SUPER COP

            As I look back now, I realize that me and John Jenks were made for each other. We looked as though we were cut from the same cloth, John thirtyish at the time, a couple years older than me, carried himself with a self-righteous arrogance consistent with his all-American boy good looks, and all of the accolades he had received as an under-cover narcotics detective. We were both true believers, convinced justice was on our side. He was mistaken, I was not.

            I had noticed one of his cases for a motion to suppress the evidence alleging he had detained and arrested my client without sufficient probable cause. His arrest was for, “under the influence of a controlled substance,” a misdemeanor carrying a ninety-day minimum mandatory sentence. My client was young, perhaps twenty, Asian, and attractive in a petite sort of way. The fact that she had tested positive for cocaine was irrelevant, the issue was not guilt or innocence, but rather the unlawful conduct of Detective Jenks, a violation of a citizens Fourth Amendment right against an unreasonable search or seizure.           

            Our Judge for this hearing was Fred Jones. Judge Jones, like almost all of the Ventura County Municipal Court Judges had come out of the local District Attorney’s Office. Before that he had been a Special Agent with the FBI. Square jawed, powerful of build, and baritone voice, he ran his courtroom with an iron fist. Even so, I didn’t think he was all that special, all the judges had taken a turn at trying to intimidate me into compliance, I was confident he would fare no better than his brethren.

            The issue in the case came down to whether Detective Jenks had engaged my client in a “consensual encounter,” from which he then gathered sufficient evidence to arrest her, or had he arbitrarily detained a citizen otherwise engaged in lawful activity based on little more than a hunch. It was around Midnight outside a bar in the City of Port Hueneme. According to Detective Jenks he just walked up to her in this “high crime area,” and struck up a conversation about the weather or some such nonsense. When speaking with her, “I recognized common indicia of recent cocaine ingestion, dilated pupils, she spoke rapidly and appeared to be perspiring despite the fact that she was scantily dressed on a cool summer evening.”

            It was all the same old garbage I’d heard before, as if he’d done a medical examination on the spot. Then the DA had something more for me. “Mr. Jenks have you been specially trained as a Drug Recognition Expert?” “Oh no, not a DRE, do I have to listen to this again, Jenks is an expert, trained by other law enforcement to spot a drug addict a mile away, not just some beat cop, a super cop.”

            Jenks waited for the question to end and then turned to look me in the eye, smugly explaining each law enforcement “class” on the effects of street drugs on the human body and the “outward manifestations of recent ingestion.” As he droned on about how many arrests he had made, and how they were all convicted, I realized he was talking straight at me. He wasn’t trying to convince the judge, that was too easy, he was trying to convince me. Now he’d got my blood up.

            “Detective Jenks isn’t it true that you have been elected president of the Ventura County Narcotics Officers Association four times?”

            “Objection, that’s irrelevant.”

            “Sustained,” Judge Jones made the DDA flinch as if he had been admonished for breaking the rules. Jenks showed a bit of disappointment, revealing a certain vanity I might later exploit on cross examination. His direct examination was by the book, though Jenks pontificated more than most officers; he enjoyed testifying.

            “Mr. Dunn, you may cross examine.”

            I got to my feet and started with, “good afternoon Detective Jenks.”

            “Good afternoon counsel.”

            “Now on the date in question, at midnight, isn’t it safe to say it was dark outside?”

            “That’s correct.”

            “And there are no street lights in the immediate area where you contacted Ms. Hairo, correct?”

            “Yes.”

            “Are you aware of Ms. Hairo’s eye color?”

            “Brown.”

            “Isn’t it true Detective Jenks that it is more difficult to observe pupil size of a suspect in dim light when the subject has brown eyes?”

            “That is true, but there was plenty of lighting in the area.”

            “From what source?”

            “The lighted sign above the bar, and windows from inside.” Jenks smiled, as if to say you got to do better than that counsel. He’s good, no doubt about it.

            “Did you take her pulse?”

            “No, I did not.”

            “Never met her before that night, correct?”

