SHELTER ON STAGE

How can society heal the wounds and raise the aspirations of its poorest youngsters? A ballet studio may seem an improbable place for clues. A Times reporter and photographer spent hundreds of hours over the past nine months with a handful of dancers at the Saint Joseph Ballet. They observed their rehearsals, visited their homes and accompanied them to school, athletic competitions and social gatherings. The ballet offers not a panacea, The Times found, but a path toward hope.

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Marco Aguilera stands alone in a spotlight at the center of the dance studio. The harsh white light accentuates his slight build, making him look even younger than his 16 years. His taped voice plays over a speaker: hard truths in a soft, low tone. “If I wasn’t in ballet, I’m sure I would be right now in a gang,” says Marco’s recorded voice. The studio goes dark for a moment and the spotlight reappears on Maurisio Alconedo, only 13. “Most of them don’t live more than 21 years,” he says quietly on the tape. “Only the ones that quit live more. Like my cousin was only 19, and they shot him.” For Marco, Maurisio and more than 300 other youngsters, the studio spotlight marks the intersection of two worlds: the impoverished, often violent Orange County neighborhoods in which they live and the safe harbor of the Saint Joseph Ballet, where they retreat for a few hours almost every day.

In the donated studio above Santa Ana’s Fiesta Marketplace, they feel both safe and free. Here they lower the carefully constructed barriers that help them survive on the street and channel their feelings of fear and anger, love and hope into the music and movement of dance.

For 12 years, these children have been coming to the ballet, learning to dance and to cope--long before any should have to--with poverty, gangs, drugs, domestic violence, divorce and street crime.

“Look,” the ballet’s founder and artistic director, Beth Burns, tells them during an exhausting rehearsal, “every one of you probably knows seven people in trouble. Maybe five people who’ve been shot.

“You may not feel young sometimes, but you are. And there are so many reasons to be joyful. Get into the music!”

A dancer for more than five years, Marco was once too embarrassed to stay within the circle of light as he prepared for a role he will dance this week at Saint Joseph’s annual spring performance, a role based on his experiences on the streets of Santa Ana.

But now he stands still, gazing out into the darkness around him, clearly more comfortable with his own vulnerability. Though his mother worries about the gang-style clothing he favors and whether he has turned to drugs, it is only lately that Marco can say, sounding certain, that he no longer feels tempted to join the “cholos” who hang out near his family’s Santa Ana apartment.

“Some adults don’t understand what it’s like growing up around gangs,” he says.

“You feel, like, lonely sometimes. You think you’re going to have more friends [if you join a gang.] Now I know it’s not true. But when other people know, they can understand more. They need to know what it’s like for us.”

Every weekday afternoon, and for most of each Saturday, the ballet’s 4,000-square-foot space above the busy central marketplace is bustling and chaotic, alive with the sounds of teenage voices, laughter and music--all kinds of music, from African to Brazilian, classical to contemporary.

The hum surrounds Alicia Luna on a December afternoon. The concert is months in the future; rehearsals won’t begin for another week and the mood in the studio is relaxed, even festive. Christmas is two days away.

Alicia walks slowly toward the counter in the ballet’s front office. She asks program manager Perri Darweesh if she can look at the day’s newspaper.

The 14-year-old leans against the counter, then takes the paper to the girls’ dressing room. Her face clouds as she reads a front-page story: Another friend has been killed.

Joseph Pulido, 17, whose sister once danced with the ballet, is dead, shot in the back by Santa Ana police. They describe him as a gang member and say he pointed a stolen gun at officers as he ran from them after being stopped. The teen’s parents, who have filed a lawsuit, dispute the officers’ version, saying Pulido was unarmed.

Alicia, who joined a gang at the age of 11 but has left that life behind, carries the newspaper back to the counter and quietly asks Darweesh if she can keep the front section. “Is everything OK?” Darweesh asks.

Alicia, her expression stoic, just points to the article. “He was my friend,” she says simply.

The second she had lost to a violent death since May.

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There are any number of social programs that try to help kids learn the skills that can enable them to resist the dangers and temptations of their neighborhoods. Few are as successful as Saint Joseph, the only one in the county with dance as its focus.

