Addicts Find Redemption at Market Street Mission

You have have not showered in days. You're sleeping in your car, or you're sleeping in the park. Your eyes are bloodshot, your head is pounding. You'd kill for just one more drink, but you're out of money and you're running out of hope. And, your only salvation is a chapel floor, shared by 19 other men.

To someone not suffering from debilitating addiction, this might not seem like the start toward recovery, but for Chris Stazza, the decision to seek help for his alcoholism at Market Street Mission was the beginning of the end of something that had controlled his life for decades.

"I am an alcoholic," said Strazza, who joined the program a year-and-a-half ago after hitting rock bottom. "I drank so much, I had to drink in the morning just to stop shaking."

Starting at 13 as a social crutch, the Jersey City native was able to get through his teen years relatively easily, crediting his then-athleticism for keeping the drinking in check. By his 20s, Strazza was blacking out and getting DWI's, nine in total, he said. Still, he was able to obtain two master's degrees, a teaching gig at Seton Hall University and a nice house in Mendham. 

But, it wouldn't last. "DWI's turned into felonies," Strazza said. Then came prison for four years. "I knew something had to change."

Strazza's drinking ebbed on a promise to himself that he would not tell anymore lies (of which many had been told throughout his life, he said) but then he was back at it again, drinking in his car, breaking into basements to sleep. He knew something had to give.

Then one day, while on the Internet at the library, he found Market Street Mission. "It's funny," he said. "All the time I was drinking, I thought, 'as long as I don't end up in there, I'm alright'. But, it was what I needed."

Strazza decided to go and was placed into the Mission's free recovery program. In the first phase of the program, participants are given clean linens and sleep on the chapel floor. It might sound harsh to someone used to the comfort of a bed, but Strazza said, "there's something magical in that room, on that floor.

"I talked to people there I normally would not have talked to," he said. "I found out God was someone I didn't understand."

Today, over a year later, Strazza still lives at the Mission as an employee in its medical/legal office of temporary assistance. 

Nancy Hanna, volunteer coordinator for Market Street Mission, said she could not even guess how many men with addictions have been treated, for free, in their facilities. But, with three groups of 20 men participating in the program three times a year, she estimated it was a lot. The Mission began its "mission" in 1889 when Louisa Graves Owen, the wife of Rev. Dr. F.W. Owen, realized that almost all of the husbands of the wives in her bible study classes were alcoholic. She and her husband rented 9 Market St. to set up a residential program for alcoholic husbands and the Market Street Mission was born.

In addition to the treatment programs for men, Hanna said anyone could eat, take a shower or attend a chapel service. Men not seeking to join the program are still able to sleep at the Mission for up to one week. Program participants get three meals a day, prepared by members of the program, who also participate in other job functions throughout the program. About 250-to-275 breakfasts and dinners are served daily to anyone, as the nearby Community Soup Kitchen also has lunches available for anyone who needs it. But, as Development Director Phil Parsels said, "we wouldn't turn anyone away if they asked." 

When men decide they want to join the program, they go through several steps over several months, which include counseling, job and basic life skills training.

Then comes graduation from the program, which Hanna said is "a great time to celebrate their accomplishments." Additional community outreach programs include annual "Project Backpack" backpack and school supply giveaways and an annual coat drive every November.

Hanna said that community connection is important. "We really try to reach out to the family, as well," she said. "We're trying to bridge that gap."

In his time since recovery, Strazza has begun to bridge the wide divide made by his alcoholism. One of 12 siblings, he said he has reconnected with them all. But, not his son. "This is what alcohol took away ... no, I took it away," he said. 

Still, Strazza said for what feels like the first time in his life, "I can't wait to get up and do what I do." 

"You can't understand until you're involved–it's such a beautiful thing," he said. "I never thought I'd laugh again."