Eddie Flowers (Director Emeritus)

Today my life is full. I’m grateful to be alive. I accept life on life’s terms. I realize that I cannot control life, but instead that I need to use the tools I have been given to change my life.

Life on the streets is rough. Just ask me. I was born in Harlem Hospital in 1934 and basically grew up on the streets. I learned the value of a dollar early.

In my younger life, hostility and fear reigned. My father was a boxer, “Tiger” Flowers, and he brought his fights and anger home with him. He used that rage on my mother; he really had brain problems. He died when I was about four years old, and my mother was left to rear all of us on her own. She was hard working, but making ends meet was tough. About a year later, she got sick and we were put in a Catholic Home for children. That was a tough time for us. I remember one time we got in trouble with the nuns who ran the home. We had been begging for money from the local soldiers. As punishment from the nuns, we were left outside in the cold. It was the dead of winter, and my hands became frostbitten. When my mother found out, she came and got us. In the meantime, I learned a lesson about control and pain.

After that I started to work to bring home money for the family. At age seven, I shined shoes in town. That brought in money, but not the kind of money I wanted to earn. My mom was religious, and tried her best to keep me in check. Unfortunately, I was strong-willed and determined to be a part of neighborhood gangs. The last time she gave me a whipping, I grabbed the belt from her hands. She had lost control of me, but what I didn’t realize at the time was that I had also lost control of myself. By age 11, I was out of the house and actively drinking alcohol.

For me, alcohol was my gateway drug. I loved the feeling of alcohol and I could consume a large amount quickly. Our local grocer, “Shorty,” would hustle unsuspecting customers claiming that I could down an entire bottle of liquor without stopping. Those bets were prosperous for both of us—I got to drink what I wanted and he always won the bet. Sometimes I even got a share of the winnings. But my thirst didn’t stop there.

My first experience with drugs was with some buddies in my gang. I was 13 years old. One friend had some capsules and a bunch of us tried them. Some of the boys said “no way” and left them alone, but I liked how they made me feel and I wanted more. Little did I know that this one choice would cause me nearly 20 years of pain as an active drug addict.

It didn’t take me long to find my drug of choice. My brother introduced me to heroin, and I was hooked immediately. I tried marijuana once, and it almost destroyed me. I never tried it again, and stuck to heroin. Unfortunately, the drugs destroyed my brother. He died an addict.

Using drugs costs money, so I also started selling drugs to afford them. I sold lots of drugs and made good money at it. I remember trying to give my mother money, but she wouldn’t take it. She said it was dirty money. She was right, but I didn’t want to admit it. I liked living in the lifestyle at first.

Of course, living in the lifestyle also comes with some costs that you can’t simply buy with money. You have to buy them with time. I had a reputation for being a tough guy and I robbed banks, warehouses, and continued to sell drugs. Of course, all for drug money. This caught up with me several times. By the time I was 21 years old, I had spent between three and four years in the penitentiary. During one of these times, I was sentenced to Lexington, KY for forgery and got myself involved in an experimental program that the CIA was conducting. It was called drug treatment, but it was far more than that. They were testing drugs they had created on humans—me and my fellow inmates—and then bribing us with our favorite drugs. Of course this type of situation wasn’t well accepted by the public when it was discovered, and there were public hearings later in front of the U.S. Senate and quite an uproar to accompany it. During my time there, though, I was quite ignorantly happy. I was enabled to be an addict.

My drug use continued, and so did my bad habits. I was selling drugs, stealing and still lying to my mother. I would only show my face to her when I was doing well. One day, she came to visit me and found me in the middle of a deal and doing drugs. I had drugs and money all over, and she left. She was angry and disappointed in me. She hated drugs and she hated that I was involved with them. She died that same evening. For years, I thought I killed her. My sister swore I did. As soon as I got the news, I ran to her house. I was so addicted and out of my mind. My first instinct upon seeing her lying dead in front of me wasn’t sadness. It was to see how much money she had in her purse. My other sister caught me. I even had to fake tears at her funeral for show. I was lost.

