They come for treatment, and quite often stay because of the way they are treated. Many find stability within their tightly knit community and acceptance from the populace at large. Some feel they can never go home and thus stake their futures in Minnesota, but say they never feel quite at home here, either.

There are a million stories in the land of 10,000 rehab centers, but many of them play out close to the treatment facilities that bring addicts here in the first place.

"Recovery is thick here," said William Cope Moyers, vice president of external affairs for Hazelden and one of these transplants. "There's something about the Twin Cities that gives recovering people an added layer of support and protection to make the journey a bit easier and more rewarding."

Other denizens of the local recovery nation cite the "centeredness" and acceptance they found from Minnesota residents and businesses in general.

But they are quick to add that without the tremendously supportive rehab community, particularly in St. Paul, they never would have stayed. Almost to a person, they believed they would leave within a few months to a year.

Part of that bond, they say, is an almost preternatural ability to recognize fellow travelers on the road to recovery. "We're just like Mormons. You can't see that secret underwear, but we know who else is wearing it," said David Carr, who now works for the New York Times but as editor of the Twin Cities Reader in the 1990s hired several writers just out of rehab. "Most people in some kind of program are generally pretty reliable, and they tend to have seen a lot of life and that leads to fairly textured writing.

"I'm sorry that some of them came to Minnesota by way of the booby hatch, but I'm certainly glad they stayed. Besides, people are all gimped in some way, significantly."

The migration of writers and other creative sorts such as artists and chefs has enriched the Twin Cities' cultural life, Moyers noted. But it is the acceptance of recovering addicts from all walks of life that makes the area so amenable to them.

"People don't look puzzled when we explain that we came from New York or Texas or Oregon to get treatment," he said, "and you also don't have to explain that gaping hole in the resumé, either, or why you've gone from being an executive or an airline pilot to making cappuccinos and lattés in a coffee house."

Bill Ward • bill.ward@startribune.com

In their own words

Bonni Rodin, 46, came from Long Island 19 years ago and lives in St. Paul. She's a single mom working on a master's in counseling and psychological services at St. Mary's.

"When I first came out, I thought I'd do the 30-day treatment and then go home. But then I realized that I was concerned about going back into the same environment. And also, I had hope here. It was far from perfect, but to stay here meant a lot of support, in good times and bad.

"I was just so afraid of life without drinking. I didn't want to die, but I didn't know how to live without drinking. It's not just drinking, and it's not just drugs; there's a whole lifestyle around it. I needed to learn about the lifestyle of being sober.

"Anywhere I go here, I know people, I run into people in the program, and it's just nice to see them. I can move anywhere in the country, but I stay because I made a foundation here."

Chris Edrington, 42, came from Boulder, Colo., nine years ago and lives in St. Paul. He operates nine local Sober Living houses ("post halfway house, post everything").

"Originally I had met people who had already done this, and it was clear that they had something that I wanted. Practically you could call it stability, and a job. But also they had a centeredness.

"I wouldn't have gone back to Colorado. I would have been in trouble. But I figured I'd be here six months, tops. I get super restless after the first month pretty much anywhere.