Doing Time at Home

Sixteen-year-old Brandon had been looking forward for weeks to going on a three-day camping and jet-skiing trip at Lake Lopez with his friends and his dad.

But his probation officer, when asked for permission, said no. Brandon, he said, still didn’t have a part-time job.

Brandon slumped into a chair and put his head on the kitchen table. “He doesn’t let me do nothing.”

“You’re still under arrest, and you need to realize that,” his mother, Tammy, told him. “You’re forgetting that you committed a crime. And paying the price for a crime is never fun.”

In December, Brandon--whose surname was withheld because he is a juvenile--was sentenced to four months in the Colston Youth Center for a felony assault. But he was only locked up for half that time. Since March, he has been serving his sentence at home. Around his ankle, he wears a radio transmitter, which serves as a 24-hour leash. He can leave the house only to go to school or counseling. Though he can have some friends visit, he can’t hang out with gang members.

House arrest, or the “community confinement program,” was initiated in Ventura County four years ago to ease overcrowding in its juvenile detention centers. Restricting youth offenders like Brandon to their homes eases the transition into the community and helps parents gain control, officials say. But they also admit that adolescents can escape their bonds and thus present a risk to the community.

This program is part of an imperfect juvenile justice system that struggles to function with limited resources, said Superior Court Judge Steven Z. Perren, who supervises Juvenile Court.

“We have to keep these kids controlled somehow, and because of limited space we send them home,” he said.

But that may change. Earlier this month, a state Board of Corrections committee recommended that Ventura County receive $40.5 million to build a new juvenile detention center, which would house 247 youths. Perren said when sufficient space is available in locked facilities, he expects the number of youth offenders on home supervision to decline.

Family Support Helps

More than 40 youths are under house arrest throughout the county. About 25 of them are spending the last 60 days of their four- to six-month sentences at Colston under home supervision. A dozen more committed minor crimes and are awaiting trial. And a few were sent home from juvenile hall early. Their offenses range from burglary and vandalism to battery and drug possession.

Deputy Dist. Atty. Miles Weiss, who supervises the juvenile unit, said community confinement serves its place for one group of juveniles--first-time offenders who have strong family support--but the county uses it too often.

“I think we’ve abused it,” Weiss said. “We’ve got kids who have committed felonies, are repeat offenders or have violated probation, and those kids need to be locked up.”

But Weiss agrees that the program does help integrate some youth offenders back into the community. Most of the teens are required to attend school and receive counseling services, and some hold part-time jobs and participate in extracurricular activities. Occasionally, they can go to church or family gatherings, if approved 24 hours ahead of time by their probation officer.

“Before, they would get out [of juvenile hall] and get hooked into the same peer group that they were hanging out with before and get in trouble,” said Deputy Probation Officer Chris Jiron, who works with Brandon and about 30 other teen offenders. “But now they are held accountable immediately.”

When a teen tampers with the ankle monitor or leaves the house without permission, community confinement officers in Ventura County are notified within five minutes and usually pick up the offender and take him back to juvenile hall within hours. If a youth offender goes AWOL, which happens about twice a month, Supervising Deputy Probation Officer Evan Petrotti issues a “wanted” flier to local police departments.

Vic Dominguez, a vice president at Sentencing Alternatives--which contracts with Ventura County to provide the electronic monitoring--said house arrest is most successful in deterring crime when a law enforcement agency specifies rules and follows through on consequences. The company works with 15,000 offenders--one-third of whom are juveniles--in 25 states.

“The application of technology in and of itself is not the answer,” Dominguez said. “There has to be some form of supervision, counseling and treatment.”

In addition to deterring crime and transitioning youths back into the community, some say the electronic monitoring program also trains the juvenile offenders to make good decisions.

When Brandon, a muscular teen with a shaved head, was first placed under house arrest, he struggled to make those right choices. He had to stay away from marijuana, which he had smoked for six years. He couldn’t hang out with many of his old friends, whom he called his crew. And he couldn’t go tagging at “Hobo Jungle,” where he had often spray-painted his moniker.

