in group, but from what I now know from my research, beatings of some type or other were probably going on at least until the end of the eighties. Ultimately, it didn’t matter when the beatings stopped; the Restraint was painful enough. Other physical behavior modification techniques included the denial of an adequate amount of water; only one cup per 10 hour period, and two cups per 15 hour period during the day were allowed. Although hideous grade D prison food was served once per weekend night in the group room, food was often scarce otherwise. All food (including weekday night dinners and the bag lunch that was brought daily to the building) had to come from the Host Home, and many Host Families did not keep their fridges well-stocked. The lack of hired health care professionals, and the use of Host Homes to house Phasers made Straight fairly affordable, and as a result many Host Families around Atlanta were fairly poor. Breakfast, in particular, was often skipped. Food was eaten in Group sitting in the same painful position as Phasers spent the rest of the day in. The psychological aspects of wearing Phasers down was as important to the operations of The Program as its physical deprivations. Each day in group was divided into three-to-four “rap sessions” consisting of the same three parts. In the ultra-somber “Past Rap,” Phasers were forced to stand up in front of the group and cry (the code phrase was “Share Feelings”) about terrible awful things that happened to them as a result of their “Problem”. Anyone who failed to cry was seen as refusing to “Share Feelings” and would be “Stood Up” for a “Confrontation” later in the rap session (more on Confrontation in a minute). During “Guys and Girls Rap” where the sexes were separated we were urged to tell our most humiliating sexual secrets (the time I put honey on my crotch and let the dog lick it off, etc.) that had little to nothing to do with drug use, but functioned pretty well as a means of making people feel awful. People who did not admit to having at least one overwrought story involving molestation, rape, animal sex, homosexuality, or being caught masturbating, was generally looked upon with suspicion. Needless to say a lot of kids had trouble weeping and blubbering on cue during Past Rap. Some had been placed in Straight after only experimenting with pot and alcohol (or no drugs at all), and had no terrible stories to tell. Although I had been in a few dangerous situations involving drugs, I only had a few of such “times in my past” to describe, and at fifteen-years-old, I had very little feelings about them prior to being placed in the program. This was, I imagine, the same boat that most Phasers were in. Then again, “Sharing Feelings” wasn’t really the point. The aim of Past Rap was to instill feelings about our past lives; to associate negative emotions, depression, and despair with our “Past,” those dark, terrible years before we had been rescued by the benevolent people of Straight. As a result Past Rap was hilariously morbid, and Staff members would often dim the lights, light candles, make us close our eyes, or play sad songs on a tape player to exaggerate the depressive mood as much as possible, and often the whole room would be weeping as a result. The most ill-conceived Past Rap, the aptly-named “Death Rap,” involved the staff reading everyone in group a fictional (but graphic) account of their death from drug overdose, drunken car wreck, etc as the whole room wept and bawled. The next part of “rap,” “present rap” involved anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour and a half of “Confrontation”. During this period, Phasers were “Stood up” and screamed at, cursed at, called names, laughed at, and often boxed-in physically by staff members who would stand a centimeter away from them, sometimes daring them to run or throw a punch. During a confrontation, the person being screamed at was not allowed to talk back or defend themselves in any way, and they would be slapped in the mouth if they tried. The screaming in Straight was bloodcurdling. It sounded more like people being murdered, than the measured shouting of a military drill sergeant. People in Straight were always screaming and screeching; screaming themselves hoarse and purple with spittle flying everywhere. Often staff would encourage the entire group to laugh at the person being Confronted in unison, or shout something ugly at them in unison. Sometimes they would have the whole group literally sing songs about how much of a loser they were. Those who were in their first few weeks of the program, or anyone who openly criticized any aspect of Straight was confronted constantly in Present Rap, and at night in the Host Home (sometimes all night). Over and over, they were told that they were hopeless, that their old friends didn’t love them, and their families didn’t want them, and that if they left Straight they would suffer a drug overdose in short order. They were told they could trust no one but Straight and that being cutoff from the program would result in their death. The goal of confrontation was, again, to produce tears, and it always worked. Nevertheless it would continue until the person was both weeping and professing their loyalty to the Program, agreeing that they were helpless addicts and incurable fuckups who would literally die without Straight. These screaming sessions could take up to thirty minutes, or even an hour. The last ten minutes of each rap was “Positive Rap,” wherein one was supposed to “Motivate” like a wild animal to get called on and then stand up like a grinning idiot screeching and howling about how good it felt to be clean and love Straight. The sheer quickness with which the Group’s mood swung from the gloom and depression of Past Rap, to boiling rage of Present Rap, to overwhelming glee of Positive Rap was truly terrifying. This process was repeated three times a day in addition to “rules rap,” where twenty or thirty of the programs rules and the reasons for them were recited (Straight had so many rules, “Steps,” slogans, “Signs”, and “Criteria” that it would have taken four or five hours to recite or explain them all). Additionally, two hour “reviews” were conducted twice a week that consisted of nothing but Confrontation, screaming, trembling, and weeping. As was the case with Present Rap, the mood that overtook the Group as we Motivated to be called on during Review was an exercise in pure dread. No one wanted to be called on but everyone knew that they had to Motivate like crazy anyway, or they would get in even more trouble. Phasers were made to “Report” themselves or Report other Phasers for breaking any of Straight’s hundreds of rules, and did this via paper “Chain of Command” forms that were passed around the group every morning. Staff used these forms as the basis of the Confrontations that occurred during Review and Present Rap. Since Straight had rules prohibiting everything from playing with oneself in the shower, to accidentally reading passing billboards as the car drove to the host home at night, there was always something to scream at someone about. Teenagers are teenagers, whether in Straight or the outside world, and their competitive, often bullying tendencies only added further fuel to the paranoia of Review and the Present Rap. Though all of this would seem to be enough, every six months or so the Staff would up the ante and scour the group, including even upper-level Phasers, for those who were “Full of Shit” (phasers, who were not allowed to curse substituted the phrase “Full of it”). It’s a difficult thing to explain without sounding ridiculous, but it was not enough to simply follow all of the many rules in Straight and to yearn for a life of future sobriety and obedience to one’s parents’ every whim. Doing all of that alone was called “Going Through The Motions,” and it meant that one was indeed Full of Shit, and had better “Get Honest”. “Honesty,” in Straight did not refer to truth-telling. What was required was that one love Straight with all one heart, to find it faultless, and to harbor no secret criticisms or doubts about anything that its Staff said or did for any reason. To even have the opinion that a forbidden brand of clothing (including most types of shoes or boots) looked cool, was to be dangerously and treasonously Full of Shit. So much time in Straight was spent attempting to locate, scream at, humiliate, and break down those who were secretly or flagrantly Full of Shit that the specifics of how we were going to stay sober after we Graduated from Straight were seldom discussed. This situation made for some trouble, especially considering that the rules of Straight changed all the time. During the time I was in the Atlanta Program, Straight chapters were being shut down all over the country, and Staff was doing everything it could to placate state investigators, while still keeping our Treatment as harsh as possible. When the Virginia chapter of Straight was shut down, its Phasers were shipped to the Atlanta Program where the rules were slightly different. Immediately, the Virginia Phasers began reporting and confronting the Phasers in the slightly-more-liberal (I guess “liberal” isn’t really the word for it) Atlanta program for being Full of Shit on multiple counts. In one extremely funny incident, a respected Fifth Phase girl in the Atlanta program who wore a type of black canvas shoe that was forbidden in the Virginia program was Reported to Staff for Confrontation. Soon both girls were crying their eyes out in front of the group until staff ruled that all black canvas shoes were now off-limits. Unfortunately, when it comes to the question of Straight’s horrific treatment of human beings the ultimate question for many people is whether or not it “works”, rather than how inhumane it might be in practice. It did not keep me from drinking or smoking, and I imagine that a lot of the people in the program who sat, day in and day out listening to people telling them that they are doomed to be an “addict” for the rest of their lives were not less likely to indulge when they got out. One of the most cult-like aspects of Straight was the way most graduates ended up moving to Atlanta, becoming Straight Staff members, marrying other Straight graduates, and clinging desperately to the Program. It should be kept in mind that only a minority of the people in Straight actually graduated. Most were “Withdrawn” in frustration by parents who had been laboring under the impression that Straight was indeed a “six to nine month treatment center,” (as they were told) rather than a year-and-a-half to two-and-a-half-year treatment center. Even more cultish was the fact that “Withdrawls” were completely shunned by everyone in Straight, and were not even allowed to cross its property line. One could not speak to, telephone, or even mail a letter to even the parents or siblings of a Withdrawl. What you had then, was a bunch of kids being told over and over again that they were doomed to die without the Straight Group, pulled out it suddenly and forever separated from Straight, creating what seems like a pretty self-fulfilling prophecy of “Relapse”. When one kid in the Atlanta Program escaped and killed himself we were told, in essence, “See! That’s what happens to people who leave Straight!” Another reason for Straight’s ineffectiveness, was the fact that Staff really knew next to nothing about our individual problems and histories, other than our “Drug Lists”. It was completely obvious that quite a few of the kids in Straight had hardcore mental problems (I think of the kid who carved “NWA” into the black of his hand in inch-wide, three-inch- long letters, or the “Misbehaver” boy who made himself throw up on people). The diagnosis that I’d received months earlier at the psych ward and the anti-depressant, and antipsychotic medication I had been prescribed there were completely ignored by Staff. Straight failed utterly in dealing with the psychological or long-term family problems that had caused everyone in the Program to use drugs in the first place. Their obsession was with our loyalty to The Program, not our long term sobriety, as evinced by the songs we had to sing after each Rap Sessions, including such hymns to the great god Straight as “You Can Be Straight,” “I am Straight,” and (I’m not making this up), “When the Straights Go Marching In”. Also, as anyone in Narcotics Anonymous will tell you, it is ultimately impossible to browbeat a person into believing that they are an addict. It is a purely personal decision that must be made after one “hits bottom,” from their continual drug or alcohol abuse, a process that can take decades for some. Straight tried to streamline and speed up this process, but Phasers weren’t suffering on account of their drug use, or Behavior Problems, or Eating Disorders; they were suffering from Straight. As a result, they were shell-shocked into a temporary compliance by The Program. When the Program was taken away from their lives most of them very likely went back to whatever got them there in the first place, I know I eventually did. The day my Father pulled me out of Atlanta Straight, I remember passing by a Staff Member named Josh Markham (fuck you, wherever you are) in the building’s front lobby. “Hope ya stay sober!”, he smirked. As it turned out I stayed sober for an additional year and a half, but the experience was so little fun that I may as well have been shooting crystal meth. As relieved as I was to be out of Straight, I felt overwhelming guilt about it, though I had no control over the situation of my being Withdrawn from the Program. My emotions were totally pureed, and though I hate weeping I was doing it all the time, out of the habit I’d picked up in Straight. After having zero privacy for the last two years I couldn’t deal with being alone, but I didn’t know how to talk to people in the outside world either. Everyone seemed “Full of Shit,” particularly my parents and classmates. I was also a full year behind in school as a result of Straight. Though my Mother and Father had grown to despise Straight, they were not exactly sympathetic about my problems. They had failed to meet even the bare minimum “Parent Group” attendance requirements, so they didn’t know how long it took most people to finish the Program. As I was forbidden to talk about anything that went on in Group (and was too freaked out to talk about it after I got out), they knew little about what I’d been through for the past two years. My Dad was as pissed off at me for not Graduating as he was at Straight for ripping him off. As a result he sent me back to my Mother’s house where all my Behavior Problems had started in the first place. My Mother, though somehow holding down a job as a schoolteacher, was as loony as ever and she and her husband were at each other’s throats as much as they had been three years before. She had a bad feeling that something weird had happened to me in Straight, and after a while she decided that she knew what it was: I had turned gay! Though I was then abstaining completely from drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes, and was making higher grades than I had since Kindergarten, the fact that I’d gone back to listening to Black Flag and wearing funny clothes meant that I was headed back down the path of Baal, a not uncommon view in small town North Carolina in 1991. She told me to pack my bags on my 18th birthday, so in the next five years I did as many drugs as I could stuff down my gullet. Nowadays my life is more stable than it has ever been since I’ve been alive, though that’s not saying much. I’ve still got problems at 31, but I’ve finished my Associates, and two Bachelor’s degrees and I have almost completed my Masters in English (yeah I know this thing is full of typos, I’m tired). Straight succeeded only at making me an angrier, and less patient person. I don’t think things between my parents and I will ever be the same again either. My Dad used up so much money keeping me in Straight that he told me he couldn’t afford to buy me a car, or send me to college.