After that I really self-destructed. I was angry, and I hurt a lot of people. I did a whole lot of things, sold drugs on a very large scale—what we called “selling weight.” I sold to dealers, and bought fancy cars. I was living a very fast life.

My bad habits caught up with me and I found myself in trouble again. In 1962, I was arrested again for possession of an illegal substance. At that time, if you used drugs or were associated with drugs, you were considered a criminal. There was no concept of addiction being a medical problem, or one that could be helped with treatment. So, of course, I didn’t want to go into something called “treatment.”

At my trial, I was angry and out of my mind. I had to be physically gagged. I was like an animal. My judge, Judge Warren, took a close look at my record and decided to grant me the opportunity of treatment. He sentenced me to 15 years of probation and to treatment. As step one, I was sent to Rikers Island to prepare for and actually earn my spot in treatment. Of course, I didn’t want it so I bucked the system. Then I saw how those inmates who “played the game” were moved out, and I wanted that. I figured anywhere was better than where I was. I began to follow the rules and was moved into treatment at Harts Island: my first experience in a therapeutic community.

In treatment, a therapeutic community, I isolated myself at first and was scared to open up and evaluate myself. I had been hiding from myself for more than 20 years. Uncovering all of my guilt, destructive behavior, and selfish actions was more than I had bargained for. I was in treatment for more than 27 months.

The purpose of a therapeutic community goes beyond the idea of quitting using drugs and alcohol. Treatment is a behavior modification program. It is geared to teach those in it why they act the way they do, why they make the poor choices they do, and how to change internally and externally. While there, I tore myself apart piece by piece, only to have myself patched back whole again—but fresh and new. After several months in treatment, I wrote Judge Warren and thanked him for saving my life. I knew his action of kindness truly gave me a chance to live. He wrote me back and told me that his job was more than simply sending people to jail, but that it was also about helping people who help themselves. He also signed the letter “Love, Judge Warren.” I still have the letter. And, I still remember the lesson.

After treatment, life was completely different for me. I had to deal with life on life’s terms—not on my terms. I went into sales for a short time, but that was not my calling. I was insecure, had feelings of inadequacy, and felt hopeless. I was suffering from depression and considered suicide. I sought therapy outside treatment and found a true balance. I knew I wanted to help people, particularly those people who wanted help with changing their lives. I returned to the therapeutic community, only as an employee. I began in pre-treatment and then progressed to work in the treatment program.

In 1970, I got a call from my buddy Jimi Hendrix. I had worked alongside him in NY in treatment programs. It turned out that our work was catching on beyond New York City. He came to Second Genesis to help out Dr. Sidney Shankman, and to help design the program. He called me down to Virginia to help, too. I worked with Jimi to open Second Genesis’ first facility at King Street in Alexandria. I’ve been working with Second Genesis ever since.

Second Genesis has helped me grow as a person more than I can truly say. For example, I didn’t graduate high school. At Second Genesis, I took vocational classes with some of the clients. I was going to prove to them that if I could do it, so could they. Volunteer nuns taught the GED classes. I attempted to get my GED five times. On the 5th time, I succeeded. My fear of nuns was over, and I felt like I had accomplished something huge. My desire for education didn’t end there. I also went on to get my bachelor of arts degree in Human Services from the University of Illinois.

Over the years, I have been able to apply this practical knowledge and help clients. I work hard to pull clients out of the vicious cycle of addiction. I tell them it just takes choice and commitment to themselves to do whatever is necessary to change their lives. They owe that much to themselves. As Second Genesis’ director emeritus, I run relapse prevention groups, talk with clients about personal growth, direct anger management classes, help with self-esteem groups and trauma therapy, run encounter groups where all sorts of negative behaviors are confronted and changed, and I make myself available to clients and staff.

Today my life is full. I’m grateful to be alive. I accept life on life’s terms. I realize that I cannot control life, but instead that I need to use the tools I have been given to change my life. I have a renewed respect for myself and for what I have become. When I look at my face in the mirror, I see someone I can be proud of. I see someone who is truly changed and who is working to help others find the gift of change.