            “Correct.”

            “So, you didn’t know her manner speech, how fast she normally speaks?”

            “I didn’t need to, its always the same. She talked a lot, very quickly, just like everyone else I’ve encountered who is under the influence of a central nervous system stimulant.”

            “Isn’t it true detective that you suspected Ms. Hairo of drug use almost immediately upon contacting her?”

            “Not immediately, but shortly after I was able to observe her demeanor, the physical symptomology.”

            “How long did that take?”

            “Not long, you know what counsel, I’ve been at this so long, arrested so many drug addicts, I can pretty much walk down a mall and pick out an addict, out of everyone else in the place. Give me a couple minutes with ‘em and I can tell you what their using.” Wow, he’s gone off script now, the cockiest cop I’ve run across.

            “Really, you can just pick them out of a crowd?”

            “That’s right counsel, maybe you should do a ride along and I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

            Jones chuckles at this, he’s enjoying the show, at my expense. I think I’ll try a little different tactic.

            “Now, Detective Jenks you told us Ms. Hairo was scantily clad, just what did you mean by that?

            “That’s not relevant.” Judge Jones isn’t smiling now, he’s indignant.

            “Are you making your own objection your honor?” I’d been told when Fred Jones starts rubbing his temple, I’d better look out for what comes next. He’s doing a double temple rub now.

            “That’s right Mr. Dunn, and its sustained.”

            “I believe the court heard the detective testify that Ms. Hairo was scantily clad, and his observation of her perspiring on a cool evening was a factor in his analysis that she was under the influence, so its clearly relevant.”

            Jones slides his chair forward, putting his hands on the bench he leans forward. That’s one big dude up there and he looks really angry.

            “Mr. Dunn your bordering on contempt here, I know where your going with that question, and you are not going to try and dirty up a fine officer of the law with a sleaze ball question like that. Your question is prejudicial, and sustained as irrelevant, move on counsel?” Wow, he looks like he’s ready to take me out to the parking lot. He could do it too.

            The sheer volume of his dress down was good enough, but I’d never heard a judge go from zero to contempt that fast. I can’t back down here, can I? Can’t let them think they’re getting to me.

            “Very well then, what about perspiration, on what part of her body did you notice she was perspiring?” Jenks looks amused and is about to answer, but Judge Jones has gone to his feet.

            “That’s it, were done, this hearing is over, your motion to suppress the evidence is denied, there has been ample evidence presented justifying both the detention and the arrest of Ms. Hairo. Mr. Dunn don’t you ever come back into this courtroom until you’ve learned how to behave like a professional. Detective Jenks, you’re excused as a witness, with the thanks of this court and the community you serve. Motion denied; this court stands adjourned.”

            It pains me to admit it, but Judge Jones got to me but good.  It wasn’t so much the strength of the words he used, but the sheer power and authority with which they were delivered. Even Jenks looked upon me with pity as he shrugged his shoulders and stepped down from the witness stand. Even worse, my poor client was terrified. “I just want to plead guilty, and do the ninety days, don’t make him any madder. He’ll take it out on me.”

            Her fear was understandable, and caused me great shame. I was there to protect her, to advocate for her, and now she felt betrayed. “Can I still take the ninety days?”

            Pulling myself together, “yes, we’re going back to another courtroom, a different judge, tomorrow; that judge will let you take the ninety days.”

            “Good, that what I want to do, I don’t want to come back here, not with you as my lawyer.”

            It took me awhile to process the whole experience. It felt so personal.

            Not long after that I heard Detective John Jenks had been awarded the Ventura County Peace Officers Association Medal of Valor. He’d been called out to an apartment about a disturbed man with a gun. When he got there the man was brandishing a rifle and screaming angry profanities throughout the building. Jenks described it like this, “his mother opened the door; she looked absolutely terrified. She tells us, ‘my son has lost his mind.’ I should have dropped him first thing, but his mother was right there, I couldn’t shoot him in front of his mother. So, I just talked to him until he looked away for a second, and then I charged him. I managed to wrestle the gun out of his hands, and arrest him.”

