Dome of denial

The South Boston community says last year's teen crisis is being taken care of. Why don't the kids feel that way?

Cityscape by Sarah McNaught

Kevin Cunningham was one of six young men in South Boston who killed themselves last year. His death was part of a wave of suicides and suicide attempts that garnered wide attention from outside the community and deep concern from within it.

Although drugs have been blamed in part for Southie's suicide problem, the handsome 17-year-old honor student had no drugs in his system at the time of his death, according to an autopsy report. In fact, Cunningham's friends say he had seemed in good spirits. He had just landed a job at a local restaurant and was planning to go fishing on July 20, 1997, the day he hanged himself from the fire escape of his parents' City Point apartment.

Soon a strange story grew up around the Cunningham death. People said that when he died, he had in his back pocket the major New York Times account of the Southie suicides. This story is still being heard, over and over again. From Dr. Joseph Doolin, president of Catholic Charities, which runs and sponsors numerous teen programs in South Boston. From Sister Mary Adel of South Boston's Labouré Center, a community center that provides everything from daycare and kindergarten art classes to teen intervention programs and entertainment for the elderly. From John Northridge, director of the mental health department at South Boston's Community Health Center, the local neighborhood clinic that also holds teen intervention meetings. From Mark Silva, director of the new teen detox center in South Boston.

Michael MacDonald, a lifelong South Boston resident and community activist who lost his mother and three siblings to drug-related violence, even recalls Mayor Thomas Menino's informing the community about the article found in the boy's pocket and adding that residents of South Boston must take care in speaking to the press about the suicides.

It turns out that the story isn't true. Cunningham's death was actually detailed in the New York Times piece; he could not have read it, much less put it in his back pocket.

But the fact that this rumor has gained such currency reveals much about the state of Southie right now. Suicide remains a problem. According to several community activists and numerous local teenagers (confirmed by Boston Police and the medical examiner's office), three people killed themselves in September. And drugs remain a problem. Police say that drug arrests increased 34 percent from 1995 to 1997. Arrests involving possession of heroin -- the current drug of choice in South Boston -- increased 145 percent from 1995 to 1997.

Yet the situation remains under what Michael MacDonald calls "a dome of silence." Teens are eager to talk about their problems and appear even more eager to find help. But Southie's adults, it seems, are reluctant to admit there is a problem at all. And City Hall, local hospitals, the police, Emergency Medical Services, the medical examiner's office, the Boston Public Health Commission, and several South Boston neighborhood centers were not even able to say how many suicides or drug overdoses there have been this year.

The consensus in South Boston is that because new programs have appeared, all must be well. But a closer look reveals a different story behind even the most seemingly positive developments. In September, for instance, Pop Warner football teams took the field in Farragut Park for the first time in 20 years. Locally, the national youth league was a casualty of the busing crisis that rocked the city in the 1970s. By the end of the decade, other teams wouldn't travel into South Boston, and the league became defunct. Before then, it had been a good way to keep kids out of trouble.

Some adults, however, seem to have missed the point. "We've got kids running around the field and adults in the stands with alcohol," says Sergeant Margot Hill, spokesperson for the Boston Police Department. "It's not too smart to bring alcohol to a sports event geared towards keeping kids away from drugs and alcohol. But this is what we are up against."

Others complain that it's hard to get parents involved in kids' lives. "We've organized parent workshops and no one has shown up," says Brian Van Dorpe, director of the South Boston Neighborhood House, which periodically sends out surveys inquiring about the community's concerns. "Parents respond to surveys, but when it comes time to act they can't seem to get their act together."

It doesn't take an expert to point out the absence of adult supervision in the lives of many Southie teens. Even the kids themselves say they feel abandoned.

Katie Heiskell knows what it's like to have nowhere to turn. The pretty 19-year-old, who was evicted from her apartment, is temporarily living with Paul Ulrich, a community activist who is seriously considering a run for Boston City Council next year as a way to help address the teen problems.

"We have so much to deal with," says Heiskell, who has been clean from drugs for three months but continues to drink at local bars, even though she is underage. "Our parents are too wrapped up in their own lives. Politicians don't give a damn. In fact, because of all the development over here, the cost of living is driving everyone into the streets. And the help we are being offered has nothing to do with the real problems we are having. The atmosphere sucks, and I only see it getting worse."

