A volunteer, affectionately nicknamed Redneck, on his motorcycle before the Hamilton St. Patrick's day parade. (Photo courtesy of City of Angels.)

The Meras-Kelly, Maryann, and Kevin-pose for a photo at City of Angels' breakfafst fundraiser held at Applebee's in Hamilton Oct. 2011. (Photo courtesy of City of Angels.)

Betsy Schumann, Laura Scipione, Amber Stout, Linda Molnar, Sharon Chianese and Tom Allen participate in the Philadelphia Recovery Walk in Sept. 2011. (Photo courtesy of City of Angels.)

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Kevin Meara looked down at his hand and counted them off.

“Ricky, Dean...”

He filled up one hand, moved on to another and pretty soon simply stopped, either because there were too many to remember or the memories weren’t ones he’d like to recount.

It didn’t matter much. The point had been made. Each finger represented a life lost, a local young person dead because of drug addiction.

By one count, there have been seven or eight deaths this year in Hamilton alone; 15 in the past few years. And it isn’t slowing.

Meara keeps finding himself at funerals just like the one he found himself at in 2008.

That first funeral was for Meara’s son, KC, a 2002 Steinert High graduate who battled addiction and died after a drug overdose at 24.

In the weeks after KC’s death, the Mearas found themselves fielding phone calls from parents who related to the Mearas’ story and worried for their own children’s wellbeing.

“What do we do?” the people asked.

It seemed an odd question to ask, particularly of parents mourning the loss of their child, but the Mearas considered the query and decided they didn’t want anyone to suffer the way they and KC had.

It was a difficult moment. But with that one decision they began a remarkable journey of faith and hope. It showed—and continues to show—that those affected by addiction aren’t alone.

Meara may be best known around here as a Hamilton councilman. But he has much a bigger legacy than the municipal ordinances that have passed in his terms. Almost three years after its founding, that legacy continues to grow each day.

It’s called City of Angels.

* * *
In 1998, Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage starred in a film called City of Angels. The movie suggests that all it takes is one angel to alter the course of a life.

Joy Tozzi—now COA’s executive director and Robbinsville’s assistant business administrator—saw the film and immediately related to the premise. A decade later, after the death of KC Meara, it struck Tozzi that the film’s message would be a good premise to build an organization around. She suggested the group of people that gathered after KC’s death call itself City of Angels.

While the group got its name from a movie, in many ways, it has become a literal fulfillment of the idea. It has become a city of programs, an umbrella organization that can point someone suffering from addiction to a group like Alcoholics Anonymous, stage an intervention, counsel family members of an addict, run in-school education programs, hold a prayer gathering and much more. Although it is a nonprofit with no facility of its own and no staff, COA has something on its calendar nearly every day of the year, sometimes more than one thing a day.

With so much going on, COA’s success comes down to its 100 volunteers.

Nearly everyone involved in City of Angels has faced the terrors of drug addiction in one form or another, be it a personal battle or one they share with a family member or friend. Everyone involved, from Meara and Tozzi on down, is doing this on their own time, because they want to. They all share the same attitude and outlook. Determined. Dedicated. Optimistic.

Looking at facts and figures, it’s hard to understand why. Meara said only 2 percent of recovering addicts will stay in recovery after receiving treatment, a number repeated by a number of addiction help groups.

According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse, there really aren’t reliable national statistics, but the ballpark estimate is that 40–60 percent of those treated for drug addiction eventually relapse. It’s a complex issue that’s affected by the type of drug, the individual and his or her environment, how many previous episodes of treatment the person may have been through, how long they were sober before relapsing and many more factors.

Still, it’s clear that a large number of people struggle to shake their addiction, and that only counts those who recognize their problem and seek help.

There are more people out there who could use a group like COA, but don’t. Organizations like COA do not actively search or recruit people suffering from drug addiction, finding the recovery process works best when groups are ready to offer support when people recognize their problem and decide to seek help on their own.

“You have to want help,” Tozzi said. “It’s important for people to say, ‘Hey, I want help.’”

Facts could be overwhelming, particularly when groups like COA spend so much time, energy and emotion trying to help addicted people into treatment and then supporting them as they attempt to put their lives back together. It’s a constant effort. It’s an effort that doesn’t always work.

Within the ranks of COA volunteers, there are people who have seen the real life meaning of the statistics. COA helped Hamilton native Betsy Schumann send her son to treatment in Florida. She had volunteered for COA and even became one of the organization’s officers. Yet, soon after her son left treatment and returned to New Jersey, he relapsed and died as a result of his addiction.

In the face of adversity, the folks at COA simply press forward. Schumann and her son’s girlfriend continue to volunteer with COA as frequently as possible. They’re proof that sometimes facts and figures don’t matter.

“We’re trying to change those numbers,” said Bill W., a volunteer from Robbinsville who, like many of the volunteers interviewed for this story, asked to keep his last name private.

They’re trying to change the numbers by ignoring them, by looking at the people and families instead.

* * *
They call them “the kids.”

Anyone, from 8 to 88, that receives help from COA automatically becomes a “kid.”

The explanation is simple, but the point is strong. Those who seek help from COA are joining a family. That family will look out for them, even if they aren’t exactly looking out for themselves.

But, it sends a different message to outsiders. It’s a way of saying people suffering from addiction aren’t out in their own world. They are part of the community, too.

