Last Chance U. : Special Schools Take In Expelled Students

David is 16, a smooth-cheeked teen-ager from Echo Park with a hesitant smile and a habit of glancing away when you look in his eyes as he recalls how he landed at a school for delinquents in East Los Angeles.

An admitted gang member who has been thrown out of several high schools for fighting, David most recently attended a high school in Northeast Los Angeles whose turf was claimed by another gang. After members of that gang threatened to kill him, David started bringing a knife to school.

The showdown came when one of the gang members pointed a gun at his head and David stabbed him. “I was scared he was going to kill me,” he said.

David’s story is all too common among students at Community Day Centers, the schools run by Los Angeles County for students who have been expelled by their districts or put on probation for crimes. But educators say it also illustrates the need for educational alternatives as districts throughout the county toughen expulsion policies to crack down on violence.

In the Los Angeles Unified School District, 890 students were recommended for expulsion in the 1989-90 academic year, 69% of them for assaults or for bringing firearms to class. That was a 17% increase over the previous year.

David is one of the lucky ones--he is already enrolled in one of the county’s 14 special schools, which serve 476 students from throughout the county. But educators estimate that hundreds more problem students as young as 13 are being turned out onto the street because the county schools are full.

A visit to the East Los Angeles center, housed in two classrooms leased from Our Lady of Victory Catholic Church, illustrates how the small schools are looser and provide more individualized attention than larger high schools.

On a recent day after lunch, David filed back into his seat and joined 12 other students bent over desks, laboring over spelling and driver’s education. Two students who finished their class work early drifted up to the personal computers at the front of the class to play computer games. A “classic oldies” AM station played softly in the background.

Because the students are spread across different grade levels, there are no formal lessons. Instead, each new arrival is given an achievement test and a personalized independent study program is drawn up, based on ability and need.

Teacher Don Lucero said his students work at their own pace through math and English, science and social studies. He provides help and answers as needed, and over the years has even worked with several students who took advanced placement classes for college credit. But Lucero acknowledges that few students get past pre-algebra.

As Lucero talks, a tall, beefy 17-year-old named George ambles up to him, showing off a spelling test. But George has only done about half his assigned work.

“Aw, c’mon dude, I told you to write me sentences with those words,” Lucero tells him. “Don’t give me that dirty look. Hey, that’s good,” he adds, as George moves back to his seat with a sigh.

The victories at Our Lady of Victory are not always apparent at first glance. Students say fistfights break out regularly. Last week, for instance, Lucero sent home four teen-agers who started a gang fight in the bathroom.

“I don’t want to get rid of them, I want to change their bad behavioral patterns,” said Lucero, a mild-mannered man who at times appears harried by his charges. “But it’s very difficult to change a lifestyle. Their values are completely different.”

Occasionally, students leave the grounds, walking to the corner market to buy sodas or potato chips. As a reward for good behavior, they are allowed to play basketball in a court on the church parking lot. And school administrators emphasize that most students do behave: They know that getting expelled from the center means a return to Juvenile Hall or the California Youth Authority.

“I keep reminding them that this is neutral territory,” says Lucero, who has taught at the East Los Angeles campus for five years. “They know what the rules are, and they know I’m not going to put up with any gangbanging.”

The county downplays the potential for violence at the centers, saying there were only two assaults at its 14 schools during the first six months of 1990. A two-year study of one center in Southeast Los Angeles found that more than half its students either stayed in school, graduated, re-enrolled at regular high schools or found jobs. Their average age was 15 1/2; their average stay was two months.

Many students at the East Los Angeles center say they are relieved to be out of regular classes.

“I’m going to stay here because I don’t want to get into any more trouble,” said Janet, a pretty 13-year-old with sloe eyes and long, wavy black hair. The youngest member of her East Los Angeles gang, Janet was expelled from junior high school for chronic fighting. All her brothers and sisters are gang members, Janet says, and it is hard to walk outside and not socialize with kids from the neighborhood.

“I can’t go back to a regular school now because I’d get my butt kicked,” she says nervously. “A lot of people out there don’t like me.”

Some of the students are emotionally troubled youths or hard-core delinquents probably headed for a life of crime. But others appear to have brought weapons to school to protect themselves.

Jackie Goldberg, president of the Los Angeles Board of Education, said the vast majority of expulsions involve possession, not use, of a deadly weapon.

“Most of it is gang-related and almost all these kids say the same thing in their interview: ‘I was afraid what would happen on the way home. I was jumped on Monday and they told me they were going to kill me on Tuesday.’ These kids are afraid, they are ruled by fear, and they think a gun is going to protect them,” Goldberg said.

School board member Julie Korenstein, who sponsored the tough expulsion policy that was approved in June for Los Angeles students, echoed Goldberg’s comments.

“We had a case last week in which a 14-year-old who was jumped by a gang brought an unloaded weapon to school because he was scared to death,” Korenstein said.

The district is evaluating sites where the county might open new centers, but a proposal to convert a closed junior high in a residential part of Woodland Hills was dropped this week after neighbors protested.

Instead, the district is looking at putting classrooms for expelled students on sites where adult education and dropout prevention programs are run. The county has said it will operate new centers if Los Angeles Unified and other districts provide the sites.

“We need to think about what our responsibilities are, not just as educators but as a community,” Korenstein said. “It costs $4,000 to $6,000 a year to rehabilitate these students. If we wait until they get into prison, it’s $30,000 a year.”

The students at the East Los Angeles center seem to agree.

“They don’t reject you here,” says David, who hopes to join the Army when he graduates. “We’re not crazy, we’re just disturbed. And they help us.”