A Family’s Last Resort : When Cara Vanni’s parents could no longer control her, they made a desperate decision. They sent her away.

It was 9:15 p.m., and Cara Vanni was chatting with a friend on the phone, just like any number of San Clemente teen-agers.

Suddenly, the line went dead. A minute later, strangers appeared in her bedroom doorway.

“My parents brought these three people into my room,” Cara, 16, recalls of that night last May 27. “At first I thought they were old friends of the family who were about to say they knew me when I was 4. They weren’t.”

In fact, they were kidnapers--of sorts--and they had arrived at the invitation of her parents to escort her forcibly to a private school in Utah.

Holding Cara by her wrist, the two men and one woman removed her shoes, belt and jewelry. Then they led her down the plush, curved stairway into the Vanni living room.

The walls of the stairway were bare. The framed pictures--including a portrait of Cara and her 6-year-old sister--had been removed so she couldn’t use them as weapons.

Cara snarled at her mother, Nancy, calling her a “bitch.” But she did not struggle. She was led into the garage, where she was belted down in the back seat of the trio’s car between the woman and one of the men. Already locked in the trunk were her toiletries and clothes.

The garage door was raised, and Cara began her trip to this small southwestern Utah town, population 261. It was seven hours and a world away from San Clemente.

Cara was on her way to Cross Creek Manor, a residential treatment facility for troubled teen-age girls. And her experiences there would bring issues of teen-age privilege, power, family structure and discipline into sharp focus for her and her family.

The drive to Utah was interminable. In between tears and sleep, Cara began to learn details of her upcoming six-month program of behavior modification. As do all new girls at the school, she would begin in “Phase 3”--a windowless basement room shared by three other girls.

Here, the doors are equipped with alarms and shoes are confiscated to inhibit escape. Cara would not be allowed to leave her room without permission, and only under supervision would she be able to go outside and upstairs to meals. The worst insult for many of the girls: only one phone call home every two months.

To move upstairs and gradually gain privileges, Cara would need to earn points by demonstrating progress in a regular program of therapy, activities and peer relations.

Cara’s behavior was about to be modified.

Sending their daughter away was the culmination of five months of severe discipline problems and “total defiance,” according to Mike and Nancy Vanni.

“It was probably the worst thing I’ve had to do in my life,” says Mike. “She first had a look of betrayal, then fear, then anger. It bothered me sending her away for what comparatively were not-so-serious problems: poor grades, bad friends and discipline problems. But we could not live the way we were living. We would not let her destroy her life.”

In her younger teen-age years, Cara had exhibited what her father says was “normal teen-age mouthiness and assertiveness.” She also had a roving interest in boys.

The Vannis do not believe Cara’s serious discipline problems began until she transferred in September, 1991, from St. Margaret’s Episcopal School in San Juan Capistrano to a much larger public school.

Her first semester at San Clemente was uneventful. But beginning with the second term, Cara was rapidly losing respect for family and academic life. She began spending a lot of time with an unsavory group of older students and dropouts, the Vannis say. She cut class more than 30 times, ran away from home twice and was increasingly spiteful toward her sister.

“I didn’t want to follow rules,” Cara says now. “I wanted to live on my own with my friends. A lot of them were older, and they didn’t have to go home at night. So why did I have to?”

The Vannis sought help from a therapist, who recommended a series of family contracts and other negotiations to help establish agreement about household authority. But the discipline problems continued, twice erupting into physical fights at home during which Cara bit her father.

“The bottom line,” Nancy Vanni says, “is Cara wanted to live here and be in complete control, but without any responsibility. She pushed every limit to the max.”

Throughout these troubled months, the Vannis had been researching 10 out-of-state residential facilities. (California law prohibits parents from admitting children to a locked facility without a court or psychiatrist’s order, according to attorneys with the Orange County counsel’s office.)

Then, the day after Cara was slapped by one of her new male friends--so hard that her pierced earring came off--the Vannis began to fear for her safety.

“We felt her next step would be drugs, possibly alcohol and physical harm,” Nancy says. “We had no choice but to get her out of the geographic region--to stop it before it started.”