They could be a sibling or a co-worker, a neighbor or a spouse. On the surface, there is nothing to show that these people are addicted to drugs or alcohol, nothing that should set them apart from the rest of the community. It’s just that they’ve faced some difficulties in their lives.

Some of the kids volunteer to tell of their struggles in schools and at events because it may help others. Their message packs a wallop, even if addiction has never directly touched the listeners’ lives. They are being challenged to accept that addiction isn’t just some abstract problem, it’s destroying lives in their community right now. There’s no use denying it because right in front of them is the issue personified.

They are people like Tom Allen, a lawyer and the vice chairman of COA’s board.

Allen is young and fit, pulled together in a suit and tie. It’d be impossible to tell by looking at him that, because of his drug addiction, Allen’s wife left him. Or that he lost his job then was arrested for a DUI offense.

After the DUI, he realized he needed to take his recovery seriously. He moved from Florida to Arizona, where he got sober, then on to Bucks County, Pa. He spends much of his time trying to spread the message that addiction is a disease, not a moral deficiency. He works as a communications specialist for The National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence–New Jersey, an addiction advocacy group in Robbinsville.

Allen recently attended a government meeting in Lawrence, where he quickly realized he had his work cut out for him. A detox center wanted to locate in the town, and some of the public comments horrified him.

“People were talking about [addicts] like they were animals,” he said. “There wasn’t any compassion about what they were trying to do.”

Groups like COA are trying to change the public’s perception.

* * *
COA uses the stories of people like Amber, a 23-year-old Robbinsville resident, to break the stereotypes of addiction.

Amber had never touched a drug, had never even thought about touching a drug through the first two decades of her life. Yet, at 21, she found herself addicted to painkillers.

It started with major surgery on her stomach. She had a hole 2 inches across and more than an inch deep in her abdomen. She spent 31 days in the hospital recovering.

But she wasn’t healed upon leaving the hospital. Month after month, she returned to her doctor for another prescription, convinced she still felt pain.

Finally, six months later, the doctor cut her off. But it was too late. She was hooked.

“I was in denial,” she said. “I didn’t think I had a problem.”

At the time, she lived in Ohio with her child and her friend. When the friend started using illicit drugs in her home, Amber told the friend to stop or leave. The friend left. That night, the friend was murdered trying to get drugs.

The emotions and memories in Ohio proved too much for Amber. She moved to New Jersey in January, where she is originally from and where her family is. She continued to take painkillers.

In September, her cousin staged an intervention with the help of a COA member affectionately nicknamed Redneck, a recovering addict and the head of Soldiers of Christ Motorcycle Club.

Redneck told Amber the story of Meara and KC, how KC’s addiction started with pain medicine and devolved into other drugs. The message hit home for Amber.

She had been clean 69 days, as of Nov. 11. She works two jobs—one at the mall and another at a supermarket—and tries to attend every COA event she can.

She credits COA with saving her life.

“They have done more than my family ever did,” Amber said. “They are my family now.”

* * *
With a group like COA, dealing with an issue like drug addiction, the question eventually comes, probably innocent, definitely prying: “So, why exactly are you involved?”

As Allen’s experience clearly showed, societal norms have placed a stigma on addicts and their families. In the presence of strangers, members sometimes feel like they have to justify why they are there.

Even Tozzi admits she has to quickly follow up any statement about her involvement with the group with a disclaimer that she is not an addict herself.

But it doesn’t mean that addiction hasn’t touched her life.

It started when her brother’s good friend committed suicide. Then her brother’s girlfriend died of a heroin overdose. And, finally, her brother became addicted.

Tozzi still wonders what she could have done differently, if she could have changed her brother’s path.

“He went down the road of addiction,” she said. “I probably was an enabler. I didn’t know what I was doing, hiding it from my parents.”

When the Mearas’ son died, the emotions Tozzi dealt with from her brother’s addiction came flowing back. Two decades had passed, but so little had changed.

Tozzi realized the problem was not unique to her. And it wasn’t going to go away unless someone did something about it.

“This is what I do for myself,” Tozzi said. “When you give back, you don’t realize how much it fills you up. It’s a big reminder of how lucky we are.”

* * *
In Tozzi’s case, her connection to addiction was a brother. For the other volunteers, it’s a boyfriend or a daughter or a grandchild or a neighbor.

The volunteers range across age groups. They all said they’ve been praying for something like COA, that the organization is a dream come true.

COA continues to grow. They have formed a COA alumni group so “kids” can continue to meet and help the organization. A racecar driver named Jeff Kot heard about COA, and decided he wanted to help, despite not being from Mercer County. He slapped City of Angels stickers all over his car, and later donated the car to the organization for display at events.

Optimism at COA is high as the movement gains momentum and grows.

But, in a way, the folks with City Of Angels are really working and hoping for the organization’s demise. In a perfect world, COA didn’t have to exist.

They’re not close yet. Aside from dismal statistics and a sometimes unsympathetic public, there’s plenty to be addressed. The re’s a dearth of treatment centers in New Jersey. Those seeking help often have to go out of state, usually to Florida.

But who knows? After all, COA’s volunteers have shown they won’t be deterred until their success rate becomes 100 percent.

“If we had to disband because there wasn’t a problem, well, hallelujah,” Tozzi said.

Angels couldn’t have chosen better words.

For more information on City of Angels, go online to cityofangelsnj.org. Someone from the organization can be reached 24 hours a day at its crisis hotline (609) 910-4942.