Son never got a 2nd chance at rehab, grieving cop says

By some estimates, it will take a heroin user at least sixattempts to kick the habit.

Jack Krecker, deputy police chief of Franklin Park, knows allabout drug use and addiction from his years working narcotics.

And when his own son, Joseph, came to him in April for help withhis heroin addiction, the family embraced him.

They found him a rehabilitation program and worked with his highschool, Maine South, to make sure he got all of the care he needed.Joseph's brother attended Narcotics Anonymous meetings with him.Krecker came to appreciate rehabilitation, especially the two hoursor more he would spend each week in therapy with his son, finding outwhat a good kid he was.

Even with all of this support, it might have taken his son severalattempts to get clean, Krecker said.

Except when Joseph Krecker returned to Chicago on June 6 to buydrugs, he bought heroin laced with fentanyl, a powerful pain-killer.He died in a car in the 2400 block of North Monitor with packets ofheroin still in one hand.

ONLY SIGN WAS SLIPPING GRADES

"I often thought that my son could survive a heroin addiction,"Krecker said in a Sun-Times interview weeks ago. "Had it not been forthe fentanyl, he probably would have. He might have gone throughrehab three, four, five times. He doesn't have that chance."

Krecker doesn't know for sure how his son got started on heroin.But like a good cop, he has taken a look at his son's phone recordsand bank accounts to try to figure it out.

His best guess is Joseph's habit started in January, about thetime he started dating a new girlfriend. He watched his son fall inlove, aching to spend every day -- even his lunch breaks at O'HareAirport, where he worked cleaning crews -- with her.

Back then, his main concern was talking to his son about safe sex.There were no other obvious signs, Krecker said.

His son came home on time, even when he griped about it. He gotalong with his family. His physical appearance did not change -- at 6-foot-1 and 173 pounds, he still had the body of a teenager who wasworking out regularly. Joseph had played hockey until he decided hecouldn't work, keep his grades up and play the sport, his dad said.About the only sign of trouble, looking back, was that Joseph'sgrades started slipping midway through his senior year.

Krecker has since found out that the girl -- whom he has not seensince his son died -- had been in rehab several times.

CLEAN FOR 10 WEEKS

When Joseph finally asked his family for help, he worked hard, hisfather said. He picked up his studies and was able to graduate withhis class at Maine South. He and his family talked about thewhispering that might go on at the ceremony, considering the time hehad missed from school. But he said he'd do it anyway.

That was two days before he died. He had been clean for 10 weeks.

On the morning of his son's death, Jack Krecker talked to him onthe phone about his upcoming enrollment at Oakton Community Collegeand about what he should wear to sign up for a new drug counselingclass he was taking. He decided on the blue shirt he wore forgraduation. And when Krecker asked his son whether he was feeling toomuch pressure about deciding what to do with his life, Joseph said hewas OK.

Then they planned to have lunch.

"All I told Joe was, 'Don't limit yourself,' " he said. "That waspart of our last conversation. . . . I'll tell you, it hit us like afreight train. Never saw it coming. . . . It's a pain I wouldn't wishon to anyone. Not my worst enemy. It's unbearable."