STRAIGHT INC.--SURVIVOR STATEMENT #1 By
Samantha M. I've learned, that
while the truth hurts it also sets you free. It's hard to be
honest, to be truthful to see what is real and what isn't. To accept
life for all the beauty and warts. I hate that there are memories I'd
rather not face. What makes people
the way they are? It's a question I finally found the answer too. I had a hard time
sleeping as a kid, I had the strangest nightmares they were always the
same they scared the hell out of me. I would wake up crying and
screaming. My room was at the end of the hall I think I shared it but
I'm not sure. I hated going to my room I hated the dark I hated the
window that was between the door and my bed. Part of my
nightmare had these huge green hands that would come in the window,
crawl to my bed, its touch burning me. I'd lay there stiff, the only
sound was my scared tears. Then there were the TV's that chased me. They
would roll after me on their aluminum stands their cords flying in the
air behind them like tails whipping around. Waking up from the nightmare
wasn't any easier. I'd sit in my bed blanket pulled up around my knees
scrunched up against the headboard, terrified of the window, wishing my
door hadn't been shut. Army housing - a
series of boxes to accommodate the most amount of people in the least
amount of space. Our house was a
duplex it was big compared to the apts. for the enlisted. It was 3
columns broken into 7 spaces in the middle was the front door which led
to the LR a small 1/4 wall broke the LR from the DR off of that was the
Kitchen. Off the LR was a small hall that broke into 2 BR and a bath the
other side has a BR and a sewing/baby room. I broke from my bed
taking 5 long seconds to hit the door turn the knob and bolt out blanket
in tow. I can still feel my heart race, the shiver up my back. A child's
door should always open out, the hallway is "SAFETY". I'd
usually lay in the door way of the hall and LR listening to the TV. I
assume my parents put me back to bed, its where I woke up. People say your
dreams are trying to tell you something. My dad had been
called to active duty for his third term. I went to look for them after
yet another nightmare. They were in the sewing room. I watched my mother
and aunt pick up a sewing machine and drop it on my fathers foot. You
can't begin to know what's going on in a kid's head when they see that.
Their looks are embedded in my brain my feeling at that moment is
indescribable. "Go back to
bed!" I jump, I can't breath No explanation,
nothing. My moms standing
over my hurt father pointing in the general direction of my room. I made it to bed in
4 seconds never thinking of the window. My father still
shipped out. The "green hands" shipped out with him. A 6 year old learns
from her nightmare that "green hands" are bad, the window is
where the green hands live, mom's scary. A 37 year old woman
learns "Green hands" belonged to the sick fuck that came in my
room every night and molested me. And mom is scary.
Bacon It was the weekend
after the school bus ran over my dog. I was coming home
from Kindergarten we were in Niagara Falls and dad was home for good,
they were waiting for me to get off at the stop. Cleo was running around
with them and then... Yelp! Squish! They got us off the bus a little
further up. Could it get any worse? I was one of those
sensitive kids it wasn't hard making me cry. I guess for parents
it could be amusing to pick on your kid, nothing bad just toughening
them up stuff. Picture the parent who keeps the camera rolling for
funniest home video. I'd had one of
those days and I decide I'm leaving home. What a weird kid,
I'm 5 years old and I'm heading out, I'm gonna make it on my own, I had
a plan. I'm 5 and I'm so
fed up I decide to runaway. My parents watched
me pack my little case helping me take the right things "You need
sox" "Don't forget
underwear" My mom was putting
in sweaters. "Not
those" I was devastated
what did they mean not those "They're
mine" "No, their
not. We bought them" My plan was
destroyed at that moment. How could I run
away and become a famous ice skater if I couldn't take my skates. I
stood there reasoning with them begging them, they weren't giving in and
neither was I. "I'll get a
job I'll buy my own". I actually said that, I crack me up. Leaving without
those skates was the start of my independence, the first time I realized
my parents weren't going to be there for me the first time I realized
that I was going to do life pretty much alone. How does a 5 year
old come up with this shit? I walked away from
home thinking this is it. or was it, this is it? I don't remember
being scared. I do remember quietly crying when I was walking down the
sidewalk, I remember making a plan, well starting one. If my dad hadn't
caught up to me I don't know If I would have waited an hour a day or if
I would have ever gone back home. I know I wanted to prove my point. "come on
sambones" He scooped me up
onto his shoulders took my suitcase and headed home. "well make
some bacon". I wonder what my
point was.
Satisfactory Sam Who ever wrote
"Sticks and Stones" was wrong. Names hurt, names
scar you deep, names make you who you are, how your treated, how you
treat yourself. Names make you do
things you never thought you could do. Names make you do
things you never dreamt you would do. Names make you do
things you wished you never did. So many things
happened during the four years we spent in Germany. Dad had an office
job on base. He wasn't the same, he was angry, he was drinking, he was
my dad and I loved him but, he was an ass. I loved living in
Ford housing. The barracks were in two long rows of about 20 buildings
each holding 4 units with 3 apartments in each unit. that's about 240
apartments give or take. Ford was located in the middle of Neu Ulm.
Which was the suburbs of Ulm where Voorfeild Base was located. We fit
right in, Husband, wife, four kids and a dog. Real Americana. I was in second
grade by then and I was trying to get along. By now I had really begun
to get weird, I had imaginary friends that weren't too imaginary, ghosts
were more like it. I really and truly believed my friends that I saw and
talked too every day were ghosts. I still believe it. I was sleepwalking
when I could sleep and my nightmares were now coming when I was awake. I didn't have
"real" friends I hung out and rode my bike, played at the
park, when my mother forced me to watch cate and jerry. Otherwise I'd be
alone. I had a fascination
with trees, climbing up into the plum trees in the orchard at the end of
base I would sit as high as I could and talk to them. I'd sing songs
just for the trees. I thought that when some people die they came back
as trees their arm now limbs reaching for God their feet rooted to the
Earth. Stuck in the middle, like me. Were they being punished? I came to the
conclusion that they were here to look over the ones they left behind.
They were called to heaven and they couldn't go so they became trees
instead. I wanted to be a tree. Can a child truly
detach from their parents? I think that after
a while under the wrong circumstances a child can find that they do not
belong to their parents. They begin to long for their real parents the
ones that will love and protect them, who will understand them. "Let the
beatings begin" We would all start
to cry when dad got home. We knew we were getting hit and we knew there
was nothing to do but take it. The dog leash hung
at the front door, it was a horrible daily reminder that we were going
to get hit. Mom liked her kitchen utensils; she came at us only if we
were around. Dad rounded us up. I hated that he snapped the thing at us.
Holding the leather leash in both hands he'd bow it and then pull it
tight "CRACK". Sometimes he'd be nice and give us all a little
hit most of the time he'd hold us by one arm swinging the leash around
letting it land wherever. Our backs, our butts and at times our faces. I
wonder if he drank before he came home, I wonder if mom called him
before hand complaining, I wonder why my dad felt compelled to come home
and beat his children? His 10 7 and 4 year olds daughters. His 3 year
old son. I wonder why mom
let him. I knew pretty much
from the start my mom didn't like me. Even as an infant I just knew, and
we never bonded. My dad on the other
hand I had worshiped. In spite of the beatings and all the other abuse,
He was my hero, he was my dad, he was the best person ever. To love someone so
much and to have them abuse you is a hard thing to deal with. When your
seven it's impossible. The first time I
projected out of my body was extremely traumatic. We were nearing
Christmas break, dad came to school to get me, I was proud to have
gotten a good repot card it was my first all "S's" for
satisfactory. Not exceptional, not bad, just good. I was proud of it. Dad on the other
hand wasn't "Satisfactory
sam" He actually called
me that. Standing outside of school my dad hurt my feelings so much all
I could do was cry. All the way home I
apologized and I cried which in turn annoyed him more. "I'll give you
something to cry about" He beat me for the
report card, he beat me for being sorry. He beat me because
he couldn't face himself. Cate and I shared a
room in Germany, our bunk beds were well away from any windows, mom
always left the door open" for cate" so you'd think I'd sleep.
