The morning orientation has already begun when a women enters the room. She is older than the nine other residents who are present. All their attentions rests on her when she begins to talk. "I.... I am sorry, family, for being so late, will you please excuse me?" Heads nod, and the resident leading the group's discussion invites her to sit down. "There are three rules in this community: no drugs, no violence or threats of violence, and no sexual activity in the house. I broke the third one," she states flatly, "and I wear this to keep in touch with my weakness." A large posterboard hangs from her neck. It reads, "I am Miss Tramp."

The women is one of 25 members of Project Third Nail, a therapeutic community--"TC"-- in the Jamaica Plain section of Boston. The current residents range in age from 18 to 40. They have a great deal in common--they are tired of their lifestyles, tired of courts, tired of running. And they are all looking and working for an escape from the chains of drug addiction. The group is largely self-supported, raising money through fairs, car washes, flea markets, dances and other community events. A professional teacher prepares residents for their equivalency diplomas; a court liaison works for residents who are fininshing prison sentences. In the cellar of the old school that houses this therapeutic microcosm, heaps of food stuffs and building materials of all kinds rest as testimony of a procurement office that flourishes--through both donation and barter. Other work-cleaning, cooking, business and construction--is also delegated to the residents.

From the operation of the project as its own entity grows a keen sense of family. Every day residents meet in the den or family room for the "morning focus," during which general problems and goals are discussed. During the stay--which can last anywhere from nine to 13 months--an addict, depending on his progress, will be granted certain privileges, like the opportunity to receive visitors or to leave the building for a visit home. The difficult rehabilitation process hinges on the obligation of "family" members to support one another.

Here, honesty and trust are the keys, without them we would not be able to survive. You cannot help but feel close to all the other dudes who are going through the same thing as you are. That's what makes this place tick.

At the helm of the project is Bill McCue, a man who has been involved in the drug world as a user, a major dealer, and now, as a reformer. After getting out of prison in 1971, McCue opened the first residential drug treatment program in Massachusetts.

Before that first center, it was jail or Bridgewater State Hospital. While I was in, I decided that it was not a place where people could kick their habits. The drug reform program--more than half the inmates were drug abusers--was a 15-day package deal. Methadone for three days, sleeping pills for four, and shooting pool for the remainder. When they left, they still needed junk badly. Still a bunch of addicts, but ones who could shoot a good game of pool.

McCue's Third Nail is a paragon in an industry marked by low success rates and corruption. Elsewhere, hypocrisy is often the order--rehabilitators are, even while counseling, users themselves.

McCue, however, picks his eight staff members "with a fine-toothed comb, so the ship will remain clean." "They are unbelievably dedicated to helping us," says one resident. Resisting a new trend towards professionalism--doctors and social scientists are often more respected than those who have had practical experience in the field--he continues to hire ex-addicts. This way, because former users are slowly assimilated back into socially productive roles, drug rehabilitation establishes itself as a valuable service, refuting the common attitude that it is "just a waste of the taxpayers' money." Unlike Third Nail, which is open to anyone with a need, many centers get accredited for Blue Cross and Blue Shield payments, enabling them to charge high weekly fees. Through its Outreach program, the project provides free out-patient drug counseling worth $150,000 in working hours.

For many addicts, the time spent at the TC is well worth enduring. It is trying, both morally and physically; the work is difficult. Withdrawal from drug use is a painful process, and many are tempted to quit before completing the ordeal. The sacrifices are numerous. One resident regards his shaved head as a sign of "sincerity to the program." Another speaks of sessions, often several days, spent in the school boiler room, where residents "go voluntarily to think their problems through." "Certainly the discipline is here, but it is just one part of teaching these people how to confront their problems. We do not advocate a soft approach to drug therapy," says McCue.

In the end, many find jobs, some in areas where they will be able to help others who have problems similar to their own. Yet, some residents leave and yield to the temptation of the streets. A former client was recently found dead of an overdose--one week after his "graduation."

Despite overtones of desperation, confidence rules as the keeper to the gates of recovery. A 19-year-old woman describes her experience:

My husband of one week is a Vietnam veteran. For some time, I had kept myself going in the "scrips" that his psychiatrist gave him. Then I decided to come here. When I first arrived, I was high, but after a few days I started to come down. A lot of feelings that had been suppressed because of my problem started to come out. Every kind of feeling that you could ever think of--hurt, pressure, frustration, sexual feelings, and loneliness. I once used to try constantly to injure myself [her wrists are scarred heavily]. Here I thought I would just run out the door, and not come back, but these nine months will be worth it. I am young. I am not going to wait until it is too late to save myself. This place is giving me a chance to find myself--NOW.

The "spit-in-the-face" of obstacles attitude espoused by the residents and their leader has contributed greatly to the success of this community. "I have, despite those turkeys in Washington, just hired two more staff members, and raised salaries," laughs McCue. Regardless of tight purse strings and the scorn and lack of public interest, this TC works towards saving drug addicts--a social service many fail to acknowledge or recognize. At Boston's 350th anniversary celebration last year, throngs watched the fireworks and enjoyed cool refreshment by the Charles. Sixteen tons of ice cream. Good humor--a free gift from Project Third Nail.