They called Cross Creek Manor to arrange for her induction.

5/28

Mom ,

. . . All I have is one question. Why? I understand that we had our fights and our disagreements but please why here. I wasn’t a bad kid. I didn’t do drugs or drink or smoke either. Mom do you realize we are locked up here. . . . I can’t even wear shoes. I’m kept in a basement . . . . Do I really deserve this. I’m sorry for all I put you through but help me please.

Please don’t leave me here. I can’t take it. Home seems so wonderful compared to this. I’m not trying to kiss butt but I miss you, Dad & Amanda so much.

I wanted to get away but not for 3 or 6 mo. Give me 1 last chance to prove to you I can do it. . . .

Love, Cara

Just minutes from Zion National Park, Cross Creek sits on 1.3 acres and is surrounded by the towering, burnt-orange bluffs and clear skies that are the pride of Utah.

The school has a student-to-staff ratio of nearly 1-to-1, has no religious affiliation and is fully accredited, says associate director Karr Farnsworth. Licensed by the Utah Department of Human Services, Cross Creek has grown dramatically since its founding five years ago and has a highly qualified staff, state licensing director Patricia Kreher says.

Utah is a popular location for such schools because of its relatively inexpensive land, Kreher says. Cross Creek, one of 10 such programs in the state and the only all-girl facility, houses 46 girls--most of whom, officials say, are from California. Four of the residents are from Los Angeles; six from Orange County.

“In Southern California, you’ve got money and a lot of people preoccupied with careers,” says Robert Gwilliam, the supervising therapist at Cross Creek.

Mike Vanni often works 70-hour weeks as part-owner of both a three-office real estate agency and a pizza parlor. Nancy Vanni, a registered nurse, works one or two days a week. But they largely discount this as a factor in Cara’s problems.

“Nancy’s father worked a lot, and my parents always worked a lot,” Mike says. “Basically, they worked from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. I was a definite discipline problem for a number of years, but I was able to retain some focus on my education and get through college. Cara lost her focus.”

Bruce Christle, a family and child therapist based in Dana Point, says that often the dynamics of the entire family combine to create discipline problems. “But the only person who looks bad is the child, because he’s the one showing the symptoms,” he says.

Cara now says she regrets getting involved with the group of older boys in San Clemente.

“I wish I’d never met them. They weren’t my true friends,” she says. “Some of the guys I hung out with had past histories of hitting girls, not just guys. I’m afraid that if I go home and talk to one, I’ll see the bad ones. So I figure if I just don’t see any of them, it’ll be easier.”

Just as in the outside world, students at Cross Creek quickly form attachments with their peers.

Cara is nearly inseparable from her roommate, Kayla, 15. On a recent evening the activity in their bedroom resembled that of a college dormitory: giggling, gossip, card playing, rap music on the radio, makeup sessions and good-natured roughhousing.

Much of the talk among the girls concerns Cross Creek and its system of rewards and punishments. Breaking rules invariably brings a “consequence,” which can range from a few to hundreds of hours of work to moving to lower “phases”--and a loss of privileges.

A few of the girls who have failed to move quickly from their basement quarters are especially disgruntled with the system and contemptuous toward those who play the good-behavior game.

“A lot of people are jealous of Cara,” Kayla says, “because she’s so beautiful and because she advanced so quick.”

Indeed, it was only a few weeks before Cara had moved out of the basement quarters and began what became rapid progress. Now in Phase 7, Cara goes on unsupervised trips to the mall and is attending Hurricane High, the local high school.

“She’s done rather exceptionally well, basically because of her solid home” background, says Gloria Gwilliam, her case manager. “What gets a child and parents at odds varies a lot, but a teen-ager trying to break loose can be unreasonable--like a mule. You really have to get their attention.”

What got her attention, Cara says, was the very fact of suddenly being shoeless in a stark Utah basement just hours after lounging in her lavish home.

“I realized that I need to be here, and I realized (my parents) only did it because they cared,” Cara says. “If I hadn’t come here, I’d probably be in trouble with the law by now.”

