Center Helps Bring Life to a Dead-End Street

Slauson Avenue slices hard through a Mar Vista neighborhood of low and sometimes sagging apartments before coming to an abrupt dead end. This is where a notorious gang once prowled, boozed and plotted revenge and practically held a whole neighborhood hostage.

The dead end seemed to imply that if you come from this stretch of Slauson, the street won’t let you go far.

“It was hard for people to imagine much beyond here,” said Tammi Peterson, who has raised two children in the neighborhood. The area, dubbed “Little Tijuana” by many residents, spreads around a small chunk of Slauson sandwiched between Culver City and Venice. Encompassing a housing project, it long had a reputation as a hotspot fought over by Latino and black gangs.

“Times have changed,” Peterson said. “Today, there’s actually a lot of hope.”

Much of the hope, say those who live here, comes from the work done at the Mar Vista Family Center, a small, two-building complex that sits at the dead end.

Just over two decades old, the center has steadily gained a powerful hold on this small patch of West Los Angeles.

Politicians credit its mix of educational programs and counseling with helping make broken families whole. Police herald it for helping calm what was once one of the city’s most troubled neighborhoods--crime is down nearly 40% in the last five years. Parents in the area say they feel better about their children’s future.

The center, meanwhile, has gained national notice. Over the last several years there has been recognition from the Children’s Defense Fund, a Washington, D.C.-based nonprofit group known for its advocacy work; a commendation from then-Vice President Al Gore; and a visit from then-first lady Hillary Clinton. “This is the village that we talk about, that I wrote about,” she said, while touring the grounds, in reference to her book, “It Takes a Village to Raise a Child.” Most recently, the center was given a $500,000 grant from the Baltimore-based Annie E. Casey Foundation. The money can be used however the center pleases. Part of it may go to boost an ongoing fund-raising effort aimed at adding another building, creating space for a cafe, library and senior center.

“There are few places in the county like Mar Vista,” said Kathleen Noonan, a Casey associate who travels coast-to-coast studying outstanding grass-roots programs. “They are literally transforming a neighborhood that was once ravaged. If we can duplicate what they have there, we’d solve a lot of problems.”

Noonan spelled out a number of reasons why she feels Mar Vista is so unusual.

As is implied by its name, the center embraces entire families. All told, an average of 500 residents take advantage of the nonprofit’s services each week. For teens, there’s a well-established tutorial plan and a school for dropouts. For parents bringing their kids to the thriving preschool, there are mandatory classes covering everything from child-rearing to stress management to creating healthy marriages.

When they feel ready, parents can take classes in child development provided by UCLA, whose teachers come to Mar Vista. Scores of once poorly educated parents have ended up taking the UCLA classes. Many have earned enough credits to get jobs as assistant teachers in local schools.

Perhaps most distinctive, Noonan said, is the grass-roots nature of the place. When the Mar Vista Family Center began, its leaders, educators and social workers from outside the neighborhood set a singular goal: Within a decade they would turn over the reins to community members trained to become the new leadership.

“If the center was going to be a success, the people living in the neighborhood needed to run it,” said Betty Factor, who founded the center. “What we needed was to find that one special person, someone capable of leading. It’s clear we found her.”

That woman is Lucia Diaz, now the executive director of the center, which runs on an annual budget of $1 million, raised mostly through government grants and a mix of corporate, foundation and individual giving.

A small woman with long black hair and bright, intelligent eyes, Diaz was once a parent seeking help from the center. She entered its doors for the first time in the early 1980s, a young mother fresh from her native Mexico. She was poor, worked as a maid and had little understanding of how to raise a child. Frustration at times almost made her react with fury when dealing with her infant daughter and young son.

Diaz says she came to the center after her daughter one day said that what she hoped for out of life was to follow in her mom’s footsteps; she wanted to be a maid.

“That made me shudder,” said Diaz, 43. “I did not want my daughter to follow my footsteps. I knew there was more for her in this life

Living about a mile from the center, Diaz was determined to learn how to be a better parent. Too poor to afford a stroller, she’d plop her daughter in a grocery cart and wheel her off to the center, walking fast down Slauson Avenue, where one year 10 gang members were shot.

Almost from the start, Diaz was a leader.

Though she barely spoke English, Diaz volunteered to counsel other parents--those who only spoke English. She rapidly took to the center’s emphasis on nurturing kids with patience and gentleness. She took advantage of the UCLA child development classes, giving her enough experience to begin working at the center.

Eventually, Diaz proved so successful that she became the nonprofit’s program director in 1986 and its chief executive nine years later.

“Some people lead with fiery personalities. Lucia leads with humility and grace,” said Noonan of the Casey foundation. “It seems like every moment, even the small moments, she sees as an opportunity to reach people ... especially children.”

Diaz’ bottom-line philosophy is that everyone can learn to take responsibility for themselves, adults and toddlers alike. Even the smallest children are encouraged to find ways to probe their feelings, to learn how to talk out problems and share solutions.

As Diaz walked through the center’s playground on a recent day, 3-year-old Frida and her ponytailed, pink-shirted playmate Andrea, 4, got into a loud tussle over who should carry a bucket of water. They both began to cry and wail.

Diaz held them close, reminded them that problems are to be solved with words and offered to take them to what is known as the “talking rug,” a space cordoned off for toddlers needing to ease frustration. Soon after, Frida and Andrea apologized to one another.

Diaz stepped aside with a smile. “We put a lot of trust in the idea that all of us, even the very small and the very young, can still find a way” toward self-empowerment, Diaz said. “We feel having this way of thinking is one way for our community to change.”

That philosophy is used on the neighborhood’s toughest characters as well.

The center makes a point to reach out to the gangs that once tore the neighborhood apart. Slauson Avenue has long been known as the stomping grounds for the Westside gang known as the Culver City Boys, the group that once hung out at the dead end. Bent on intimidation and reclaiming their space, police say the gang in 1980 set fire to the center, leaving its insignia throughout the charred rubble. Despite a once-rocky relationship, the center today works hard to ensure gang members who come for help are treated with respect and dignity. It’s the best way to get them to turn around, said Diaz, who has worked closely with police and Mayor James K. Hahn to ensure that gang members could gather at the center for counseling and tutorials without violating an injunction forbidding gangs from clustering together.

Many of the center’s most successful parents, and many of Slauson Avenue’s strongest and most positive leaders, were once deeply involved in gang life.

“This place does not shy from you just because you have been involved in doing some dirt,” said Victor Chavez, a former gang member.

Chavez, 33, sends his kids to the center’s preschool, attends its adult counseling classes, volunteers at its community cleanups and works full time as a gardener. As he spoke, he stood in the dead-end street, looking north down Slauson Avenue. The street was calm and children strolled carefree.

“This place meets you where you are, if you are old or if you are practically a baby,” he said. “We’ve all come a long way because of it, this whole community. Thank God for that.”