One Recovered Life Turned Into More
By Courtland Milloy
Wednesday, December 5, 2007; B01

At one time in his life, Alvin Carpenter was spiritually bankrupt and addicted to drugs. Using dirty needles, he became infected with the AIDS virus. Seemingly helpless and hopeless, he was all but disowned by his family.
An unmarked grave in a potter's field: That's the kind of fate that usually awaits people like him.

Not this time. At a well-attended memorial yesterday, Carpenter was remembered as a sober and faithful man. Having found relief from his addictions and discomfort, he had spent the best years of his life helping others overcome theirs.

It is an old story but worth telling again. A heart turned cold with misery and self-pity suddenly warmed by the fire of love. People once despised and ostracized transformed into some of the most productive members of society.
Miracles do happen.

Even when the transformation gets cut short -- as in the recent shooting death of professional football player Sean Taylor -- the effort is always worthwhile, an inspiration in itself.

" Mama would have to hide her pocketbook when Alvin came home," Armpie Carpenter Jr., Alvin's oldest brother, told me. "But when he got clean, she felt as if her prayers had been answered and she was overjoyed."

Of course, much more is made of human failure: of lives wasted by drugs and alcohol, of social problems that fester, especially the spread of HIV-AIDS.

In the District alone, an estimated 60,000 people need treatment for alcohol and drug abuse. And about 12,000 D.C. residents are known to have HIV or AIDS. Of the nearly 3,300 new HIV cases reported between 2001 and 2006, 37 percent were spread through heterosexual activity -- with intravenous drug users as a primary source.
Bad as that is, imagine how much worse it would be without such people as Carpenter, who go into the alleys, the heroin shooting galleries, the city's dope "hot spots," counseling addicts and seeking help for those who have been infected with HIV. His was the kind of one-on-one work that's often taken for granted, even though such unsung efforts usually get the best results.

Two other stalwarts of the recovery community also died recently: LaVera Golden, 84, had been a volunteer for more than 26 years at the Addictions Treatment Unit at Virginia Hospital Center. Florence Shorter, 52, was a case manager at the Dinner Program for Homeless Women in downtown Washington. Both had cancer.

Carpenter, 53, was the manager of the Westside Club in Georgetown, where 12-step self-help meetings are held daily. He had been clean for about 20 years. Soon after leaving the booze and drugs behind, he learned that he had AIDS. Although his medical treatments often left him nauseous and in pain, he still worked tirelessly to help others get clean.

He spent his last days at Joseph's House, an AIDS care facility in Adams Morgan that takes in homeless men and women. Carpenter wasn't homeless. It was just fitting that he die in the facility he had helped found.

" Alvin gave us a priceless gift," said Douglas James, a friend of Carpenter's from New York. "He gave selflessly of himself without hope of reward or recognition." He added that Carpenter would be "embarrassed" by such an outpouring at his funeral.

Always put spiritual principles above personalities: That was his mantra. Watch out for selfishness, he'd say. Guard against deceit and self-pity. He warned that fear and resentment, left unchecked, would cause a recovering alcoholic to drink again -- and to drink was to die.
Just how was all this to be accomplished? Carpenter's answer was prayer, meditation and service.

" He epitomized being comfortable with practical spirituality," recalled Johnny W. Allem, president of the Johnson Institute, a D.C.-based nonprofit organization that promotes recovery from drug and alcohol abuse. "He found his peace in service. 'Feed my sheep,' was how Jesus put it. And that's what Alvin did."

Heather Tighe, another close friend, recalled that Carpenter frequently visited his mother after she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. Her memory impaired, she could hardly recognize any of her relatives. Except Alvin. "He told me that his mother had started hiding her purse again," Tighe said. But Carpenter didn't take it as a slight, just a reminder of how things used to be.

And how much he had changed.

E-mail:milloyc@washpost.com

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