A town in opioids' grip still looks to President Trump with hope

Mike Kelly | NorthJersey

More from Divided: A Road Trip Through Trump's America

This is the third installment in "Divided: A Road Trip Through Trump's America," a five-part series that details some of the issues facing five corners of America that supported President Donald Trump in 2016 — and how the people who call those areas home view the state of the union as the Nov. 6 midterm elections approach. Photos and videos by Chris Pedota.

KEYSER, W.Va. — On the day she voted for Donald Trump, Hope Rogers got stoned.

It was nothing unusual, Rogers recalls. Getting her opioid fix — in this case, swallowing an Oxycontin tablet — was part of her morning routine. Just like brushing her teeth and sipping coffee.

“I popped a pill and then I went to vote,” she said. “I love Trump.”

Back then, in November 2016, Rogers viewed Trump as a savior who could pull her town out of the cycle of deep poverty, unemployment and what many residents describe as a lingering sense of despair over the rising number of abandoned homes, empty storefronts and graffiti memorials to those who died from drug overdoses.

Rogers, 31, still believes Trump can turn Keyser around. But like so many in this Appalachian mountain hamlet of 5,500 residents, she is still waiting for change to come in a meaningful way.

Keyser, which hugs the North Branch headwaters of the Potomac River in the northeastern corner of West Virginia, thrived until the 1990s and called itself the “Friendliest Town in the U.S.A.” Jobs were plentiful in nearby coal mines, at a paper mill and in a factory that cut timber from West Virginia's lush mountainsides into pallets. The bustling downtown had a movie theater, a drug store that served old-fashioned vanilla sodas, and, in the winter, an ice rink.

“When I was growing up, Keyser used to be a really nice place,” said Rogers, who is the mother of daughters who are 6 and 8.

Now some of Keyser’s biggest employers are a Walmart and a state prison just over the state line in Maryland. The movie theater, shuttered for years, recently reopened, but just for a few nights each week and featuring vintage movies that appeal mainly to students at nearby Potomac State College. Even the local KFC franchise had to close after failing a health inspection. And a bakery, which was supposed to revitalize a section of Keyser near an empty factory that produced industrial ventilators, postponed its opening for a year. The bakery's owners now say they plan to open in November.

The rest of West Virginia, long among the nation’s poorest states, has shown flickers of economic revitalization since Trump took office in January 2017. The state’s unemployment rate dropped to 5.3 percent from more than 6 percent in 2016, then the fourth-highest in the United States. But even though more people are working, West Virginia's unemployment rate is now the second-highest among all states, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics.

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Part 3 Divided: A Trip through Trump Country, Keyser WV Part 3 Divided: A Trip through Trump Country, Keyser WV

Meanwhile, Keyser appears to be stuck in a downward spiral, seemingly occupying a separate universe from the rosy economic portrait of the rest of America that the Trump administration is touting as the nation gears up for midterm elections on Nov. 6.

More than 4 of every 10 families in Keyser still live in poverty, trying to make ends meet on annual incomes of under $25,000. Overall, Keyser’s median household income of only $28,871 is more than $14,000 below West Virginia’s — itself among lowest in the country — and nearly $33,000 below the nation's.

Adding to the problems, West Virginia now has the nation’s highest rate of deaths from opioid addiction — an epidemic that is especially prevalent in Keyser, where many addicts have turned to heroin as a cheaper alternative to pills. Today, city workers routinely pick up used syringes left by heroin addicts in the town's parks and athletic fields.

West Virginia’s burgeoning opioid problems and decades of economic stagnation — coupled with a feeling that the Democrats no longer cared about poor, white, working-class families — is now seen by political observers as a major factor in helping Trump win nearly 68 percent of the vote in the state in the 2016 presidential election.

In Keyser and surrounding Mineral County, Trump did even better, garnering nearly 80 percent of the vote.

Signs of impatience 'You have to leave this town to make money'

The belief among working-class voters that a billionaire Republican real estate developer and reality TV star from Manhattan can lift up towns like Keyser is at the heart of Trump’s political ascendancy. But Trump's continued popularity in states like West Virginia underscores a political conundrum for Democrats — specifically whether the party that once prided itself on representing working-class Americans can regain those voters.

