"House of Hope helps ex-cons reform" Ricardo Araoz is a drug addict. The 35-year-old admits he's been on drugs for about 20 years of his life. Along the way, he's lost good jobs. He's spent three years in two prisons and bounced in and out of drug rehab programs. His ex-wife and children live miles away and don't answer his letters. His past was bleak. But his future?

Araoz thinks this time he's going to make it.

A native of Cuba who grew up in Chicago, Araoz was released from New River Correctional Institution near Raiford after serving a year for drug possession and theft. And he's chosen to enroll in a rigid, disciplined, hard-nosed Christian program in Gainesville.

"This is a blessing," said Araoz. "I'm clean. I'm out of prison." And he's got his parents' and siblings' support, too.

He says he has a lot to be thankful for today.

The House of Hope is a 2-1/2 year old nonprofit, interdenominational Christian program, sponsored by several area churches and private donors. It gives men a place to live while they look for jobs. Enrollment requires religious participation and strict adherence to house rules that forbid drug or alcohol use.

The rules are rigid. The surroundings aren't posh, with three bedrooms for five residents and no TV in the single-story home.

"It's a home setting," that the program's director, Thomas Johnson, the only full-time staff member, said he fixed up. Donated furniture fills the house, which had nothing but a refrigerator and stove when Johnson arrived. The walls are covered with pictures, clippings and religious information.

The rules say residents' mail can be inspected. Card playing and profanity aren't allowed. Stereos and radios must be staff-approved in writing. Lights go out at 10:30 p.m., and no one stays in bed between 7 a.m. and 5 p.m. unless it's a weekend or residents have staff approval.

Once the men find jobs, they pay $50 a week for food and rent. The balance, after restitution, parole or child support payments are met, goes into a savings account and for the men's weekly spending allowance.

First-time infractions could mean extra work detail or time spent writing out scriptures. Three violations result in dismissal.

Just under half of the 52 men who have enrolled in the program did not succeed and were told to leave, Johnson said.

Twenty-five found jobs and housing outside the home, some within two to three months, and remain involved with a church. Four stayed the full 90 to 120 days at the house and graduated.

The program's recidivism rate, even counting the men who dropped out, is at 8 percent, with four back in prison. That compares favorably to the most recent figures (1994-95) from the state Department of Corrections, which show a recidivism rate of 18.8 percent for inmates within 24 months.

Robert Woody, a correctional probational supervisor with the Department of Corrections, said there are several reasons why the House of Hope is a good program.

Woody, who serves as an advisor to the program, says Johnson takes time to carefully screen potential residents and provides them with a structured environment. He also requires them to be responsible by saving money and holding down a job and makes them accountable when they violate the rules.

Araoz turned down his parents' and siblings' offer for an apartment and a car after his release from prison; he wants to be at the house. "I've been to college, changed friends, made geographical moves, and failed," Araoz said. "I honestly believe if you believe in God and you believe in Jesus, that honestly is the answer."

Johnson agrees that Araoz can change.

Because Johnson, 49, said he did the same thing after being addicted to drugs and living on the street for 33 years. A trip to a soup kitchen introduced him, he says, to Jesus Christ and a new life.

"I've got a stench that's unreal. But He saved me," Johnson said.

"We're overcoming drugs, becoming a better person, not because society says it's wrong but because our God says it's wrong."

Araoz, like Johnson before him, has a lot to overcome.

But Johnson believes this time Araoz will succeed because he's chosen to be in the program.

"This is the first time that he truly has accepted the Lord Jesus in his life. God will not fail him. I offer myself as living proof."

"He had a place (to live) and he didn't have to come here. That's his choice," Johnson said.

Araoz spent most of his life in inner-city Chicago. His family, who immigrated from Cuba, moves there from Miami.

Araoz described himself as a thug who spoke street-slang. He dropped out of high school when he was a freshman. His occupation was dealing drugs for an ex-brother-in-law.

So began years in and out of jobs, rehab programs and prison. Years of drug binges.

In 1986, Araoz sold drugs to an undercover Chicago police officer. He was convicted of selling and delivering cocaine and sentenced to six years in prison. He served two years and nine months in Illinois.

Away from drugs, Araoz was able to earn his GED. He started a work-release program that allowed him to attend a community college where he wanted to earn a computer science degree. He also met the woman he would marry, Rita.

When she became pregnant, the two married and moved to Missouri, where she accepted a job offer involving wholesale dental equipment. Araoz was supposed to attend night courses to finish his degree. She even helped him find work at her company, and the two earned enough money to buy a new home where they started their own computer business.

But it didn't matter for Araoz. "I started going back to the old me."

Finally, returning home from another fling, he found his wife and three children gone. Everything had been moved out of the house. His bosses also confronted him about his lifestyle and theft. He was fired.

Araoz, however, didn't fault himself.

"To hell with all these people," he told himself. Then he went out and destroyed his credit rating by blowing his credit cards on more drugs.

"I would go to the dope guy, and I would tell him, 'I buy you something, you pay me with drugs.'" Once, Araoz said, he used credit to buy a $2,500 TV just so he could exchange it with the dealer for an ounce of cocaine, worth between $900 and $1,200.

After Araoz had spent all of his credit, he finally moved to Tampa to be with his parents and siblings, who had been asking him to come home. Even their support didn't work.

He was again arrested for drugs and was shipped to New River and saw the people he would be living with. "It woke me up. I knew I was at the bottom of the line."

"I always knew in the back of my mind that God is the way. I started going to church and stopped handing around with people who were negative." When it came time to getting out of prison after a year Araoz said he knew he needed a better plan than what he had tried in the past. The chaplain at New River referred Araoz to the House of Hope, where he started earlier this month.

Throughout Araoz's stay there, other former residents say, Johnson will be there for him.

"(Johnson) will push and encourage even when we don't feel like we can," said program graduate Doug Kisner, 34.

"He showed me some tough love. He told me what I needed to hear, not what I wanted to hear," said another graduate, Christopher Worlds, 24.

At Monday-night Bible class, Johnson focused on Araoz, the same man he had welcomed out of prison with a hug.

The session is mandatory for resident. But former residents and volunteers from the area churches often attend, bringing the total to seven men.

"I had a murderous spirit. I would have blown your brains out" for drugs, Johnson's voice boomed as he pointed his fingers at Araoz. "I lived to see God (change) my own life." "Christ gave me certain gifts. All the tricks and the games and con-artists games that we play, that was my life.

The last 10 years of my addition was my worst time. I was into selling drugs. I was in shootouts. I did whatever."

"This Thanksgiving means to me that God is alive in my life and is alive in these men's lives," Johnson said. "I'm thankful God has chosen me to be a part of this."

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