KING CASE AFTERMATH: A CITY IN CRISIS : Newest Crop of Deputies Sent Right to the Streets : Sheriff: Rookies graduate from the academy in the morning and are deployed to riot zone in the afternoon. ‘It’s probably the most exciting day of my life,’ one says.

Dan Dyer had looked toward graduation as a rather carefree event--a nice ceremony, a big party, a chance to exchange kudos with his classmates as newly sworn Los Angeles County Sheriff’s deputies.

Instead, as Dyer’s 101-member class graduated Friday from the rigorous, 21-week Sheriff’s Academy, the party was put on hold. A time of snapshots and salutations became a time for bulletproof vests and riot gear.

This class was marching straight into the mean streets of L.A.

“I admit it, I’m nervous--a little scared,” conceded Dyer, 23, a resident of Cerritos, as he left the traditional commencement in La Mirada and boarded a bus for South Los Angeles. There, the assignment would be strictly postgraduate: to quell violence in the third day of unrest over the verdicts in the Rodney G. King beating.

“We’re suddenly thrown out in the streets,” Dyer said, smiling in disbelief. “And in the worst possible situations.”

For the 8,500-member Sheriff’s Department, which has been turning out new deputies since 1935, Friday’s quick turnaround was believed to be unprecedented. It was a wholly unexpected case of pomp and extenuating circumstances.

“From what I understand, we’re the only class that has ever done this,” boasted Lisaann Bilello, 25, a resident of Fullerton and one of 13 graduating women. Usually, she pointed out, newly sworn deputies serve at least two years of jail duty before being allowed to police the streets.

In this instance, no more than four hours would pass before the graduates were arriving at the cordoned off intersection of Florence and Compton avenues, where they would spend much of the evening alongside experienced deputies, keeping Florence closed to try to stop a devastating succession of storefront fires.

“I’m scared,” Bilello confessed. “(But) it’s exciting. It’s probably the most exciting day of my life.”

In keeping with tradition, Sheriff Sherman Block spoke at the morning ceremony, congratulating the graduates while friends and family members packed the La Mirada Civic Theatre, many of them carrying video cameras. The graduates stood, right hands raised, in a long arc around the theater stage as Block administered the oath of duty.

“You rose as cadets,” the sheriff told them. “You may now be seated as peace officers.”

There was little time for sitting. In just moments, the new officers were en route to their training center in Whittier, where they had toiled hundreds of hours over the fundamentals of criminal law, weapons operation and riot control. Now, there was scarcely time to don uniforms and eat before receiving orders.

“I know you all had (different) plans” today, Cmdr. Bill Stonich told them, alluding to the canceled graduation party at a hotel ballroom. Paraphrasing the movie “Patton,” Stonich tried for a little humor as he put the moment in perspective: “When people ask you . . . (about) the great Los Angeles riots of ‘92, you won’t have to tell them you spent it at the Anaheim Hyatt.”

But serious faces filled the room. Orders were handed out, cars and buses assigned. A veteran officer turned in amusement to one of his colleagues. “Hey, Steve, these new recruits? A couple of them are wearing two vests. It’s hilarious.”

At a sheriff’s van outside, Christopher Racina, 24, of Burbank--honored as the class’ top graduate--talked confidently of his duties. “It’s not a good situation, but we’re ready to do our jobs.”

James Hildreth, 23, of Hawaii, boarded a bus happily. “It’s definitely an exciting day,” he said. “Maybe I’m stupid, but I’m not afraid.”

But Glen Heinrich, 22, of Santa Monica, conceding nervousness, explained succinctly: “It’ll be my first riot.”

The bus rolled west while radio news reports came in: The death toll was now 35. “One dead body’s too many,” said a reflective Daniel Tobin, 20, of Lancaster.

West of the Long Beach Freeway, gutted buildings began to appear. National Guard troops blocked a street corner.

“They have bayonets!” Hildreth said excitedly.

At last, the graduates reached their destination--a stretch of Florence Avenue dominated by barricades, graffiti and the burned-out hulks of two huge stores. Striding down the smoky street, where he was scheduled to spend much of the night, new deputy Mike Marshall, 24, a resident of Norwalk, managed a satisfied smile.

“This is what I’ve always wanted to do,” he said, “and I’m very proud to have the job.”