Pubdate: Thu, 14 Sep 2000
Source: Hamilton Spectator (CN ON)
Copyright: The Hamilton Spectator 2000
Contact:  http://www.hamiltonspectator.com/
Author: Paul Wilson

RECOVERING ADDICT LENDS A HAND

Greg Kononow rides his bicycle to Marchese Pharmacy on James North every 
day. The woman behind the counter has three big pitchers of juice ready -- 
grape, peach and   orange. Greg always chooses the orange. Into that goes 
115 milligrams of methadone. For most people, that cocktail would be 
deadly. For Greg, who has built up a tolerance to drugs, it just controls 
the cravings of addiction.

I found Greg on my front porch the other night. He was standing there, 
ballcap scrunched way down, pad and pen in hand.

I'm good at sending sales people away quickly. I always try to do it 
politely, because long ago I did sales myself. It's a tough grind. But 
whatever could this guy be selling? I listened.

He said he was an addict. He pulled out his health card. As rough as he 
looked on my porch, he looked rougher in the photo on that card. He said it 
was taken before he came to Hamilton, not quite a year ago. He was 108 
pounds then. He's since gained 60 pounds.

He said he lives in a place on Aberdeen Avenue, managed by the Good 
Shepherd Centre. And that he is on a methadone program.  He was going door 
to door asking for money. With that money, he said, he was buying food for 
homeless people.

A dodgy story. But this man under the cap seemed so vulnerable, so earnest. 
I gave him three loonies. He then ripped a strip of paper from his pad, 
wrote down his name, address and phone number. "I do that for everybody," 
he said. "If you know someone who needs help, call me."

I did call a couple of days later, then went to see him. I asked how his 
front-door campaign had worked out. Greg said he had gone out several 
nights. On his best night, he got $37. He said that three times he took the 
money and went downtown. He went to Giant Tiger and bought a case of Pepsi 
on sale.

Then he went to Pizza Pizza, King and John, and bought two extra-large 
pepperoni pizzas. He took them across the street to Gore Park and passed 
out slices to people he believes are homeless. They wondered what he was 
doing, but ate the pizza.

Greg lives in a plain, grey room. There are three things on the wall -- an 
appointment slip from his probation officer (a couple of years ago, he 
stole a prescription pad and forged some scrips), a picture of roses that 
his mother put up and a card with dogs on it from his 12-year-old niece. It 
says: "Dear Uncle Greg: I miss you so much. How are you doing?  I'm fine. 
School is going great. I am very proud of you. I love you."

Greg, 38, is from Ajax. His father worked for GM. His  mother, a widow, 
phones nearly every day at noon.

Greg used to play hockey. A coach abused him when he was 10 and he quit a 
few years after that. Greg also golfed  a lot. He picked up garbage at the 
Annandale course and they let him play free. He won some tournaments.

He left Ajax High early. He didn't fit. "I've always  kind of been a loner. 
I've always thought people were looking at me as an ugly duckling.

"It seemed I always had to buy my friends. At the pool hall, I was the one 
who ended up paying for the pool, the pop, the cigarettes."

At his first job, on the line at a fastener factory, he  found the way to 
join in was to go out with his  co-workers and drink as much as they did. 
But he was  only 16. Marijuana and hash were next. The long spiral was 
under way. He moved on to cocaine and pills.

When he was 22, through connections, he was able to get on as a janitor 
with Toronto city hall. Technically, he's still with the city, though it's 
five years since he reported for work. He submits a doctor's note every  28 
days.

After a cocaine purchase in 1987, the police chased him into the Christie 
subway station and he smashed his ankle at the bottom of the escalator. 
Ever since, he has walked with a limp.

That got him addicted to pain killers. He graduated to Dilaudid, often used 
by addicts when they can't get heroin.

"It's euphoria," says Greg. "You have no pain. You feel on top of the 
world. The shyness is gone. If the prime minister was sitting beside you, 
you'd be talking to him."

But he was turning into a vegetable. His family, which  had always been 
there for him, was backing off. Greg had hit bottom.

At the Pinewood Detox centre in Oshawa, he heard about the Mission Services 
Suntrac recovery program in Hamilton. He arrived here late last year and 
has been on methadone all that time.

The methadone does not provide a high, but it does prevent withdrawal. So 
Greg makes that daily trip to the drugstore. He likes the place. He knows 
everybody's name and they know his.

He stands at the counter and is handed a styrofoam cup. He drinks down his 
methadone-and-juice in front of the pharmacist. That is the rule.

They give him another cup of straight juice to chase away the bitter taste. 
One for the road -- and a long  road it is.
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