Locked Into Learning

Teaching in an environment many of his peers might dread, Michael Stacy has found what all teachers dream of: a captive audience.

Stacy’s students are inmates at Ventura’s only youth lock-down facility, where he teaches social studies, general science, computers, health and job skills.

The 38-year-old teacher is one of four at juvenile hall facing challenges that would test most educators. His students are burglars, gang members, rapists and runaways.

All three of the juvenile facilities in Ventura County, as well as the tri-county boot camp in Santa Barbara County, are required to provide inmates with an education. Inside Ventura’s juvenile hall, formally known as Clifton Tatum Center, is the McBride School, where there are 10 teachers, two of whom lead special-education classes. Four teachers have classrooms, while the others conduct class in communal areas inside the units.

Recruiting teachers for youth facilities is no more difficult than at regular schools, and there is surprisingly little turnover, said Kristine Robertson, McBride School principal. One teacher has been at McBride for 25 years; others have been there from three to 14 years.

Besides being good educators, teachers who work in detention facilities should also have experience working with at-risk youths, Robertson said.

In Stacy’s classes, which include youths from ages 9 to 18, there are students of every academic level. Some are extremely bright, but many stopped going to school long ago.

Stacy chose to describe the classroom experience as “very dynamic,” a term that reflects the relentless optimism that permeates both his classroom and his interaction with students.

Perhaps most difficult of all, Stacy has a transient population. He gains and loses students every day as they cycle in and out of juvenile hall. Some students stay for months, others stay only a few days.

He must draw up lessons to suit them all.

Beyond Limitations, Some Advantages

Despite the limitations and the drawbacks, there are no special exceptions under California law for teachers working at schools in juvenile facilities. Stacy is expected to keep his students at grade level, even though many can barely read or do basic math.

But Stacy forges on, unfazed.

He points out he has some advantages over teachers at typical schools:

His students have perfect attendance. They are on time, sober, and they are not allowed to socialize.

He says his influence may be even more important than that of teachers at ordinary schools. The time many young inmates spend in juvenile hall may be the only positive influence they get in their lives, he said.

“At least they are not getting screamed at, beaten, or going home to an empty refrigerator,” he said. And for a few hours a week in his class they encounter an adult who is patient with them.

So, for the short time he has with them, Stacy says he tries to reach them any way he can.

He starts by creating a classroom designed to make them ask questions. In contrast to the grim starkness of the rest of the detention facility, his classroom is plastered with poems, science diagrams and inspirational sayings--in Spanish and English. His lessons are about far more than the subjects he teaches.

He goes out of his way to speak to all of his students with respect--but especially the girls, many of whom he knows have been sexually molested. He tolerates no cussing in his class and demands courtesy.

Sincere Effort Always Encouraged

Throughout his lessons he weaves in information of distant places. Above all, he tries to instill in them a desire to read.

During a lesson on the geography of North and South America he goes off on tangents to pique their interest.

When they make an attempt to participate, however feeble, he encourages them--as long as the effort is sincere.

“That’s OK if you don’t know the answer,” he tells a student, one of many who has not gone to school in years. “If you knew the answers, you would be the teacher.”

To those who hesitate to show what they know in front of their street-savvy peers, he is equally encouraging.

“Don’t be shy if you’re smart,” he coaxes one boy who knows that the body of water separating Asia and Alaska is the Bering Strait. “It’s OK to be smart.”

As he teaches, he peppers his sentences with unfamiliar words, encouraging his students to expand their vocabulary.

The exchanges with his students are sometimes sad, sometimes funny.

One girl sees a picture of Saddam Hussein on the wall. A relative is in the military and she says she doesn’t understand why the United States doesn’t just bomb Iraq.

Patiently, Stacy explains that politics is complicated.

“Does violence always solve the problem?” Stacy asks.

“Yes!” the students yell out, laughing.

“That’s why a lot of you are here,” he says, laughing with them.

Sitting outside after class, having let himself through three sets of locked doors, Stacy worries that perhaps he pushes too hard.

“They always ask, ‘Why do you expect so much of us?’ ” he said, shaking his head.

Refusal to Lower Standards

The son of a U.S. Army soldier and a Taiwanese woman, Stacy was born in Taiwan and grew up in San Diego. He says he never wanted to teach in court schools, but he began subbing in them and that’s where he stayed.

He said he knows his students come from tough backgrounds, but he refuses to compromise his standards, demanding courtesy, cleanliness and respect in his class.

Teachers at McBride often read the rap sheet on their students to get the skinny on their crimes, but Stacy intentionally avoids them. He said he is afraid such information might influence how he treats them.

As they stand in line to return to their living units after class, one boy says this is the first time he’s ever read books. Now, he said, he is reading all the time.

A 14-year-old girl from Santa Paula who says she rarely went to school because she was always drunk or high, says she likes Stacy because he treats the students with respect.

“If someone tries to put someone else down, he stops them,” she said. “He says, ‘That’s just not right.’

“He helps us with what we need to work on,” she said.

Another girl, who is in juvenile hall for burglary, says that Stacy, as well as some other teachers, are more interesting than those at Oxnard High School.

“He makes you laugh and stuff,” she said. “He makes learning interesting. Time flies by.”

Robertson, the principal, praises Stacy for his enthusiasm.

“He’s just right for what these kids need,” she said. “He listens to them and treats them with respect.”

Books Make Their Way to Cells

Stacy’s influence is visible beyond his classroom. Almost all the sleeping cells have a few books checked out of Stacy’s tiny classroom library of castoffs.

For Stacy that means a lot.

Because unlike teachers at conventional schools, Stacy rarely gets the chance to follow his students’ progress through the school year.

Sometimes, he says, he wishes he could see what he could do with more time. But then he catches himself.

“These are probably the students who wouldn’t even be in school,” he said.

Rarely do students visit once they leave.

“This is a period they want to forget,” he said.

But every once in a while he gets letters from former students, telling him what a difference he made in their lives, he said. That keeps him going.

As he talks outside during a lunch break, two young men sprint around the corner of juvenile hall whooping for joy. They are free at last. But as they run by, they wave to Stacy.

Smiling, he waves back, then walks back into the building.