On a sunny morning in June 1983, high school sophomore Richard Bradbury drove 30 miles to visit his sister in a St. Petersburg, Florida drug rehabilitation center. Their reunion would be the first since her admission, so Richard would have to be "interviewed," making certain no pro-drug conversation would pass his lips. No problem, Richard thought. Mr. Bradbury, Richard's father and traveling companion, would wait in another room. But Richard's five-minute "interview" quickly turned into an intake procedure. Escorted down the hall to a windowless, concrete box of a room, he was promptly told by a staffer that his "evaluation" was negative. His skinny, teenaged interviewer had come to an instant diagnosis: Richard was at risk as a drug user. He'd have to be detained for treatment. "This is a joke, right?" Richard asked. "I'm just here to see my sister. Besides, I've tried marijuana a couple of times, but I'm no user." Within minutes, the door was sealed. Richard could not leave the room, speak with his father, or make a phone call. Later, a team of staff members transferred Richard to a "host" home, strip-searched him, and locked him in. Thus began an 18-month-long nigHTMare of abduction, abuse and emotional terrorism. Richard's dad, like many parents targeted by the costly rehab program known as STRAIGHT, had been convinced on the spot by a savvy marketing representative of it's merits and his son's dangerous inclination towards drugs. STRAIGHT, its promoters told him, would protect Richard, "cure" him.
Nearly 10 years later and halfway across the country, in southern Maine, another disturbing event occurred. Fifth-grader Crystal Grendell one day after school decided to stop by the local police station and tell Chief Officer Gillmore of two people she knew who were growing pot - her parents. Three days later, the Grendells' home was searched, and both parents promptly arrested. Crystal's mom lost her two part-time jobs, and Crystal developed a neurotic fear of police, admitting later she could no longer trust "any adults except my parents." What prompted Crystal to inform on her parents was a nationwide program called D.A.R.E. - Drug Abuse Resistance Education - taught by uniformed cops to students in public school classrooms from kindegarten through 12th grade. D.A.R.E., a $700 million program developed under the direction of former Los Angeles Chief of Police Daryl Gates, intends to "keep kids off drugs." But instruction by police often means asking children who they know who use drugs. Marijuana and other substances are very harmful, kids are told, and they can help people who take them. Crystal wanted to help her parents. She trusted Officer Gillmore. He was her teacher. Crystal, in the end, was more than betrayed. She was emotionally traumatized and, no doubt, scarred for life.