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Recovery in the News
'Through hell or high water, she's still Mama'
Michelle Hiskey
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
October 29, 2007
Mother gripped by drugs faces her greatest fear — recovery — after her eldest son makes national headlines when he takes in a younger sibling.
Tonya McElrathbey became famous as a terrible mother.
A year ago, her drug addiction compelled her oldest son, a college student and football player at Clemson, to take custody of one of her younger ones. It was a move that garnered national attention.
People didn't talk about me without pointing out her faults," said Ray Ray McElrathbey, a sophomore defensive back. "Her [mistakes] made it all the way to Oprah."
But the love and protection she couldn't give her eight children, they still gave her.
The Atlanta siblings didn't tell Oprah or the national media the worst memories: the time Tonya brandished a loaded gun at Ray Ray, the time she beat him after his younger sibling tore up a welfare check.
Guilt and shame had fueled his mom's addiction, Ray Ray reasoned, and the media attention threatened to further dim any chance of her recovery.
But unexpectedly, the national attention brought much-needed medical help for Tonya, 41. And, recently, the McElrathbeys got together for a rare event in their lives — a celebration.
Tonya marked one year free of drugs.
It was the first time this mom had ever seen all of her children, aged 9 to 24, in one place. It was the first time the kids had seen her clean for so long. It was a milestone, however tenuous, validating the hope her children had long clung to, that their devotion could beat her addiction.
"I've never seen her get a whole year [drug-free]," said her son Fahmarr, the 12-year-old in Ray Ray's custody.
Act I: A family torn apart
In a quieter space away from the celebration, Tonya told how she tried cocaine about 18 years ago as a medical assistant living in Chicago. What was to her a new thing to try at a party became, the next day, something she had to have.
"It wasn't like I woke up and wanted to be a drug addict," she said.
Money saved for a family trip quickly went for the white powder. Her marriage went as well.
She moved Ray Ray and two daughters to Atlanta, to start anew where her father lived. While here, she started using crack, "and all of my idiosyncrasies and low self-esteem went out the window," she said.
The ensuing years brought two boyfriends, five kids and about 15 treatment programs.
"I got my GED between crack runs," Tonya said. "I'd clean up real good, then get overwhelmed and just quit. ... When I was high, I heard mice eating our food on the windowsill. I was so skinny and bony my feet hurt to walk." She took to wearing bedroom slippers in public.
A series of mentors helped Ray Ray stay focused on sports and class work at Mays High School. Tony Hill, a local coach in the Atlanta parks department, took in Ray Ray from age 14. He and others helped Ray Ray buckle down at Mays, become a multi-sport star and earn a full ride to Clemson.
Act II: The son steps up
At age 20, with his mother still using drugs, Ray Ray took custody of Fahmarr and moved the boy into his Clemson apartment. Their story made national headlines, and the NCAA allowed donations to a trust fund for Fahmarr's care.
"Through all the things we've been through, Fahmarr still loves her," Ray Ray said. "Through hell or high water, she's still Mama."
But Mom also needed help. Ray Ray was already using his Pell Grant — given to needy college students — to pay her rent.
Not much had changed since his boyhood days when Tonya would search his pockets for money he'd earned mowing lawns and doing yard work, days when he came home to find she had sold the TV and his games, he said.
That behavior ruled her family for almost two decades. But, after the family was put in the spotlight, life began to change.
Among the offers to help the brothers was one that Ray Ray jumped at. Prometa, a California-based detox program, offered to sponsor Tonya at an affiliated Atlanta clinic. Without that help, the treatment would cost $12,000 to $15,000.
The challenge was getting her there. Tonya didn't want to leave the drug life. Ray Ray and his siblings had to confront her.
"The day Oprah's people interviewed me was the same day we talked to her [Tonya] about getting treatment," Ray Ray said. "She said, 'Hell, no,' and I told the producers they had to go right quick. And my mom and I had it out."
Enter Greg Horvath, 45, a former college football player and drug addict who does interventions.
He went to Tonya's room at an extended-stay hotel to pick her up and take her to a clinic in downtown Atlanta. He waited for hours while Tonya refused to answer his door knocks or phone calls.
"I did what I do, and got some more dope and a Colt 45 [malt liquor]," she recalled. "I finished getting high, saying to myself, 'They don't need you, you ain't no good for your kids anyway.'"
But she finally opened the door, and soon was getting medical, psychological and nutritional help.
"As she got better, I knew the family would get better," said Horvath, who flew from California for her party. "Usually, it's a funeral that brings family together over an addict."
"They didn't desert her, and a lot of families just want to forget an addict," said Dr. Tommie Richardson, who treated Tonya and continues to check in on her. "It's unusual ... her children and the unconditional love they had for her, that to me spells love."
Act III: Looking forward
Tonya's new family celebrated with her, too. They are her "crew," six former addicts who have a combined 95 years of staying clean.
They supported her through 12 uphill months.
She got her own place in west Atlanta. She paid a fine to get her driver's license back. She registered to vote.
She's never been late to her job as a customer account executive at Comcast, despite a two-hour trip to Alpharetta by bus and train.
While her supporters and family share her pride, they reminded her sternly that recovery is never over. The crew's biggest wish is that they never celebrate another one-year "birthday" for her.
"I know the failure rate is high," she said of staying clean. "I know because I was the failure rate."
Dr. Richardson, who has aided substance abusers for 24 years, assessed her chances this way.
"If she takes one day at a time, if she stays committed to her program, she should be very successful," he said. "We can't guarantee that, just like we can't guarantee that a disease like breast cancer won't come back tomorrow, either."
Ray Ray agrees.
"This is a day to day thing," he said, looking at his mom. "Kind of an hour to hour thing."
Her persistence — first to get drugs, then to get clean — has encouraged him in a tough football season in which he's been sidelined since August because of a knee injury.
"She hustled all day long, and I learned that I've got the same hustle all day long," he said.
He will likely graduate in three years and either pursue a second undergraduate degree or a master's.
"She showed me the wrong way to go and, as a parent, that's the whole point, isn't it? Even if it was an unconventional way."
The family reunion lasted well into the night with Tonya's other sons and daughters: Tanea Mathis, 24, Sabra Stevenson, 22, Cornelius McElrathbey, 17, Brittany McElrathbey, 14, Tatiana Etchison, 10, and Alanta Etchison, 9.
Her four grandchildren were also there. "Now they can finally go to Grandma's house without us worrying about them finding her [crack] pipe," Stevenson said.
"We are thankful for what we have and who you are," Ray Ray told his mom with a big hug and kiss. "And we love you."
© 2007 The Atlanta Journal-Constitution