NORCO: Local youth head to prison

By: JOHN HALL - Staff Writer
The program for troubled teens includes first-hand look and inmate interaction | Monday, March 17, 2008 1:18 PM PDT ∞

Drill Sgt. Darryl Chesnut gets the attention of area youngsters before their 'tour' of a prison in Norco. The youths, who were refered to the prison visit through the county's Youth Accountability Program, got to walk through an occupied 'dorm' of inmates, eat a sack lunch, and get an earful from a roomful of inmates who told the stories of their route into the prison system.
DAVID CARLSON Staff Photographer
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NORCO ---- It's a sad place, filled with sorrow and loneliness.

That's how a state correctional officer described the inside of a prison to some Southwest County teens who took part in what was designed to be a frightening ---- yet enlightening ---- program at the medium-security California Rehabilitation Center in Norco last week.

The teens, each in trouble with the law or with serious problems at school or at home, experienced first-hand what it's like to be in prison.

In all, there were 40 troubled teens, boys and girls from 14 to 17 years of age at the prison on Thursday; 30 coming from Lake Elsinore, Murrieta and Temecula.

Once their trip was over and they'd had a chance to digest what they saw and heard, most seemed to get the message.

Rachel, 16, called it a scary experience, but a good one.

"I know if I don't make the right choice, I could be there," she said. Rachel doesn't foresee that happening, however, because she no longer hangs out with the "bad friends" she says led to her getting into trouble.

And 17-year-old Sam said the experience "makes you realize how bad it really is" in prison.

After the program ended, the teens filled out a survey and answered questions about their thoughts of the experience.

"In prison, your life could be over if you didn't follow directions ---- of the other prisoners in charge," one teen said.

"I realize how many dumb choices I have made ... and where it's going to get me," said another.

"These guys never see their families. I don't want that," was what one teen took home from the trip.

At the prison
Driven to the prison in county vans Thursday morning, the first thing the teens saw was the double fencing topped with thick, twisted razor wire and several towers manned by armed officers.

Once in the parking lot, the teens were placed in lines and their day began with correctional officers in their faces, yelling in boot camp style.

"Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouths closed," they were told. "Take a long look; absorb it. This is an educational experience for you."

A couple of boys were singled out because they couldn't stop smirking even as the yelling of officers continued.

"This is not a tour. If you think it's a joke, you have another think coming," Lt. Michael Brownell of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation told the teens once they were taken inside.

"After today, you will have it in you to make a choice," he said. That choice, he added, is to end the lifestyle that had gotten them into trouble and find a way to keep from going back to prison as inmates.

Brownell told the teens there are about 173,000 people behind bars at the state's 33 prisons. That's only slightly less than all the people living in both Temecula and Murrieta.

"They all thought they were too smart for the police," Brownell, a 22-year veteran of the corrections department, told the teens.

"You think you're big and bad and tough? There is always somebody bigger and badder in here," Brownell said. "This is a great learning experience for you. Take advantage of it."

The experience inside
The teens were yelled at and ordered around by correctional officers. They were shown weapons that officers have recovered from that very prison that were created by inmates. They watched a video showing prison-yard fights and gruesome, bloody, beaten prisoners.

As a group, they walked through the middle of a dorm room filled with convicted felons to see how inmates live every day. Prisoners were packed in military-style barracks with small televisions secured to the foot of their bunk. Inmates must shower and use the bathroom in the open.

There's no privacy in prison.

Next came a brief stop in the chow hall where they were given a less-than-tasty prison sack lunch.

"This is not a cafe, not a pizza parlor, not a Starbucks," barked correctional Officer Gerald Sepulveda. "The state will issue you a meal. You have two choices: Take it or leave it."

In dead silence, the teens then took their sack lunches and sat at metal tables. Some ate, some didn't.

Sepulveda explained that it is always a good idea to eat when given a chance because, should a lockdown happen, "You may not get to eat again until the next day."

Suddenly a loud, prearranged alarm sounded.

"Get down! Get down! Face the wall!," guards yelled, sending looks of shock across the faces of many of the teens as they quickly fell to the floor.

The teens were then marched by guards to the final, arguably most intense, portion of the program.

As they filed into a small room, 75 inmates --- all clad in their prison blues, most heavily tattooed with glares on their faces ---- sat in chairs surrounding the 40 teens who sat on the floor.

Several of the prisoners then took part in a performance that, while resembling a play, turned out to be factual accounts of their lives.

Like the man who said he's doing 11 years this trip to prison. "I've spent half my life up behind these bars," he said. "I wish this wasn't my life."

One man showed the teens the programs from funerals held for his mother, father and sister. Each died last year, he said. Because he's in prison, he didn't get to go to those funerals or tell them he loved them.

A 51-year-old man explained how, because he's one of the "old guys" in prison, he calls the shots and has founded gangs. "I'd give anything to go back and have the choice you do," he said to the teens.

A lengthy list of juvenile detention facilities and state prisons was run off by another man who said he's called "Mr. California" because of all the places he's been incarcerated.

