Advertisement

School’s Quick Failure Leads to Fraud Inquiry : Education: Its premise was to teach American Indians enough about computers that they could find jobs. Today, its co-founders cannot be located.

Share
TIMES STAFF WRITER

The Native American Computer School opened here last month with the goal of helping train American Indians in the lucrative but complex world of computer technology.

Thirty-three students from throughout Southern California, representing tribes from as far away as Alaska and Montana, enrolled in the six-month course, some quitting their jobs in hopes of gaining a more marketable skill. Barely a month later, the school has closed and police have been unable to locate the two school founders.

Following the closure of the private vocational school Friday, Anaheim police opened an investigation into fraud complaints from the students and faculty. A number of students, meanwhile, have been left in such dire straits that family and friends are having to take them in.

Advertisement

“It seems like the people who are the victims of these kinds of things are the ones who are the poorest and the ones who need (assistance) the most,” said Doug Rollins, a vocational development specialist in the Sacramento office of the U.S. Bureau of Indian Affairs.

Anaheim Police Lt. Jack Parra said he did not yet know whether the case would involve possible criminal or civil wrongdoing. Detective Dwain Briggs said he wants to talk with Troy Whiteeagle, the school’s chief executive officer, and Eli Espinoza, the vice president, to get their side of the story.

Briggs said Tuesday that detectives have been unable to find either Whiteeagle or Espinoza.

“It could be he (Whiteeagle) was just a bad businessman,” Briggs said. “He’s gone, just like the buffalo. We’d like to talk to them to clear this up, one way or another.”

Whiteeagle and Espinoza, who opened the trade school May 7 in an office building in the 700 block of North Euclid Street, have not been seen since Friday. The telephone at the school was temporarily disconnected at the customer’s request, according to a telephone company recording. Efforts to contact the two men through home telephone numbers were unsuccessful.

Dorothy Grubbs, an office worker in the same building as the school, said Whiteeagle telephoned her Friday from Arizona, where some of the students said he had spoken of opening a branch of the school.

Advertisement

“He said there was too much pressure at this school,” said Grubbs, who added that Whiteeagle was calling to offer her a job. “He said he was going to open up a new school.”

Ruben Espinoza, Eli’s brother and director of education at the school, said the two men left with the student files. He said students showed up for classes Friday to find the doors locked.

According to Ruben Espinoza, the two men left owing paychecks to 10 staff and faculty members. One instructor, who asked not be named, said he is still owed more than $1,000 for the last two weeks.

Creditors have also been besieging the school with some $27,000 in outstanding debits, Ruben Espinoza said.

Under terms of an agreement with the students, the school was to pay them the minimum wage of $4.25 an hour for 30 hours per week of classroom attendance, as well as lunches and apartment lodging. The students said they were paid the first week but have not received any money since then.

Rollins, the BIA official in Sacramento, said private schools like this one are common in California. Operators, he said, often set up such schools, offering free tuition and even room and board, in the hope of eventually being accredited and then obtaining federal BIA grants to cover expenses.

Advertisement

But in California, Rollins said, the BIA typically does not fund such schools because there is a low-cost community college system where Indians can obtain vocational training. Rollins added that in California, there have been similar problems involving private vocational schools targeting American Indians to bolster enrollments.

On Monday, angry students gathered outside the closed school and wondered what happened.

Zenobia Stephen, a member of the Mojave tribe in Arizona, said she and her husband, Paul, who is a member of an Alaskan tribe, were told by school officials not to worry about paying rent on their Hollywood apartment because the school would partially reimburse them. The Stephens said they owe back rent and have been given an eviction notice.

Like most of the students, Bert Winans, 47, a member of the Arikara tribe in North Dakota, said he was drawn to the Native American Computer School so he could learn something other than the machine shop work he had done most of his life.

“I wanted to better myself and get with the coming of age of the computer,” said Winans, who lives in Bell Gardens.

Cheryl Sears, 35, a Sioux Indian and a housewife who lives in Bell Gardens, said she just wanted to learn a marketable trade--and get paid for doing so at the same time. Students said they were also paid $10 for each new student they got to join.

“They were handing us a silver platter,” Sears said. “We would have been dumb not to take it.”

Advertisement

In a letter of introduction for his school, Whiteeagle described it as “Indian owned” and explained its purpose: “The primary goal of our school is to train our students so well that they could step directly out of the classroom into a well-paying job.”

Whiteeagle and Espinoza told faculty and students that the school was financed by BIA grants that are available to help teach American Indians, according to Ruben Espinoza.

BIA officials, however, said the agency had never given any money to the school. The BIA’s Rollins recalled that Whiteeagle had paid a visit to the BIA office in Sacramento two weeks ago and asked how he could get funding. He said Whiteeagle also asked the BIA for help in recruiting students.

Rollins said the BIA would not give Whiteeagle help with money or recruiting because he could not show his school was competitive with other Indian training programs. Rollins speculated that Whiteeagle had set up the school in hopes of obtaining federal funding, and Ruben Espinoza said the school was in the process of applying for state accreditation.

“Maybe he promised a house of cards,” Rollins said, “and it all collapsed on him.”

Advertisement