Or at least stay in bed. Bad things happened
when I went to bed "The Big Green Hands" would come in and
burn me, its mouth trying to eat me, smother me. The "Hands"
were there every night and I would lie awake waiting for them, I knew
they would be there and I waited. I don't know if it was fear or the
reality but I began to separate from my body. I would pull my knees to
my chest, wrap up tight in the blanket, close my eyes and concentrate
hard telling myself to "fly out" "go to the dresser"
which was off in the darkest corner of my room. Keeping my eyes closed I
could see a light that would fade in and out like a slow strobe and then
a rush of peace and harmony would over come me. I'd float and hover just
watching, mostly my sister. I wanted to make sure he didn't touch her,
too. Baseball "I can't
believe she made her walk all that way" "That poor
girl" They were looking
at me, I wanted to hide I was exhausted and I was in pain. A couple of weeks
before I had broken my leg, or should I say it was broken for me. You should never
leave your kids alone, they might end up under a pile of wrestling kids
with a broken tibia. Breaking the leg
didn't bother me. It was kind of cool to have the cast. People were nice
to me. Especially the kids who broke it. What transpired
from the broken leg is what broke me. Have you ever seen
a filthy kid? One with ratty hair and dirt embedded in their pores. This
is what I looked like going to the emergency room that day. My mom
wasn't concerned with me. She was mad at my filth, embarrassed that she
had to claim this dirt ball. "can some one
give me a sponge. "Mam that
would hurt her" "She should
have thought of that earlier" Thought of what
earlier? I didn't think I was going to break my leg! I didn't think
anything. Thank God he
wouldn't let her. Lets look at
something here. You have a 9 year old, Who refuses to undress, to bathe.
Her hair is matted. Her parents are miles away from her when she gets
hurt. Does anyone have a
clue?! I think my mom and
dad were cheating on each other, they each thought the other had been
with us. Neither had been there for a while. Our house was filthy, we
were filthy. Things had to
change. Deb the neighbor's
daughter came to sit with me while mom ran errands. She was kind and
sweet. She pampered me, washed my hair, played games, watched TV. She
became my light source. She was an angel sent from God. Deb stopped
coming. She died of meningitis. The girl who had spent the last week and
a half with me dead just like that. My parents were
around the house more and I was left alone, in a good way. It had to be about
4 weeks into my cast when mom goes off the deep end. "Lets go" "Go
where" "To the ball
field" "How we
getting there" "Were walking.
Now get your stuff" "I don't want
to. Can't I stay here?" SMACK! "I said get
your stuff!" My mother proceeded
to walk me and my sisters 10 miles to Voorfield pushing jerry in the
stroller all the way. She wanted to catch
my dad cheating. "Get up. Get
dressed" "What's going
on?" "We're going
to see your father" It was midnight and
we we're all in the wagon speeding toward Voorfield. Mom is screaming,
crying and then calm then screaming again. It didn't take long for her
to find the apartment. She laid on the
horn screaming out the window "Dale! you son
of a bitch! come on out! Let your kids see the scumbag you are!" Horn still blaring,
people standing in their doorways. I'm crouched in the back watching
this go on. We're all crying now. "Daddy,
daddy," Cate's leaning out the window. "Jesus fucking
Christ Jane Are you Fucking nuts?" Dads walking to the
car "I was just
making her a hamburger." A hamburger? God
why couldn't they be honest with each other. I'm 9 and I see through
that one. Men SUCK! Once you get used
to something it becomes natural. Once something is
natural you do it without thinking. If you naturally do
something to someone else that knows it's unnatural, they tell their
parents "naturally". I had invited some
girls for a sleep over and it was going pretty good, until, bedtime. I
molested them, I did to them what the "Green Hands" had done
to me for 5 years, it was natural, that's what you do to girls in bed.
Its what they did to me. Dad didn't come
home from work the next day nor did he really ever come home again. We moved back to
the states.
They knew about Lisa It was good to be
in NJ my mother had 4 sisters all married all had kids we were a clan
and we had fun. Eating at the lake, piling into the wagon for the
drive-in. Staying over each oother'shouses. Kids out numbered the
parents 3 to one and it was heaven. I had 10 years behind me and this
was the best so far. I had more places to hide and my aunts didn't like
dad so he stayed away till late at night. Dad retired from
the Army in 78 it was the same year Lisa ran away. We were never close
so I didn't miss her, I didn't even know she had left until she came
back. "You fucking
pig" "She's
Lying" "Why would she
lie? Where would she get this shit?" "I know what
you did to Enid too" "I don't
believe you" "I'm her
mother she wouldn't lie to me" "Get the
FUUUUUCK OUUUT of MYYY HOOOUUSE!." I wanted to leave
with him. If given the choice between the two I would have chosen him. Sadly it wasn't my
choice, it was his and he chose to leave me. Our Kitchen looked
like a war zone. They went from hitting each other to throwing knives,
one of which stuck in our wall for days. I finally removed it. They knew what
happened to Lisa so I assume they knew what happened to me. Mom took me to a
psych. who affirmed that I had something going on but he wasn't sure. If my mother had
ever left the room I would have told him. Instead she sat
there and listed all my faults, insulting me, hating me, confirming one
more time how I made her miserable. Shit. Mrs Delben was my
5th grade teacher. Lucky for me she was also pregnant and her maternal
instincts were in hyper drive. Like a bee to a flower I did all I could
to remain with her. I had asked her once if I could live with her. This
made her cry. I didn't have the nerve to ask her again. I was now exuding
weird behavior outwardly. I fell asleep in
class all the time I couldn't help it I tried to stay awake I just
couldn't. School was safe, I
could sleep in school. I also had these
pains in my stomach, excruciating pains that made me ball up holding my
side for hours, moaning pain. Spasms that would come quick stay a couple
of hours and then just go away. Everything made me
cry. I was over sensitive. I had these tears that filled me, I walked
around depressed and crying. 11 years old and I am a candidate for
prozac. Thank God they didn't have it. Yet. I found solace in
the attic of our garage, I'd sneak up there in the morning and stay all
day. I could see everything from the window, no one ever came up and I
was at peace up there. I never made a fort
or pretended to be elsewhere. I would sit up there and call to the
spirits my angels and we would talk. I'd ask them to talk to God for me.
I'd ask them to help me. I'd listen to their songs and sometimes I'd
fall asleep. I had some beautiful dreams up there. Dreams that I still
remember, dreams that have now come true. I was almost 12
when mom really freaked. They found her running up rt 181 naked and our
house was on fire. It started in her bedroom, which was across from
mine. I awoke to a fireman taking me outside my mother now screaming in
a psychotic voice. "Get out of
the house" I always wondered
if she started that fire. I was sent to Aunt
Rhonda's for a semester, while mom regained her faculties. I don't know what
happened to the others. I assume they stayed with her. I hated being at
Rhonda's. Due to my lying and
basic weirdness she was all too happy to have me leave as soon as school
was out. I got to my moms
house in the evening, a three bedroom on Lake Swannanoah. Lisa had her
own room Cate and Jerry had a room mom even had a room. I slept on the
couch. Which I lost to Uncle Eddie when he and my cousin Glenn moved in.
I now slept on the floor usually in the dinning room away from the feet
of every dirt bag who now partied while mom was working, at school or
over her boyfriends. It wasn't home. We had cops at our
house at least 2x a week. Doors were always broken. Our house was filthy
and smelled like the basement of a frat house. Food was scarce and I
stole from my friends' houses to feed me, Cate and Jerry. I could care less
about Lisa, she never gave a shit about me. We had always
disliked each other, I hated her for hitting me, she hated me for being
alive. Lisa had a way of reminding me. "I'll fucking
kill you, I hate you" She'd repeat while sitting on top of me fists
making contact. I took it for
another three years. Piss a kid off
enough. There was a pine
forest not far from my house. It was the perfect refuge. I'd take my dog
Cate and Jerry some lunch juice and a blanket, we'd stay the day until
it was dark. The forest was our home when mom wasn't around which was
all the time. It was summer and with school out mom left Lisa in charge
who would in turn kick us out threatening to kill us if we bothered her. So while lisa was
having keggers, and mom was wherever, me and the kids would sit in the
pines. Except rain days
Lisa would let Cate and Jer stay but I had to go. I hung out at the
neighbors when they'd let me in. What a pitiful sight. Francis the oldest
son of the people next door gave me his paper route I was happy at first
I made money and I got to get away from the house. It was a good gig. I
had gotten halfway through my rounds which brought me to the opposite
side of the lake, when some guy in a chrysler calls me over. "Hey. You know
where Cranberry Lake is" "What" "Come
here" I cross the street
and walk up to the driver's window. "Do you know
how to get to Cranberry Lake?" I am about 3 inches
from the car and I can see that this guy has his dick in hand and he's
jerking it. He knows I can see
him, he smiles nodding toward his member. "Does this turn you
on?" "No."
Looking him right in the eye I turned my bike around and went home,
throwing the rest of the papers into the lake, bag and all. Sacrifice the child The moment you
decide to have a child, you also decide to do everything you can to
protect, educate and love them. It's what you
should do. If you can't or don't want to then DON'T HAVE KIDS! What is it with
women? You would rather let some stranger hurt your kids, than what? Be
alone? Honey your not
alone. If you do it right you'll never be alone you have kids who will
love you for the rest of your life. Unfortunately as
far as I'm concerned mom is going to be alone for a long time. When she first
brought Jim around it was nice. We all moved in together and we were
becoming the dysfunctional family I'd always dreamt of. I actually took
to Jim, I replaced my longing for dad to loving Jim. I was his favorite.
