Randy Smith went to the Cayuga County Jail on Wednesday under much different circumstances than he went there exactly six months earlier.
Smith, 46, of Auburn, was presented with his recovery peer advocate certification that day by Cayuga County Sheriff Brian Schenck. Sponsored by the Heroin Epidemic Action League, Smith's training prepares him to support people in recovery from the same addiction that brought him to the jail Aug. 23. And Schenck believes Smith's success will lead to better peer support services at the facility.
Six months earlier, though, Smith didn't feel like a success.
A Cortland native, Smith started drinking when he was 14. By the time he was 21 he was using cocaine and other drugs, but alcohol was the one he abused the hardest. When he was 24, an assault charge landed him in drug court in Ithaca, as well as probation. So he got sober, and got a job as a certified nursing assistant. He also met the woman he would call his wife for the next 21 years. With her Smith would have three children: Nathaniel, Leagrace and Isaac. He stayed sober the next 17 years, leaving his nursing job to become a professional fighter and open his own gym in Cortland.Â
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In hindsight, though, Smith's fighting career was a symptom of a faulty recovery from his addiction, he told мÓƶà¶à¿ª½±¼Ç¼ on Friday.
"I wasn't living a good life," he said. "I replaced the drinking and drugs with the lifestyle of a fighter. It wasn't healthy and I got too big for my britches."
Smith cheated on his wife, too, he said. They split a few times as a result. After a reconciliation, they had Isaac in early 2016. But he was diagnosed with bacterial meningitis months later.
Terrified his son wouldn't survive, Smith began drinking again.Â
Isaac would recover after a month at Upstate Golisano Children's Hospital, but Smith's drinking only worsened over the next few years. He and his family moved to Locke, hoping that would help, but his life — his gym, his friends, his marriage — continued to fall apart. He gained more than 120 pounds and developed heart problems. When his wife left him in June, he didn't want to live anymore.
Then, early the morning of Sunday, Aug. 23, Smith called the police and made some threats, he said. When they arrived, he walked outside brandishing a BB gun, hoping he'd be shot.
He wasn't. He was taken to the Cayuga County Jail.
The next day, Smith was sitting in his cell when he was approached by Sheriff Schenck. He was familiar with Smith through officers who trained at his gym, and knew Smith used the business to mentor people in recovery. Schenck told the new inmate that he was needed back in that role, providing support to people walking the same path he has. After 17 days in the jail, Smith was released.
He wasn't enthusiastic about Schenck's advice, or even his recovery. From his 50 days at Mountain Laurel Recovery Center in Pennsylvania to his October arrival at G.R.A.C.E. House, Smith "wanted no part of it," he said. But he did want his three children back. He wanted to be the father they deserved, and he wanted Isaac to see him sober for the first time in his young life.
So Smith built his support network, the source of strength for his recovery he didn't have during his 17 years of sobriety. He began working with Nick's Ride 4 Friends and Alcoholics Anonymous, as well as G.R.A.C.E. House. Among the people teaching him how to stay afloat were Bryan Bush, his peer advocate, and Tyler Murphy, his sponsor. Now, they're like brothers to him, Smith said.
The next step was becoming a recovery peer advocate himself. The one-month online course cost $1,000, but Schenck reached out to the Heroin Epidemic Action League, where he serves on the board, to pay for it. On Wednesday, Schenck, fellow board member Lon Fricano, Bush, Murphy and staff from the jail celebrated Smith's certification with him at the facility. For Schenck, though, there was more to the celebration than one man's recovery. The sheriff told мÓƶà¶à¿ª½±¼Ç¼ that he sees Smith as living proof the jail can do more to help people with addiction problems.
"He's certainly helped me see that we can be successful, and can help the public and our staff see we can have a positive impact in a jail setting," Schenck said. "We want to build upon this success."
Key to that success will be recovery peer advocate support. Bush, who works as an advocate and recovery coach through Confidential Help for Alcohol & Drugs in Auburn, told мÓƶà¶à¿ª½±¼Ç¼ that what distinguishes peer support is the experience of the person providing it. Advocates like him and Smith have lived with addiction and its ruinous consequences — and come out the other side.
For the person receiving support, that creates an instant connection. And recovery from addiction isn't just about staying abstinent, Bush said. It's about that connection.
"It gives the person instant rapport, makes them feel like you've walked in their shoes," he said. "Randy's unique. He's one of those people who comes along and you feel instantly connected to him."
Peer support is like serving as a navigator, Bush said. The person in recovery steers the ship, but the advocate can help them determine which direction they want to go in. They can do that by providing literature on local recovery services, asking simple questions like "Where do you see yourself in a year?" or, if they're incarcerated, serving as a middleman to the outside world.
Bush, who has a caseload of 180 people through Confidential Help for Alcohol & Drugs, spends most of his weekday mornings making calls for the additional people he sees at the Cayuga County Jail. He could be transitioning them to inpatient treatment, finding them housing, helping them search for jobs or setting them up with a support group. The advocate role is a hard one to shut off, he said.
Bush was also preparing to introduce a recovery support group to the jail before the COVID-19 pandemic began in the U.S. last March. The meetings would have been led by him and Murphy. He still hopes the group happens someday, and would like Smith to be involved as well. The pandemic has been uniquely difficult for people with addiction, Bush said, and those in the county jail are no exception. Many inmates are "in limbo," unable to have much of the human contact they normally would and unsure when they'll be able to leave because of delays in the legal process.
Despite the obstacles, Schenck and the staff of the jail have been open-minded and proactive about helping its inmates walk the road to recovery, Bush said. He's glad to have them as allies in a battle that he feels like he's losing more than he's winning. And seeing Smith walk that road over the past six months has been an especially memorable win for everyone, Schenck said.
"I see this as an opportunity for many people," he said. "We can have a lot of Randy Smiths."