            I also heard Judge Jones was at the banquet, and he brought his two young sons along to see what a true hero looked like. After the banquet, Fred Jones came up to Detective Jenks and introduced them to him. He then asked detective Jenks if he would, “autograph the program for my boys.”

…..

            I managed to go a couple years without again challenging Detective Jenks. I did see him around the courthouse, if he wasn’t testifying, he was coming out of a judge’s chambers with a search warrant. Colleagues would share similar experiences about him, essentially that he was untouchable and he knew it. Then the myth unraveled.

            I first heard about it in the courthouse, then I read the story in the Ventura Star Free Press. Detective John Jenks had been arrested. A defendant had withdrawn his guilty plea, and was insisting upon a trial. The DDA assigned to the case called Jenks and told him the pound of cocaine he seized, had to be tested and brought to court as evidence. Jenks couldn’t do that; he’d already checked it out of the crime lab. He hadn’t returned it, he smoked it all himself.

            Learning this Lieutenant John Hopkins of the Port Hueneme Police Department got a search warrant for Jenk’s residence. He had been John’s mentor, a friend who had taken pride in the exploits of the brash young detective. Now he was searching his home, and it didn’t take long for them to find evidence that Jenk’s addiction had been running amok for awhile. Throughout the house and in his garage, they found evidence boxes holding countless plastic bags with only a trace of cocaine left inside.  They also found hypodermic needles, various smoking devises, and thousands of dollars in cash. Midway through the search Lieutenant Hopkins left the scene and went to his car. He didn’t go back in, he just sat there and cried.

            I celebrated Jenks downfall. Their self-righteous super star had been exposed as a hypocrite, and they would be forced to admit it. They might even begin to understand we all have feet of clay, that anyone of us could fall from grace. Perhaps they might begin to accept that mercy has a place in the criminal justice system.

            My righteous indignation continued until I happened to be walking past one of the arraignment courts one morning when I noticed a slew of reporters waiting outside. My friend and personal mentor George Eskin was representing John Jenks, and when I saw him exit the courtroom I knew what was going on. George gave a brief statement before Jenks, who made bail, came out of the courtroom. George ended with a request that they let his client leave unmolested, as he would not be making a statement. It was not to be, as soon as Jenks walked out the camera shutters went off and the reporters surrounded him. Just as he managed to break free, a man I recognized as another narcotics detective stopped him in his tracks. Detective Ivy was a scary looking guy, tall, thin, shoulder length blond hair, scraggly beard and lightly tinted sun glasses. Ivy had a nasty reputation with the defense, not only was he known for his lack of candor on the witness stand, but some lawyers were genuinely afraid of him. “The kind of guy who might just drop a bindle in your pocket when you’re not looking.”

            Jenks had nowhere to go as Ivy drew close to him, offering what looked like quiet words of sympathy. Then he reached up and put his hands on either side of Jenks face, pulling him in, and kissing him on the lips. It was straight out of the Godfather, the kiss of death given to a traitor. Jenks managed to break free, but he was obviously shaken by the experience. His public humiliation wasn’t enough, or the prospect of being sent to prison, now he must live with a symbolic threat upon his life.

            Everything changed for me in that moment. I saw John Jenks the man, not the rival. I took no pleasure or amusement in Ivy’s dramatic display, rather it appalled me that sworn law enforcement would so easily, and publicly behave like a mafioso. Jenks was now one of us, a broken man coming to grips with what it was like to stand in the dock with all the power of the state focused on punishing him. His former colleague wanted retribution, the complete destruction of the man.

            There it was again, compassion. I had buried it deep within me, but now it erupted within my soul. My competitive instincts bested by an emotion I could not deny. As my heart softened, I slowly came to grips with my own cruelty. I had self-righteously celebrated another man’s pain; I enjoyed his suffering. Given the right circumstances, I sought retribution, I was no different from those I condemned as hypocrites.

