A New Stage in Troubled Young Lives : Youths: The positive reinforcement that comes from performing is influencing the lives of those in an arts program.

Branden got busted.

First, he stole a car, then he got caught with marijuana. Shoplifting was the last straw.

At 16, Branden was placed on probation by juvenile court and ordered to perform 160 hours of community service. His lawyer, Sherry Jason, made a plea to the judge. She asked that Branden be “Sentenced to the Stage,” a program of City Hearts--Kids Say Yes to the Arts.

Instead of sweeping city streets, Branden now divides his community-service time between ballet and drama classes. His mother drives him on Saturdays from their Ladera Heights home to the City Hearts studio on 2nd Street in Downtown Los Angeles. In the three months since he joined the program, his attitude has changed, his school grades have improved and, somehow, Branden has managed to stay out of trouble.

“Coming here makes me feel good,” he says.

And he probably feels even better today, the morning after City Hearts’ quarterly performance of skits, dance, music and magic tricks.

“When the kids hear the applause they realize why they are here,” says Jason. “It’s the first time many of them have reached a goal or received positive reinforcement.”

Jason started up City Hearts with her husband, Bob, 10 years ago. The two public defenders were visiting a juvenile hall when Sherry heard a piano. It was a Mozart concerto being played perfectly by a 13-year-old boy who was incarcerated for murder. Faced daily with kids who have no creative outlet, the Jasons introduced after-school classes for kids living on Skid Row and weekend programs for those on probation. In the evenings, youths participating in the Los Angeles Police Department’s crime-prevention Jeopardy program also attend classes.

Funded by the state and various grants, City Hearts serves about 1,000 kids, operating on a budget of about $50,000 per year. A year of classes, Bob Jason says, costs about $200 per child. In contrast, it takes $30,000 a year to house a child in Juvenile Hall. “In the long run, a program like this is cheaper and more effective.”

When they arrive at this old warehouse-turned-playhouse, many of the kids hang back. They’re scared to let their guard down and fall into a make-believe character, says theater director Andy Papadoplous, who also works with child actors on television shows. “They can’t do that in their reality.”

By the end of the 15-week session, however, some of the kids have befriended classmates from rival gangs. One girl came with an I’m-gonna-mess-you-up attitude. “She was full of hate,” says Papadoplous. He cast her as a queen and watched her undergo a 360-degree transformation.

At a recent drama rehearsal, Papadoplous broke the class into groups. Angie performed a scene in which she had to tell her parents she was pregnant. Branden re-enacted a gang confrontation. Desiree’s scene involved trying to coax a friend into taking drugs. The skits, which were among those performed in Saturday’s showcase, tend to involve situations the kids have encountered.

Jesus, who played a preacher presiding over a young couple’s wedding, says drama classes have helped him pursue a goal.

“I always wanted to try acting and got a chance,” says the 17-year-old, who had been in trouble for stealing. “I’ve gained a lot of self-discipline coming here.”

The Los Angeles Police Department’s Jeopardy program, which targets at-risk kids ages 12 through 17, provides transportation three nights a week for a group of 15 to City Hearts.

While police officers Lonnie Menges and Mark Bolanos sit in the audience, their pupils practice drama, circus arts, music and dance. They say parents have noticed a difference in their children.

“When they come here, they feel like they can excel at something,” Menges says. “It carries over into everything else they do.”