L.A. STORIES : The Sound of Success Rings Clear

Young politicians learn to tell people what they want to hear faster than you can say “political action committee.” That was clear recently as candidates baited potential voters with dubious rhetoric.

“Our ideas are that we should have better equipment on the playground,” said fifth-grade vice presidential candidate Cathy Le. “We should have what you guys want.”

Countered opponent Walter Guzman, also in Grade Five: “We will try to make our school fun by having new games and dress-up days.”

“I’m good at numbers,” offered Angelica Rios, candidate for treasurer, “especially when it comes to counting money and change.”

Yup. They learn fast at Moffett School in Lennox, which this month is celebrating its fifth anniversary and which was cited this year for being a California Distinguished School. It is a magical place, this. A place where student council candidates can and do give their speeches in English and Spanish, a place where the district superintendent--school namesake Kenneth L. Moffett--was named national superintendent of the year last year, a place that’s . . . underground.

Located east of Los Angeles International Airport and a paper airplane’s throw from the Century freeway, this K-5 school is buried in a man-made mound and topped by parked cars. It is also a prizewinning geometric slab of cement-gray walls and glass bricks surrounded by neatly trimmed grass and a six-foot, galvanized steel fence.

Moffett’s low entrance is shaded by triangles of cement trellis and surrounded by an amphitheater shaped by a wave of brick stairs. Two double doors have chrome handles shaped like the Chanel logo. Have we arrived at an underground nightclub? The welcome mat answers that one: “Learning Zone: Enter With Pride.”

Moffett began with a bang. The last house on the school-to-be’s property was put to rest in a burst of explosion as filmmakers shot a scene for “Lethal Weapon 2.” And the people here know Moffett has a special history. There is a sense that the place is blessed. Even among the kids.

“It’s better than other schools,” says fifth-grader Jose Vaca, 10. “We have a cleaner school and everything.”

“We get a good education and nice teachers,” adds Patty Murillo, also 10.

“It’s earthquake proof,” interrupts Jose.

“It’s underground!” says Humberto Rivera, 10.

The design--drawn up by Ralph Allen & Partners of Santa Ana--was meant to buffer the school from the sound of screaming planes that jet overhead an average of once every six seconds. In 1991, a year after it was built, the school received an award from the National School Boards Assn. and the American Institute of Architects.

With a widely known reputation for bilingual education, computer classes and innovative teaching, Moffett helps to level the playing field for children who come from the low-income, almost exclusively Latino community that lies in little more than a square mile of unincorporated Los Angeles County. And parents know it.

“My little one is doing good,” says parent and school neighbor Genadio Nun~ez, 42. “He knows all the colors and letters of the alphabet in both languages, and he’s only in kindergarten. He’s only been in school for two months.”

Although open enrollment (in which parents can choose which schools their children attend) can go on for months at other Lennox schools, Moffett usually reaches its capacity by Day Three. The school has added three bungalows and is looking at adding three more. This year it reached a record enrollment of 1,115.

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Principal Brian Johnson, in charge since the groundbreaking, is a big, handsome guy from Oxnard who speaks in the mellow tongue of a beach bum. He consulted with the architects, and as the school came to be, “We knew that this was going to be a showcase,” he says. Although he’s done it countless times for countless teachers, politicians and superintendents, he’s always psyched to show a visitor around.

Because it was funded with money provided by Caltrans (the old school was razed to make way for the Century freeway), Moffett has a few extras that many other schools don’t. Like the play pit in the kindergarten classroom. Or the cobalt blue tile in the library. Or the “tack-able” siding that makes almost every inch of the classroom wall potential bulletin board.

It cost $10.5 million to build, almost three times what most elementary schools cost. But in the long run, Johnson says, it saves money because it is designed well. It is insulated by the earth, secure in its scarcity of outside doors and windows, and buffered by its graffiti-resistant walls. It also uses less land than most schools (9.5 acres), but because it has rooftop parking and a consolidated, 55,000-square-foot block of a building, it has more playground space.

Outside it’s playtime as three boys wrestle in the grass--not yellow city grass but big, wide green blades. Soon all three are hugging the ground in a pile of exhaustion. Around them are tag, soccer, dodge ball and all manner of childhood mayhem. Seven kids take it upon themselves to tackle a teacher’s aide, and he struggles like King Kong to stay standing. The sound of fun is deafening.

The surrounding neighborhood of bright pink, yellow and white boxy houses--almost all lined with burglar bars--smiles on the schoolyard. Carts ring in the distance with the promise of ice cream paletas. This tight community of 23,000 is far from the first-class seats that jet overhead at 500 m.p.h.

Ironically, on this school election day, real world politics threaten to shake the foundation of the subterranean school. A backlash against funding for bilingual education would mean certain chaos for the school, which uses such instruction as its primary method of teaching. Nine out of 10 children entering kindergarten at Moffett speak Spanish only.

Then there’s Proposition 187--the California initiative that would deny public schooling to illegal immigrants and their children. Johnson says if the courts uphold Prop. 187, “We would lose one-third to one-half of our students.

“We’re sitting here,” he says, “holding our breath.”

At the end of the school day, Johnson mans an exit gate, popping off high fives to each and every little toothless wonder that walks by. “It’s nice to see them walking out of here smiling,” he says.

“That’s always a good sign.”