            Prior to his arrest John had finally admitted his addiction and gone into recovery. If he had not, he would not have survived. His addiction was exacerbated by the fact that he had unlimited access to the drug. Most addicts are limited in their use, since as their addiction worsens, the unraveling of their lives leads to loss of employment and the funds to purchase more drugs. Other criminal activity may compensate for the loss in the short term, but inevitable arrest and imprisonment interrupt the addiction spiral. John didn’t have to pay for his drugs, and he was able to hide his addiction from law enforcement because he was one of them.

            John’s issues with drugs and alcohol started early and likely were inherited. Alcoholism ran in his family, and he found out as a young man he had an enormous tolerance. “I was just twenty when I graduated from the academy. Once I got out on the streets, I started going to cop bars. We called it ‘choir practice,’ you know for the choir boys, anyway I could stay out all night. It was nothing for me to put away ten or twelve Long Islands, or two six packs, before going home.”  

            “Drinking was one way of dealing with the stress. I became a cop to help people, but what you find out is often there’s nothing you can do for them. Like the first motorcycle accident I went to, the guys head had been shaved off by the tree he ran into. Scenes like that stay with you.”

            They also have an effect on your personal life. Four years out of the academy he married Pam Scholle. “A beautiful girl, five eight, slender with plenty of curves, brown eyes, brown hair, I still wonder what she saw in me. Quiet, strong and loyal, she’s everything I’m not. I told her before we got married that the job came first, and she was okay with that. She didn’t know how bad it would get, but she never stopped loving me.”

            Likeable and ambitious John rose quickly through law enforcement ranks. At first, he was by the book, “I rolled up on a scene where they had some guy on the ground cuffed, and the senior officer took out his flashlight and started pounding on the guy. I said, ‘you can’t do that!’ He told me, ‘learn something rookie, he hit one of us, better to get some justice now, we won’t get it later.’”

            “I wasn’t very big when I first went out on patrol, maybe a 145 pounds. I pulled over this ex-con, big dude, been lifting weights in prison. He had a warrant out, I told him I was going to arrest him. He said, ‘oh no, you’re not,’ and he hit me so hard he broke my jaw. That’s when I got into power lifting. I went from 145 pounds to 185.”

            John’s philosophy also shifted. He went from wanting to help people, to “putting the bad guys away, it was them versus us. I started wearing sap gloves, the kind with lead stitched into the fingers, if I hit somebody they were going to stay down.”

            There were other traumatic events that helped solidify John’s view of the world. “I got a call about a woman heard screaming inside an apartment. When I got there, I opened the door and immediately saw a blood trail that led me through the living room to a balcony doorway where I found her face down in a puddle of blood. She’d been shot five times with a .357 Magnum. Three in the stomach, one in the head, and another in the chest. I carefully turned her over and found she was still alive. I tried to stop the bleeding, so I was covered in blood. When I got back to the station my commander told me I needed to go to the hospital and get a dying declaration about who the shooter was. That required me to ask her ‘you know you’re dying right?’ I got the name, but telling her that was cruel. Then, remarkably she lived, and I heard she was really angry about me telling her that, that really tore me up.”

            John started having trouble sleeping, often re-living traumatic events in his dreams. His way of coping was to engage in extra long choir practices. Alcohol provided some temporary relief, but it also interfered with sleep. “Some nights I wouldn’t get home until four in the morning. I’d sleep maybe two hours, get up, and get right back out there.”

            John likely was suffering from what today would be called Post Traumatic Stress. Lack of sleep, the relentless stress of the job, and the traumatic events he endured all contributed to this condition.  Another symptom developed as well; a form of paranoia called hyper vigilance. “I decided I needed to be invincible, so strong bullets would bounce off my chest. That’s when I started using anabolic steroids. I got up to 235 pounds, and I was bench pressing 350.”

