COVER STORY : Parishioners on a mission to help gang members leave the streets and lives of crime have become . . . : Salvation’s Army

The target for the night is a seedy section of Anaheim Street in Long Beach.

Former gang members--tattoos on their necks and Bibles in their hands--are searching for homeboys in need of a warm meal, a clean bed and a fresh start.

On this night, the searchers whisk three young men to the safety of a nearby home filled with other gangsters on the mend.

Welcome to the Victory Outreach ministry in Long Beach, one of a handful of churches across Southeast Los Angeles County that are trying to save gang members who might otherwise end up in prison or dead.

These parishioners take to the streets with a simple message: Devotion to Jesus Christ will transform even the most troubled life. But they also come armed with practical alternatives for gangbangers who are looking to change their ways.

Victory Outreach provides group homes in Long Beach, Paramount, Norwalk and Hawaiian Gardens where gang members can escape drugs, alcohol and other troubling influences.

In Lynwood, the Truevine Community Outreach arranges construction and warehouse jobs for men who stay at its two group homes, and it deposits paychecks in bank accounts so the residents have a cushion when they leave.

The Cambodian Baptist Church in Long Beach sends gang members to parochial schools in other states. The church also enrolls gang members in its private school, where students can earn high school diplomas and learn about Christianity.

“If you are a gang member, you are welcomed here,” said the Rev. Joe Esposito.

While these parishes share the ideals of other churches--ministering to those in need--they take their mission one step further: actively seeking gang members.

The churches, many of them operating out of storefronts, carry out their work with little fanfare, devoting themselves to neglected neighborhoods where gunfire and drug dealers are common.

And their efforts sometimes reach beyond individual souls. Last year, for example, two pastors from Long Beach played instrumental roles in defusing a deadly conflict between rival Latino and Asian gangs.

Some law enforcement authorities question whether gang members can be rehabilitated after years of violent activity. But others say the churches offer a vital message of hope for young men and women who see only dead-ends in their lives.

*

“The churches touch individuals in a deep way,” said George Nelson, a state parole agent. He regularly refers clients to church-run homes in Whittier, Norwalk and other Southeast cities.

“They provide a one-to-one relationship that you will never get in an institutional setting,” he said. “They’re an excellent resource for the community.”

Ministers concede that many gang members aren’t interested in trading their guns for Bibles. On the streets, gang members often refuse offers of help and occasionally greet their religious visitors with hostility.

“Some days, people spit on us,” said Albert Rodriguez, a Victory Outreach home director who leads church members on nightly sojourns into gang-infested neighborhoods in Long Beach.

Some religious leaders say they have learned to expect danger.

The Rev. Granderson Wright of the Youth Action for Christ Ministry in North Long Beach says gang members have threatened him and his ministers with guns. On one occasion, Wright said, a gang member punched him in the face.

But the experiences have strengthened his ministry’s resolve.

“We are willing to die for Christ,” said Wright, who leads his parishioners in a fleet of church vans to preach the gospel every week at trouble spots in Long Beach and other cities. “We are not saying that fear doesn’t come up for us. But we will stand.”

Local church leaders say they understand the troubles faced by gang members. Many of these religious leaders grew up around gangs and know firsthand about life on the streets. Some have committed violent crimes. Others have seen friends and relatives gunned down.

They speak openly about their pasts--and their conversions to law-abiding lives--in hopes of serving as role models.

“Most of the homeboys I used to hang around with are dead, in prison or are winos on the streets,” said the Rev. Armando Gonzalez of the Apostolic Church in Long Beach. He shows visitors a photo album with pictures of gang members who have been killed.

“These gangs aren’t gonna take you nowhere,” he said. “I’ve been there.”

*

Gonzalez, 38, grew up in Long Beach, partying with his fellow gang members, smoking marijuana and using heroin. He spent time in jail for assault, drug possession and other crimes.

At 19, Gonzalez finally decided to change his ways after his best friend was killed in a drive-by shooting. He enrolled in a trade school and studied welding. He got a job as a doorman at a hotel and turned to the Bible, which he read on weekend nights when his friends were partying down the block.

“I wanted to occupy myself as much as I could so I wouldn’t be thinking of the streets and drugs,” Gonzalez recalled. “The temptation was always there.”

Gonzalez said he decided to become a minister because he felt a need to serve other young people whose lives were in trouble. “I felt a calling from God,” he said. “I was following what the Lord was telling me.” He also works as a gang-prevention counselor for the city.

Gonzalez’s story inspired Martin Escobar, who said he recently stopped gangbanging. Escobar said he feared that he or one of his family members would get shot if he continued to run with gangs. As part of his effort to break with his old ways, Escobar recently removed graffiti that he had sprayed on a building and apologized to the property owner.

“I saw how God changed Armando. I am following his footsteps,” said Martin, 17. “He talks sense. He has a way to make people change their ways.

“All the gang members respect him because he’s been through what we’ve been through,” Martin added. “He has gangbanged and he’s a pastor now. Everyone knows he gives good advice.”

*

Last year, Gonzalez and Esposito, the minister at the Cambodian Baptist Church, worked to bring warring Asian and Latino gangs together in Long Beach.

