Vocational School Gets Job Done : Education: East L.A. Skills Center is a model on how to train people. But state Senate bill would mean fewer adult students could attend.

They call Sandra Gudino the “Cable Warrior”--just 17, she can scamper up telephone poles and repair crossed wires like a pro. Though she dropped out of high school in ninth grade, her teachers predict she will land a job soon, at $9 an hour or better.

They have every reason to be confident.

At the East Los Angeles Skills Center, where Gudino trains for a career as a cable technician, more than three-quarters of the students find work within months of graduating.

Tough young gangbangers, unskilled welfare mothers, laid-off aerospace workers--1,500 students a year hustle through the center’s vocational classes.

Some hitch a ride from homeless shelters. Others report from Juvenile Court. Spiky-haired teen-agers work alongside senior citizens as they learn to repair telephones, drive forklifts, transcribe medical documents and more.

“I call this place a last resort,” guidance counselor Mary-Margaret Franco said.

Lately, however, the 29-year-old skills center has become much more than a last-chance training ground for the down and out. It’s become an educational model.

Fed up with dismal test scores and illiterate diploma-holders, state and federal education officials have started pushing schools to better prepare students for the real world. Memorizing formulas does no good, they say, unless a student can use geometry to program a computerized cutting machine or spelling to prepare a flawless nursing report.

At the same time, welfare reformers have nudged more adults into job-training courses. And politicians are seeking ways to retrain those who have lost their jobs because of the economic downturn.

The new national agenda, it seems, meshes neatly with the center’s goals.

“[Reformers] are talking about the need to better connect students with jobs and to find jobs for welfare recipients,” said Gabriel Cortina, president of the Industry-Education Council of California. “Our experience [at the skills center] shows us that these concepts are real, and that they work.”

Despite the center’s success, a bill now before the state Senate would force the facility to turn away some of its most motivated students.

The legislation would require public vocational schools to devote 75% of their resources to teen-agers. Only one-quarter of the students at the East L.A. Skills Center are teen-agers, so administrators would have to drastically curtail adult admissions.

“My biggest concern is for the community of East Los Angeles,” Principal Pete Fernandez said. “This could deny a lot of people opportunities.”

Looking up from a drill bit in the center’s machine shop, 62-year-old Sylvester Gutierrez agreed: “Without this place, I probably would be unemployed forever.” Laid off after 25 years as a supervisor in the aerospace industry, Gutierrez is studying to be a machinist.

Adults could turn to private vocational schools. But they charge thousands of dollars. At the skills center, one of a dozen vocational schools run by the Los Angeles Unified School District, students pay $5 to $55 for courses that could last up to a year. Taxpayers subsidize the balance--at an average cost of $2,300 per student.

Some critics believe that money would be better spent on youths.

Sparse state education dollars, they say, should not support training for a middle-aged grocery store clerk seeking better wages as a mechanic, or for a semiliterate housewife struggling to land her first job. Instead, they argue, the funds should bolster the younger generation, preparing them for careers that will serve them for a lifetime.

“In our high schools, we have not put enough emphasis on preparing kids for work,” said Rona Hallabrin, a consultant for Sen. Patrick Johnston (D-Stockton), who is pushing the vocational reform bill. “[Skills centers] may do a very good job with training adults, but this is supposed to be a program for youth.”

Nearly 400 teen-agers attend the East L.A. Skills Center. Some zip over from nearby Lincoln High for daily vocational training. Others are high school dropouts who study basic math and reading in the morning, then join adults in hands-on classes in the auto repair garage or the computer room.

Explaining her motivation for working hard in the program, Gudino says: “I just got tired of being on the streets.”

So did William Conejo, 31, who went through a rough few months on unemployment until he discovered the center’s electronics program. Desperate for work, he signed up--and now, three years later, wears a service manager’s badge at Al & Ed’s Autosound in Whittier.

The school district’s adult education division runs its dozen vocational schools on an annual budget of $39.5 million from state funds. Each center offers specialty training: aviation mechanics in the San Fernando Valley, boat repair in Wilmington and baking, cosmetology and welding at schools scattered throughout the county.