            Still, deep inside John were roots of his original purpose. He wanted to help people, not hurt them. “After I made detective, and started working drugs, I noticed I was arresting the same people over and over again, mostly for cocaine. Most of them weren’t bad people, more pathetic than anything else. I started wondering what was so great about the stuff that people would ruin their lives over it. I had a quarter pound I seized, so I decided to snort a line. I loved it. All the stress, the fear, the insecurities went away. I spent most of the night snorting cocaine. When I woke up the next afternoon, I was as depressed and ashamed as I had ever been. I put a gun in my mouth, but then I remembered it was still there, in the detectives file cabinet. I knew I could kick those blues; that’s how it all started.”

            John functioned well as a newly minted addict. The drug suppressed feelings of anxiety and anger that boiled over into his personal life at times. His relationship with Pam got better, in general he seemed to be a happier person. The problem is the body develops a tolerance to the drug, so more has to be ingested to achieve the desired effect. That, or a better delivery system has to be used. In the beginning it was called “free basing” the process of synthesizing cocaine base into a smokable drug. The tiny “rocks” it formed became known as “crack.” 

            Crack cocaine is probably the most addictive substance ever developed by man. Its high is immediate and intense, the ultimate feeling of euphoria, invincibility. But it doesn’t last long, and the let down is equally dramatic. So, in order to get back up, the user has to smoke more. It’s as insidious a substance as has ever been created. It tore apart the inner cities of our nation in the 1980’s, and its sale and distribution is what fueled the proliferation of criminal street gangs.

            Unfortunately for John, he knew all about free basing. With unlimited access, and a growing need for the drug, it was inevitable he’d give it a try. “I’d be sitting in my unit smoking cocaine, thinking if I get caught, I’m going to prison. Then I’d look at the coke and think, ‘as long as I got this, I don’t need anything else.’ One time while I was smoking it, I blacked out. I wake up, see the car’s drifted out of the lane, and I see my shirt’s on fire. I pulled over, doused the fire with a beer, and shook my head and thought, ‘that was a great high,’ and lit the pipe right back up again.”

            John started to display all the classic signs of cocaine addiction, he lost forty pounds, he called in sick, his behavior was increasingly erratic. His commander asked about his personal life, John denied everything. Because of who he was, no one made the connection. He also took bigger risks on the job. “I was going into places to buy drugs without back up. One time I’d made a connection with this old biker chick selling meth, and when I got there; there was this huge Samoan guy at the gate. When I got inside, she asked me if I wanted to try some. I told her, ‘No, just give me an eight ball.’ She didn’t like that, she kept insisting I try it, and the Samoan guy was lurking around behind me. Then she says, ‘I think you’re a cop.’  I told her, ‘look I’m on parole, if I test dirty, I’m going back to prison, this is for business.’ She tells the Samoan guy, ‘search him for a badge or gun.’ I had a miniature tape recorder in my front pocket and a .380 in my back pocket. I got mad and told ‘em ‘forget it,’ and I started for the door.  Then she says, ‘take it easy, you know I can’t be too careful.’ I gave her $225.00 for the meth, and they let me go, but they could have taken me out. That one shook me up, I could have died over an eighth of an ounce.”

            “I knew the madness had to end, and I figured what better way than getting killed in the line of duty. Since it didn’t happen, I just kept spiraling down. I’d go into the detective’s office in the middle of the night, rock up and smoke all night. I was like the lab rat that choses cocaine over food, the end was coming one way or another.”

            John did have something to hang on too, a reason not to end it all. Pam stuck by him; and now there was Whitney, and soon there would be Connelly. Pam saw what was happening, eventually she reached out to John’s friend Mark Riddering. “Mark was a Godly guy, he tried to hold me accountable in the truth. He was working narcotics in Ventura, and we had come up together, so we saw a lot of each other. Even when he knew what was going on, he was never judgmental. They both worked on me until I finally surrendered. I checked into Hope Recovery Center up in Santa Barbara County.”

            “My counselor was Relly Nadler, he had been with Outward Bound, so I could relate to him. I had to learn a lot about myself, mainly that I was a selfish jerk. I had delayed development like most addicts, once you quit using your personality reverts back to when you last lived life sober. It took me three weeks, but when I got there, I wanted to get out and save the world again. Riley said, ‘Woow now, you’ve still got a lot of work to do, you’ve got to figure out what got you here in the first place.’ I wasn’t going for it, but then I got the call from the DA’s Office. After that they served the warrant on my house. I had no where else to go, but jail.”

