The needle exchange gives out about 40,000 clean syringes every month.
SLIDESHOW:	A Night at the Needle Exchange

An old, white van, also known as the office on wheels for the HIV Alliance needle exchange, is usually parked in the shadows of Eugene. It waits for clients carrying used needles in coffee cans and detergent containers to emerge from their own shadows and the drug culture of Eugene.

One night, a woman and her pregnant daughter, in her mid-20s, walked up to the van to exchange their needles. Forest Headley, an Americorp employee who works as the acting director for the needle exchange, greeted the women before he realized that the daughter not only was pregnant, but in labor

"It really showed me how people place their priorities when their life revolves around addiction," Headley said. "I was shocked; sitting in front of 5,000 dirty needles thinking, "'This is not where I'd want to bring my pregnant daughter.'" Headley holds his arms out, waving them over an imaginary pile of needles. He swivels once in his desk chair before jumping up, as if the story sparked his adrenaline level and he has to get rid of the energy. He grabs a large plastic storage container to carry out to the van.

"There's a huge drug culture in Eugene. I watched a lot of my friends start with light drugs and move on to harder drugs," he said. "I felt it was part of my responsibility to stop them." Through the experiences with his friends, Headley learned that addicts can't be forced to change their lives if they aren't ready, and even when they are, it usually doesn't stick the first time. "There is so much wrapped up in addiction," he said, walking back up the ramp to the HIV Alliance office, located off Franklin Boulevard.

Headley's medium frame is draped in black; shoes, cargo pants and a sweatshirt. Your attention goes straight to his mouth when he talks, and not because of his thick beard or bright red lips, but because of his voice. He's always yelling. Even when he speaks in a low, reflective tone, each nerve impulse sends the word "yell" to the brain. His phone voice, on the other hand, is incredibly delicate and soft. Perhaps this is because of his job: asking agencies for money and support in an office, and then talking with drug addicts on the streets.

In both of his voices, though, you can hear his dedication and compassion for the agencies that support the alliance's needle exchange program. He believes that the generosity will grow and break down the social judgment placed on addicts as they're walking down the street or trying to fill a fake prescription for clean needles. Society makes it difficult for these people to get help and be safe, Headley said, adding that many addicts are turned away from treatment because they have failed in the past. Even though Headley said it takes an average of nine treatments for a successful recovery from heroine, Medicare turns a cold shoulder, forcing people back to the street and back to their dirty needles.

Headley believes this will change. Not because he wants it so badly, but because it's necessary and in the mind set of a generous person, goodness prevails through doing the right thing. Even when doing the right thing pays Headley only $5 an hour and places him on food stamps, he directs his concerns towards those who have even less than he. Headley grumbles about not having an office open every day for HIV testing and needle exchanging, and not having sharps containers to give to clients who repeatedly ask for them. He is not a selfish complainer.

"The idea that addiction only happens on the weekdays is ridiculous," Headley said, carrying 3,200 needles, packaged in two cases of eight brown cardboard boxes, each containing 200 needles. Another case has already been loaded into the van, which at first glance appears to be piece of a non-functional, decorative artwork. It's the type of artwork, however, that most people would call the cops about if it were sitting in front of their house for too long. It's a 1990 off-white Chevy van with a good share of dents and a protruding bright brown (if that color ever formally existed) plastic dashboard.

Forest Headley and the van.

On the ride out to the needle exchange, Headley jumps between the small brown seats in the back of the van, pumping up himself and the driver for the experience. The driver, 23-year-old Megan Post, began volunteering at the needle exchange a year and a half ago. She laughs while steering the van's large wheel and listening to Headley winding up with excitement as they get closer to the location, which tonight is at the dead end on Blair Street, next to the train tracks. By the time the van pulls up, he is explaining about the global harm-reduction movement of giving out clean needles and the progress Amsterdam has experienced in reducing drug addiction through a similar program.

"If we can help by preventing people from getting HIV or injection wounds, it's saving the state a lot of money," Headley said, explaining that only one client has tested positive for HIV in the last five years of the program, compared to the two or three who did annually for the first four years of the agency's existence.

"We have to have something better than ‘'Just say no.' It's not working, so what's next?" Headley said. Society is a factor in addiction, he explained. Racism, sexism, homophobia and classism are all instigators. " It's another group that's being criticized. It's not one you're born into, but sometimes a part of it is," he said.