Only the East Los Angeles Skills Center and the Metropolitan Skills Center in Downtown achieved high enough job placement rates--about 80%--to qualify for federal funds in the upcoming fiscal year, said Fernando Borja, a district adviser to vocational programs.

Like the other public schools, East L.A. attracts students with a flexible enrollment policy.

Teen-agers and adults alike can start the training when they want and can remain in a program until they find work. Business people help shape the curriculum to keep studies relevant to entry level jobs. And students spend as long as they need on each topic--moving on only after an instructor certifies competence.

“Conceptually, it’s no different from the old one-room schoolhouse,” said Paul Gussman, manager of the employment preparation unit of the California Department of Education. “There’s a lot of mentoring.”

Still, some students slip.

Police officers have interrupted classes on occasion to handcuff suspects in drive-by shootings. Promising graduates have blown job interviews by getting high in the parking lot.

And guidance counselor Franco has received letters from various prisons over the years, penned by former students. Often, she said, the convicts urge her to enroll their younger siblings in the center--and keep a close eye on them.

In fact, Franco monitors just about everybody in the school. Dubbed “Mom” for her loving but meddlesome ways, Franco roams the graffiti-free halls enforcing the school’s dress code: no gang attire, no sweat suits, no visible tattoos, no mini-skirts.

When she spots a teen-ager wearing a red football jacket--taboo because it could signify gang membership--she wags her finger in disapproval and stands guard while he turns the jacket inside-out.

And when one gum-snapping youth sasses her for wearing a short skirt to work, she razzes him right back.

About 250 gang members from rival groups study at the skills center, Franco said. But they rarely tussle--in part, teachers say, because of the adult role models working next to them in every classroom.

“It’s a marvelous blueprint,” said Donna Tuttle, chairwoman of the Los Angeles Private Industry Council, a group of business leaders appointed by the mayor. “I’d just love to take the concept and spread it.”

Fernandez also dreams of expanding his center--by setting up a multimedia program on the empty second floor. The principal hopes to one day train lighting technicians, key grips, makeup artists and other Hollywood workers. But with an equipment fund of just $100,000 (out of a $1.5-million annual budget), he must wait for private donations to fill the classroom with training tools.

In the meantime, he struggles to find money--or benefactors--to update existing programs.

As critics of public vocational programs point out--and Fernandez readily admits--school districts rarely have the money to buy state-of-the-art equipment.

“One of the competitive advantages private vocational centers have is their ability to adapt and change better than the Los Angeles Unified School District can,” said Michael Nielsen, director of the private Computer Learning Center.

To make up for their aging equipment, skills center teachers invite business leaders to share new technology with the classes--if only on loan.

Professionals such as Al Brotsky, president of Al & Ed’s Autosound, say the expense of keeping students sharp pays off, because graduates can then step easily into the workplace. Brotsky has hired at least a dozen skills center graduates, including some who have worked their way up to managers.

“I’d rather pay twice as much and get people who know what they’re doing. When we had to train them [on the job], we lost business,” he said.

Along with the hands-on skills, the school emphasizes proper business etiquette, enforcing strict attendance rules and demanding courtesy.

“We need to be as tough as the toughest employer out there,” Fernandez said. “Employers call and say, ‘I’ll hire some of your students at minimum wage,’ and we laugh at them. We expect more from our employers and we hope they expect more from our students.”

At first, these high expectations frightened Consuelo Molina, a 43-year-old mother of four who broke from an abusive relationship, sought refuge in a Salvation Army shelter and approached the school to seek help landing a job.

“The day I started school, I started crying because I was so afraid,” she recalled.

Molina stuck with it, however--first remedial English and math, then business classes and finally a typing program. She has just mailed a batch of job applications and is nervously awaiting an offer.

“I keep telling my friends, ‘You can do it, you can do it,’ ” she said.

Fernandez chokes up when he talks about students like Molina. Or graduates such as Robert Rivoli, an ex-drug addict who now teaches at the skills center.

“I’ve seen a lot of failures, so maybe that’s why I still feel so great when I see a success,” Fernandez said. “If this job didn’t bring tears to my eyes, I shouldn’t still be doing it.”