Youths’ Prison Tour Puts Gangs’ Allure in Perspective : Juveniles: A firsthand look at life behind bars is intended to help persuade teen-agers to stay in school and out of trouble.

They already suspected it was a bad idea.

But after being frisked by guards, eyeballed by inmates and hustled into a cellblock at the Ventura School to be yelled at by a hard-eyed killer, these 13 Oxnard High freshmen were absolutely sure of it:

Joining gangs is a really bad idea.

A three-hour tour of the California Youth Authority’s juvenile prison in Camarillo was enough to convince them.

Chosen because low grades and poor attendance put them at risk of falling out of school and into gangs, the teen-agers got an intimate tour of the 54-acre, razor wire-rimmed compound that awaits them if they mess up.

“We tell you what you’re going to eat, when you’re going to eat, what you can wear, what kind of makeup you can wear,” warned California Youth Authority gang officer Eddie Cue, who has shown the prison life to 3,000 at-risk Ventura County teen-agers since launching the program last year.

“When you step through that door, you’re no longer in Ventura County, you’re no longer part of the homeboys or whatever,” Cue said. “You’re in the Ventura School.”

He told them of strip searches, tiny cells and hard beds. He told them about inmates wielding sharpened toothbrushes. He pointed out the high fence rigged with concertina wire, cameras and tripwires.

Get cocky here, and you will get hurt, he warned. Guards take a minute and a half to jump on a fight, he said. “But when you’re the one being pounded on, that minute and a half seems like an eternity.”

Then he marched them off, double file, mouths shut, hands in pockets to a locked cellblock to meet two murderers.

“I came to jail when I was a teen-ager like you,” said Martin Luevano, 24, calmly. “I was 16 years old, into the fast life, partying and like that. I made a wrong decision when I took someone’s life.”

Then he learned about prison life.

Homeboys and homegirls will drift away, he told them. No one will care but family. Other inmates will make your life miserable. And, he said, looking each teen-ager in the eye, you still must attend classes and do homework.

Luevano added, almost tenderly, “When the bullet bites you, it’s gonna bite you hard, eh?”

Then up stepped Raul Aguilar, 23.

“I’ve been in here 7 1/2 years going on eight, and I’m still waiting to go home,” he said flatly. “Any of you gangbanging now?”

Face to face behind bars with a murderer, all the visitors were smart enough to shut up and listen.

But one.

Fourteen and husky, the buzz-cut boy with a fuzzy mustache raised his hand and proudly claimed membership in an Oxnard gang.

Aguilar’s eyes locked onto him.

“Why you gangbangin’, man?”

“Cause that’s where I’m from,” the boy replied.

“Oh, so you gotta be down for the ‘hood. Why you down?”

“Cause all my relatives are.”

“What do you wanna be when you grow up?”

“I don’t know.”

The five-minute grilling stretched to 10. Aguilar leaned forward intensely, foot on a chair, obscenities creeping into his rising voice.

“You want to get killed? You want that for your family?”

“No.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” Aguilar said to the others, who sat stock-still now, barely glancing at him. “You don’t even know what you’re gangbanging for. Let me tell you something. I’ve never been to a high school dance. I even forget what it’s like to have a girlfriend.”

Pressed further, the boy admitted that he is “a follower,” seeking revenge for the gang-related deaths of his father and brother. That cut no ice with the killer.

“My brother was taken out too,” Aguilar said. “I’m the only vato left in my family. . . . You wanna be a follower, then be a follower. End up in here, if you’re not dead.”

Cue moved the group on to the school’s chapel, where three girls perched on the rail. The Ventura School is the only Youth Authority prison for females.

“The stuff that goes on in here is stuff you wouldn’t want to see,” said inmate Leah Whitaker, 21, serving time for kidnaping. “There was a 14-year-old girl in here, and four girls gang-raped her. And the guys . . . they treat you like a piece of meat.”

There is no privacy, she said. Your cellmate sees just about everything you do, and guards peer through the cell door window whenever they want.

Again, the 14-year-old boy dared to claim gang membership, and again he was dressed down--this time by two furious girls.

Then Cue took them outside so even more inmates could confront the teen-agers--without adults hovering over them.

Girls clustered with the girls, listening to tales from the inside. Boys paired off with individual inmates. But one group crowded around the self-proclaimed gang member while two of his classmates looked on.

“You don’t listen to people out there, you’ll come in here and you’ll listen to cops and you’ll listen to us, “ said Tracy Usry, 21.

Now, the boy’s facade was breaking down a bit.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I’m busted for murder. I got 31 to life, homie.”

“How’s that feel?”

“It feels (screwed) up. I got two kids,” Usry said.

“You seem like you’re paying attention,” he added. “Go home and think about it one night.”

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the youth nodded.