            “When I finished the program, there was a warrant for my arrest. I turned myself in. The booking officer was an old friend J.T. Samuel. J.T. was a gruff old timer, tough as nails. The kind of cop who never played politics. He never got promoted past senior deputy, now he was just booking in new prisoners at the jail. J. T. didn’t want to book me, said he couldn’t do it. I told him, ‘I did the crime J.T., I got to get booked.’ He booked me, but there were tears in his eyes when he did it. That really touched me. I realized other people cared about me, and they were hurt, too.”

            John’s criminal case was assigned to Judge Fred Jones. This may have been a coincidence, but I doubt it. Perhaps George Eskin managed to maneuver it into his courtroom, maybe the judge had something to do with it. I had long since gotten past my original conflict with Judge Jones. I had come to realize that our original encounter was something akin to pledging a fraternity or boot camp. Once initiated, my respect for him grew as I realized he really was a courageous and honorable man. Still a little on the punitive side, but not afraid to rule against the prosecution when it was the right call.

            The courtroom was packed on the date of John Jenks sentencing. The District Attorney had filed only one count of grand theft, a felony punishable by a maximum of three years in prison. George Eskin argued for probation, a sentence that might include a year or less in the county jail, but no time in prison. Unlike most criminal defendants, John was able to present abundant character evidence on his behalf. Mark Riddering wrote for them all when he said, “I hate the sin, but I love the sinner.”

            Most of John’s law enforcement colleagues stood with him, some did not. John would later learn that Detective Ivy had contacted the probation officer preparing his report and told him that he had informants who told him John had been selling drugs. The probation officer refused to include the accusation in his report. The District Attorney asked for a state prison commitment due to the severity of the crime and the impact it had on other prosecutions.

            Judge Jones sentenced John to five years on probation, no time in jail, and credit for time served in a rehabilitation program. I was flabbergasted by this sentence, as were most of my colleagues, whether they were defense or prosecuting attorneys. After I got over my surprise, I realized this result was what I had been advocating for my entire career. Now there was precedent for it, rehabilitation instead of prison. Mercy rather than punishment, for someone who deserved it. It could no longer be one size fits all, “do the crime, do the time.” Life circumstances and future potential should now be considered for each precious soul facing a criminal sentence.

            The redemption of John Jenks did not occur in a single moment. Rather, it was a process in which the faithful played different roles at different times. Many Christians feel they have not participated in “The Great Commission.” That is, they cannot point to any one individual that they evangelized; who then chose to be baptized and became a disciple of Jesus Christ. But what we often forget is we are not responsible for the conversion, that’s the work of the Holy Spirit. We are to be His hands and feet, to play our part when called upon. This was certainly the case for John Jenks.

            “I grew up in a Catholic home, and I went to Catechism, my mom saw to that. But, when I went away to college, like a lot of us, I quit going to church. Then when I became a cop, and saw all the evil going on in the world, I rejected God. ‘If there was a loving God, this couldn’t have happened.’ I made myself God, if I made myself strong and worked hard enough, I would get all the bad guys. Still, the root was always there, waiting for others to water it.”

            Pam had also been raised a Catholic, and didn’t believe in divorce. Rather she prayed for her husband, prayed that he become the man God meant him to be, the man she fell in love with. “In my journey there have been so many, those that stuck by me through it all, and those that came along side me when I crashed and burned. Even you Phil, you were one of the first to take a chance on me.”

            John’s career as a cop was over, but his talent and expertise were still there. “I got a job selling cars, but I was no good at it. John Masterson, owner of Masterson Motors took a chance on me, even before I got sentenced. I worked construction for a while, but it didn’t pay the bills, then George hired me do a little investigation work on a case. Next thing I know Phil Dunn’s giving me a call. That was a shocker. I got it though, I was still an expert, in fact I knew more about drugs than ever, I had personal experience.”

