Boot Camp Gives Troubled Youths a Sense of Discipline

Under the blazing sun, kids wearing fatigues stagger into an empty dirt lot, gasping for air after a punishing run in the hills.

They would rather be doing cannonballs into a pool, shopping at the mall or catching a Dodgers game. Yet here they are--reluctantly--wanting a drink of water and a break. Sweating profusely and hunched over, 10-year-old Damien has only one thought:

“I hate this.”

While his friends were soaking in the last days of summer, Damien and 20 or so other youths began a rigorous, 16-week boot camp called VIDA, run by the Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department. The letters stand for Vital Intervention Directional Alternatives, but the acronym has a meaning of its own--it is Spanish for “life.”

The youths, ages 10 to 17, are here because they have gotten into some sort of trouble, from problems at home to criminal violations such as shoplifting or grand theft. They are referred to the program by a judge, a school official or, in some cases, their own parents.

Damien didn’t divulge why he was at the boot camp except to say he was “disrespecting my parents.” When asked about his placement in the program, his eyes shift and his head dips.

“My parents told me to do something and I didn’t listen,” he said. “I’ve done stuff they didn’t approve of and now I’m here. I’m not happy about this either.”

Every Saturday for the next 3 1/2 months, plus an additional four hours during the week, the new cadets will be challenged mentally and physically. Their 10-hour day is divided into several parts. The early morning is devoted to physical fitness. No matter their shape, size or age, all the youths are required to complete the workout, which includes a two-mile jog, lifting heavy logs and plenty of push-ups.

Nurturing the Body and Mind

As the youngest, Damien struggles to keep up with the group. But as the weeks go by, the boy’s endurance builds under the watchful eye of military instructors who handle the conditioning.

Later in the day, the group heads to the nearby classrooms of Passport Academy on Redview Drive near Soledad Canyon Road, a public school that helps students catch up on missed credits. The youths listen to adults lecture about morals and goals--aspects that may be lacking in their lives.

A hint of Damien’s behavior springs forth when he thinks no one is watching. He makes faces at a couple of the girls and pulls down his pants on the way to the bathroom, the only place the youths aren’t monitored.

Class resumes and volunteer teachers tutor the cadets in English and math. Community service projects round out the day’s schedule and the youths are allowed to go home about 5 p.m.

Damien contemplates possible failure, given the harsh conditions.

“I hope I will do well here because I don’t want to get recycled.”

He has been in the program only two weeks and he already knows the lingo. Getting “recycled” means returning to the program and suffering through another 16 weeks.

His platoon leader, 16-year-old Amanda, has been recycled, but much to the surprise of her teachers, she came back of her own accord.

Amanda was a member of the first VIDA class in Santa Clarita earlier this year, but she didn’t graduate. She was referred to the program because her life was spiraling out of control, she said.

Before school one day in January, Amanda and a friend guzzled vodka. She wound up in the hospital, getting her stomach pumped for alcohol poisoning. The experience was enough to steer her in a different direction.

She enrolled in the program, but called in sick the first day.

“I finally got down there and it was horrible,” she said. “They were yelling at me and making us work hard. I hated everybody.”

But Amanda stuck with the program and the instructors started noticing a change about the fourth or fifth week. That’s usually when youths realize that fighting authority is fruitless and begin embracing the program, said Deputy Donna Elliott, who coordinates the VIDA program in the Santa Clarita Valley.

A Change for the Better

Amanda began excelling at school and became a leader. But two weeks before she was set to graduate from the program, she called Elliott, falsely claiming she had had a relapse with marijuana.

“I wasn’t ready to leave the program yet, so I lied to her,” Amanda recalled. “I know if I had left at that point, I was going to do something bad again.”

Elliott and others have noticed the girl’s perseverance although they know that once she is gone, it will be up to Amanda and her parents to chart the right path.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” asks Deputy John Hudson, who witnessed Amanda’s transformation. “Not everyone makes it. The program works well for the kids who really want the help.”

Amanda is confident she won’t slip. As she speaks about her future outside the classroom, she turns around and points to a boy sitting in the back of a sheriff’s squad car. The teen used to be one of her friends. He is going back to Juvenile Hall because he physically threatened one of the female teachers and no longer wanted to be part of the program.

“This program works if you let it,” Amanda said. “I figure you have to get your life together while you are still young.”

The Sheriff’s Department started VIDA three years ago in East Los Angeles. Although statistics show that juvenile crime has dropped steadily nationwide during the past few years, youth violence has become more brazen and is occurring at younger ages, according to law enforcement officials. Branded a success by Sheriff Lee Baca, VIDA is the latest in an arsenal of projects to combat youth crime.

So far, sheriff’s officials believe the program is working, but say they don’t yet have enough statistical evidence to prove the point, said Sheriff’s Sgt. Arlene Berne, who helps run VIDA.

Baca mandated the program at a dozen of the department’s stations this year. More than 650 youths have graduated from the program since its inception, including 23 teens who will graduate in the Palmdale area today.

For some of the youths, the program is a last attempt at salvation, before they are lost in the labyrinth of the criminal justice system.

“The common denominator with all of these kids is behavior problems,” Elliott said. “They are self-centered and thinking only about themselves. We give them the skills that won’t just get them through their teenage years, but through their entire life, so they can become successful.”

Not all of the activity occurs at the boot camp. There are field trips to places such as the county morgue in Antelope Valley, where youths may see the body of a gunshot victim.

Investing in the Future

The cadets return twice during the week. In order to survive the physical regimen, they must endure another two hours of grueling exercise every Tuesday. On Thursdays, they return with their parents and meet with a counselor to talk about problems at home. The sessions are not only beneficial for the youths, but for their parents as well, who learn more about their children’s behavior.

“A lot of parents don’t know how to handle their kids,” Elliott said. “Every parent who has enrolled their kid into the program is tired. They’ve tried already, but their kids don’t show any respect. It’s a lack of discipline in the home environment.”

Many of the youths don’t see the program’s value during the first few weeks. They have a tough outer shell and brag to friends they won’t be broken. But looking back, 14-year-old Colleen said ditching the bad attitude was vitally important for her.

“I have a lot of confidence and respect for others,” said Colleen, who graduated last month. She admits the terrible temper that landed her in the program hasn’t entirely disappeared, but she is better equipped to handle it now. “These are the things I can carry with me the rest of my life.”

No one is more proud of the group than Elliott, who acts like a mother bear watching over her cubs. At first, the youths call her names behind her back, but toward the end, some have called her a best friend.

She remembers one 16-year-old girl who asked her once, “Why do you care about me?” Elliott didn’t hesitate to answer.

“I told her she is my future,” said Elliott, who has two children of her own. “She could be a nurse someday who cares for my children when they are sick. There isn’t one single bad kid in here. They just have made bad decisions.”