A Case for Saving L.A. County’s Juvenile Camps

The teacher has instructed Byron to guide me the short distance from the classrooms to the headquarters at Camp Holton, a high-security juvenile probation facility in Little Tujunga Canyon. It is obvious that Byron, a 17-year-old teacher’s aide at Karl Holton High School, is one of the more trusted campers.

The silence is awkward.

“What are you in for?”

“Manslaughter.”

A few more steps.

“Car accident?”

Byron nods yes.

Poor dumb kid. Maybe he was drunk, maybe on drugs--or maybe he was just laughing and fooling around and didn’t see the red light or the old lady in the crosswalk. Maybe he was just guilty of being young and stupid. When I was 16, I wanted to see how fast mom’s Dodge Dart would go. If the speedometer was telling the truth, would you believe 112 m.p.h.? Got away with it, too. There but for the grace of. . . .

And now here’s Byron, a teacher’s aide among all these young gangbangers.

Minutes later, Byron and I are sitting in a room with two probation offices and four other juveniles, ages 16 to 18. Cesar, Ashley and Mario are doing time for weapons violations. Only David is in for a first offense--attempted murder. It was a drive-by shooting.

“I just did it,” he says quietly. “I didn’t hit nobody.”

Why did you do it?

“They’re my enemies,” David explains. “And the other reason is because they killed my cousin.”

*

It takes a court order for a reporter to visit the L.A. County juvenile probation camps. Mine included this caveat: “Petitioner is not to discuss camp closure with any minor.”

Camp Holton and 17 other probation camps only have funds to stay open through June 30. Traditionally, the state has provided money for the camps, but Gov. Pete Wilson says the state is too poor and L.A. County, even with its $1.5-billion shortfall, needs to come up with the $60 million. If the camps close, just imagine a couple of thousand Davids, Cesars and Marios back on the street.

Officials and politicians are scrambling for federal, state and county money. A resolution seems likely because liberals and conservatives are saying that the camps must be spared--that they’re cheaper and more effective than sending kids to the California Youth Authority. Studies show that about 43% of the kids who “graduate” from juvenile camps are rearrested within a couple years; at the CYA, the recidivism rate is more than 50%.

But there’s little question that somebody, somewhere will suffer. One option county that officials have considered is a shift of $12 million from drug and alcohol programs. “You rob Peter to pay Paul,” summed up the director of a substance-abuse treatment program.

*

“A lot of these kids can still turn around,” says Henry Portelles, a deputy probation officer. If they weren’t here, they’d be at the CYA. “To me a CYA commitment means you’ve given up: Let’s separate them from the community as long as we can.”

I should have known my initial impression of Byron was a bit naive. Camp Holton, with its high walls, is meant for harder cases, the ones considered high-risk to go AWOL. Byron has been in and out of custody since age 13. His priors include robbery, burglary, vandalism. And he’s a gangbanger too.

There is nothing fun about this compound a few miles up Little Tujunga Road, the inmates agree. It’s the first time they’ve been forced to attend school and some, like Byron, seem surprised and proud to discover how smart they are. But their time here is highly structured. In all, 110 kids sleep in a barracks-like dormitory and are expected to obey probation officers and teachers. Troublemakers are given “time out”--placed alone in segregated housing. “The kids call it ‘The Box,’ ” Portelles explains.

And if we really need another argument to save the probation camps, don’t just think about the fate of these kids. Think about their kids.

Byron, Cesar and David are among 17 boys here taking a parenting class. Byron’s daughter is 1 1/2 years old, Cesar’s boy is 2, and David’s son is 4 months old. They say they want to get out, find jobs, be good dads. They talk of being a little older, a little wiser--of knowing that next time they screw up, they’ll end up in state prison.

“I feel this program has helped me,” Byron said. His goal, he said, is “to get out and make my mother proud of me and take care of my daughter.”

It made me wonder about their own fathers. Had they done time too?

Cesar, Byron and David said yes. Ashley qualified his answer, explaining that he was raised by an uncle. This uncle, he said, is now in San Quentin for bank robbery and homicide.

Only Mario said no.

His father, he added, has passed away.