In the 1990s, West Virginia was a Democratic stronghold. Now it's solidly Republican, with U.S. Sen. Joe Manchin, the state's only major Democratic officeholder, facing a highly charged election fight this fall. Gov. Jim Justice, a former Republican who jumped into the Democratic fold three years years ago, re-joined the Republican Party, announcing the switch with Trump by his side during a rally in Huntington, West Virginia, in 2017.

But nearly two years into the Trump presidency, Keyser’s residents are beginning to show small signs of impatience.

On a hot and humid afternoon, Tim McCusker, Sr. dropped by the rundown white, wood-frame row house rented by his friend Danny McCarty.

McCusker, 50, recently lost his supervisor’s job at a nearby lumber yard. McCarty, 58, lost his job as a forklift operator several years ago. Neither feels hopeful about finding a new job anytime soon.

The two friends each gulped down a can of Milwaukee’s Best beer. Then, they started talking about Keyser’s future — and about Trump.

“There’s nothing in this town for nobody,” McCusker said, pulling on his black tank top and swiping sweat from his forehead.

McCarty, shirtless in the summer's heat, nodded. “Nothing,” he muttered, adding that he might have to leave Keyser to find a job — something he does not want to do.

“I like Trump, but he ain’t showed me nothing here in Keyser,” McCarty said. “I feel forgotten."

“You have to leave this town to make money,” McCusker added. “My kids have to leave here to get a decent job. But we don’t want to leave. We all have roots here.”

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A descent into addiction A Medicaid-funded program gives an opioid addict hope

Hope Rogers also wants to build a life in Keyser, especially now that she has signed up for a new Medicaid-funded rehabilitation program to help her kick her opioid habit.

Several mornings a week, Rogers leaves the two-bedroom trailer she shares with her husband and their daughters on a narrow lane not far from the Potomac and walks to a low-slung brick building where she receives counseling and a prescription for Suboxone, which combines the addiction medication buprenorphine with naloxone and helps reduce her opioid cravings and withdrawal symptoms.

Rogers said she began abusing opioids seven years ago when she found herself depressed after the death of her mother. She started with Loricet, a common painkiller often prescribed to help patients overcome discomfort from injuries or surgery. Then she moved to stronger doses of Percocet and, finally, to Oxycontin.

"I'd go up to the hospital and say I hurt my back or say I fell and hurt my butt bone,” Rogers said. “Or I’d go to my doctor and tell him that I had a really bad headache.”

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Doctors rarely questioned whether she was telling the truth, Rogers said. But she also quickly discovered that her daily opioid high did not last long. When the pills ran low, she found herself getting nauseated. Desperate for more pills, she said, she turned to the street in search of dealers.

“It was a routine,” she said. “If I’d wake up and I knew that I wouldn’t have anything, that would be the first thing that would go to my mind. I would say, ‘Now, OK, I’ve got to find something. I’ve got to find the money to get that so I’m not sick.’”

Now Rogers feels clean — and free of her addiction

"It’s so much better. I can actually spend time with my girls," said Rogers, who signed up for treatment last fall. “I like my life now. I like myself now.”

A month ago, Rogers’ husband, Derick, 31, a truck driver who continued to use opioids even as his wife was trying to kick her habit, also signed up for the program.

The couple’s addiction drained their bank accounts. Rogers, a stay-at-home mother, tried to pay all the bills on her husband’s roughly $30,000 annual salary.

But Rogers says she and Derick were also spending up to $300 a week on opioid pills. At various points over last few years, their electricity and water were turned off because they couldn’t pay their bills.

“I hated myself. I felt useless,” Rogers said. “All I was doing was taking my kids' money and blowing it. Now it’s a great relief to know that we’re not in trouble. We’re going to be here for our kids and give them the things they deserve.”