The real problem, says Heiskell, is drugs. They are cheaper than ever before -- according to Lieutenant John Gallagher of the Boston Police drug unit, the cost for a hit of heroin has dropped from $25 to $4, less than a six-pack of beer -- and they can be found in every housing project as well as on many neighborhood street corners. This summer on West Broadway, free samples of heroin were being handed out.

"It's amazing to me that drugs are blatantly being peddled on the street right out in the open and no one sees it. Do you want to know why?" asks Ulrich. "Because the political leadership and the community leaders are far more concerned about the reputation of the town for waterfront-development reasons than with the needs of the people here."

Numerous community activists dispute this, saying they believe that media attention inflames Southie's troubles. To back their theory, they cite a 1989 study by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention that analyzes media coverage of suicides. In fact, the study states that avoiding the press is detrimental to solving the problem. Still, many community leaders refuse to discuss either teen suicide or drug use, saying that certain types of coverage can promote suicide and that the two problems often go hand in hand. Helen Allix, director of the city-run South Boston Against Drugs, turned down an interview request from the Phoenix. "I don't interview," said Allix. "I have real issues with reporters, and I won't be the one who allows you to exploit our kids any more."

Despite Allix's silence, there are those who wish to talk about the steps being taken to combat substance abuse in South Boston. "Home for a While" opened in the rectory of St. Monica's Church last month. Run by Catholic Charities, the program provides a home for boys between the ages of 13 and 17 who are coming out of drug and alcohol detoxification programs or psychiatric hospitals. The first of its kind in the state, the program will provide up to 45 days of free residential treatment to seven boys at a time.

"People need to realize that substance abuse is still a big problem in South Boston and around the city," explains Mark Silva, director of the program. "There is a need for individualized intervention. This home is a start, but more is needed."

Recently the city council approved a $1 million teen rehabilitation program on Long Island, located off the Squantum peninsula, where a former tuberculosis hospital currently houses 500 homeless people during the winter. The center will provide a 28-day program, but it will not be available until July of next year. According to John Auerbach, director of the Boston Public Health Commission, the state has also added $350,000 to its public-health budget to set up another program for kids in South Boston.

For now, the community has developed numerous after-school programs for those kids willing to come forward. Among the programs developed by city and neighborhood centers since the suicide epidemic last year are computer classes, tutorial help, job-placement workshops, group therapy, and one-on-one crisis intervention. Kids can also participate in theatrical groups, art-program field trips, and sporting events.

Steven Kozlowski says the current crisis reaches well beyond any extracurricular activity local centers have to offer. And he should know. The handsome 21-year-old has broken the law for drug money, and over the summer he lost his own cousin to a drug overdose.

"I can't tell you how horrified I am now when I walk by the projects and see my friends, sitting on the wall, selling stolen shirts, all whacked out and looking like zombies," says Kozlowski, who had a small role in Good Will Hunting as the boy in the black scally cap who punches Ben Affleck on the basketball court. "These kids are sick of life. They don't even realize any programs exist. The look on their faces is `Help me now.' "

Though the nature of the teen issues in South Boston is obvious, no one really understands the extent of the problem. Numerous local and state agencies have failed to monitor the drug and suicide trends among Southie teens over the past year.

"You must understand that there is no way for a city agency to know exactly how serious teen issues are in a neighborhood because of health-care confidentiality," says the Public Health Commission's John Auerbach. "And I believe that should be preserved."

Auerbach does agree that substance abuse persists in South Boston, but he denies that suicide is still an issue. "We are definitely not seeing a pattern of suicides in South Boston today," he says.

Tell that to 19-year-old Jennifer McAuliffe, who, at 11:30 on a Wednesday night, is partying with friends in an apartment in South Boston. McAuliffe has her share of problems. She pops pills, snorts cocaine, drinks heavily, and has tried heroin. Two weeks ago, she tried to commit suicide.

"I feel more depressed when I'm not drinking," explains McAuliffe. "When I'm drunk, I'm so much happier."

Her parents have no idea.

Sarah McNaught can be reached at smcnaught[a]phx.com.