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Troubled teens meet reality at center

Epic's cases mirror troubled youths' lives

Wednesday, January 12, 2000

By RUTH TEICHROEB Mail Author
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER REPORTER

YAKIMA -- Tony stares at his former girlfriend's initials tattooed in blue on his wrist.

It took nine police officers using tear gas and handcuffs to haul the 16-year-old to this locked crisis residential center -- and now he does not want to leave.

"They're making me go home to an abusive home," says Tony, who didn't want his real name used.

"I'm refusing to go. At least here I don't get beat on."

Police picked him up two days earlier after almost three months on the run from his home near Vancouver, Wash. Someone reported him for sleeping in a car. His latest girlfriend, whom he met on the streets in Yakima, is already two months pregnant.

Tony is dreading the moment when his mother arrives to retrieve him from the runaway center, located in a beige mobile home encircled by a 7-foot steel security fence.

He is threatening to jump out of the car on the way home if forced to leave.

Debbie Chard, the director of the Epic center, has heard it all before. She calmly reminds Tony that an investigation by the Department of Social and Health Services has not uncovered any evidence of abuse.

"Somewhere in the middle, between what the kids are saying and parents are saying, is the truth," says Chard, a seasoned youth worker.

Down the hall are four small bedrooms, each with two beds and a bathroom.

Behind one of the doors, a 13-year-old girl is sleeping off a cocaine high. She arrived the previous night and has not crawled out of bed for more than 24 hours. One of the two staff on duty check periodically to be sure she is OK.

When teens are dropped off by police, they are checked for weapons with an electronic wand in the reception area before being buzzed through security doors.

Teens' shoes are removed immediately to lessen the risk of running. Even though the center has locked doors and windows, fire-code regulations require emergency exits. Almost 10 percent of teens escape by leaning on the fire door, which sets off an alarm and then opens after a 15-second delay.

Staff interview each runaway upon arrival to assess their problems and decide whether to arrange drug/

alcohol assessments or psychiatric services. The center contracts with community professionals to provide on-call assistance.

Parents are asked to meet with staff, and most comply. About 60 percent of the teens at Epic come from blue-collar or middle-class families. The average age is 14, and there are more girls than boys.

"They're kids who think life's greener on the other side and have told their parents to take a flying leap," Chard says. "A typical case is the 14-year-old girl who wants to date a 28-year-old boyfriend."

The fact that an angry teen can't walk out the door of the runaway center buys time to set up counseling and bring parents and children to the table to talk. Most youths return home after two or three days. Parents can remove children any time.

If a teen is on the run from foster care, the state caseworker is notified.

"Those are our angriest kids because they feel they have no hope," says Chard, adding that most have had eight or 10 foster placements in the previous year. "We can't touch entrenched street kids. This is just a revolving door for them."

The center's combination kitchen-living room is under constant observation from the adjoining glassed-in staff office, creating a fish-bowl atmosphere. A Winnie the Pooh poster beams down from one wall, and a Monopoly game sits near the sofa.

A year ago was the first time 16-year-old Damian ended up at Epic after running away from his home on a farm near Yakima. He didn't want his real name used.

High on marijuana and weary of being on the street, he approached a police officer outside a local grocery store.

"I felt there was nowhere left to go."

His stepfather drank and beat him, and there were always fights at home. But Damian's three-day stay at Epic was a turning point for him and his family.

"It was awesome," Damian said. "I was so in need of someone to talk to. It opened up a new world for me."

He was sent to a 30-day substance-abuse treatment program, and his stepfather stopped drinking.

Damian stayed sober for six months before slipping up a few months ago. A couple of weeks ago, he stopped doing drugs again.

His parents went to counseling. Things seemed to be going much better at home.

That's why Damian says he's really confused about being back at Epic. Two days earlier, he told his mother he was going to buck hay at a neighbor's farm. She didn't want him to go, called the police and reported him as a runaway.

"I never thought I'd be back again," he says with a sigh. "I felt like, I'm trying my hardest. I'm wondering, 'Am I really as bad as I was last year?'"

Damian expects to return home tomorrow, and he's trying to make the best of his time at Epic.

"The food is great," he says with a grin. "They let me put as much ketchup on my plate as I want. At home, I'd get nagged about that. My family considers that a waste."

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