It is one example of how to break the cycle of social problems experienced by troubled children, an alternative in a society increasingly focused on punishment instead of prevention.

Burns’ philosophy has never varied: The dance classes and performances help her students develop self-esteem, discipline and a sense of achievement, she says. These attributes make them stronger and more self-reliant, able to make better decisions when confronted with the ever-present call of the streets.

“Whether it’s on a daily basis here at the studio or when our young dancers have that shining moment on stage, I think the joy that they experience can make a practical difference in their lives,” Burns says. “It can give them the energy and the reason to not choose all those bad alternatives that constantly surround them.

“I judge [success] by what I see on their faces, by their choices, by the way they relate to themselves and each other.”

Even by more objective measures, Saint Joseph’s accomplishments are remarkable.

One graduate, Melissa Young, dances lead roles at the Dallas Black Dance Theater, returning to Santa Ana periodically to teach special classes at Saint Joseph. Sonia and Christiana Melendez, 15-year-old twin sisters, will spend this summer at the National Ballet School of Canada in Toronto in the hope of winning admission to a pre-professional ballet program. Flor de Liz Alzate, a 20-year-old Saint Joseph graduate, is enrolled at the North Carolina School of the Arts. The ballet pays a third of her tuition.

A study of 113 students in Saint Joseph’s 1993 class showed they boast an overall grade-point average of 3.0 and high levels of self-esteem, both well above similar groups of their peers.

The average Saint Joseph student comes from a family of five with a monthly income of $1,000, according to the study. Virtually all of them receive their lessons free. For 96% of the dancers, the $500 annual cost of classes, costumes, shoes and field trips is covered by scholarships provided by individual and corporate donors.

Since 1984, when the ballet was founded by Burns, a former Catholic nun blessed with an infectious enthusiasm, it has provided dance training to 1,485 children in year-round classes. More than 25,000 other Orange County children have participated in the ballet’s special workshops and community outreach programs, which offer a week of free dance classes to entice youngsters to join.

The students perform throughout the year, but the program culminates each spring with an elaborate series of concerts that is attended by thousands and requires five months of rehearsal. This year’s performances at the Irvine Barclay Theatre begin Wednesday and run through Saturday..

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In the months and weeks leading to the concert, the studio undergoes a transformation. The students spend much longer hours there, wearying themselves in practice as the excitement of the impending performance builds. Parent volunteers sew costumes and help answer a constantly ringing phone.

The four-person staff is more harried, attending to the dancers, answering volunteers’ questions and responding to Burns’ requests from the studio.

Teenagers, some in T-shirts and loose cotton pants, others in leotards and tights, hang out in the front office, waiting for their classes to begin. All kinds of music--from pop to classical--pour from the studio.

Inside, the teens practice their plies and pirouettes in beginning, advanced and intermediate classes. In later months, they will spend the majority of their time rehearsing the ballets they will perform.

Twice a year, Burns holds auditions for new members after a series of introductory dance workshops, called DanceFree Weeks, at 24 elementary and middle schools in Santa Ana and Orange. About 3,200 kids attend the workshops each year.

All children 9 and older are invited to try out for the year-round program. In October, 77 of 120 were accepted.

In auditions, Burns weighs each child’s desire to dance and need for the program more than inherent ability. “We’re looking for the ones who really want to be here and the ones we think we can help,” she says.

A few years ago, for instance, a would-be dancer showed up for her audition with freshly dyed, bright purple hair. Rather than turn her away, Burns immediately decided to accept her.

“I didn’t care how she danced,” Burns says. “I said, ‘I’m taking you. You need us.’ ” The girl remained a dancer for several years.

But not every story ends in success. Some youngsters start taking the classes but drop out quickly, deciding that leg cramps and sore backs are more than they bargained for. Others stay longer and make progress but then quit and, in some cases, drift into trouble.

Two students who have left the ballet are running with gang members again, though they have not been “jumped in” as full members of the gang, says Sara Kuljis, the ballet’s managing director. Several girls have become pregnant after quitting the ballet, including one who was back to visit this month with her infant.