About a week into the program, Brandon lost it. He wasn’t in school yet, so he spent most days channel surfing, playing with his dogs and sleeping. “It had been seven days of sitting at home, and I couldn’t take it,” he said. So he cut off his ankle monitor, went to a friend’s house and smoked pot.

System Is Not Foolproof

“They’re trying to help me turn my life around, but I don’t think housearrest is doing it because I’m so bored it tempts me,” Brandon said.

Less than an hour after he returned home, probation officers arrived at his house to attach a new monitor. By that time, Brandon had rigged the original with colorful copper wires and electrical tape. He was taken to juvenile hall for three days.

The county does not keep records on how many offenders break the rules and are returned to juvenile hall. But Petrotti, who runs the community confinement program, said it is not foolproof. “You’ve got machines and humans, all of whom are subject to lapses,” he said. “We can’t be everywhere.”

Since his stunt, Brandon said he’s been doing what he’s supposed to do--most of the time.

One day during spring break from Gateway Community School, Brandon rolled out of bed at a few minutes before 10 a.m. for a permitted walk with his pit bull, Duke. He grabbed a plastic bag, attached a leash and headed to the River Bottom, or “Hobo Jungle.” There, he stomped through mud, kicked aside empty spray paint cans and stepped over crumpled blue jeans and a torn mattress.

When he reached the tagging yard, he scanned the names and drawings scrawled in fluorescent paint. Every time he goes there, Brandon wishes he could be free, wishes he could add his name one more time. “I just want to throw it up one more time, ‘cause I haven’t done it in so long,” he said.

After returning home, Brandon met with his counselor, Jay Pederson. They talked of his disappointment over the camping trip and they brainstormed ideas for part-time jobs. As Pederson was leaving, two corrections services officers made an unannounced visit.

They tested for drugs, and Brandon was clean. Then they tore his room apart. They looked for tools, weapons, gang paraphernalia, drugs, racist or pornographic materials, or graffiti drawings. They shook the mattress, flipped through books, reached into jacket pockets, lifted speakers and looked behind vents.

Items Are Confiscated

Corrections services officer Rachael Lara handed Brandon’s mother several items to put in the garage, including markers, colored pencils, graffiti drawings and tools.

“You can’t have any markers,” Lara said. “We’ve talked about this, and you still haven’t cleaned them out. We’re gonna have to write that up.”

Brandon, who sat on the bed during the search, said it made him feel violated.

“It kinda sucks, ‘cause I have no privacy,” he said. “But then again, it’s better then being locked up.”

Tammy, his mother, said the program invades her privacy too. She has to go with him to his counseling and doctor’s appointments and make sure he does not have gang members over, drink or do drugs. And because she has to spend the better part of every day at home with him, she hasn’t been able to work.

“This is really torture for the parents,” she said. “It’s like jail. I mean, it’s like, can’t you go out and play?”

Though Tammy said the responsibilities are burdensome, she feels like she and her son are getting to know each other better. Before, he was always out running around with his friends and skateboarding. Now, he is almost always at home. He and his mom often watch “The Jerry Springer Show” or cook meals together. They are planning to join a gym.

“Me and Brandon are trying to work things out in the family, and with the therapy, it’s been good,” Tammy said.

One benefit is that the program gives parents leverage over their children. A parent can call probation if a child is causing problems at home or isn’t obeying directions.

But not every parent is as willing as Tammy. Some lie about their children’s behavior to prevent them from being locked up. Others simply are too busy with work or other children to supervise their kids closely.

That limited supervision can lead to abuses of the program. Recently, one boy was returned to juvenile hall after leaving home without approval for 45 minutes. Another offender tested positive for morphine. And a third youth cut off her transmitter.

“There is definitely a risk level,” Petrotti said. “We wish we could look into a crystal ball to see how these kids are going to behave. But we can’t.”

Brandon is expected to be released from house arrest today. He has landed a part-time job and plans to continue going to school. “And I’m not gonna be doing drugs anymore,” he said.

“But I’m not gonna be some perfect citizen like they’re trying to mold me to be.”