Pubdate: Wed, 18 Dec 2002
Source: Style Weekly (VA)
Copyright: 2002 Style Weekly Inc.
Contact:  http://www.styleweekly.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/430
Author: Melissa Scott Sinclair
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/rehab.htm (Treatment)

THE NEW GUY

The New Guy Faced With A Budget Mess, Scott Addison Is Charged With 
Reviving The City's Largest Nonprofit Drug-treatment Center.

When Scott Addison walks into the second-floor classroom in the women's 
drug-treatment center, three students turn their heads. The teacher casts 
him a can-I-help-you? glance, and Addison introduces himself as the new 
executive director.

"Oh," she says with a tight smile. "I got a letter from you Friday." 
Addison winces ever so slightly. It wasn't a good letter.

Addison, 34, came from Wyoming a month ago to take on a tough job in the 
toughest of times. His first task as the new director of Rubicon Inc., the 
city's largest nonprofit drug treatment center, was to lay off 20 employees 
before he had the chance to meet them. And more drastic action will be 
needed to get Rubicon back on track. Its budget last fiscal year was $4.2 
million; this year, it must make do with $2 million. The agency lost $1.7 
million from state cuts that hit the Department of Corrections, which used 
to provide most of the agency's clients.

The nonprofit has been without an executive director for two years, since 
former director Evangle Watley died after a 29-year tenure. Rubicon's board 
of directors started a nationwide search for a leader this year, hoping to 
find someone with experience in social service and business. Addison, who 
was serving as executive director of the Wyoming Substance Abuse Treatment 
and Recovery Centers, and who has twin master's degrees in counseling 
psychology and public administration, fit the bill perfectly.

"He's energetic, he's young," says Clarence Jackson, chairman of the board. 
The board sought someone who would aggressively promote the organization 
not just to potential clients, Jackson says, but also to donors, other 
nonprofits and the General Assembly. They want to make Rubicon secure 
enough never again to be so injured by the loss of a single funding source.

Addison flew here twice for interviews before deciding to make the leap 
from one of the few states with a sizable budget surplus to one crippled by 
cuts. You have to ask: What was he thinking?

"I think it was the challenge," he says. "Also the diversity." Addison 
believes that strong, decisive leadership can help Rubicon fulfill its 
much-needed mission. Despite the financial problems, he says, "the 
potential is still there to provide amazing service to the city of Richmond."

Addison advocates a "strength-based model" of drug-addiction treatment, 
which teaches clients to focus on their assets - family, friends, 
spirituality, support groups - instead of obstacles. He's taking the same 
approach to reviving Rubicon. Knowing it was beset by problems, he asked 
himself, What are its assets?

The big one is the agency's 12-acre campus on Front Street, at the end of 
Brookland Park Boulevard. On the tree-lined grounds stands a stately 
Victorian house where women and children in the program live, a large brick 
building that Rubicon leases to a private school, and the recently built $4 
million men's treatment center. It's an unexpected oasis in a rough 
neighborhood; young men loiter in the surrounding streets but seldom dare 
to go inside the graffiti-scrawled brick walls.

The place amazed Addison when he first saw it, but he wondered why it 
wasn't being fully used. The halls on the second and third floors of the 
men's center are silent, with only 40 out of 150 beds occupied. Ninety beds 
are available for women, but only about 30 live in the center now, along 
with a few infants and toddlers. (On one visit, Addison smiles to see six 
little ones messily eating pudding in the nursery.) A few smaller buildings 
on campus are vacant.

Finding more money and more people to fill the facilities is paramount. 
Rubicon currently has a contract with the city for $1.4 million - a 
combination of grants and treatment fees. Addison plans to seek clients 
from Richmond's homeless and the agencies that serve them, and institute a 
sliding fee scale to help defray costs.

He also plans to solicit Rubicon's former mainstay, the Department of 
Corrections, for referrals and possible grants. "Getting those individuals 
out of the prisons and into our facility is going to save them money," he 
points out. Hospitals may also be interested in partnering with Rubicon, as 
the nonprofit can treat addicts much cheaper. Its typical cost per patient 
is $90 to $110, while a private hospital may charge $200 to $350.

Addison's responsibility extends beyond just keeping the nonprofit afloat, 
says Frank "Pepper" Laughon Jr., a board member since 1969. Drug-treatment 
programs are needed "to maintain some sanity in our community," he says, 
especially at a time when crime rates are climbing as government aid to 
social services is minimal.

In order to fill its beds and bank account, Rubicon must begin to make its 
name known, Addison says. Though well-respected by fellow nonprofits, 
Rubicon keeps a low profile and records no statistics on its success rates, 
a risky oversight in an age where funding is often based on performance. 
Addison's Wyoming agency helped 62 to 68 percent of its clients overcome 
their addictions. "And I feel assured that we can too," Addison says.

Rubicon takes a "bio-psycho-social approach" to treating drug addiction, 
Addison explains - that is, addressing not only physical dependence but 
also mental illness and reintegration into society. Simply put, "we teach 
people how to lead better lives," he says. Clients live on the Front Street 
campus with 24-hour supervision and help from addiction specialists, 
educators and counselors. When clients first arrive, they undergo detox, if 
necessary, spend 30 days in treatment and then transition into employment 
and an independent life.

The idea is to inundate each client with coping skills, Addison says, 
teaching them ways that don't involve drugs to deal with stress, anger and 
"life in general." He believes firmly in holding clients accountable for 
their own rehabilitation. "It's not just come live with us and hang out and 
do your thing," he says.

By June 1, Addison plans to move the organization's administrative 
headquarters from a dingy office in Scott's Addition to a now-vacant 
building in Rubicon's Front Street complex. He thinks that consolidating 
operations will save money and improve the agency's image. "The carpets are 
filthy - just not my style," he says. "I like it clean."

Board members hope the new director's drive will be Rubicon's salvation. 
They know he's not afraid to make a stir. Addison's an ACLU member, an 
unabashed liberal and a self-proclaimed fan of "anarchist" musicians such 
as Ani diFranco and Utah Phillips. And the board considers him tough - 
Addison played on the defensive line at the University of Wyoming, Laughon 
points out. "If you ever saw a place that needed a linebacker, this is it."
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