It was the move to
Florida that changed it all. If I knew then what I know now "Listen to
your sister. I'll see you in a couple of days" I sat in the window
seat of the Grey Hound Bus that was now pulling out from Dover NJ. Lisa took the two
seats across the aisle. "Don't talk to
me" I Pulled out my
note book and stared at the figure skater suspended on the cover. It's
too hot in Florida, you can't skate in Florida, I hate Florida. I
watched my NJ pass away. It took two
uneventful days to get to Tampa, 90 minuets north of Sarasota our new
hometown. We got off the bus around 9 and had breakfast in the bus stop
waiting for our transfer. Lisa spent our last couple of bucks on a bag
of weed so we just sat there, waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Our bus finally
loaded. "Ladies and
Gentlemen. We are sorry for the wait you'll be off soon. We just want
you to know that due to the unfortunate accident we had at the Sky Way
you will be going through Palmetto, which will bring you to Sarasota in
about three hours." "God doesn't
want me here." I believe in signs,
always have. The bridge being hit by a barge less than 12 hours before
were to cross it. All those dead
people. My stomach hurt.
Bad. At first Jim only
picked on Lisa, I didn't care it was the first time I was better than
her. After all those years she finally got hers. When Lisa left that
all changed. It was a bitch, he became worse than dad. If there could be
a worse. Alcohol turns
people into monsters. The first drink they're all happy and lovey. By
the fourth you're too loud, to messy, not quick enough. By the end of
the bottle you're a punching bag. Better you than
your sister and brother, right? We moved five times
in the first year and a half. Aunt Gloryas 12 ft
trailer in the retirement community was first. We were there for about a
month cramped all 6 of us into a 9ft space. No wonder he started to
drink. I'd probably have had a few myself if I knew it could remove you
from this reality. Next came the house
off of Tuttle and school. Sarasota Jr High
school was your typical florida school, rows of rectangles divided into
boxes connected by concrete slabs suspended from metal beams defying you
to pass under them. I always thought
they'd fall on your head. I walked in the
grass. Nancy Lohemann and
I became friends a couple of weeks into the semester, she was my guide
into teenhood, not a good guide, not a smart guide, but my guide all the
same. I don't blame
anyone for any of the things I chose to do. I blame them for
making me the person who needed to make those choices. Within a year I
went from a screwed up kid to a fucked up teen. Sitting here trying
to write the truth disgust me, on so many levels. So lets recap I am 12 years old I
have so far endured, physical and sexual abuse, neglect, death,
abandonment, then just as I begin to trust some one they beat me. My
mother either doesn't believe me, doesn't care or she doesn't know how
to care. I don't know, but there I am, living it and I am scared and
beaten. Shit! Mom. I'm fucking tired of being beaten. I tell you all the
time. I call you at work begging you to tell him to stop. You wouldn't,
you hung up. and I ran away. Everyone knows, they aren't stupid mom
their parents see the bruises the neighbors talk. Surviving as a run
away in the summer was pretty easy. My friends and their parents just
passed me off to each other. It was like I was on a long sleep over. I
just ran around siesta key all day, sitting on the beach, playing
tennis, being a teen, making friends chasing the sun. At night I stayed
at friends always welcomed. Fall on the other
hand. I guess she though
she'd find me the first day of school. So as I walk up to
my 7th grade year actually thinking that I could get away with being a
delinquent, she's there at the entrance. I panic and I run.
Right the hell away from her. Id rather live on the streets. So here's the
thing. I've been gone all summer, 3 months, and your looking for me now? Are you really
scared for me or are you pissed that I ran off from you at the school
steps? "Fuck! Its the
cops tell Sam to go out on the roof" They caught me
friday night and brought me to Sarasota Palms Psychiatric Hospital "At the
request of the "mother". I was ok with being
there, the people at the desk were friendly, the cops were nice. To be
honest I was relieved. I needed a break from running away and I wasn't
ready to go home "The Palms" seemed idyllic. I had met a nice
guy a couple of years ago who called himself a psychologist, mom is a
psychiatric nurse and the places looked nice on TV. When they hit the
buzzer for lock down and the 8ft fire doors swung open I freaked, this
wasn't like TV! Where are the pretty walls and the flowers? Where are
the smiling nurses in white stockings where's the soft music! "WHERES MY
MOTHER!" I was now staring
down a corridor that was animated with fluorescent lights held captive
by grates casting a grey checkerboard on the faces of wild men. They
were shuffling, cackling, Playing with their junk! They were looking at
me! a 5ft 97lb exhausted and scared runaway who at this moment is
hanging on for dear life to anything she can grab. Ever try to keep some
one somewhere they don't want to be? Ever try to save yourself from
harm? The entrance is now
clogged with spectators and players a mélange of white shirts and
hospital gowns. "Get back to
your rooms!" The nuts haven't
had this type of excitement in days. "come on guys
let's go" Some big black guy is scooping them up and leading them
away. "Honey let
go" A lady is trying to pry my fingers off of a table that is
bolted to the floor. "No" I
have my self-wrapped around the leg I'm not going in there. "Why can't I
stay here." my voice sounds like I'm 5 I'm crying and shaking.
Jesus I've never been so scared. Oh God help me.
Please help me. "You can't.
Its the rules. You have to go through intake. Drs Orders" "Can't you
call the doctor? Ill be good Ill wait here. Please just call him." "That's not
how it works. Now get up." "No" She stands up backs
away and nods at the men, who quickly grab my arms and legs. Being wiry
and strong I refuse to give up too quick and wedge myself between the
wall and leg. They're pulling and I'm scratching digging my nails into
them biting and screaming. "code red at
intake all available staff code red at intake" a matter of fact
voice announces. "Does she have
an order?" They're dragging me "Get it!" They get my pants
down and shoot me in the ass. "Let me
out" My knuckles hurt from banging on the door. I'm dizzy. "You'll be
alright just sit down" a fuzzy face is talking at me through a
small rectangle in the door. "Fuck
you!" I can't seem to give him the finger. My hand just hangs
there. "fuck yo... THORAZINE So these are
drugs...... I slept for days,
waking to eat. take my meds, and meet Karen my roommate. A 27 year old
anorexic, multiple, who was having a fit that she had to share a room
with that thing. I didn't care what
she was saying. Thorazine makes you
not care. Thorazine makes you
sleep I slept. After our time
together at the The Palms I finally found love for my mom..I bonded. She
was obliged to spend 35 min a week with me, I had her undivided
attention for thirty five minuets, she had to love me or act like she
did, the Drs watching. You know love can come through a mars bar and
grannysmith. Months, to adults
can feel like a week, to a child it can feel like years. So while she's
looking for places to put me, I'm running away and finding her. She'd
drop me off at a group home I'd run back to her. She'd drop me off at a
Youth ranch 60 miles from home. I'd hitch hike right back to her. I went
from one extreme to another. I couldn't be away from her, I wanted my
mother, I'm almost 13 and all I want is my mommy. I don't want Jim
there, we don't need him. I'm the one they didn't need. My feelings for my
mother had changed, her feelings for me hadn't. Your going to your
fathers The 50's had
sanatoriums. The 80's had STRAIGHT. 'Your going to your
fathers" I'd been home 2
days and she'd already found another place for me. My suitcase was
waiting at the door. "Come on. We
have to get your ticket." I walked right into
it, no alarms, no warnings, no travel agent either. I walked right
through the doors of hell and into STRAIGHT Inc. an American Gulag.
Where a Clockwork orange and Lord of the flies collided creating
something scarier than my nightmares. I was led away by Penny and Debbie
Oldcomers of the program. The intake room was 12x12 with three chairs,
three walls and one door now blocked by the girls who are facing me. "Sit
down" The uglier of the two commands. She looks like a female
version of John Cougar, poor girl. Penny reminds me of my Aunt Betsy.
Plain. Woah who the fuck
is she? "No" I cross my arms and lean against the back wall. "I said sit
the fuck down" "Fuck
you" "No, Fuck
you." I am now on my ass in a chair and this john cougar bitch is
standing over me. They tell me I am
at STRAIGHT and that I am staying, that people from group have told them
I do drugs, and have sex. "LIES!" The only thing I'd
done wrong was runaway. Being true to form
I wasn't convinced and my intake was mixed with yelling crying reasoning
threats fights and after 12 hours I was stripped, searched thoroughly
and given a someone else's clothes to put on. Patty came in
dismissed the girls and looped her finger through my pants and proceeded
to lead me into group. "your are not
to talk for three days." Panic is mild
compared to what I felt. "Group this is
Samantha." 400 eyes dart my
way. "Does anyone
know samantha" A few hands go up. "Stand
up" It took a couple of
seconds to recognize them, my friends looked awful. They were gaunt and
pale, lifeless, it's the eyes they had dead stares. "These are
your druggie friends, you are never to have contact with them.
Ever" "What do you
say group" some tan guy perched on a bar stool asks. "HI Samantha!
