How Vincent Got Clean

When Vincent Kilpatrick advises ex-cons on how to get clean and get straight, he knows what’s talking about. He has walked that road himself.

These days Kilpatrick is a case manager at Project MORE, a model program on Grand Avenue that helps newly released prisoners get jobs and housing and tackle emotional demons so they won’t return behind bars. The state releases about 25 people a week from prison back into New Haven each week.

Kilpatrick is one of several key players in a community coalition formed by City Hall to spend a $1 million federal grant to carry out prison reentry in a big way, targeting 18 – 24 year-olds most likely to commit crimes again. Named after a pioneer in helping ex-offenders, it’s called the Warren Kimbro Reentry Program (aka WKRP). Earl Bloodworth, the new City Hall staffer who runs it, and Mary Loftus, the point person at Easter Seals Goodwill, spoke about their plans on an episode of WNHH radio’s ​“Dateline New Haven” program.

During the program, Kilpatrick revealed his own experience in the grips of crack addiction for a decade and a half, then his emergence 12 years ago as a productive member of society, finding his calling in helping other ex-offenders. Following is a transcript of that portion of the interview with Kilpatrick. (You can hear the full program with Bloodworth and Loftus at the bottom of this story.)

“A Monkey Can’t Sell A Banana”

Vincent, how did you get into this work? What’s your background?

If this was a commercial, you’d just say: I’m not only the president, I’m also a client. That’s pretty much how I came to be where I am now. I was in active drug addiction for over 15 years.

Wow. What does ​“active” mean?

Active means …

… you were using drugs.

Yeah.

Were you also dealing? 

I don’t know if you could call it that, but that’s … it’s kind of like the thing where a monkey can’t sell a banana. If I like ​‘em too much. sometimes I would sell it and sometimes I wouldn’t. At that time it was crack cocaine.

So at that time you got hit by that whole wave that started here in the late ​‘80s?

From the age of 22 to the age of 39.

How do you survive on crack for 15 years?

That’s a God question. That ain’t a ​“me” question. I didn’t do anything that said I could be here with all my faculties in fairly good health with a desire to do what I’m doing. That’s not because of me.

So how long was it before you ended up in jail? 

Oh, that happened early, because at the time I was involved in a relationship with my kid’s mother. Jail, the police became my surrogate uncles in the relationship.

I wound up in jail quite a bit — that’s how it started. It wasn’t necessarily the drugs per se. I didn’t get busted for possession or anything of that nature, but the chaos that comes with that lifestyle is what drew me into starting to get locked up. And I did wind up actually going to jail for possession and attempt to sell. Back in the day when they were giving good time and other stuff, I was actually on probation. They had this accelerated program where you had to stay out of trouble for a year. I didn’t make that mark.

It was around my birthday, and I got arrested, and the judge said: ​“Mr. Kilpatrick, I’ve got a gift for you.” I say, ​“Yeah, well what’s that?” He said: I’m gonna run your year consecutive with the year I’m about to give you, in which case you’ll serve about eight months.”

Why do you think the judge gave you that gift?

I think that … you know, there are some people that you can kind of look at, and if you’re a judge of character, then you can tell when somebody is just — you’re gonna see them again. You know what I mean? And then that’s somebody who doesn’t know how to say ​“I need help” that needs help. They can kind of look through that.

Shout out to Captain Henafee, who is no longer a probation officer, but I had her and she wouldn’t lock me back up. She would tell me, every time I relapsed, she said: ​“The next time you talk to me, you better be in a program.” That’s what happened. So I didn’t continue to go in and out …

Did the program work?

The programs were excellent. What happened was I didn’t have a belief that the program would work for me. I spent a lot of time helping other people stay clean. And I could not [stay clean].

I’m an alumni of Grant Street [recovery program]. I’m an alumni of Liberation Health in Stamford. I’m an alumni of Salvation Army when it was on George Street, twice … [There are] a lot of places that I’ve been, and I was always voted ​“most likely not to come back,” because I sounded well. And like anything else, we retain information.