“Sometimes it’s very hard to get into the mentality of the kids. It can be very hard to reach them, especially if they’re the kids who are most at risk,” Burns says. “It takes real repeated efforts to try to [counteract] the messages they receive everywhere else: from the streets, from their friends, in some cases from the home.”

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Home for Jose Luis Campos is Minnie Street, a section of Santa Ana that is one of Orange County’s most troubled. It was there, standing in front of his apartment, that the 14-year-old saw a man shot in the chest last month.

Casual violence always has been a part of Jose Luis’ world. His earliest memory is of standing at the window of his family’s second-floor apartment, watching a Fourth of July crowd shoot firecrackers in the street below.

But the mood at the celebration suddenly turned menacing. The 5-year-old boy shrank against one side of the window as the crowd split into hostile bands of Latinos and Asians. He watched one young man threaten another, thrusting a burning firecracker within inches of his face.

Seconds before he was pulled away, Jose Luis saw a man toss a whistling, smoking firecracker through the open window of a parked car, where it burst into flames.

Gunfire broke out almost nightly before the Police Department opened a substation four doors down last August, Jose Luis says, but now it is less common.

“The way it is around here, there are all these shootings,” he says. “Almost every night [in years past] you could hear gunshots. Now it’s not so many. Maybe one a week.”

Still, the family stays on Minnie Street because the rents are low, his mother says. Jose Luis’ father, Felipe Campos, has been unemployed for a year, since he was laid off from his job at a restaurant. His mother, Eloina, supports the family on her earnings as a seamstress.

Economic pressure is the norm for the ballet’s 338 students. Many parents work long hours, sometimes at two or three jobs, struggling to support their families. Some have little time to spend with their children.

The teens turn to each other to fill the void.

“You spend so much time, you get to know each other pretty well,” says Araceli Almaguer, 17, one of the ballet’s most senior members. “You want to be together, even when you’re not at ballet.”

They also learn to rely on the ballet staff.

“It’s, like, a loving place,” says Adriana Perez, 14. “If you make a mistake, they just tell you to work on it. You get back up and try it again.”

Adds 16-year-old Dulce Gomez: “It’s easier to talk to them sometimes than to my parents.”

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The Saint Joseph program involves much more than dancing. The ballet and sponsors in its “Adopt-a-Dancer” program send many of the students to summer camp in Idyllwild or the Sierra. Some of the camps specialize in the arts, including music and dance. Others are more generalized, featuring sports and other outdoor activities.

Burns and her three-member staff--Darweesh, Kuljis and Kuljis’ assistant, Monica Vasquez--also become intimately involved in the lives of many of the students, providing counseling on everything from college plans to birth control.

Darweesh ferries Marco and his sisters to the doctor, gives Ruri Alconedo driving lessons, drives students home from class and helps with their homework. Last year, she set up a reward system to battle Marco’s truancy; last month, she had a long talk with Ruri’s father about his son’s disrespectful attitude toward the teachers.

The ballet’s most ambitious adjunct effort began this year when it established an academic tutoring program in an adjacent building. With funding from ballet sponsors and tutors provided by UC Irvine, 13 students have received assistance since January in additional space donated by Saint Joseph’s landlords.

Araceli, a junior at Saddleback High School, says her grades have improved since she began working with tutor Vianey Acevedo. “She has made me so much more of a serious student,” she says. “I’m not afraid to ask her things that I think my teachers might laugh at.”

Even as Saint Joseph prepares for its major annual fund-raiser with the Barclay performances, the staff is looking to the future. Its current annual budget of $337,000 is expected to grow to about $380,000 next year, with a planned expansion of the tutoring program, Kuljis says.

About 50% of the ballet’s funding comes from individual donors, who gave contributions ranging from $10 to $40,000 last year. The rest of the money is equally split between foundations and corporations; the donor list includes prominent Orange County companies such as Disneyland, the Irvine Co. and Taco Bell.

Although the space the ballet has occupied since 1989 above the Fiesta Marketplace is rent-free, Burns and others say the program badly needs more classroom and studio space to serve more children.

They hope to locate a larger, more permanent facility in central Santa Ana by the end of the year.

