A Kind of a Beacon

In the early 1980s, David S. Mercer was on the fast track. A partner at an Alexandria real estate law firm with eight offices and its own jet, he appeared—or so he thought—to have it all together. But he also couldn’t go a day without drinking. When people voiced concerns, he brushed them off with excuses about how hard he worked, how entitled he was to celebrate. 

“Look at me, I’m a successful partner in a very successful law firm,” he remembers thinking. “I drive a big, fancy car. I have a beautiful wife, three beautiful children and a big house.” 

But one day Mercer showed up late, disheveled and unprepared for a meeting, and his client, in recovery himself, handed him a brochure about alcoholism. 

“That man saved my life,” says Mercer, who still stays in contact with the man. 

That’s because, five years later, when Mercer’s boss Bill Thomas, as well as colleague David Fiske, confronted him with an intervention in February of 1985 and asked him to go into treatment, that former client was the only one Mercer could think of to call.

“I said, ‘I got to get these guys off my back. What do I do?’”

The man found him a bed at Father Martin’s Ashley, a 147-acre recovery center on Chesapeake Bay in Maryland, today known as Ashley Addiction Treatment, and Fiske drove him there. Mercer went reluctantly, thinking there was no way he could be away from his busy work schedule and family (his kids were 10, 8 and 6 at the time) for a whole month.

Sitting at the dinner table his first night at Ashley was a former governor, a former U.S. senator, and a former drug dealer who once swung a machete at the kneecaps of customers who owed him money. 

“It dawned on me that this disease does not care who you are. When I was told alcoholism was a disease recognized by the American Medical Association, I realized I was not a social misfit,” says Mercer.

“One of the things my counselor told me—which was pretty impactful—she said, ‘You haven’t lost your family; you haven’t lost your job; you haven’t lost your law license. But at the end of that sentence, David, pick up the period and insert a comma, and add the word “yet.” Alcoholism is a progressive disease, and unless you do something to treat it, you are going to lose all that.’”

Her words sank in, and when his 30 days were up, he couldn’t wait to tell everyone what he’d learned.

“I was so excited that there was a solution to the issues that had been pulling me down,” he says. “What overcame me was the desire to tell others.”

And that’s what he’s done for 39 years. Mercer has volunteered thousands of hours sharing his story with other lawyers, law students and judges in crisis, and working to expand the reach of the organization now known as the Virginia Judges and Lawyers Assistance Program, where he served as board member and president. He also co-founded MercerTrigiani, a boutique firm in Old Town Alexandria focusing on common-interest community association law, and served as dean of the College of Community Association Lawyers and president of The Virginia Bar Association, a volunteer organization.

Mercer calls these career milestones his “outward appearance of success.” But he’s even more proud of the inward version. “I’ve been sober for 39 years,” he says, adding, “Without the love and support of my wife of 55 years and my family, I never would have been successfully able to deal with my addiction.” 

It dawned on me that this disease does not care who you are.

Back in March of 1986, as soon as he left Ashley, he began talking freely about his alcoholism, against everyone’s advice. Every day at lunch, he went to an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at a church two blocks from his office. He was surprised when people he knew walked in the door; he hadn’t known they also struggled with alcoholism.

“It became part of my life, part of my day-to-day existence, to go in and share what was going on in my life and to listen to other people,” he says. “I wanted to help other people, particularly attorneys—who think they’re sort of better than everybody, more intelligent than anybody, and they couldn’t possibly have this problem. Just like I did. I wanted them to understand this is just like any disease. In late 1985, I did not know one lawyer that was in recovery from alcoholism. … There was nothing available to reach out to say, ‘Hey, I think I’ve got a problem. Can you help?’”

A lot has changed in the state over the last 40 years, and Mercer says that started with the substance abuse committee (SAC) of The Virginia Bar Association.

“We had no money, no professional help,” Mercer says of SAC, launched after a 1984 joint Virginia State Bar and Virginia Bar Association survey found that 12% to 14% of lawyers suffered from substance abuse. The committee was housed under the VBA so that assistance to lawyers could be confidential and nondisciplinary. “We started trying to become known in the legal community—that we were available to help.” 

Mercer estimates he participated in 200 interventions when SAC was still a committee of volunteers.

“You walk in, you have a bag packed and a place lined up to take them, and you say, ‘Here’s your choice: Go with me, or the executive committee of your firm has said you’re going to have to leave the partnership.’ I just did what was done to me. You try to do it with love and kindness and respect,” says Mercer, who credits Bill Thomas with having the “sense and passion” to pay for his treatment instead of firing him. “We were doing all of this untrained, with no real supervision, and with no funding.”

Mercer became chairman of the committee in the ’90s, and led it through an expansion in its mission to include mental health support and become an independent 501(c)(3) organization, Virginia Lawyers Helping Lawyers, which made fundraising easier. In 2018, it became the Virginia Judges and Lawyers Assistance Program, which now—with the support of the Supreme Court of Virginia—serves anyone involved in the legal system, and offers outreach programs in every law school across the state. 

“It’s all professionally done,” he says. “They have all the credentials to do what we were doing with no credentials.”

Mercer remains involved with VJLAP as board member emeritus and host of an evening support group that has met at his law office on Wednesdays for the past 18 years. It’s open to anyone in the legal community and also provides monitoring for the Virginia State Bar’s Character & Fitness Committee. He’s also the Outer Banks coordinator for the North Carolina Lawyers Assistance Program. He and his wife have a beach home there. 

“Instead of losing their license, they can receive support and monitoring through VJLAP,” Mercer says. “There are all kinds of programs we do for law students and lawyers to try to help them succeed in their practice, but first is finding a way to get recovery.” 

Mercer credits his partner and firm co-founder Lucia Anna “Pia” Trigiani with supporting his wishes to open their firm’s doors and spend its money on recovery matters, including $20,000 to create a promotional video about Lawyers Helping Lawyers.

“I have spent a lot of time on non-billable matters, and that has an impact on the bottom line of our business, and Pia understands and supports that all the thousands of hours we have spent has filled a void that existed on the day that I walked out of treatment,” he says.

Mercer spends three hours every Wednesday morning serving on the federal drug court for the Eastern District of Virginia, working to achieve recovery and reduced sentences for defendants convicted of drug crimes. 

“You become a kind of a beacon,” he says. “A day rarely goes by that I don’t get a call from somebody that says, ‘Hey, I got this brother of mine or cousin of mine, or girlfriend …’”

He’ll get them connected with the right resources, and if asked, will participate in an intervention or share his own story.

“Every day that I can work with somebody, which is every day, is a benefit to me because it helps me get out of my own way and not worry about whether I’m going to take a drink today,” he says. “It’s what keeps me sober every day. I can’t worry about me if I’m helping you.”

Help Is Available

• The Virginia Judges and Lawyers Assistance Program provides confidential, complimentary, nondisciplinary help to legal professionals, law students and family members facing mental health and substance use challenges. 1-877-545-4682; vljap.org.
• The 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline provides free, confidential emotional support to those in crisis or emotional distress 24 hours a day. Call 988; 988lifeline.org.
• The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration’s National Helpline is a free, confidential, 24/7 referral and information service for those facing mental and/or substance-use disorders. 1-800-662-HELP (4357); Findtreatment.gov.