Positive family reinforcement arrives almost daily in the form of letters from parents, four grandparents and six great-aunts. Ongoing contact with the family is a key part of the therapy, Farnsworth says.

Seven weeks into the program, Cara had begun to articulate why she was here:

7/20 Dad,

. . . It was so good to hear from you. . . . The reasons I feel that I am here is because my friends were no good. . . . didn’t go to school . . . didn’t follow rules . . . I was making the house misearable (sic) and pulling the family apart. I was hurting everyone even myself . . . (E)veryone was unhappy. I didn’t want to fix it either. That is basically what I feel. . . . I love you alot.

Love, Cara

Critics of residential treatment cite a variety of complaints with the programs.

“Involuntary commitment of a child is a stigma and amounts to a deprivation of liberty,” says Bob Goodlow, a spokesman for the American Civil Liberties Union. “A child has the right to challenge the parents’ wish by having a lawyer represent the child.”

Says Margo Carlson, executive director of Community Service Programs in Irvine: “I thought we’d moved beyond that kind of attempt to redirect behavior. It sounds like we’re going back a number of years in terms of handling a juvenile.”

At Cross Creek, the comprehensive treatment is not within everyone’s means. For the first six months, Cara’s program will cost $16,900, some of which will be paid by insurance, Nancy Vanni says. The family paid an additional $1,000 to have her taken to Utah.

In part, Mike Vanni blames the crisis on what he sees as lax discipline in the public schools.

“The state of California limits and intrudes upon parents’ rights,” he says. “It’s producing a student who’s not as educated or motivated because of restrictions put on teachers. They can’t tell a kid what to do anymore; they can’t use corporal punishment in any form, so basically, these kids just run roughshod over the teachers.”

The average stay at Cross Creek is nine months. Nearly all girls stay for at least six. Parents sometimes take their daughters home against the counselors’ advice.

“We have what I call a high parent satisfaction rate,” Farnsworth says. “But we don’t give a success rate, because you have kids who leave whom everyone is happy with--but then there are kids who leave whom we don’t call a success, but the parents do.”

The Vannis are among those ready to call the program a success. “We’re very happy with the results so far,” Nancy says. “We needed the time and space, and Cara needed it as much as we did.”

Nancy, a diabetic, says she has been able to reduce her daily insulin dosage by a third, a reduction she attributes to the drop in stress since Cara left.

“Amanda also misses her sister terribly,” she adds. “She asks, ‘When Sissy comes home, will she be nice to me?’ We’ve told her yes .”

For her part, Cara says the experience has motivated her to clean up her act. In discussing her changes, she uses the unequivocal language of the newly converted:

“I’ve changed so much. Most people here have more severe problems. It makes me realize what I’ve got. When I get out, I want to get my grades back together, and I plan to totally respect my parents.”

Cara and her parents have decided she will attend Santa Margarita High, a Roman Catholic school, when she returns. This is a compromise between St. Margaret’s, which Cara says is too small, and San Clemente High, which all three agree is not acceptable.

Three months after her forced journey to Cross Creek, Cara is nervously anticipating her first reunion with her parents. The family plans to spend two days exploring Zion and the St. George area.

“I never thought the day would come when I’d be this excited to see my parents,” she says. “Waiting for my first phone call seemed like a lifetime, but I’ve been waiting for this day forever.”

It is the Vannis’ first visit, and three wrong turns have made them an hour late. Cara has finished her therapy session and is in the dining hall when she sees her parents’ rental car pull into the driveway.

For the next 15 minutes, the Vannis ride an emotional roller coaster of expectation, tears and joyful relief.

Nancy, rushing to the front entrance, is momentarily thwarted by the facility’s locked doors, but the passionate embrace that occurs seconds later belies the months of friction that brought Cara here. Next, Mike and then Amanda offer tearful greetings.

“As low as we felt when we had to send her here, this is the opposite end of the scale,” Nancy says. “This is what we did this for, to feel this way again.”

From the dining room windows, the other girls watch the happy scene in the parking lot. To no one in particular, Kayla, her nose to the window, quietly voices the simple wish that the other girls doubtless share: “I want to see my parents too.”

And for her also, tears begin to fall.