How did a 78-year-old Vietnam vet end up under arrest at Croton's ShopRite? Facing possible jail time on two petit larceny charges, a Peekskill man tries to turn his life around in "drug court."
Dale Page has spent nearly half his life in jail. We talked to him about his life before his latest appearance before Judge Reginald Johnson in Peekskill city court.
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Dale Page got hooked on drugs during his first tour in Vietnam. When he enlisted for a second tour, it was largely for the easily available drugs, he says. Page, a 78-year-old African-American man from Far Rockaway, Queens, was far from the only GI who became addicted while serving in the military or afterwards. The consequences can be devastating. For Page, it has meant spending nearly half of his life in prison, always for charges related to his drug habit.
We are sitting on a bench just outside Judge Reginald Johnson’s courtroom in Peekskill. Johnson’s “drug court” meets every first and third Wednesday of the month. Attendance is mandatory for criminal defendants like Page who have been accepted into a federally funded rehabilitation program designed as an alternative to prison. If they make it through the tough program, and if the Westchester County DA’s office agrees, they can get their charges reduced or dismissed.
The Chronicle been following Page’s case since he was first arrested in Croton’s ShopRite last January. During his first appearance in Croton’s justice court, he got lucky: His Legal Aid Society attorney managed to persuade the Westchester County DA’s office to reduce a felony charge to a misdemeanor, leaving him with two misdemeanor counts and the right to be released on his own recognizance rather than being remanded to the county jail in Valhalla.
Then Page got another lucky break: The Croton court and DA’s office agreed to refer him to Judge Johnson’s “drug court,” in hopes that he might be able to kick his drug habit.
The Chronicle agreed to two conditions in its interview with Dale Page. First, we agreed with his attorney, James Martorano of Jefferson Valley, that we would not ask Page about his currently pending cases, a normal restriction under these circumstances. And we agreed with Page that we would not photograph him or publish his photo, to provide him with at least some minimum privacy.
Dale Page was born on Christmas Day in 1945. He grew up in Far Rockaway, but came of age at the height of the Vietnam War. He was drafted, like so many other young working class men, in 1967; after finishing his first tour in 1969, he re-enlisted.
Page spent a total of four years in the U.S. Army’s 4th Infantry Division, which engaged in intense combat throughout much of the war. Page’s job, however, was in transport rather than battle. When the fighting was over, he says, he would help pick up of the bodies of dead Vietnamese and dispose of them.
When Page got out of the Army, he was already seriously addicted to drugs. His first job, remarkably enough, was at a drug distribution company, which, as might be imagined, only made things worse. He had a couple of other jobs after that, but soon landed in trouble and in jail, trying to get the money to keep his habit going.
“My rap sheet is two inches thick,” Page says.
Page has lived in Peekskill for the past six or seven years. He moved there after his last stretch in prison, which extended for 15 long years. But when he got out, “the urges came back. I forgot how bad it could be.” Drinking led to drugs again, and he was down a path of “negative thinking. I didn’t know what was going to happen tomorrow.”
Under the drug court program, Page is now required to be tested twice each week for drugs, at the VA center in Montrose where he goes for health care (including treatment for his diabetes.) He also attends counseling and other programs run by the VA’s substance abuse center.
We’ve been able to talk to Dale Page for an extended period of time because Judge Reginald Johnson, who runs the drug court, was running a half hour late dealing with some emergency cases in the courtroom next door. Now he arrives, we all stand for a moment, and drug court begins.
The whole support team is there:
— Aarin Thomas, who does most of the heavy lifting, coordinating what she calls the “problem solving court,” monitoring compliance with the drug testing regimen, and maintaining contact with the participants every day. “Every day?” we ask. “Yes, every day.”
— Assistant Westchester County DA Stephen Ronco, who represents the interests of the prosecutors in making sure defendants are following the protocols before any leniency in charging and sentencing is shown.
— James Martorano and another attorney representing the clients gathered on the courtroom’s benches.
The judge calls several cases before Page’s comes up. First is a young woman who announces, to a round of applause from all, that she has now been sober for seven months.
“Are you sleeping well?” Judge Johnson asks.
“Yes.”
“Are you eating well?”
“Yes.”
The judge declares that the woman is now eligible for transition to Phase 3 of the four phase program, gives her a certificate stating that she has completed Phase 2, and invites her to pick a gift card out of a glass fish bowl on the table the defendants sit at.
“This is no small feat,” the judge tells her, one of several short inspirational speeches he will give during the morning about the necessity of remaining determined and on track with the program.
Next up is a man who has relapsed and tested positive for cocaine and marijuana, but allowed a second chance in the program.
“This is my client,” Martorano tells the judge. “He was abandoned by his parents at age 15, he’s had a tough life. He has decided to fix his drug addiction.”
The judge approves his continuation in the program. “Your story is not unique to us,” he says. “You came in one way, we endeavor to send you out another way.”
But while the judge shows mercy to those who show up and participate in the program, he can quickly lower the boom on those who do not. He issues a bench warrant for the arrest of a subject who has failed to appear.
Now it is Dale Page’s turn.
Judge Johnson: “Good morning, how are you?”
Page: “I’m eating well, and about to come off my insulin.”
Johnson: “What are you doing?”
Page: “I work out and read.”
Johnson: “What are you reading?”
Page: “Oh, some psychology books.”
Johnson: “Do you have family, children? A significant other?”
Page: “No. My two brothers passed away. I have a sister in Queens, I am in contact with her.”
Johnson: “Do you visit her, does she come here?”
Page: “I go there.”
Johnson: “What is your happiness level, on a scale of one to ten?”
Page: “Eight.”
Johnson: “That’s pretty good. You have four negative UA {urinalysis] tests. You may be eligible for Phase 2 soon. We want to do a little more testing first.”
The judge tells Page to come back in two weeks, and invites him to reach into the fish bowl and pick out a gift card. Now it’s the next person’s turn.
It’s hard to predict whether Dale Page will successfully complete this program, or rather end up being fully prosecuted for petit larceny by the county DA. He seems to realize full well that this might be his last chance, and that everything is now up to him.
“This is really hard, at my age,” he says. “I’m really tired.”
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