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As the performance approaches, Araceli dreams of the moments she will spend on stage, helping to show five audiences of more than 700 each a different, more positive side of Santa Ana youth.

“In Santa Ana, there are a lot of good things that are happening,” she says. “It’s not only about drugs, gangs and people getting pregnant.” As she dances, Araceli says, she can show not only her own family but many other spectators just how much she has learned at the ballet.

Araceli loves the performances: the costumes, the music, the excitement, the applause. She has thought about quitting the ballet several times, particularly as tempers and patience grow short in the crunch of rehearsals. But each time, it is the thought of the performances that brings her back.

“When it comes down to it, it’s you up on that stage, in front of all those people,” Araceli says. “You feel so happy. The lights are on and it’s you out there. And it’s you they’re watching.”

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All three ballets to be performed this week were choreographed by Burns. Two, “Hope is the Ground” and “dreamChild,” are new this year; the third, “Talitha Koum,” was first presented at last year’s performances.

Set to African and 1950s American music, “Hope” is an uplifting piece, designed to showcase Saint Joseph’s youngest dancers. One scene is a special sequence for its 20 or so boys that gently mocks the macho poses they strike on the street.

“dreamChild,” this year’s major new work, revolves around a group of dreamers. Set to music by Lukas Foss, it involves a series of sequences, ending with the dreamers confronting and finally gaining control over their fears.

Its underlying message is also the mission of the Saint Joseph Ballet, Burns says: Each of us can take control over the direction we set in life.

“We can’t solve poverty here, or even take away the symptoms of poverty,” she says. “What we can do is try to develop and support all our dancers’ inner resources, which will help them to overcome their challenges.”

The third ballet, based closely on the lives of the dancers, also involves survival and overcoming difficult odds. Its name, “Talitha Koum,” which means “Little girl, get up,” in Aramaic, is taken from a biblical passage in which Jesus helps a child to walk again.

“Talitha Koum” is a multimedia presentation, including dance, words, original paintings and black and white photographs ballet members took of their families and neighborhoods.

Burns interviewed Alicia, Marco and many others, then incorporated their words--about the beauty of a positive spirit, the violent end of a gang-member cousin, the sadness of a grandmother’s death--into her choreography.

“The first year, I think they liked it but may have been a little embarrassed by it,” Burns says. “It made them feel vulnerable. But this year, there’s more of a pride: ‘This is about us. This is our community. This is who we are.’ ”

It is now late April, near the end of a long Saturday that has included rehearsals of scenes from all three ballets. Some dancers have been at the studio throughout the day, alternately rehearsing and waiting.

Inside the studio, Burns, wearing jeans, a faded black T-shirt and no makeup, her shoulder-length hair caught up in a ponytail, is working on the first scene of “Talitha Koum.”

The dancers run, then leap in diagonal rows across the studio, breaking their lines to avoid a half-full bucket in the middle of the polished wood floor. A leak that developed overnight has yet to be fixed.

Other dancers, waiting their turns, sit around the sides of the studio. Some, their faces weary, lie on their sides, resting their heads on one another’s knees, watching other dancers rehearse. A group of about 10 plays cards, sitting in a circle on the floor.

“We’re really getting close to the concert now. You’re going to get even more tired than you are now,” Burns says. “Take your Vitamin C, drink milk and get plenty of sleep--so you can come and get exhausted here.”

Most of all, she tells them, remember what this performance, along with those of other years, is all about.

“We’re trying to change people’s minds about Latino youth. They think of kids in Santa Ana, and they’re thinking about gangs and all that stuff,” she reminds them. “I’m sorry, but we have an agenda here.”

Times correspondent Jeff Kass contributed to this story.

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The Saint Joseph Ballet

* Founded: January 1984 by Beth Burns

* 1995-1996 budget: $337,000

* Dancers in current year-round program: 338

* Participants in year-round programs, 1984 to 1996: 1,485

* Participants in classes, workshops and outreach programs since 1984: More than 25,000

* Grade-point average of 113 representative dancers in 1993 survey: 3.0

* Information: (714) 541-8314

Source: Saint Joseph Ballet; Researched by REBECCA TROUNSON / Los Angeles Times