The pastors visited parks and street corners in the city and persuaded leaders from the two sides to attend a meeting at Esposito’s church on Anaheim Street. The encounter, gang leaders said, led to a handful of other meetings and helped diffuse a decade-old conflict that had claimed nearly 40 lives and injured hundreds of others.

“I didn’t think they were going to come, [but] they said, ‘You’re a man of God; we’re gonna trust you,’ ” Esposito recalled. “I said to them, ‘If I can do anything to stop bloodshed in the city, maybe we should try it.’ ”

Gang leaders said they agreed to attend the meeting because it was arranged by the pastors and held inside a church.

“Church is always neutral ground,” said a 23-year-old gang member who attended the first meeting. “No matter what religion you are, you have respect inside that church. That’s God’s house.”

Many gang members praise the churches for offering help without judging them.

Dena Franco says Victory Outreach is the only program that ever made a difference in her life.

She spent most of the last 12 years in and out of prison, always trying--unsuccessfully--to kick a drug habit. She tried drug treatment programs but they never worked. In the process, she lost custody of her seven children to the county.

She says Victory Outreach succeeded where other programs failed because of the acceptance she encountered.

“There’s a lot of love here. No one sticks their nose up at you,” said Franco, 33, a former gang member who lives in a Victory Outreach women’s home in Paramount. “They talk to us like we’re human beings. We’re acceptable if we have tattoos.”

Franco has been living at the women’s home for about two months. She says she has stopped using drugs and is working to regain custody of her children. She spends her weeknights on the streets in a new role: helping to encourage prostitutes, gang members and others to enter the home.

“If somebody would have told me about God when I was gangbanging, it would have changed a lot of years of my life,” Franco said. “My homeboys and homegirls look up to me now because I got backbone. A lot of them see I escaped that life.”

*

Franco and other ex-gang members say prayer and discipline are the keys to true change.

At Victory Outreach homes, gang members observe strict daily routines: rising at 5 a.m., praying three times a day--a total of 2 1/2 hours--and spending hours more in Bible study. Residents forgo contact with family and friends during their first month. They also are prohibited from working, instead relying on public assistance to pay about $50 a week for their lodging. Those who refuse to follow the rules lose afternoon free time or are kicked out. Residents generally stay nine months to a year.

“We build a strong foundation,” said Richard Gonzales, director of a Victory Outreach men’s home in Long Beach. “We offer [residents] the opportunity to make a complete change in their lives. The transformation is awesome.”

The transformation also is gradual.

Some gang members drop out--or are kicked out--and return to their old ways.

Jesse Martinez arrived at a Victory Outreach home earlier this year in hopes of ending a drug habit and becoming a responsible father to his two children. He followed the routine for about three weeks but soon grew tired of the rules. He refused to listen and eventually got into an argument with one of the counselors.

“I was so stubborn and didn’t want to submit,” said Martinez, 26, who is on parole. “I had so much pride.”

*

Victory Outreach kicked Martinez out. A few weeks later, at his wife’s urging, he returned. “Victory Outreach was my last option,” Martinez said. “I was a no-good dirty dope fiend, but now God is working in my life. Without Victory Outreach, I’d probably be out there selling drugs or on my way to prison.”

Martinez has been living at the Victory Outreach home for about two months. He said he plans to remain.

Sociologists say the churches offer structure and a family atmosphere that can replace the support that people find in gangs.

“[Churches] provide an identity for the individual,” said Malcolm Klein, a USC sociologist who specializes in criminology. “Religion becomes a true substitute for an immersion in drugs.”

But some police investigators question whether churches can change gang members who care nothing for religion.

“When you become a gang member, you forsake your family, your church and everything else,” said Detective Norm Sorenson of the Long Beach Police Department’s gang unit. “Once you’re heavily committed, it’s hard to get out.”

*

Ministers say they recognize that many gang members don’t want to change. But the preachers say their parish doors always remain open to those searching for a new way.

Esposito’s Cambodian parish has become a haven for Asian gang members. Many show up regularly to play basketball with Esposito in the parking lot where hoops have been installed. Some come looking for a new start.

In the 6 1/2 years he has been running his ministry, the 34-year-old Esposito has taken about a dozen gang members into his own home and found lodging for numerous others.

“We don’t condone gang activities--drive-by shootings or anything that’s criminal,” said Esposito, an energetic man who listens patiently to gang members when they arrive at the church. “But we still love gang members and I say it publicly, letting them know that Jesus still has his arms open.”

Families frequently bring their children to the church to help get them out of gangs. Esposito enrolls some in the church’s school, which has about 90 students in kindergarten through 12th grade. He arranges for others--at the family’s expense--to attend parochial schools run by colleagues in Indiana, Louisiana and other states.

“These are kids who really need to get out of the streets,” he said.

In all, the church has sent about 50 young people--including several gang members--away to school. Esposito proudly points to a collage of pictures in a church hallway showing all who have gone away to school.

One 15-year-old who recently returned from a nine-month stint in Louisiana said the experience opened his eyes.

“Being a gangster, the only way you end up is dead,” said the teen-ager, who still bears the name of his gang tattooed on his arm. He attends the church day school, teaches Bible class on Sundays and answers all questions politely, “Yes, Sir,” “No, Sir.”

“If I go to my old friends, they gonna drag me down and that’s not what I want,” he said. “God’s telling me, ‘Don’t do it.’ ”