Love you Samantha!" This isn't good. I'm placed in first
chair, front row, girls side. "where were
we" Tan girl asks She too sits on a barstool. Hands start
flapping kids are seizing everywhere. "Steve"
she calls hands stop immediately Steve shoots out of his chair like a
spring and heads snap in his direction. I didn't listen, I
looked around, trying to make out the room through my tears. I was given to an
oldcomer who was instructed to instruct me, we lined up heel to toe said
the "Our Father" and filed out to the parking lot where
parents waited in their running cars. Newcomers are NOT
allowed to do anything. Nothing. No reading, no talking, newcomers are
NEVER allowed to be alone. You go to group at 7am and you return to your
host home around 10 if your lucky and live close, midnight if your not
and don't. Days were consistent. 5am wake 3min
shower eat clean up get in the car go to group. You sat from 7am to 9am
Indian style knees to back crammed into a 12x12 room with upwards of
fifty girls. If you moved slouched or fell asleep you were reprimanded
silently with a poke a shove or at times a slap from another group
member. Good days consisted of a spaz. I could only take so much and
after weeks of no sleep, badgering, belittling, little food, less water
and forced exercise marathons, I lashed out. I took a full swing at the
bitch who insisted on spitting in my face. Contact, she reeled, the
girls side pounced. I'm alive! I'm
getting my ass kicked but I'm alive! It sucked having
people sit on you, my limbs painfully vibrated from circulation stopped
by the weight. I scream someone places their hands over my mouth. I bite
her, she screams. "Stand her
up!" I'm not standing
for this piece of shit. Passive resistance.
passive resistance. It takes three
girls to get me quazi upright. The whole time I'm laughing. God these people
are too easy. The more attention they give me the less time they spend
droning their bullshit dogma into our heads. "Who's got
something to say?" Hands flap. "You don't
care about this group" "Were trying
to save you life" "your an
ungrateful bitch who doesn't deserve "the group"" On and on they hurl
their shit. We waste the entire morning. No STRAIGHT songs. No STEPS
Rap. No girls rap. and now it's lunch. For this I behave, a girls gotta
eat, even if it is a choker. STRAIGHT inc. was
created 1979 in St. Pete Florida by Mel Sembler, Frank Zappala and 12
other parents who (against the wishes of the world and God) took a
defunct and controversial program called SEED and turning it into a
profitable venture. SEED was started as a "confrontational
therapy" for Heroin addicted adult men, where confrontation,
coercion, and peer pressure was a common practice. The SEED was started
by Art Barker a Play Boy Club Comedian and a SYNANON cult member. I could write a
book alone on STRAIGHT Inc. Maybe I will some day. I wish you could
see me right now, twitching, pacing, smoking cig, after cig, doing
anything to avoid remembering the torture. My hands feel numb. STRAIGHT was a
non-descript warehouse of children wedged between the drainage ditch of
I 75 and the industrial park along Cattleman rd. Anyone driving by would
not have known that behind those walls 200 plus children were being
forced to sit 12hrs a day in blue plastic chairs, singing STRAIGHT
hymns, confessing our sins and memorizing the doctrine. They wouldn't
have seen the walls of a 25000 square foot room dripping wet from the
sweat of children being forced to exercise for hours. They wouldn't have
seen us vomiting, passing out, becoming elated, singing our songs,
LOVING STAFF, performing for our food. GETTING STRAIGHT!!! How could they? "Coming
Home!!!" The entire room
exploded in cheers. I was coming home after 10 months on first phase I
was coming home! They let the entire room hug me. I was a success. I had
been the longest newcomer, the hardest to break, and now their poster
child. I was washed of my druggie past, I am STRAIGHT hear me ROAR,
numbers too big to ignore. 9 to 9 I'm doin fine! Zipadee fucking doo
dah! "Love you
Mike! Love you Mrs Hunt" Open Meetings were
mandatory! Every Monday and Friday night. Fridays were new recruit and
parents night, we seemed to have better nights on friday more kids
advanced on a friday. Our confessions were light the air was light. We
performed well for the crowd. We sang our songs, we clapped our hands,
we sat there robotically taking our cue from staff. They always brought
in a real SWELL graduate to talk about their "successful, wonderful
STRAIGHT life". on Fridays "Love you Mrs.
Hunt love yourself Mike" Monday Open meeting
was for executive staff and parents. We weren't happy and light we were
exhausted from executive Monday. 9-11 exercise rap 11-12 You ungrateful
brats need to learn appreciation and respect rap, 12-1 you druggie
selfish kids don't deserve to eat rap. 1-3 you better remember the
doctrine or else rap. 3-5 What you are missing rap. AKA what Staff will
be doing this weekend and aren't you jealous rap 6-7 rush 200 kids to
eat dinner and use a three-stall bathroom rap. 7-9 entertain staff and
Executive Staff Rap. 9-12 Monday open meeting AKA Parents you have 5
minuets to grill your child. Love you rap. "Third
phase!" I'm flying through the program 3rd phase in 2 weeks, Wow! I
am STRAIGHT. I am right? Instead of school I
get to go to work I'm 14 and I have a job, working for a STRAIGHT backed
nursing home. I don't get paid my check goes to STRAIGHT. I should be
grateful. Yeah grateful,
grateful for the mind fuck, you sick fucks! Some plans take longer than
others. It happened quick.
I started work on Monday I was on the beach by Thursday. In Sarasota you
were either in STRAIGHT, had been in STRAIGHT or knew some one of the
latter. Our city was divided into the ProStraights and the sane. I hid for weeks
around the city and on the beach. There were a lot of exStraightlings, I
was meeting one or two everyday and they were hiding me. It was surreal,
I was happy to be out and I was terrified of the group's reaction when I
got caught. "you fucking
whore" I had her by the hair I was screaming at the top of my lungs
my throat raw, my heart pounding forcing this rush of power to my brain.
Adrenalin a staple for any successful brainwash. "You
ungrateful bitch. You don't care about your parents! you don't care
about staff! You don't care about the group!" I'm screaming spit
is hitting her face, she just stands there looking into me. Her eyes
tell me "I know you aren't like this, I'm not mad at you. Look I'm
Alive!" Her skin is pink,
those twinkling eyes, her smirk. I hated her! "Who else has
something to say?" Leatha Yost is running girls rap. She's an
eighteen year old senior staff and graduate. You can't be staff unless
you are a graduate. "Melodie" I sit staring at
Michelle while Melodie screams and cries. I'm all fired up I've been on
third phase for days and I get to go to work tomorrow. It's my last full
day in group, I want to impress Staff, I want to be STRAIGHT, at that
very moment I wouldn't dream of anything else but STRAIGHT. 12 hours, 12
hours until I go out and spread my STRAIGHTLING love. Days are not fast
or slow in STRAIGHT they are groups and raps and songs, you have no
concept of time or place. The outside world doesn't matter. It doesn't
exist. Michelle Leland brought the outside world into me. I watched her
all day. the beach, she smelled of the beach and perfume and the outside
and freedom. My head started to wander. "Lets have a
song" We flail and motivate I Motivate the hardest snapping the
loudest barely on my seat. Call on me call I pray call on me my hand
waving "Samantha" "Zipadee doo
dah!" "No, not that
one." "some one else" I sit defeated,
"I am straight hear me roar numbers to big to ignore and I know
I'll never go that path again...." The rest of the day I thought of
leaving. "Swiffft!
Schwoff! Ear." We sat in a
bungalow on the lagoon side of Turtle Key. It was the perfect hide out.
We could walk for food. Hang out in seclusion on the beach and party at
night. Paradise! I had lost my pasty
glow and was a bit more relaxed, a lot more relaxed I'd just smoked my
first joint..... Ahhhh mary jane. I felt like I was
in a bubble kind of like the egg from mork and mindy only see through.
People were talking their voices delayed. I was stoned. "If we were in
group we'd be lining up for Boy's rap" I looked at
someone's watch 11am. Was girls rap at 11? every day? I got my concept
of time back. Vets. they like to
share war stories. Prisoners of War especially and that's what you had
in that bungalow. A group of scared escapees from STRAIGHT the American
Gulag for teens. We were POW's in the war on drugs. Talking about what
we new best. How we'd survived our incarceration. Luckily I'd
listened. I'd been on second
phase and decided to split again, this time I wasn't sticking around for
third phase. STRAIGHT was getting worse. The abuse was worse for all of
us. Our food changed Executive staff we especially mean. Dr. Miller
Newton was director we as a company were expanding. Atlanta, Detroit, El
Paso. Mel and the board franchised STRAIGHT. When you grow
people notice. Mel was happy,
Miller was happy, Nancy Regan was happy, they were making commercials,
doing publicities, going on Oprah. And then the
proverbial rug. I escaped through a
window While HRS and the
State Attorney are investigating STRAIGHT. I'm hitch hiking to NJ to
find my dad. "Dad?" "Yeah?" "It's Sam. Can
you come get me?" "No, I don't
think that's a good idea." "Please can't
I come live with you?" "No I'm
sorry" click I took 80 all the
way to Spokane Washington I spent my 15th birthday at a runaway shelter
in Skylar. The smell of leather "Go to the
bathroom get cleaned" I got up. Looking in the
bathroom mirror I didn't cry, I tried to cry, it wasn't in me. I was
cried out on auto pilot. Survival mode. Larry was on the
phone. "You done in
there?" "Nooh" I had just been
raped by a fat black pimp and he wants me to get ready. I'd met Kim and
Larry in Spokane, they told me I was gonna be a star. He was a producer,
He would take me to LA. I believed them and
I got on that plane and was now in a motel on the blvd being raped by a
pimp. "Oh dear God
help me" and God did. We were raided
before Larry could turn me out. I had agreed to testify if the courts
agreed to protect me from STRAIGHT. I kept my promise, the courts did
not. Larry, Kim and
Gerri got Jail, I got STRAIGHT. These Scumbags used
my 13 year old sister as a pawn in their game. What ass holes! I'm walking toward
Cate but my eyes are darting everywhere. STRAIGHTLINGS I could feel
their presence. Cate looks to her right I look to my left. Bam! Tackled
at the Goal. Two STRAIGHT dads Mark and Mike Chtiwood their mother and
my mom. "No Fucking
Way! No Fucking Way! I'm Not Going Back!" "Oh Yes you
are." It took an hour to
get my ass to the van. and just as long to get me in it. With all said and
done we had, black eyes, fat lips, scratches, bruises, a broken finger
and three sets of very sore balls. I had rope burns from being hog-tied
and a fat lip. The rest of the trip was noisy and uncomfortable. "Lets have a
song" Theresa Starr saw us coming in and got off the barstool. "I'm hear at
STRAIGHT and feeling GREAT 9 to 9 I'm doin fine...... Miller walked up to
the front with me and Pam Guidrey-Casslor Senior staff. The group finishes
their song. "Group this is
Samantha. Who remembers Samantha?" only 1/2 the group raises their
hands. How long had I been gone? "Mary Azadian
stand up" "What do you have to say" "Your a
druggie whore" "Lisa Ringland" "Your a
druggie whore" "Michelle
Leland" "Your a
Druggie Whore" I'm not listening.
I'm rocking in my head "We're all alright We're all alright..
Surrender Surrender but don't give yourself away" 5 minuets 5 hours
it didn't matter I hadn't heard a word "What do you
have to say to the group" "FUCK
YOU!!!" I turn to Miller
"Love Yourself Miller" Hands are flying.