Post turns the van around in the dead end, an area surrounded by chain-link fences tagged with ‘'No trespassing' signs. It's now dark and raining lightly, adding to the almost overflowing, muddy puddles formed in the large cracks in the street. A couple, both wearing flannel, dark hats and dirty white tennis shoes, wait on the sidewalk next to a stroller filled with their belongings. Headley, Post, and another volunteer, Ashley Haskins, 22, set up the tables and tarp. They place flyers, clipboards, condoms and a cooler of hot water on the folding card tables. As they discuss how many socks and hot chocolate packets to put out, because they often get stolen, a man in black jeans and a raincoat walks up and dumps about 100 needles out of a large generic coffee can.

"Do you want 27s or 28s?" Post asked, referring to the different needle sizes.

"Twenty-eights," he said, leaning over to fill out the blue form, identifying him by a code created from the year and city he was born and his last name. The form also asks about gender, race, types of sexual partners, drugs of choice and how they get them and if they are homeless. The information is compiled in a computer, and the data show the effectiveness of returning clients who only use clean needles and stay HIV negative. This helps the agency receive grants.

"What other supplies do you want, sir?" Post asked.

"Um, Band-aids and alcohol preps." Haskins puts these in the small brown paper bag with the 100 needles, zip-locked into groups of 20, and hands it to Post who gives it to the man.

"Thank you," he said, nodding at Post. "May God be with you."

Headley and volunteers at the Blair Street location.

Every one of the 17 clients who came to the needle exchange that night said ‘'Thank you.' Every one was cooperative, polite and above all, gracious. Headley said the stereotypes many people hold about drug addicts are preventing safe needle use and getting clean.

"It's about treating people like humans," he said, explaining that if addicts don't feel like they're worth anything, they won't help themselves. "Ninety percent of our patients are really nice. I can't tell you how many hugs I get."

A few years ago, when the Oregon Health Plan shut down housing for the mentally ill, a lot of these people were sent out on the street and turned to street drugs, Headley said. One man in particular was loud and very "in your face." Headley would have the interns deal with him to break their stereotypes firsthand of how people think drug addicts act. Although loud, this man was the sweetest person, Headley said, remembering how he would bring presents of things he found to the volunteers.

Post said when she started working at the needle exchange she expected all of the clients to act "crazy" because they were drug addicts. She was surprised by the kindness more than anything, she said, such as how clients would donate $2, which was all they could and maybe all they had.

The van is parked and open for business between 6 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. on Monday nights. The majority of the clients come within the first and last 20 minutes. The majority, tonight, are also receiving "starter kits," which consist of 20 needles and other supplies often requested by addicts, such as clean mixers, bleach and alcohol preps. These kits are given out when a client doesn't have any used needles to exchange.

Even though the police are not allowed to come within three blocks of the van, you can occasionally hear sirens in the distance. Just as the last 20-minute wave begins, a blue SUV pulls up and the woman driving tells a dog to wait in the car as she jumps out, wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt. She asks for a couple of plastic bags to conceal the needles with.

"I'm staying at my mom's house so I'm hiding everything," she said. "I stealed something when I was 16, and she won't let me stay there anymore unless I'm not using, and I'm basically always using." The woman continues to tell the volunteers that she just got her first job in over 10 years and is working at a fast food restaurant. She wants to get treatment and wean herself off heroin, but her insurance won't cover it.

"I'm gonna vote for a Democrat," she says, sipping her hot chocolate and waving her plastic bag of needles. A volunteer asks if she's registered, looking down as the voter registration cards on the table. She says she is and is going to vote this time.

"Well, it's the electoral college that matters, not the popular vote," a man says without looking up from his clipboard. For the most part, this conversation sounds as if it could be held anywhere in Eugene. Even though these clients are addicted to injection drugs, they have opinions relating to political, social and economical issues, some of which have affected their current situation, according to Headley.

"Everybody really knows what's going on," Post said, adding that the disgruntled conversations about Bush and Oregon health care aren't uncommon. "A lot of people know they've been directly affected," she said after loading up the van and taking down the tarp, now wet from the growing rainfall. She quickly turned the key and paused, taking in the small amount of warmth from just being out of the rain.

"Something I always think about when I come back is how these people are just there and we are going home and turning our heaters on," she said. Not only will they be there in the cold and rain tonight, but every night until the van comes back with clean needles, hot chocolate and gratitude.