AFTER THE VERDICTS : From the Heart of the City : For our town, the waiting is over. What do the verdicts mean today, and what will they mean for our tomorrows? Three perspectives on the day of decision. : Marshaling of Troops Sends a Mixed Message

It’s been two years since The Incident . With these verdicts now comes the question: What does it mean, what’s the message?

It is, most say in relief, that the system works--even though the process bore an eerie resemblance to 1960s Southern-style justice, the kind where the federal cavalry had to come to the rescue after an all-white local jury had set the culprits free.

Still, “Justice has been done,” is the exultation. A message has been sent. But is that all of it? Or did we--as we marshaled the troops, outlined our various escape plans and replaced logic with rumor--send a different message?

As the jury deliberated, community leaders and public officials, on radio and television and in the newspapers, urged us all to keep the peace, remain nonviolent, be cool.

Quincy Thorton, 20, and Stutterbox, both gang members, were down with that. So they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with homeowners, residents of housing projects, business owners, gang members, ex-gangbangers, community activists and politicians gathered at a morning press conference admonishing South-Central Los Angeles to remain calm no matter what the verdict. That same day, they helped pass out 350,000 leaflets urging residents to keep the peace.

But instead of peace, they got two Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputies.

Their story goes like this: On their way to the conference, Thorton and Stutterbox had pulled to a stop at a convenience store on Holmes Avenue near 55th Street, they said, when suddenly the deputies were shouting through the car window for them to put up their hands.

“It scared me,” Thornton said. “I said, ‘What’s up?’ ”

“Shut up!” one of the deputies ordered. “Just put up your g------ hands.”

Suddenly, guns were drawn, one pointed directly at Stutterbox’s head.

“Man, I’m blind,” Stutterbox said and pulled down dark sunglasses to reveal to the deputies his sightless eyes.

The deputies confirmed that they had stopped the two, but they denied the exchange took place the way Thornton had described.

But they agree on this part of the story: There was a cursory search and check for warrants. None found. Nothing wrong with the car’s registration. So, they sent them on their way. No ticket. No apology.

Message sent.

That same day at a church in Northridge--40 miles geographically and light years economically from South-Central Los Angeles--2,000 nervous residents, mostly white, gathered for Los Angeles Police Chief Willie L. Williams to assuage their fears and to dispel rumors that their neighborhoods would be pillaged following the King verdict.

Nobody asked about citizen review boards or about better interaction between the police and residents. Instead, the questions centered on how to get more cops on the street and whether officers would be getting heavier artillery.

There was one unfortunate soul who did stand up and shout from the back of the room about what the chief was doing about officers “who brutalize citizens.” He was promptly met with a loud chorus of boos and shouts to sit down.

Message sent.

On Saturday, three hours after the verdict, I stood amid the squalor of the Nickerson Gardens housing project, on a street cruelly named Success Avenue, talking with a motley crew of youngsters. I was trying to find the message in all of this for them.

They were a troubled, though likable bunch, sort of an X-rated version of the Little Rascals for whom the gangbangers and drug dealers have become heroes.

They’ve already adopted the language, the style, the swagger and the all-important nicknames: Half Dead, Li’l Duke, Li’l Spread, S-Dog, Baldy, Half Breed. They have dreams: Reggie, 14, wants to be a computer architect, David, 15, a professional basketball player and Half Breed, 13, a fireman.

But as 13-year-old Half Dead said: “We’ll probably all end up slangin’ and bangin’.” We talked about school.

“They give you classes, and then if there’s nowhere to sit, they send you to another classroom,” said Baldy.

“Yeah. Yeah. They put me in a metal shop class and none of the machines work,” S-Dog said.

“The teachers at Jordan (High School) said if we get our pay cut 50%, we’re going to teach 50%,” David said. “Said it right there in the classroom.”

“Yeah, man,” said Reggie. “And if you be clowning or something, they just put you in the back of the room and say that it’s OK if you don’t want to learn, because they are gonna get paid anyway.”

Instead of the state marshaling resources to make sure these kids have uncrowded classrooms and teachers who are dedicated and adequately paid, it sent them the National Guard.

Message sent.

We talked about home. None of them live with their fathers. Reggie lives with his aunt because his mother, now somewhere in Michigan, had been declared unfit by the county. S-Dog lives with his aunt because his mother has “an alcohol problem.” They roam the street without guidance. “I live wherever,” said Half Dead, just out of Juvenile Hall. For fun, they steal cars.

We could have sent them Big Brothers to lend a helping hand and guidance, support systems to offer alternatives or summer jobs or more recreational facilities and supervised activities. But we sent them more police to more quickly expedite their entrance into the penal system.

At Rep. Maxine Waters’ office, Leonard, 17, was still trying to decipher the message. A high school dropout, Leonard lives with his girlfriend because his parents don’t want him. His father beat him so bad recently, he said, that he required medical treatment. Just the other day he literally broke down and cried in Waters’ arms.

“I’m smart,” he sobbed. “I can learn. I want to go to school.”

In the wake of the earlier rioting, Mayor Bradley, instead of overseeing increased job training programs and educational opportunities for people such as Leonard, turned over those chores to a volunteer agency called Rebuild L.A. and went to Europe. In his pre-verdict message he did send the Leonards of Los Angeles something--a warning that they would be dealt with harshly if they engaged in rioting.

Message sent.

And now, in the wake of the verdicts, Police Chief Williams, Councilman Marvin Braude and certain mayor wanna-bes are offering a new message. The solution to the city’s problem, they say, is more policing. So, if you want to feel as safe as you do now with about 6,500 officers on the street, vote to raise your taxes so we can hire an additional 1,000.

“It’s absurd,” said school board member Warren Furutani, who is running for City Council. “It’s like a room where there’s gasoline on the floor and what we do is stand around and watch the match (burn). It’s time for us to begin dealing with a long-term agenda.”

Message sent.