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A Last Request Brings Serenity
College of DuPage Quarterly
By Ken Reed

Miracles Happen at Serenity House
Addison Press/About Addison
By Laura LaRocca

In the News

WTTW Magazine
City Talk

Finding the Way to Serenity
Father-and-son team helps substance abusers rebuild healthy, productive lives.

One night three years ago, a homeless man was wandering the streets of downtown Seattle when he noticed a pay phone at the corner. Something compelled him to pick up the receiver and make a call. “I believe it was divine intervention”, the man says. He was depressed alcoholic and needed help. “I had spent a lot of years watching myself deteriorate and become hopeless. I had got to the point where I had given up”, he says. “My drinking began as a teenager and progressed to the point where I was living on the streets.”

The man called his sister in Georgia . “My sister always cared a great deal for me”, he says. “She was a religious person and had prayed for me”. She suggested he go to Chicago to stay with his brother and begin attending meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. His siblings would pay for his airfare. The man, who calls himself Steve, began his road to recovery after making that call. Because he is in a program that calls for anonymity, he asked that his real name not be used.

During AA meetings, Steve heard about a treatment center called Serenity House in west suburban Addison . He was accepted into a 90-day residential program and kicked the booze. Today he is on the staff and counsels others with drug and alcohol addictions.

Steve is one of thousands who have gone through treatment at Serenity House since the nonprofit center opened ion an old farmhouse in 1986.More than 90 percent of its clients are poor, homeless and jobless. There are 24 beds for men and 13 for women in separate buildings on the five-acre site.

Henry Tews, a former printing industry executive, founded Serenity House with the intention of helping those who had no money and nowhere else to go. “I've seen the horrors of addictions. I've seen it all my life”, Tews says. “My father died of alcoholism.”

Tews, who later earned an associate's degree in addictions counseling form the College of DuPage , runs a tough program that requires residents to get jobs, do chores and attend counseling sessions.

His son David, then director of Serenity House, a career he never envisioned when he was a theater major and aspiring actor.

“It was a strange path and twist of fate”, David Tews says. While seeking work as an actor and waiting tables, David volunteered to counsel people going through HIV testing. “I found I could build a rapport and talk with people”, he says. “I thought I could be a counselor”.

Like his father, Tews earned as associate's degree in addictions counseling from the College of DuPage and later a master's in community counseling for Northeastern University . He recently finished his doctorate.

Counseling is not easy work, David Tews says. Many recovering addicts think they can do it. But Steve showed promise.

“It's not uncommon for someone in recovery to have a desire to be a counselor.” Tews says. “Part of their recovery is the desire to give something back. My first comment to them is, Are you aware of the salary? But I encourage it. I tell them to take a class. That is going to tell you whether the school environment will work for you.”

When Steve arrived at Serenity House, he was more interested in getting his own life together than counseling others.

“Physically, I was pretty much a basket case”, he says. “I was very skinny, probably from malnutrition. I had not been eating well for a fairly long time. It turned out that I had some liver damage”.

Steve was 46 and had held various jobs- busboy, construction worker, warehouse laborer and electrician. The one constant in his life was drinking.

Steve tried AA meeting without success. In Seattle , because of a drunken-driving arrest, he was ordered to undergo treatment and attend meetings. “I did it just long enough to get the court off my back and went back to drinking”, he says.

But in Chicago Steve began to listen to the stories of other addicts and shared his own, realizing he was not alone. At Serenity House he began to get his life together, learning discipline, responsibility and self-confidence. “I feel like I got a life here”, he says. Steve always felt that he had an ability to connect with people and who sought out as an adviser and confidante.

“In high school I found myself being put in that role by my peers”, he says. “I felt pretty comfortable in the role of giving people advice. But I was never willing to put in the time in school to pursue it.”

He decided to pursue a degree in counseling during his recovery and enrolled at the College of DuPage , which has had a close relationship with Serenity House and trained many of its counselors. David Tews believed Steve had what it takes to make it.

“I had a sense he'd be good at it because his heart was in the right place”, Tews says.

Going to college was awkward at first. “The thing that hit me first was sitting in a classroom with a bunch of 19-years olds”, Steve says. “I was old enough to be their father”.

He hit the books, worked hard and graduated. Last December Steve became a full-time staff counselor. “Coming here to work is the culmination of everything”, he says. “I'm now able to work in a place that I think is the greatest place in the world”.

Steve is a counselor at an independent living facility run by Serenity House. Clients do not know that he is a recovering alcoholic.

“The policy here is that counselors do not disclose whether they are in recovery”, David Tews says. “There is a false perception in some client's minds that they would be better counselors. It's not true.”

Steve agrees. “All of the counselor here are very good and connect with their client”, he says. “Clients probably know who is or isn't in recovery. I really don't think it makes a difference”.

Still, Steve's past helps him connect with addicts in a deep and meaningful way. “I think my strongest point is my compassion”, he says. “I know what it feels like when you first walk into this building. It's relieved fear. You're scared to death, but relieved you are here”.

Steve is 49 now. His recovery has meant a new life. He's living in his own apartment for this first time in years.

“I have people who genuinely care for me as a person”, he says. “I also have a woman who loves me and whom I love very much”.

As a counselor, he tries to persuade others that a life can change. “The thing I really try to convey is that there is hope”, Steve says.

“I know, because I witnessed it myself. People have changed their lives and have become happy, productive people. That's the real message of recovery—that it's possible.”