Charting a New Course (page 2 of 2)

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You start at $6.50 an hour and go up 50 cents for every two weeks of perfect attendance. If you're absent or late, you're docked. If you miss two days, you're out.

More Than a Launching Pad

Shortly after his release, his gang "family," convinced that he had betrayed them, cornered him on the street and beat him bloody before police intervened. Zelaya didn't know where to go now, or what to do. But his probation officer thought of something. "I know a program that takes guys in situations like yours," he told Vick. "I could call down there." That's when Joe Youcha entered Zelaya's life.

By the time Vick arrived at ASF, Youcha had built things up to the point where he'd graduated 120 apprentices. Today, Youcha can count at least 230 kids who've been through his program. Paid instructors, as well as volunteers, see to it that the youths earn their GED on-site. Experienced teachers handle courses like English and history, while math is incorporated into the workshop regimen.

Each instructor works with no more than six apprentices. A plan, tailored for each individual, includes counseling, continuing education, and help with such needs as drug treatment.

Those qualifying for the apprenticeship with the carpenters union are given a tool set and a starting salary of $28,000 a year, plus benefits. After that, the future is theirs to claim or forfeit.

Given their backgrounds, it's not an easy path for most of the kids. Alfredo* has to pay restitution for wrecking a mall shop; his instructor, Steve Hernandez, helps him set up a bank account that automatically sends $50 a month to the shopkeeper. At 19, Benis left to raise his infant daughter alone when the mother "took a walk"; ASF works with him to find a permanent caregiver.

One in three youths fall out of the program. Among those whom Youcha failed to help was an 18-year-old apprentice who got in a fight outside school, fled prosecution, and was finally jailed for two years. Another kid graduated from ASF, only to slide back into the street life and die of a bullet to the head during a drug transaction.

For many weeks, Youcha couldn't tell how Vick Zelaya would fare. On his first day on the job, Youcha gave him some sandpaper and a strip of plywood and told him to go with the grain. Then he walked away.

He thinks I'm just another piece of dirt from the street, Zelaya thought to himself: That's the last I'll see of the big boss.

Ten minutes later, Youcha was back to take a look and assured Zelaya he was doing okay. And thereafter Youcha was rarely more than a raised hand away, telling the boy things he needed to know -- like there were 12 inches in a foot. "He told it to me as though he was sharing a secret," Zelaya says. "I didn't feel ashamed."

Still, Vick resisted the discipline that ASF demands. It was "do this, do that, study, work," he recalls. He snuck out at night, against Youcha's rules, to go drinking with buddies. Less than a year into the program, he suddenly quit and took a job at a local seafood restaurant. It was near ASF, and Vick kept running into Joe, who would urge him to return to his apprenticeship. Within a few weeks, Zelaya was back.

Even then, he balked at taking academic classes. "I've had enough school," he would say. "I'll learn what I need to know [on the shop floor]."

"You'll learn enough to earn minimum wage here," said Youcha. "You can be better. You are better. This is only a launching pad, Vick."

* Some names have been changed to protect privacy.

Over time, Youcha got through to Zelaya. No one told Vick to buy a belt and hoist his pants up to his waist, but he did, and he began wearing a long-sleeved shirt to cover his tattoos. When an older trainee spit on the floor one day, Zelaya said to him, "Hey, man, that's not professional; this is our workplace." The youth was feeling an unfamiliar emotion -- pride.

"I couldn't see into this future they kept telling me about," he says. "That was too far away. But I could see the boat I was working on take shape, and I could see my new life."

After the devastating tsunami in the Indian Ocean, Youcha's boys made the news in an unexpected way. Joe set all hands working on a model of an Indonesian crab boat, thousands of which had been destroyed in the disaster. It became the most compelling display in a fund-raising tour to replace the lost crabbers. In one swing around the country, it helped raise enough to build 80 boats, sending hundreds of beached fisherman back to sea. A local television station named Youcha a "Hometown Hero" for initiating the idea.

Victor Zelaya has his own success story at last. He stayed on at ASF for three years, and has volunteered since then as an instructor. In 2003, he set out with his GED and a van the foundation helped him buy -- and Youcha taught him to drive. Now Zelaya has a wife, a baby son and a home.

With his new skills, he's had no trouble finding rewarding work, but he hasn't yet joined the carpenters union. When Youcha asked him why, Vick said, "I was afraid I'd goof and make you look bad."

"You, goof?" said Joe. "Never. You're the reason I'm in this business." It's something that Youcha says to all his kids. And it's always true.
From Reader's Digest - February 2006
 
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