People are pissed. Staffs standing there looking from Miller to me and
back again. I'm smirking. I'm a
BIG girl now you fuck head. "Take her to
time out" It took every bit
of control for him not to hit me. His grip alone is about to break my
arm. "Get your
fucking hands off of me" Pam who had me by
the pants, now lays under me, her finger twisted in my belt loop, snaps.
She's screaming "My finger my
finger" "Get her off of me!" I spent two weeks
in time out. I want out. Float
through the pain sister float through the pain I want OUT! I think
I'll stay in here a while, Da dah da dah da deh da deh da dah. I WANT OUT! "Is she
insane!?" I am covered in blood, shit, rotten food. I refuse to
stop rocking. Da dah da dah da deh da deh da dah. "Samantha.
Samantha! Look at me!" I keep humming, rocking. "Go get
executive staff." No one moves they're all staring. "Now! Get
staff!" "Geezh this
place smells" Miller pokes his head in the door. I know its him, I
see his shoes. I want to hit him,
I want to scream, I want to rush the door and run. instead I sit there
Da dah da dah da deh da deh da dah and rock. "Well let's
clean this mess up." "We've got three hours to open
meeting". After the
complimentary solitude confinement and reprogramming practices, I was
allowed to rejoin the group. I didn't spaz, I didn't get STRAIGHT, I
didn't do anything accept sit there and play eye games with Rob Kennedy.
A blond haired Blue eyed Jr Staff who made a deal with me. I got 2nd phase in
less than 30days and free from STRAIGHT in 60. How do you foster a broken child. "Hi, Samantha
Monroe? Chuck Dialey" A man no taller than myself is awkwardly
standing there, staring at me. "Uh um. I'm
your intake worker from HRS" raising his files at me. "You
doing ok?" Uh Ok? Dude I'm
sitting in detention. "Yeah. How
long do I have to stay here?" "Well we don't
have a home for you yet and the shelters are full, It should only take a
couple of days." Understatement of the year. "In the mean
time, I need to ask you a few questions." I size him up.
"Can I smoke?" "sure, sure.
Ill make sure you have money for smokes before I go." He lights my
cigarette. In JDC you aren't
allowed to own a lighter, you can however own cigarettes. "Want
one?" I hold out my pack of Marlboro Reds. "No, Thanks, I
don't smoke" "So why do you
have a lighter?" Chuck and I became
friends. With the way HRS runs, which is for shit, Chuck really tried to
do his best. "You know Sam,
your a smart kid. Your gonna be ok." I know he's sincere he's
tearing up. "A mailman?
Chuck mailmen go crazy, the job sucks Dude. you'd rather be a mailman
than work for HRS? How fucking bad is your job?" "Pretty
bad." We walked around
Dexereux, It was my 16th birthday and Chuck came. Like he promised, he
came. "Sweet
sixteen. did you get my card?" Chuck always sent cards I loved
Chuck. "I'm sorry
you're here." "Me too" "So when ya
gonna adopt me?" I knew he never would, he never offered. I believe
he would have if it was possible. "Cindy Johnson
will be your new caseworker. Do you remember Cindy?" I'll never forget
Cindy. "Monroe your
out." "See ya
Sam" "Good luck
girl" "don't forget
to call my mom and leave your number" I was sad to leave.
Juvenile detention was cake compared to STRAIGHT. "Bye
guys." I waved down at the kids playing cards in the common area. "Hi, I'm
Cindy" An amazon compared to me Cindy was Tall and well fed, I'd
say a German/Sweede mix and a hippie to boot. "Is this
it?" She was holding my pillowcase. "Yup" "Well, we'll
have to get you some vouchers" "what are
vouchers?" Her legs are three times longer than mine I half jog
half run to keep up. "For clothing.
Get in." I didn't ask where
we were going. "I'm
hungry." "I'll stop on
the way to the shelter." We met around 10:30
am and at 1pm she's telling me that I am having an abortion. I didn't
even know I was pregnant. Almost three months? Where was I? 90
days ago. As promised Cindy
did stop for food. "Chuck will be
by to see you tomorrow." I laid in a strange bed in a stranger
house eating KFC and watching tv. "It" was
never mentioned again. Have you ever seen
the movie "Honkey Tonk Freeway" Yeah me neither. If you get a
chance there's this scene where a water tower is blown up on I 75, The
trailer like home in the background that was my Emergency Shelter. It
was exactly 3 miles from STRAIGHT. "We love you
Saam, Oh yes we doo. When you're not STRAAIIGHT, we're bluuue. Oh Saam
we love you" These straight
fucks are holding a vigil across the street, from what's supposed to be
an "Emergency Shelter" Glorya's in front holding a candle. "Give me a
fucking break" "Chuck I can't
take this anymore" "Lets talk
about why your here." Why? You wanna know
why! you stupid fuck! I'm fucking here because you fucks won't let out!
I'm here because everyone hates me. I'm here because people won't leave
me the fuck alone! I'm here because for fifteen years I have been
molested, tortured, starved, kidnapped, beaten, and raped. Why am I here
because you fucking fucks don't have a clue. I'm here because God hates
me. I'm here because I hate me. That's why I'm here you stupid ignoramus
dirty old fuck! Staring at the perv
whos now looking at my boobs, I adjust my lip gloss recross my legs and
say nothing. M Samantha 15 F weight 99lbs BP80/120 temp100 Pulse120 resting Diagnosis
depression, compulsive, provocative, defiant, "borderline
personality disorder". "We recommend
a 60 day eval." "Hold her
down" "Get her
legs" "WHY! WHY!
WHY!?" "There's
nothing wrong with me!" I stayed in foster
care for two years. I won't try to convince you that I was a great kid I
wasn't. I was a confused, traumatized kid who now existed in a deceiving
package. I won't even try to
defend my mistakes. I do have to
interject a few things though. HRS never had a
clue. One half of the team was investigating STRAIGHT the other half is
receiving the broken kids from STRAIGHT. So they have all this
information and they let STRAIGHT exist and they hid us in Hospitals and
treatment centers. Not once EVER did they address the issues with me or
anyone else. Not once did I receive counseling. Not once did they ever
have an Iota of an Idea what those sick fucks did to us. To me! I now believe that
I am worthless a druggie a whore I believe that I don't deserve love and
I believe that everything that has happened is my fault and I am bad and
I am a shit and I am not worth life. I believe it because STRAIGHT said
so. I believe it because no else has told me otherwise. Devereux was no
better than STRAIGHT. I arrived to a locked unit of 40 teens all dually
diagnosed all scared all on meds, shuffling around a 20x20 room in their
robes and slippers. "You have to
be dressed by 8. If your cold you can wear a sweater or a robe, but you
have to be dressed by 8" "Your allowed
two books in your room. Do you like to read?" "You have to
store all your bath Items here" Hi I'm Shannon and
I'll be your tour guide for this trip. "You have to
stay in the day room until after rounds and meds then you can go back to
your room. If there's a staff that wants to sit up there" "No lying on
the couch's" "You must take
all of your meds, no sharing." Are you kidding me?
"Smoke breaks
are every hour do you have cigs?" I hold up my pack. "What's your
name again? "Sam" It
barely escapes my throat. "Oh, Yeah.
Hey! Tina this is Sam. She's from Florida!" "Shut up
Shannon" some fat redhead snarls from the table of four. "Yeah fuck off
CARP" "Denisha, you
just lost your break" A voice says from behind me. "yeah? I don't
care!" "Fuck you Rocky" Dee flips him off. Devereux is a
combination of Juvenile detention and Psychiatric Hospital on a pristine
200 acre campus located in Kennesaw bum fuck Georgia. It had three units.
The girls, the boys and lock down. I spent a year and
a half at Devereux, I was given a cocktail of drugs that made me
lethargic, brian dead, I was in BCR and put in restraints over 40 times.
I saw a "therapist" once a month. Group therapy was once a
day. Rules therapy was once a week. In the am we had Grievance and Med
therapy and in the evening we had meds and TV therapy, Staffs choice. They had all these
"therapies" but never touched on the real issues that brought
us there in the first place. In adolescent treatment it isn't about
healing a broken child, It's about modifying their behavior, making them
act appropriate, regardless of how they feel. It's about having a child
conform to an adult world, adult behaviors, adult beliefs and adult
feelings. All the while struggling with being a kid. Mix in the natural
changes, hormones, chemicals, the real brain, shake that up with
medications like, thorazine, mellaril, stellazine. "Sam pack up
your leaving" As quick as they decided to put me there, HRS decided
to take me out. For 18 months I'd
been in an institution, on medication, under strict control and
observation, then I am left at a house cold turkey from the meds. still
no counseling for the hell I'd been through. I have no idea how to be
normal, how to fit in, my mind and spirit are dead. I walked away from
HRS march 1985. They closed my case October 1985 my Eighteenth Birthday. I wish this were
the part where I walk off into the sunset happily ever after, I wish my
mom and I had worked things out, I wish I had been a healed adjusted
adult ready to face the world. I wish I had had a clue. Leaving wasn't
hard, I went out one night hooked up with friends and never returned to
my foster home, they collected the checks and cashed them, my caseworker
was on maternity leave. No flags no search. I wandered for a
long time going from Betsy's in Lufkin, To Enids in Bowling Green. I
finally ended in NJ. Right back to the start the place 7 years ago I
dreaded to leave. For seven years I'd
been without family, I had changed, drastically at eleven I was tiny,
sensitive, naive, somewhere, in-between life, I became a woman. It doesn't matter
how you look, if your screwed up your screwed up. I moved in with Tom
on my 19th birthday. I wasn't in love, I didn't have dreams of marriage,
I was a sad lonely homeless girl who knew that she had a place to stay
if she treated him nice. It wasn't hard he was 23 had a job, good
looking, nice and he liked to party. I had it pretty
good, All the pot I wanted, coke and the City on weekends, pretty
clothes a nice house, a car. Tom gave it all to me. Still I had this
empty feeling, in my soul. I wanted more, I wanted to be more, I wasn't
happy. I didn't care about
clothes, cars, money. I didn't know what I was missing I just knew I was
missing it. Missing out on life, on the world, on everything. I had visited Cate
Thanksgiving break at ESU and was enrolled for the summer program a week
later. Living on campus
was a mixed bag, I liked the experience and hated it at the same time.