Waiting for an economic rebirth The opioid crisis retains its grip

A similar sense of hope filters into conversations with residents in Keyser — in part because many still believe that the economic upsurge that they credit Trump’s administration with sparking in other parts of America will eventually ripple into Keyser. But in Keyser, hope comes with a dose of harsh reality underscored by the opioid epidemic.

“People know things are better and they know things are going to keep getting better,” said Gabby Shipway, who runs the Royal Café in Keyser’s downtown business district. “I can see it here. We’ve gotten busier.”

Shipway said she even accepts payments by credit card now. Until recently, she asked customers to pay for their meals with cash so she could skip the surcharge that credit card companies pass on to businesses.

The desire to try to revitalize Keyser was a prime reason Mark Turley urged his wife, a physician specializing in drug rehabilitation, to open the Recovery Care clinic a year ago to treat opioid addicts like Hope Rogers.

Turley, a contractor, grew up in nearby Fort Ashby and remembers Keyser as a lively town. When he grew up, he moved away and settled with his wife, Dr. Heather Rosen, near Pittsburgh.

But when he returned to Keyser to visit relatives, he quickly noticed how the town’s growing opioid problems were threatening to undermine its already weak economy.

“This is where I’m from. These are my roots,” said Turley, who handles the clinic's business end. “It’s somewhat depressing. It’s not what I remember it being as a kid. But it’s still home.”

Dr. Rosen grew up in Northern California. Like her husband, with whom she also runs a rehabilitation clinic near Pittsburgh, she had a personal reason for dedicating her career to helping addicts. Her three brothers were cocaine addicts who also abused opioids.

The Recovery Care clinic occupies a remodeled, one-story building that previously housed a county probation center and an office that dispatched repair crews for the area's natural gas utility. It treats 60 to 80 addicts a day; another 20 are on a waiting list to be treated. Each day, Rosen says, she receives up to six calls from addicts asking for treatment.

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“In a way I feel honored that I’m in a position that I’m in to help them,” Rosen said. “But it’s still a little bit overwhelming. I’ve adopted the attitude that I’ll see as many patients as I can when I can. Unfortunately, there are so many that I’m unable to help” them all.

Some addicts, Rosen said, are homeless and sleep in their cars. Others are like Hope Rogers — married with children. Rosen’s youngest patient is an 18-year-old woman who started taking opioids with her parents; her oldest is 65, a retired factory worker who got hooked on opioids after having surgery following an on-the-job injury.

“Everybody is acknowledging that there is the opioid epidemic in America, but until you have the day-to-day reminders, you don’t really realize the extent of it,” Rosen said. “This is bigger than AIDS.”

“Sometimes," her husband added, "we feel like we’re shoveling a mountain of sand with a spoon.”

Investing in an uncertain future New businesses bet on city's prospects

On the other side of town, Terry Stephens is also trying to do his part to revitalize Keyser — and perhaps heal its broken spirit.

Stephens grew up in a nearby town. In his 20s, he moved to California, then returned and ran a Coldwell Banker real estate office.

Now 68 and semi-retired, he decided to dedicate himself to bringing life back to Keyser.

Stephens recently purchased a long-vacant, cavernous Mexican restaurant near the railroad tracks along the Potomac River’s North Branch. This summer, he opened a Starbucks-like coffee bar in one section of the building. This fall, he plans to open a brew pub in another part. Next year, he hopes to open a shop that rents kayaks to paddle on the Potomac.

One morning, as workers assembled a new wall for the coffee bar, Stephens walked to a window and gazed out at Keyser.

On a chalk board behind him, Stephens had scribbled several inspirational messages to himself and his workers.

“Find joy,” said one.

“Live simply,” said another.

A third, from Ernest Hemingway's 1929 novel "A Farewell To Arms," seemed to be aimed at Keyser and the hope that some residents like Stephens still harbor that the town will overcome its problems and rebound to what it once was: "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places."

Stephens studied the messages for a few seconds, then turned again to the window, his eyes following the broken asphalt and cracked sidewalks toward an empty storefront.

“Keyser was the place we came on a Saturday night,” Stephens said. “I want to make Keyser cool again."

Email: kellym@northjersey.com