THE OTHER SIDE

Martin boot camp's closure riles officials, kids who benefit

The thin green mattresses are rolled up on the metal bunks. The lockers are empty and the floors bare and shining. The dormitory that normally would be filled with the sounds of young men polishing boots and studying is silent as the June 30 closing of the Martin County Juvenile Offender Training Center approaches.

Down the hallway, half of the remaining 26 cadets shout out their cadence as they quick-step out the door to the obstacle course that was designed to build up their bodies and their confidence. "Don't stop! Don't quit!" a drill instructor barks to a thin young man struggling to get over a wooden wall. "Push yourself! Push yourself! O-course is nothing to me," the instructor sang out, as the other cadets shout encouragement. The skinny youth gets through the course and sprints back to his place in line. "Good job! Good job!" the instructor shouts, clapping his hands in approval.

Later, while the cadets rest inside, another cadet was asked whether he would like to be able to finish the three-part program, which takes at least a year. Dominique, 16, said he would welcome the chance. "Ma'am, yes, ma'am," he said. "I need help to get a job." He is in his seventh month at the training center, now part of the second-phase academy that focuses on education, self-esteem, setting goals and preparing for life outside the tall fences and razor wire. But because of the planned closing, he won't get to participate in the day-treatment phase that many say is one of the keys to the success of the program, which lawmakers praised this year more than ever for keeping kids out of trouble over the long haul.

Nearly 80 percent of the juveniles who complete the three-part program remain arrest-free after a year, better than any other juvenile boot camp in the state and one of the best rates for any juvenile program under the state Department of Juvenile Justice. Many enter in chains, leave with diploma

Martin County's program has caught the attention of legislators this year because it stands in stark contrast to the Bay County boot camp where 14-year-old Martin Lee Anderson was beaten in January. The boy later died, leading to an ongoing investigation by a special prosecutor and hearings by the legislature on how the state can improve its boot camp system. The solution may be to make the Martin County program the model, several lawmakers have said.

Dominique said it has improved his relationship with his family, and he will carry that with him. But he knows the day treatment would help him avoid rejoining the groups that drew him into trouble in the first place. "I need to surround myself with positive people," he said. It's a constant theme around the training center, and one Capt. Lloyd Jones believes is crucial to turning around the damaged young men who arrive at the facility in chains and often leave with a high school diploma in hand and a job waiting. "They're throwaways. They're kids who are left behind," said Jones, who works for the Martin County Sheriff's Office and oversees the Juvenile Offender Training Center under a contract with the state. "These kids are going to be going back to some rough neighborhoods, some rough families."

Youths ages 14 to 18 are sent to the program through the courts, and most have been charged with serious felonies. About half the cadets in the past year were from Palm Beach County, with the rest from Martin, St. Lucie, Indian River and Okeechobee counties. Most have been in other programs and gotten in trouble again. "This is not the first stop," Jones said. "Hopefully, it's the last stop."

The program differs from the state's four other boot camps, primarily in its inclusion of a three-month day-treatment program in which youths spend the day there getting training and counseling but go home at night. The Martin program also puts less emphasis on the physical aspect of the experience and more on counseling, education and involving families in the process, Jones said. Alumnus Guerby Destina said the program gave him the self-discipline and self-esteem he needed to succeed. He's graduating from high school in Palm Beach County this year and playing on the football team. He plans to attend college and study business and education. "It was life-changing," he said last week. "I had my mind set on just getting there, doing the program and leaving. It didn't work that way."

Jones remembers Destina as a "hardhead" who resisted going along with the demands of the boot camp. He was in the first phase months longer than most. "Each kid we focus in on as an individual. We try to find out what that kid's issue is," Jones said. "Time is on my side." Destina said he only pretended to go along with the program for several months, but it finally clicked with him. "It was like cleaning my room every morning. I didn't like doing that," he said. "Then I started to realize there were going to be things like that in everyday life that you have to do whether you want to or not." After that point, he excelled. "In any other program, you do your time and you'll get out whether you changed or not. With the JOTC, you have to change or fake it," he said. "By faking being good, it makes you turn good."

In a classroom, Pam Black, clinical supervisor, urged the remaining cadets to work hard on what they're going to do when the program ends. "You've got to have a goal. You've got to have a plan," she said. "That's what we're working for, to get everyone a plan."

Singing a song to deaf ears
More than 600 youths have graduated from the training center since Sheriff Robert Crowder started it 12 years ago. Despite its impressive results, it has been an annual struggle to persuade legislators and the Department of Juvenile Justice not to cut money for the program. Budget increases never kept pace with increased costs, and last year Crowder said he'd had enough. "This is the 11th year I've come to the legislature singing this song and nobody seems to be hearing the words," Crowder said. "They yawn and we've finally reached the breaking point." Even with this year's accolades, legislators so far are offering to raise the annual budget to only about $2.7 million. That's $1 million less than Crowder says he needs to continue a quality program. "I don't know whether or not they can get this mess straightened out," Crowder said. "It's money well spent. The money we spend on juvenile justice comes back to us many-fold." Crowder said he's willing to reopen and provide the state a role model if he gets the money he needs and can find staff members willing to sign on.

Meanwhile, Crowder said he's trying to find jobs for the drill instructors in other divisions of the sheriff's office. Jones said he expects he'll be moved to another job in administration. But he'll miss the kids. He gives them his cellphone number and tells them to call if they need to talk. They take him up on it quite a bit. "I get calls 9, 10 o'clock at night," Jones said. "I'm going to get kind of lonesome."

Jill Taylor
2 April 2006

http://www.palmbeachpost.com/treasurecoast/content/local_news/epaper/2006/04/02/w1a_MCBOOTCAMP_0402.html

home / Previous viewpoint