• Drinking becomes a partner in crime
• Police find drunkenness fans flames of domestic violence
• Homicide victims, 1991-97

Rebecca Coffill plays with her son Marc as she waits for her two other children to arrive at a Catholic Charities center for a supervised visit. Coffill, who is now sober, lost custody of the older children, now 3 and 4, after neglecting them when she was drinking. Staff photo by David A. Rodgers

They were prisoners of their mother's addiction.

Matthew and Margaret Coffill, 1 and 2 years old, spent months locked in their room from morning till night as their mother drank herself into a stupor.

When they cried, Rebecca Coffill would sometimes give them a snack. In between partying with friends, she'd feed them lunch and dinner.

But mostly, the children sat behind the bedroom door pleading to be let out.

When they got tired of crying, they silently played with each other as their mother drank liters of vodka and cases of beer.

''It was pretty much like they were in a jail cell,'' says Coffill. ''Nobody would even treat a dog the way I treated them.''

Neighbors repeatedly called the Department of Human Services to report the constant cries they overheard coming from Coffill's Bath apartment.

Eventually, in October 1995, the state took custody of Coffill's children.

''I have a lot of guilt and shame,'' says Coffill, now 20 and sober for the past nine months. ''These two beautiful children were depending on me. It's a real sickening feeling to know what I put them through.''

Each year, the state takes 700 children away from their parents. About two-thirds of those children are removed from their homes because their parents are too drunk to care for them.

''Statewide, a third of Maine's families are affected by substance abuse - and in Maine the substance of choice is alcohol,'' says Sandy Hodge, a supervisor with Maine's Department of Human Services. ''The alcohol abuse we see is overwhelming.''

Like Coffill, parents addicted to alcohol often neglect their children. They forget to feed them or change their soiled diapers, and fail to keep them from harm.

''Parents who are abusing alcohol have lots of parties where strangers may end up physically or sexually abusing their kids,'' Hodge says. ''Or the kids end up seeing things they shouldn't see.''

Sometimes, a child's early alcohol addiction is nurtured by parents who pacify them with booze while they party with friends.

''In these types of homes, it's not out of the ordinary for us to see children at the age of 10 drinking,'' Hodge says.

Offering counseling, welfare and treatment to alcohol-ravaged families costs Maine roughly $175 million a year.

The high price of repairing these families is no surprise to Portland Police Officer Gayle Petty. Petty patrols Portland from midnight to 7 a.m., and on some nights booze is at the core of every problem she encounters.

''You'd be amazed at how many people we see that are drunk,'' Petty says. ''Some nights you sit back and think: 'Everyone I came into contact with was intoxicated.' ''

Officer Gayle Petty responds to a complaint at a Portland apartment. She says the domestic calls she's involved in are ''pretty much the same. I can't think of any that I've gone to that didn't involve alcohol.'' Staff photo by David A. Rodgers

This past August, dispatchers sent Petty to quell a family dispute that erupted just before 1 a.m. When she arrived at the apartment she heard screams.

Inside, a mother and her 17-year-old daughter argued. The fight began when the 37-year-old mother threatened to kill the family cat. The pet had jumped on her head while the woman was passed out drunk on the couch.

Petty separated the young girl from her mother and tried to comfort the teen-ager as she sat down in her bedroom and cried.

She told Petty that her mother was always drunk and they never had any food in the refrigerator. She said she and her 12-year-old brother often went hungry.

''I'd rather kill myself than live in this house,'' the girl told Petty.

When Petty's partner checked the refrigerator, he found it was empty except for a few cans of beer.

''I can't stand living here,'' the girl told Petty. ''Why can't we live like a normal family?''

Petty wrote a report for the Department of Human Services, convinced the intoxicated mother to spend the night with relatives and then headed to Dunkin Donuts to get the kids some food.

''The kids said they hadn't eaten since the morning,'' Petty said. ''The whole thing was sad, but unfortunately a lot of the family domestics we go to are pretty much the same. I can't think of any that I've gone to that didn't involve alcohol.''

Rebecca Coffill remains guilt-ridden over the countless times her neighbors called the police on her, reporting that she was drunk and neglecting her kids.

Now that she is sober, Coffill is hoping that one day she can be reunited with her two children, who are now in foster homes.

''Some people think because a mother drinks she doesn't care about her children,'' Coffill says. ''But that's not true. This disease takes control of your life and you don't have any choices. The bottle makes the choices.''

Along with taking care of her 5-month-old baby, Marc, Coffill takes parenting classes and continues to attend group and individual counseling. She lives in a state-subsidized Portland apartment called Grace House with three other mothers who are also struggling to stay sober or drug-free.

''I'm learning how to be a good parent,'' she says.

Each week, she visits with Matthew and Margaret while state DHS workers supervise. Coffill tries to explain to her children why she locked them in their room and why they can't come home to live with her.

''How do you explain to a 3- and 4-year old that mommy is an alcoholic?'' Coffill asks. ''I just tell them Mommy's sick and hope that they understand.''