A picture hangs on the wall of District Magistrate Monica Gomez's chambers. It's a black-and-white photograph, with splashes of color, taken by a Colorado Springs artist, Raymond Beasley.

Beasley died of a drug and Alcohol overdose in 1997. To Gomez, the picture symbolizes the tragedy of people letting a drug addiction sap their talent.

She hopes the 4th Judicial District Drug Court she presides over can prevent such tragedies.

"I can only imagine what he could have accomplished between then and now," Gomez said of Beasley.

Drug Court is about second chances.

First-time drug offenders who meet the criteria (no dealers, just possession cases, no prior felonies, no weapons or violence) are allowed to enter a guilty plea, get a deferred sentence and complete the program within two years. The program, started here in 1999, can serve about 120 defendants at a time -- and it's always full.

If they complete the program, the felony is wiped from their records. And more often than not, they're free of drugs.

This is about the only courtroom where people applaud.

The clapping comes when defendants move from one phase to the next, which means they're staying clean and making their appointments -- to their probation officers, their therapists, their drug tests and court dates. They're holding jobs or going to school.

"I tell my clients, number one, is it's a very difficult program," said Dan Kay, a defense attorney who's been with the program since its inception. "It'd be easier on them if they just took the felony and were on regular probation."

Drug Court is held two days a week. Before each session, a team sits down to discuss each case. The team -- made up of Gomez, therapists, probation officer Kathryn Van Vliet and Deputy District Attorney Judy Haller -- discusses each case and decides whether participants are succeeding or perhaps are failing so badly they need to get booted. Those who get kicked out go to jail and might forever carry the tag "felon."

Participants are allowed a certain number of "strikes" before they're expelled. If they have a positive drug test, they go to jail. If they miss an appointment, they get eight hours of community service. Sanctions increase in severity for each lapse.

Drug Court therapist Gregory Ortega said the team is like an adoptive family. "We firmly believe in being respectfully stern. We're not about to tear you down and wipe you off the face of the Earth. We care. We're truly concerned how you do."

"In the other courts, you're basically on your own," Kay said. "Here, it's 'What can we do to help you succeed?'"

Defendants must agree to waive their rights to patient-therapist confidentiality so therapists can report progress -- or slip-ups -- to the other team members.

A 28-year-old former Army soldier from Fountain was at a recent Drug Court session.

"It's been an eye-opener, that's for sure," the man said. He asked not to be identified out of fear his employer might find out.

The soldier was shot by a sniper in Iraq -- he still has the bullet in his spine -- and got hooked on painkillers. He got a felony fraud charge for obtaining prescriptions for the same medication from multiple doctors.

"It's not hard, but it's challenging" meeting all the appointments and taking the random drug tests, he said. "I have no desire to take drugs anymore."

Why did he choose Drug Court?

"Otherwise, I probably would have had to plead out to a misdemeanor," he said. "To have my record expunged makes more sense."

Those who decline the program usually don't want to give up their drugs.

Team members said all types of people -- rich or poor -- face drug addiction. More than two-thirds of the Drug Court cases are methamphetamine-related.

Treating the addiction -- teaching users what makes them want to do drugs -- makes for more productive members of society, team members said.

One woman who was entering the program last week was charged with a felony when police caught her driving with less than a gram of methamphetamine. She seemed overwhelmed at the information Gomez gave her but took her new appointment book each defendant gets and wrote down important dates.

"I'm going to get my life together," she vowed to Gomez. "I need some structure and to quit being such a slacker."

Structure is the name of the game. Team members spend a lot of time teaching life skills like balancing a checkbook, keeping that appointment book and not hanging out with friends or relatives who do drugs.

"The main difference between us and a regular court is we provide support for the defendant, to re-integrate them back into the community," Gomez said. "We want to help that person succeed in their family relationships, with their employer and realizing their potential if they get off drugs."

The picture on Gomez's wall drives the point home daily.

"Everyone in Drug Court has something to contribute."