The Recovery House Zone

Picture if you will a neighborhood. It is like many other upper middle-class neighborhoods with manicured lawns, one acre lots, tremendous views, BMWs in the garage. Peaceful, reeking of success, this suburban neighborhood is about to enter the recovery house zone.

Please meet Mr. Foo. Asian-american, 26 years old, stupid, with a chemical dependency issue, Mr. Foo resides in a recovery home located in this up-scale neighborhood. Mr. Foo is able to live here, because a corporation has figured out how to purchase upscale houses, turn them into recovery homes and then charge recovering addicts large sums of money to live there, as they transition from re-hab to the real world. Mr. Foo is fortunate that his family has money and can afford to send him to this recovery home. This serene up-scale neighborhood is not so fortunate, as Mr. Foo is no longer recovering.

Please observe Mr. Foo running down the quiet lane, shouting, ranting, striking mailboxes. Notice how he runs through the yards, alarming the few residents who are at home on this weekday morning. In some neighborhoods, this type of behavior would barely be noticed. Here it is noticed and is rapidly called in.

Notice as the black and white patrol cruiser slowly rounds the corner, looking for the ranting out of control man. Observe as the deputy sheriff stops the cruiser near Mr. Foo, gets out and demands that Mr. Foo lay on the ground.

Ponder, if you will, the possible outcomes as Mr. Foo focuses his attention onto the deputy, then screams as he charges toward him at full speed. Admire the purpose of motion as the deputy steps to the side, un-holsters his taser, aims and fires it into the charging Mr. Foo.

Admire too the effectiveness of the taser, as we observe Mr. Foo instantly stop his charge, fall to the ground in a heap and begin writhing in the gutter.

 Tasers Save Lives Schmotograph

 Mr. Foo's freedom is now gone as we see the deputy apply handcuffs and place Mr. Foo into the back of the cruiser.

We can see and hear as the fire engine and and ambulance enter this formerly quiet neighborhood and assess Mr. Foo. We can see the surprise on Capt. Schmoe's face as he hears, through Mr. Foo's ranting and screaming, the medic and Mr. Foo converse about their previous meeting, one not too dissimilar than this one.

Ponder if you will, the fact that the serenity of any neighborhood can be broken by entering the Recovery House Zone. Even up here by the healing place.

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 Our guest medic on that day had met Mr. Foo when he had behaved in the same manner at the recovery house. The deputies had gone inside and had pulled out numerous crack and meth pipes. So much for recovery.

I don't have an issue with recovery homes in general, but I do have a problem with the fact that in my state, local government has NO control over them. NONE, as long as they have fewer than seven residents and two staff members. That is by state statute.

Most are reasonably well run, but some are not. There is one of these recovery homes on my street. They run a pretty tight ship. In the three years they have been there, we have had no problems. As the residents usually only stay there a few months, there is a high turnover of people. A problem child might have moved in today while I was at work.

At the house on my street, the clients are each charged around $600 a week. For that, they get to share a room and receive three meals a day. The staff are people who have completed the program. They get free room and board and get a few hundred bucks a week for spending money.

The mortgage on the house is probably about $2000 a month, the owners bought it at a repo auction three years ago. Do the math.

So when there is a problem house, there is little that municipalities can do about it. Meanwhile, the owners rake in the cash. Usually, one owner will own many of these houses. 

Maybe I should turn my crib into one of these when I retire.

Thansk for reading,
Schmoe