            John was a God send to me, and the defense. He could testify for us as an expert witness, investigate our cases, and most importantly prepare sentencing reports that provided “factors in mitigation,” that were to be considered by the court at time of sentencing. The prosecutors and judges who had so dutifully relied upon John’s testimony before, were hard pressed to deny it now. Rarely, if ever did his fall become an issue, rather he was treated with deference and respect. As time went on, and his recovery proved total, he became a symbol of what was possible for any, and all defendants.

            Most successful recovery programs use, to one extent or another, The Twelve Steps developed by Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). Fundamentally, AA requires a recognition that “you are powerless over your addiction,” and that successful recovery comes from recognition that there is a “higher power.” It is well known that the basic tenets of AA are grounded in Christian theology. Stripped away are all the ceremony and eschatology of formal religion, AA meets the lost where they may be found, in a moment of personal crisis. AA meetings, and the honest testimonies of others who have suffered the same affliction, provide hope of recovery. It is within this environment that John’s faith was first renewed, grew to new heights, and set the foundation for a life’s work helping others recover.

            “I started getting invitations to speak about my experience and recovery. First at local high schools, then at Youth for Christ, and even to training classes with LAPD. Youth for Christ was particularly good for me because I could share my testimony freely. After that, I felt comfortable talking about God wherever I went.”

            “I had learned to rely upon God and not myself. Self-idolization didn’t work for me, it doesn’t work for anyone. The more I realized it wasn’t about me, the better my life went. I learned what it meant to be a good husband, father and friend. I re-discovered the empathy and compassion within me, those beautiful emotions had always been there, but I had done my best to bury them. It didn’t happen all at once, but with each troubled soul God put in my path, I was given the opportunity to do God’s work. I started relying upon God’s strength and understanding, not my own.”

            Of all the stories I have written, I think John’s was the most difficult for me. I had long since forgotten what he had gone through. We still liked to harass each other about our first encounter, but what happened after that, no longer came into my consciousness. We have worked so closely together for so long, that recalling the pain of his addiction caused me great sorrow.

            When I asked John if he would consider letting me tell his story, he immediately told me, “if it could be used to help someone else; yes, I’ll do it.” The fun part was trying to remember all of the cases, all of the souls, we sought to put on the right path, “The Way.” Neither of us kept track, we were no longer keeping score. As John told me, “that would make it about us.”

            What I can say about my friend is he has been enormously successful. He got his Master’s Degree, got appointed to the panel of experts on drug and alcohol counseling with both Los Angeles and Orange County Superior Court, and is a qualified expert in Federal District Court.  He is also known to be a drug and alcohol counselor “to the stars.” We are all familiar with celebrity actors and athletes having issues with addiction, and though we are unable to be specific as to whom John has counseled, I can assure you the list includes some of the most prestigious.

            “Those aren’t the cases I like to work though, give me some homeless gal or a gang banger represented by the Public Defender. No sense of entitlement, not all self-involved. Give me some guy like Rico Ramirez, somebody who grew up in the ‘hood. When I go interview them in jail, they can’t believe it. ‘You cared enough to come see me?’ I’ve had the toughest bikers and homeboys, guys that have done years in prison, break into tears just because I asked them about their mother.”

            If anything, John is more of a zealot now, than when we first met. There’s no one he doesn’t believe can be saved. As I write this story, we are working on a case together, a young man facing a possible life sentence for a crime of violence. Of course, he’s a long-term addict, and he was suffering from, “alcohol and cocaine delirium” at the time of the crime. John doesn’t understand why I won’t ask the DDA to give him probation; even though he was on felony probation for the same kind of violent crime when he did this one.

            “He’s a good kid Phil, he just needs to get clean.”

            “Let’s hope he gets clean in prison John, and he doesn’t have to stay there the rest of his life.”

            I have to remember that John Jenks has always been, and will always be, a true believer. The difference now is what John believes is true.