“Enough”

So what turned it around, Vincent?

I really can’t explain it, but I know at 39, getting high stopped making sense. It was my answer to everything: good, bad or indifferent. If I felt good, I used. If I felt bad, I used more. If I felt indifferent I kept using till I figured out how I felt. So it really didn’t matter.

That’s what people don’t understand about substance abuse — it’s not the substance, per se, it’s what drives you to the substance.

So you just got to a point at 39, you said: Enough?

I got to a point where, yeah, I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t rationalize and justify my actions anymore. 

But it must have been hard to pull away. 

Very.

So how did you do it?

I wound up going into my last program, which was into a shelter, which was a new bottom for me, because I had never gone into a shelter, from false pride. I remember claiming a park bench in the middle of winter downtown on the Green.

Let me just paint a picture for you of how out of touch with reality I had become. I remember being able to go out of the Salvation Army on a path, and I was walking downtown. There’s the church that’s right across from the Green, and I said: ​“Wow! I wonder how long that building’s been there.” And I looked at the plaque, and it said it was founded in 1816. Never knew it was there, because my world only existed with where I used. So if they wasn’t selling crack out of the basement of the church, I didn’t know it was there.

You know what I mean? So it took a long time for me to get a grip on reality and get some coping skills and not have drugs be the answer to everything. It stopped being about the euphoria a long time ago. And now what I was doing with this habitual use, you know, it became a lifestyle. If you do anything consistently, long enough …

So how did it end? What program was it that pulled you out?

There was actually a recovery program in a shelter in Stamford on Pacific Street. It was a wet shelter, meaning that the guys that were trying to recover were on the second floor, and the general population was on the first floor. That consisted of people who were still shooting dope in the bathroom, still smoking crack in the bathroom, still coming to the dinner drunk, and for the most part, for people who are trying to recover. Those are usually triggers. But like I said, I had reached a different level of desperation where all of that stuff really didn’t matter to me. At this point I was in a fight for my life, and I didn’t get caught up on what it would be like because I had already experienced what it was like for like over 20 years, 15, 20 years.

One thing led to another, and I think the thing that consolidated my recovery was that the obsession to use was lifted. I didn’t have the desire to use anymore. And I know that that’s a God thing, that’s not a me thing. Cause if it were left up to me …

How many years ago was that?

Well, Sept. 20 of this year will be 12 years for me.

So 12 years ago you went clean? You didn’t get arrested anymore?

No.

How’d you end up at Project MORE?

I ended up at Project MORE through a gentleman by the name of Malik White, who was the program assistant director at the time. But I had known Malik for some time, and I had made a decision that I was tired of ​“lift that bar, tilt that belt” work. My body started getting older and I couldn’t do it no more. At this time I was living in Stamford. So I came back to New Haven, I said: ​“Well, I’d like to get into the field.”

I was an [alternatives to incarceration] case manager first, I would go to Bridgeport. They actually offered services where they would give you vouchers for clothing, help you with housing, and things of that nature. So I did that for a little bit, and as that was coming to an end, I had ran into Malik and I said: ​“I need a job.” He said, well, ​“Fill out the application,” and, ​“You know, I got you.” That’s what he said to me: ​“I got you.”

Just when that job ended he called me and said: ​“You ready to start training?” And I went into Project More.

And what do you do now?

Now I am the case manager for the WKRP program.

And you are how old now?

I’ll be 52 this year, Christmas. I am a Christmas baby. I don’t wanna talk about that; there’s some resentment behind that day. Me and Jesus, I think he got a better treatment than I did.

Click on or download the above audio file to listen to the full episode of WNHH radio’s ​“Dateline New Haven” where, in addition to Kilpatrick, Earl Bloodworth and Mary Loftus of Easter Seals Goodwill discuss their joint efforts to help ex-cons reintegrate into New Haven society.

Lucy Gellman contributed to this article.