Kind of how I felt about College in general. I certainly wasn't
emotionally ready, and partied more than I studied. The last formal
education I had experienced was 7th grade. Which I didn't even finish. Did you ever make
the same mistake over and over and over? Leaving is getting
easier for me. I don't plan or say good-bye, I just pack the car and
leave, that's it. "see ya". Except when it
comes to my mother, who I have decided is my reason to be. If I can get
her to accept me, to approve of me, to be proud if me. I'd be alright. "Lets talk
about why you're here" "It's my
mother" I'm in a cold pleather chair socks, underwear, hospital
gown and a blanket. "Good luck
Samantha." I moved in with
Daryl on my 22nd birthday. I needed a place to stay. "Praise
Jesus" "Alelujah!" "Praise God, Jehova!" I found Tampa
Christian around the time they found Tampa Bay an untapped heathen city
with MONEY!! I fell hook, line
and sinker. They were so friendly, everybody was beautiful, smiling,
full of Christ's Love. And. "He loves you
too!" "What's a lock
in?" "Its where we
stay from friday night to sunday night worshiping and fellowshiping' "Is there
food?" "Yup" "Cool I'll
come" By Sunday I am so
full of Christ's love I'm shitting sacramental wafers. I've renounced my
sins, been baptized and born again. Amen! "Welcome to
newborn group" "Were here to
help you in your walk with Christ" "Let' s have a
prayer. Who wants to start." We all raise our
hand, I stop myself from motivating, barely. "Brother
Dave" "Lord." I wanted to be a
good Christian. I really did. I prayed I read my bible, baked cakes,
fellowed with the women attended every service meeting and I gave them
my checks every Sunday. Putting my weekly
paychecks into that bowl made me believe that God was happy with me. "The more you
give" "Randy" "Samantha!"
He smiles from his desk "Come in Come in" Randy White is a
charismatic Benny Hinn follower. He started "Without Walls"
SouthTampa Christian Center with his wife Pauls about a year before I
had Joined "Nice
Office" I had a problem, I
needed his help. He wasn't smiling. "I want to be
a good Christian, I want to set an example, I don't want to live with my
boyfriend in sin" "I've been
giving you all my money" "I prayed for
an answer." "Wouldn't God
give some of it back?" "Hello
Mom" "Lets talk
about why you're here" I moved in with Ted
a month before my 24th birthday. Oh God will I ever learn!!!! I'd done it! I got
my own apartment. I had a job. I was ok. Then my boss asked
me for sex and I got fired. When nothing else
works, kill yourself. I walked to the
ACME three blocks from my place and bought a bottle of Tylenol PM. It
wasn't dramatic or romantic. I went home drank a beer and ate half the
bottle. Tylenol PM will rip
you up. I woke up choking on vomit. I was in pain and I was puking
blood. I didn't care I wanted to die. I took the other
half of the bottle. Hello mom. $200.00 and a One
way ticket Some times you just
seem to fall into step. "Bien venue a
floreed, sorry kids that's all my French." "I'm Samantha
and I'll be your director. On behalf of EF and the United States
welcome" 29 days 20 kids and
a hefty paycheck waiting at the end. "Jay. what ya
doin?" "Nothing" "Meet me lets
get a drink. I have a surprise" I left for France
September 27th 1993. I was never so sure
of myself as I was landing in Paris with no return ticket and $200.00. I
was FREE I was new, I was going to be whoever I wanted. It took two round
trips and four families before I was enrolled in school and legal. The DesVignes were
a blessing, Alex and M.C. were the reflection of their mothers beauty
and grace with a bit of their fathers cynicism. Perfect Young ladies.
Their sweet accents, smart minds and big brown eyes. I fell in love with
them immediately. I know they loved
me too, they trusted me with their kids. I trusted them to teach me
about family. My love life
consisted of Aurelien a closeted french boy, and Bruno a Philosophy
professor who taught me about sex. The rest of my life
there was amazing unforgettable a blessing. I traveled all over France.
I spent a summer hiking through Scotland. I went to museums, orchestras,
and ballets. I learned to cook, paint, appreciate opera (well at least
tolerate it). I made friends from everywhere, Poland, Africa, Spain,
Italy, Heaven. Yes Heaven. I made friends with God. I didn't listen to
him, I didn't always trust in him. Still, We were friends. Graduating from the
Catholique University should have made me happy. "Je suise
desolee mlle. C'est le droit" "Oui je sais
mais..." "I am sorree
you ave no time left. Youe wisa is fini" "I'll write.
I'll miss you. Ill visit I promise" "We love you
samm" "Gudby Sahm"
Their sweet voices still ring in my head. Hello mom? I landed in Miami
July 14th 1997 If there's one
thing I've learned it's; sometimes your not the crazy one, it is them
and maybe just maybe it wasn't your fault. It took another two
years to realize Glorya Jane was never going to change. She will never
be a good mother to me and I can not be around her. She is toxic. I am
allergic. Some times God steps in, and lets you fall. "You are
sentenced to three years probation and mandatory counseling" It was
the last time I'd see mom until cates wedding. "Lets talk
about why your here" Lou Anne took
another cigarette and lit it from the tip of her first. "Well let's
see...." I told her
everything, all my secrets all my pain. I told her about mom and dad,
Lisa, Straight HRS Devereux. My suicide attempts. My beliefs about
religion, God, the universe. I told her about my heightened intuition,
my nightmares and nightsweats, my insomnia and anorexia. For three hours
I ranted on about everything and Lou listened. Without interruption
without correction she listened intently. "Wow, that's
fucked up" Her gruff voice softened by her compassion. "Yeah I know.
What the fuck am I gonna do Lou? I'm.." I throw up. "Well tonight
your going to go home and take a bath, and try to get some rest. I want
to see you tomorrow 8am ok?" My apartment was
one room with a kitchenette and a shower that electrocuted you. It was
awful located right in crack town, it was all I could afford. I stayed
there for three months saving money and moved into a duplex September 1
2000. Dunedin was a small town and close to both work and Lou's office,
I didn't have a car but I did have a scooter. "How
much?" "$400.00" "I'll take
it" I drove home my
bubble gum pink Riva on the spot. It felt liberating. Transportation
gives you freedom and movement. Alot of things
changed in September. "The World
Trade Center has just been hit by what looked like a commercial
airline!" I sat glued to the
TV for an hour watching in disbelief. Patty the senior agent took hold
and got us started. "Let's pull
all the PNR's and see who we have out there" Between commercial
breaks we secured hotels and cars for all our clients, not one of our
clients were on those dreadful flights. Thank you God. I remember crying
for those people the families. It was inexplicable what had happened.
Our country had changed forever. When something like that happens you
can't help but re-examine everything. "Lou, I found
other survivors. I googled STRAIGHT and there are others. I'm meeting
with two tonight" "Hi, I'm
Samantha I am a survivor of straight. I was incarcerated in 1983. My
time there was to say the least torture. I want to share with you a few
of my experiences." I spoke at my first
conference in 2001. It was invigorating to be a part of these people, I
had a purpose, a reason. We started SAFETY Net later that month and I
went headlong into bringing awareness to the community about STRAIGHT,
and the straight like programs. I was angry at them for what they did, I
was angry at my mother, I was angry at HRS and I was angry with the
government. I had learned that
STRAIGHT was in fact a concentration camp. A kinder jugen. The
techniques used on us as children were the same as the Korean POW reform
camps. They were using these procedures on children, they had used it on
me. What's worse is that the government knew and they allowed it, while
I was fighting for my life Mel Sembler is in front of the Senate
committee being confirmed for Ambassadorship to Australia. Then Italy.
He's giving hundreds of thousands of dollars to the GOP and working as
their financial chairman. HRS on many occasions were told to step down,
to leave STRAIGHT inc. alone to look the other way. Finally after 30
years of existence STRAIGHT closed their last treatment center. They are
now DFAF. Three years passed
quick, I was getting better mentally, becoming stronger, willful. It was
my soul that needed work now. "God. I can't
do this alone. I won't do this alone. I need you to tell me, give me
signs, what is it you want from me? I give up. I don't know what to do.
God?" I prayed, every day
every night. "Thank you for
today. I want to thank you in advance for tomorrow." I'd done it! I'd
conquered my demons and I was ready to move on. From 2000 to 2005 I
went through one hell of a healing process. I had to face truths and
lies, I needed to let it out and then do something with it. I was devoid
of light and life, I needed to find it. With awareness
comes responsibility. Hello God? I live in
Philadelphia now, alone. No ones voyage is
isolated, we cross each others paths all the time, making impressions
wherever we go, we make a difference to ourselves and to each other. There are many of
you who's paths I've crossed. Some have been bumpy and others have been
hell. The ones I remember, are smooth. Thank you for
smoothing out my bumpy path. To Cate and Aunt
Enid. Epilogue I'm not sure if
this will be received well, I hope it is. I hope that finally I will
never have to explain myself again. I hope that people will read this
and do something about our children today here in america. Our voiceless
and lost children. I hope you hug your own children closer and remember
they love you and look up to you and need you. I hope I will be able to
get on with my life and walk into the sunset. Someday. Samantha is a child
rights activist in Philadelphia she has been working tirelessly to help
protect children from abuse neglect and indifference. She has been
featured in St. Petersburg times, Fox news and The Montel Show and now
Druggie Whore.
