A Soothing ‘Late Show’ for Troubled Teen-Agers : Juvenile Hall: Volunteers in Contra Costa County read bedtime tales to inmates to soften institutional life.

It is lights-out time at Juvenile Hall, but the boys are in no mood to rest. Locked up in the dark in their small rooms, the streetwise teen-agers are anxious--stewing about the future, perhaps, or why their parents have not come to see them in weeks.

One distressed youth pounds his head on a wall and wails. Another curses the world and everyone in it. Then a new voice pours forth, descending through speakers into the bare institutional rooms. It is a woman’s voice, melodic and warm.

She begins by greeting each boy by name, offering a special salutation to “Chuck, who had a bad day,” and to others feeling unusually blue. Next comes a poem, then an excerpt from a book on a sailor’s adventures at sea. As the words flow, the din in the corridors ebbs and silence--a rare visitor in “the hall”--descends.

It’s “The Late Show,” a regular reading of bedtime stories at Contra Costa County Juvenile Hall. Run by volunteers and believed to be unique, the program has a simple aim: to soften the edges of institutional life, comforting the hall’s 140 youthful offenders as they settle in for the night with their anxieties and longings for home.

Its long-term benefits are hard to gauge, but counselors and teen-agers alike pile praise on the 18-month-old program. The adults say it calms their volatile charges at the hour when they feel most vulnerable and alone. The kids say the readings provide a bright spot in the day to look forward to--and a refuge from the grimness of life in a locked-up world.

“The thing about it is, it makes you forget where you are for a while,” said Nick, 17, who has been in and out of Juvenile Hall for the last five years, most recently for a probation violation. (Names were changed for this story at the request of juvenile authorities.)

“At night, with all the screaming and stuff, it’s really hard being here,” said Nick. “But the reading, it kinda takes me away.”

It is easy to see why any distraction would be welcome in this place. In the Diablo housing unit, where Nick and most older boys live, comforts of home are hard to find. Bars block the windows, the faint of smell of urine hangs in the air, and the walls are bare save for a drooping Christmas garland and a poster of San Francisco 49ers wide receiver Jerry Rice.

The drinking fountain is broken and the air is stiflingly hot, even at 10:15 on a January night.

The hall’s inmates--including 17 girls--range in age from 8 to 18; most have been physically or emotionally abused. They have committed nearly every offense, from drug possession and arson to rape and murder, which is why at least one veteran counselor was dubious of the bedtime story idea at first.

“We’ve got some sophisticated, experienced guys in here,” counselor Michael Major said, “and I just couldn’t see them getting into Winnie the Pooh.”

But a woman named Betty Frandsen had a hunch and convinced the hall’s superintendent it was worth a try. Frandsen, a San Francisco advertising executive who volunteered at the hall, remembered how a story or two had soothed her sons before bed.

She also knew what educators had learned long ago: that youngsters who are read to develop improved concentration and do better in school.

“We realized we weren’t going to save anybody or alter their course,” Frandsen said. “But I thought if we could just give them a few happy, quiet moments and train them to think about something they haven’t thought about before, maybe it will make a little bit of difference.”

She began by recruiting volunteers--a lawyer, an energy consultant, a hypnotherapist, a construction worker--and enlisting the Contra Costa County Library to help hunt for books that would interest the kids. This was the tricky part, she noted, because “you have to fight for teen-agers’ attention--they won’t just hand it over.”

Volunteers have treated their listeners to the novels of John Steinbeck and Louis L’Amour and an autobiography of Muhammed Ali. Winnie the Pooh, incidentally, is a perennial favorite, as are the works of poet Maya Angelou, who last week read at the inauguration at the request of President Clinton.

Only one rule governs what volunteers may read: The selection must have a calming effect and end on an upbeat note. After the story sessions, the books are left behind for the inmates.

“I didn’t think much of reading before they started coming,” said Andy, 16, “but now I stay in my room and read a lot.” His literature of choice? “Mostly mysteries and novels with lots of details and description.”

Although “The Late Show” is piped into the teen-agers’ locked rooms over the public address system, volunteers arrive well before the start of their program to mingle with them. During these sessions, they harvest ideas for songs to play at the opening and closing of each show, and learn which youths might merit a special mention that night.

Occasionally, a special guest pays a call. Michael Blake, who wrote the book and screenplay for the film “Dances With Wolves,” read once, as did singer Bobby McFerrin.

For the program’s readers, volunteering invites unavoidable emotional lows. One of Frandsen’s worst came when a boy she particularly liked told her he had no mother and asked if she would adopt him.

For Stella Baker, a Contra Costa County Library official, it was the night when she walked in with her books and found that a girl who had been released some months earlier had returned.

“When she saw me, her face lit up and she gave me a big hug,” Baker recalled. “But of course I felt terrible, because here she was, back again.”

Most readers, however, say the rewards outweigh the painful moments.

“I really never realized how hungry these kids are for adults who genuinely care and are willing to share themselves with no expectation of compensation of any kind,” Baker said.

“When you give these kids a piece of yourself, there’s a feeling they give back--sometimes subtle, sometimes obvious--that’s priceless.”