Myra's Place in Collingdale offers women hope and help

She wasted nearly two decades high on PCP, Barri Pepe is not shy about saying, and she wants to make up for it.

When Pepe, a Prospect Park mother of two, graduated from Widener University last year with a master's degree in social work, she hoped to create a place for women dealing with addiction or violence at home.

She's done it. Last week, she opened Myra's Place in Collingdale, named after a childhood friend who disappeared in 1983. The gala evening in the former tavern was alcohol-free with food and entertainment, and Pepe, 46, plans to host a similar event every Friday and Saturday.

"Everyone should have a safe place to come to," she said as two dozen people chatted over coffee and soup and waited for the karaoke to begin. "Other than the bars, there's not a whole lot to do."

Myra's Place (http://myrasplace.org) remains a work in progress. For now, two groups of Narcotics Anonymous members meet there weekly. Pepe is still repairing the rooms upstairs, where she wants to hold group therapy sessions. The kitchen, where she hopes to hold culinary arts classes for women seeking job skills, needs a new grill and fans, just for starters.

But for those already arriving to sit in the cozy armchairs in the front room, Myra's is giving the community something it needs.

"We don't have anywhere we can go and not feel pressured," said Betty, a 54-year-old Upper Darby woman who said she had struggled with heroin addiction and asked to be identified by her first name only. "We don't feel comfortable in bars anymore."

Pepe is waiting for state approval to make Myra's Place a nonprofit organization. Then she can apply for grants to support programs there.

For now, the nearly $5,000 it takes to pay the rent and keep the operation running every month comes from donations, fund-raising events, and a grant from Phoenix House, a nonprofit dedicated to helping substance-abuse recovery groups.

Pepe's family and friends volunteer as cooks, cleaning staff, and waitresses. Her sister, Sandra Stevenson, who has worked in restaurants for much of her life, runs the kitchen, which serves basic pub fare Fridays and Saturdays from 7 p.m. to midnight.

Many who attended the opening know Pepe and her story, of how at 18 she was raped by a teenage acquaintance who offered her a ride home.

Pepe never got over it. She dropped out of Interboro High School and started using drugs. She stayed clean, she said, only during her two pregnancies.

When her younger daughter, then 6, told Pepe that it scared her when Pepe disappeared for entire weekends to use drugs, she sought help. And when she sobered up in 1999, she said, she decided to help others dealing with the same problem. She started working as a clinical aide at drug-treatment center and went back to school.

Her empathy for those recovering from trauma and drug addiction helps her reach people who often feel judged by others, said Christy, a 37-year-old woman who said her addiction to crack and heroin had led her to prostitution and homelessness. She, too, asked that her last name not be used.

"She took me in. She taught me how to get a job," said Christy, who volunteered as a waitress at Myra's Place. "She never threw me to the curb. She didn't expect anything of me except to stay clean. You'll never meet another woman like Barri."

The namesake of Pepe's organization, Myra Manley, vanished Sept. 2, 1983, not long after a falling out with a boyfriend. Manley, who was 19, has not been seen or heard from since, according to the state's missing-persons website.

"No one should disappear, and this stuff happens to women," Pepe said as she looked at a memorial plaque to her friend at Myra's Place. "We had this plaque for 20 years, and we had no place to put it. There is no body. There is no grave.

"There was no place for Myra," she added, "but now there is."