Straight Inc.--Survivor Statement #2
DECLARATION UNDER PENALTY OF PERJURY PURSUANT TO 28 USCA 1746
I, Amy Hall, declare and state as follows: 1. Straight Inc. 2. Chesapeake, VA 3. 02/90 – 05/90 4. My parents placed me in Straight when I was 15 years old. I had experimented with alcohol and marijuana but most definitely did not have a drug problem. I was, however, a rebellious child. My family was somewhat dysfunctional and my father could be abusive at times. I admit that I had anger issues, but I was not an out of control teenager. At the time, my father was involved in a parents support group called GRIP (Greater Richmond Informed Parents) and the director (?) of the program, Gordon Pryor, was a huge advocate of Straight Inc. One night I came home from a friends house and my family was waiting for me. I was told by my father that he was taking me to be evaluated at Straight in the morning. I didn’t know anything about the program so I agreed to the evaluation. Since I didn’t have a drug problem, I saw no reason to be worried. When we arrived at Straight the next morning, I was taken to a room and my parents were taken to another room somewhere else. There was a girl about my age in the room with me. She started asking me questions about my drug use and sexual history. I told her that I’d drank a few times, tried pot and had only sex with my boyfriend. She called me a liar. Another girl came in and the first girl told her what I’d said and they both laughed and said they knew I was a druggie whore who slept with guys to get drugs. I told them I’d never done anything like that and they just laughed at me. This went on for about 4 hours. Finally, they took me to the room where my parents were and my dad told me that I wouldn’t be coming home. He said he was disappointed in me for the things I’d done and that I needed help. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I started crying and I tried to tell him that I hadn’t done anything. The girls grabbed me and took me out of the room. I was taken to the bathroom where I was strip searched. I think there were about 4 or 5 girls with me at the time. I didn’t want to strip, but they made me. My clothes and body were searched for drugs. I was crying and telling them that I didn’t have drugs on me, but they just laughed. They pinched me and poked me while I stood there naked and crying. Finally, I was allowed to put my clothes back on and they took me to introduce me to the group. At that point, I think I was in a state of shock because I barely remember the rest of that day. I think the rules were explained to me at some point. I remember seeing the kids in group waving their arms around like they were having some kind of fit and I was told that they were “motivating”. Kids were stood up and screamed at for things I couldn’t understand. Kids stood up and shared things about their past drug use or sexual history. I remember thinking that I’d been put into an insane asylum. While at Straight, I never made it off first phase. We spent 12 hours a day in group. I always had an oldcomer holding me by the back of my pants (beltlooping) and I never got to shower or use the bathroom alone. Almost every day for the first month, I was stood up in group and screamed at for hours because I wasn’t motivating hard enough, or because I was still “lying” about my drug use. When I refused to sit with my hands flat on my legs, members on either side of me would force me to and when I fought them, I was restrained by 4 or 5 of them. Restraining involved being thrown on the floor and either being sat on by other members or being held in the “hog tie” position with my arms and legs being held, almost touching, behind my back. Sometimes, another member would hold my chin and lift my head up so that I had to look at the person screaming at me. There were at least 3 times that the oldcomer holding my head would suddenly let go, causing my face and chin to slam into the concrete floor. This left bruises all over my jaw and chin. Once I was sat over on the guys side to be restrained by the guys because I had hurt the girls around me. They guys were bigger than me and easily overpowered me. They were also more brutal. Each day at Straight I became more and more depressed. There are some days that I honestly don’t remember, either because I have blocked things out or maybe I was just so depressed I had begun to disassociate myself from what was happening. One night, I managed to drink about a quarter of a bottle of Windex at my host home, in hopes that I would either die or get sent to the hospital. When my oldcomer saw what I was doing, she told her mother and I was kept awake all night as punishment. I think I was sick for about a week, but I was never once, taken to a doctor. I think it was my second month at Straight when I tried to run. It was early morning and we were in the kitchen in the host home getting ready to leave. My oldcomers mother had left the front door slightly open so I ran. My oldcomer caught up with me in the yard and grabbed my shirt. I managed to get my shirt off and I almost made it to the road when she grabbed the back of my bra. It broke and I continued to run, half naked into the street. By then, my oldcomer and her parents tackled me and drug me back to the house. Neighbors had come out of their house to see what was going on. I can only imagine what they thought when they saw me being dragged half naked back into the house kicking and screaming. That day in group was hell but also a turning point. I couldn’t fight them anymore. I accepted that I was never getting out and I needed to “get with the program”. After a few days, I began motivating as hard or harder than the others around me. I admitted that I was an addict and that I would die if I left Straight. I had given up and in a sense I felt relief. I realize now, that was part of the brainwashing process. I had come to think the way THEY wanted me to think. I was a worthless druggie and deserved what I got. I stood up in group one day and shared my guilt and humiliation over trying to run away. At the time, I was humiliated. I actually felt guilt for trying to leave when they were trying to desperately to save me. I shared my guilt and shame over my past druggie ways. That day, after I shared, I was hugged for the first time in 2 months. I never got to the point where I could yell at other newcomers though. I still felt compassion for what they were going through. Because of this, I never made it to second phase. Sometime in May, just before the Friday night open meeting, I was approached by an oldcomer who told me that my parents were there to bring me home. I was being withdrawn from the program. I didn’t believe them at first. I thought it was a test. She grabbed me by my beltloop and took me to where my parents were. I hadn’t seen them in almost 4 months. When I saw them, I immediately started crying. I didn’t know what to think. I wanted to leave, but I was afraid to go. Part of me did not want to leave because I didn’t want to go back to being a druggie whore, even though somewhere in my mind, I knew I never was one to begin with. When I got home, my parents told me that I needed to attend A.A. or N.A. meetings. I had to do a 90 in 90, meaning, I had to go to a meeting every day for 90 days. My parents still believed, thanks to Straight, that I was a druggie. I went to A.A. for awhile. I stayed clean for 9 months despite the constant anxiety and depression I was trying to deal with on my own. My parents refused to let me talk about Straight and when I did, they denied that I suffered any abuse. They withdrew me from the program when Straight personnel tried to dictate how my parents lived their lives. It has been 18 years since I was in Straight. For a long time, I tried to forget about my experiences there and for awhile I succeeded. A few days ago, I ran across a video on Youtube that showed a program that looked just like Straight. I did more research and found that the center is actually based on the Straight model. The institution is called Pathway Family Center. When I watched the video, I was a terrified 15 year old again for a moment. Memories of Straight came rushing back over me like a tidal wave. Since then, I have been on every website I can find, posting my story and finding other stories just like mine, warning parents that these places are evil. Abuse disguised as treatment cannot be condoned under any circumstance. Our children deserve better than that. I give HEAL permission to use this statement. I declare under penalty of perjury that the foregoing is true and correct. Executed on October 21, 2008.
_______________________________ Amy Hall [PRIVATE] [PRIVATE] SPECIAL NOTE: STATUTE DOES NOT REQUIRE NOTARY]
Teen Challenge Survivor Statement #1 DECLARATION UNDER PENALTY OF PERJURY PURSUANT TO 28 USCA 1746
I, Joseph V. Agrifolio , declare and state as follows: 1. Teen Challenge 2. Sanford, Florida 3. January 2004 through August 2004 4. Teen Challenge professes to be a Christian Program that helps with life controlling issues such as drugs and alcohol addiction. The program is allegedly a not for profit agency affiliated with the Assemblies of God Churches. In actuality, this program is a work camp that forces clients to work 8 – 10 hour days in ways that are not helpful to them and not always legal. Residents are frequently outsourced for jobs with local companies to earn money for the organization. They are often reduced, in exchange for 1 – 2 hours of Bible study, 1 hour of unprofessional counseling per week and room and board, to beggars taking up collections on street corners for profit, or setting up carwashes in department store parking lots for profit. Clients without driver’s licenses drive vans full of other workers to and from these money-making ventures. In Sanford in 2004, two workers were killed on the interstate in an auto accident. The van had two faulty tires, no brake lights and an unlicensed driver. Teen Challenge was sued by the families of the victims and the case was settled out of court. I myself, a convicted drug abuser, was assigned a job as Medical Coordinator in Sanford, dispensing medications to other residents. Not only was that illegal, it was dangerous to both me and the other clients. Any competent and respectable rehabilitation organization should have more appropriate policies and procedures in place and practice. Also in Sanford, convicted felons working at outsourced jobs were directed to get clients’ credit card numbers over the phone. When it came to light, the customers became very angry that convicted felons had access to their credit card numbers and got the courts involved. In reality, people trying to get their lives together should not be spending their time performing illegal activities for Teen Challenge or its clients. Teen Challenge workers were as much victims as the customers. The director of the program was re-assigned out of state when the Sanford Teen Challenge came under legal and financial scrutiny. Despite legal, moral, ethical and financial issues, Teen Challenge quickly ushered in a new Director where it continued business-as-usual. At best, Teen Challenge is a human-trafficking operation that takes advantage of people’s problems, holds clients captive and uses them as commodities for its own gain. It forces them to work long hours only for the monetary benefit of the program and its administrators. At its worst, it is a brainwashing cult. It complicates problems and turns out robots that have problems making educated informed decisions for themselves. Despite the statistics it spouts out, Teen Challenge has no success rate. Prison or county jails are better alternatives than places like Teen Challenge.
I give HEAL permission to use this statement. I declare under penalty of perjury that the foregoing is true and correct. Executed on _January 14, 2009. Joseph V. Agrifolio Joseph V. Agrifolio [PRIVATE] [PRIVATE] [PRIVATE] josephagrifolio@yahoo.com SPECIAL NOTE: STATUTE DOES NOT REQUIRE NOTARY
DECLARATION UNDER PENALTY OF PERJURY PURSUANT TO 28 USCA 1746
I, Vaughn Mario Di Frisco_____ [NAME OF DECLARANT]_____________, declare and state as follows: 1. [Teen Challenge InternationalNAME OF PROGRAM].. 2. [Sanford, FloridaLOCATION OF PROGRAM]
3. [Hired: 2-19-07 Fired: 8-18-08 PERIOD OF INTERNMENT MM/YY TO MM/YY] 4. [Attached or already sent DECLARATIVE STATEMENT] TEEN CHALLENGE
INTERNATIONAL FLORIDA HEADQUARTERS – Administrative I give HEAL permission to use this statement. I declare under penalty of perjury that the foregoing is true and correct. Executed on March 11, 2009. Vaughn Mario Di Frisco 17 Santiago Road Debary Florida 32713 (407) 580-9267_____________________________ [NAME OF DECLARANT] SPECIAL NOTE: STATUTE DOES NOT REQUIRE NOTARY]
If you would like to submit your statement about Teen Challenge, Straight, Inc., AARC, or any other Straight, Inc. Spin-off (i.e. KIDS of NJ), please e-mail us for information.
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