"If you continue to make the same bad mistakes, you'll end up on that same road," he told them. "This life ain't for nobody."

Another man, 42, said he's been in prison since 1986 ---- before any of the teens was born.

"Your decisions today will determine the outcome of your life tomorrow," he told them.

The program
The teens were taken to the prison as part of a "contract" they and their parents have with Riverside County's Youth Accountability Team. Formed in 2000, it is the county's only diversion program addressing the needs of at-risk children and low-level offenders before they become part of the juvenile justice system.

More than 17,000 youths have been referred to various accountability teams since the program started and officials say about 94 percent of those have no further contact with the criminal justice system after completing the six-month program.

The team approach consists of representatives from the Riverside County Sheriff's Department, the Probation Department, the district attorney's office and youth counseling agencies.

Deputy Probation Officer Linda Fredrickson works with Lake Elsinore's accountability team, which sent 23 teens to the prison Thursday. The program includes a visit to either a juvenile detention facility or a prison, depending on what the team feels is best for each individual teen.

"These are some who are a little more hardcore, or have a history or an attitude; especially if they have drug offenses," Fredrickson said of those who sent to Norco last week.

Inmate interaction
After the presentation in which inmates detailed their lives, there was a more interactive question-and-answer time.

While a couple of teens asked some pretty basic questions, it was the inmates who asked much more pointed questions of the teens.

Inmates zeroed in on some of the teens who seemed to have an attitude even after all they'd seen and heard. They were asked about why they were in trouble and inmates sternly addressed each one.

"Every single time they know just the right kids to single out," Fredrickson said. "Their whole life while incarcerated is recognizing nuances of people. They know how to size people up in two seconds."

Several of the teens singled out by the inmates didn't seem to take seriously what was going on around them.

One of the teen boys was spotted laughing. Another gave a casual "What?" answer, complete with an obvious attitude, while being questioned. Those responses didn't go over very well with the prisoners.

"You're gonna disrespect me while I'm talking?" one inmate yelled back at the teen.

Many of the teens openly admitted using drugs. By a show of hands, all but only a couple of the 75 inmates let the teens know that their long lives of crime started with casual drug use.

Near the conclusion of that part of the program, one inmate left the teens with an insightful comment: "Today is the only day you come into a California state prison and walk out the same day."

As the teens were leaving the room, started shouting things at them.

"Choices" was heard several times. "Don't come back!" was a popular expression while other inmates told the teens to listen to their parents and stay away from drugs.

Why they take part
"This is my calling in life," inmate Daniel said after the teens left. Saying he couldn't let his emotions show while the teens were sitting in front of him, Daniel had tears in his eyes once they were gone.

He is the 51-year-old man who has started gangs during his 32 years in prison.

"There are 800 to 1,200 gang members out there now because of what I started. I am responsible for taking lives and having peoples' lives taken," Daniel said with complete candor.

He said he decided to participate in the prison program to help others stay off the path that he took.

"This is a chance for us to change even just one kid's life for the better," Daniel said.

Another inmate by the name of Paul said it makes him "feel beautiful, like I'm giving them a chance" when he takes part in the program.

"Some kids are just gonna do what they're gonna do," Paul, 34, said. "We hope they'll see this isn't the way they wanna go."

Anthony is the real name of the man known as "Mr. California" for all the places he has been incarcerated. He is 45 and has spent 32 years behind bars.

He has a child of his own who is now 12 years old whom he hasn't seen in more than 11 years. He also has another child he's never seen.

One of his crimes was a 1985 murder that was dropped down to voluntary manslaughter, he said. After serving time for that, he said he was only out for 13 months before another conviction sent him back to prison for eight more years.

Anthony is set to be released from prison Saturday. He admits being both excited and scared about his soon-to-come freedom.

He already has an interview to work with a nonprofit group that helps troubled kids.

Programs like the one these teens took part in Thursday are important to him.

"I don't wanna see them go through what I've been through," he said.

As for the teens who participated who were still smirking at the end like it was all a joke Anthony said: "Those are the ones I honestly believe we'll see back here" as inmates.

Prison's VISION


The program that allows these select inmates to interact with troubled teens at the Norco prison is called Visibly Investing Support In Our Neighborhood and began in 2006. Since then, more than 1,000 teens have made visits to the facility, Brownell, the prison's spokesman said.

All of the correctional officers who take part in the program volunteer for it and no state funds are used to run it, Brownell said.

"It is very important to those officers for the same reason it is to me," Brownell said. "We believe educating our children helps solve the problem of crime."

He said other prisons in the state have similar programs, but believes Norco's is unique in that it is not just a tour of the inside of a prison but includes the positive interaction with select inmates in a controlled setting.

It is also invaluable for those prisoners, Brownell said. "It becomes therapeutic to the inmates as well," he said.

Before they can directly participate, inmates have to be screened and observe the program in action.

"We've seen a lot of support from the inmate population," Brownell said. "That's probably because most of them have families too."

Contact staff writer John Hall at (951) 676-4315, Ext. 2628, or jhall@californian.com.