March 1995
Perched on a cliff overlooking San Bruno are the kicked-out, the delinquent and the tardy. The bell rings and the huddled packs disperse to class. "Meet ya at break!" "Have fun in PE!" Two mothers gather up bottles and bags, and coo their babies back to day care before class. This is an alternative to expulsion and the last chance for a diploma. These are the kids at Peninsula High, a continuation school of the San Mateo Union High School District.
Junior came to Peninsula High two years ago, after being kicked out of regular schools for gang-related activities. He was 15. "You've got to prove you're superior. Everybody else was doing it, you just grow up as a family," he says. "I got into some gang fights at San Mateo High and then they sent me to Hillsdale," he chuckles into his next breath, "I accidently threatened a teacher there." They call themselves the West Side Tongans. They grew up together and would mark their territory in the world. Stick up for each other. "I want to go back to a regular high school," he says lowering his eyes, "I wanna play football or something, this school ain't cuttin ' it."
Of the 8,000 kids in the district, Peninsula High has between 180 to 200 kids at any given time. Kids move back and forth from school to school. When a student's credits toward graduation drop due to truancy or poor grades, or if they are en route to expulsion, they are sent here.
Most of the kids at Peninsula work. Some work two jobs, and some, at age 15, have families to take care of. The classes are stripped to the basics so that students can move through courses faster, and most won't be returning to "regular"schools. Classes begin at 8:20 a.m. and end at 1:20 p.m. when students rush to catch the bus for work or to pick up their children from the day-care center. There are no junior or senior proms to prepare for, no football games to cheer on, no fairs, no band practice and no rallies. It's a very different culture here that plays by different rules.
"We have kids that have been in trouble for things from graffiti to assault with a deadly weapon. We also have kids that just need to make up some credits," says McEvoy. "Most come here with a lot of baggage concerning family and things. We can't fix those things but we can give them skills to deal with them."
The focus at Peninsula is a balance between academic achievement and social skills. "The students learn how to negotiate with adults, how to interact with teachers, and they learn to interact in group situations other than gangs or cell mates, " says McEvoy. "The main goal is to get them through school."
Though the school receives kids from all over the district, the majority are poor, minority kids. Most stay through to their graduation. The transfer back to regular schools is very hard after becoming accustomed to a small alternative school environment. Community college is an option for some of these kids, but Peninsula is not a college preparatory school.
"The majority of these kids are as low as they can get as far as self-esteem goes," says Chris Sublett, the Physical Education instructor at Peninsula. "Work has to start there before any learning can happen. It's a matter of making them believe they can do things." This is Chris's first year teaching at Peninsula. While establishing the physical education program she found that throughout Northern California, PE programs at continuation schools are unheard of. She recalls speaking to a principal who said, "these kids can't do PE." According to Chris, this is where they need it the most.
"Most students learn better in a smaller setting," says Chris. "Kids work better at their own pace and with encouragement. I can't do that," she says referring to a class slogan. "I haven't yet mastered that skill."
A girl in a red sweater sits down by a friend behind the backboards and watches the others dribble around the courts. Her black hair is pulled back tight in a ponytail and her hand is tattooed with a gang symbol. "I never went to school, I wanted to kick back with the home girls." Her mother would drop her off at school. They'd wait for the car to go around the corner and then they'd 'split'. "I was involved with a gang in my freshman year and I'm still involved in it, I'm just easing back a bit," she says. "To get a job you need a diploma. I wish I would have thought about it sooner." Her parents didn't want her to start fights but it was ok to defend yourself. "What really changed my life was when I got locked up," she says, "I wish I could have talked to her about it. She was talk'n about beating up my younger cousin." the girl Sarina fought that day suffered broken ribs, a broken arm, her top and bottom teeth were knocked out and her nose was broken. "I know better now, if I were in the same situation I would have talded to her." Sarina enjoys her new friends at Peninsula and says that they help keep her out of trouble but she hopes to rerurn to South City High before graduation.
"Every gang, you name it we've got it," says McEvoy, "but the gang conflict on campus is really low, they know that the priority is their education."
As you walk into Dean Sebastian Romeo's office, the walky-talky is buzzing on the desk, pinup warnings on the post-up board read, 'No boom-boxes, Beepers, walkmans. No weapons, No Swiss Army knives on key chains. . . ' He is a big man leaning back in his chair with student files stretched out on his desk. "At first it was here comes the F'n Dean," says Romeo in a suprisingly kind voice, "now we relate to one another pretty well." Romeo is the disciplinarian on campus and with the help of a couple others, the campus is kept safe. There are no detention systems at Peninsula; if you are tardy you get a reading and writing assignment. If you are caught smoking you are suspended or sent to the alternative suspention program, and parents are updated daily on attendance. "Continuation schools have a bad rap," says Romeo, "it's where the losers and the dregs of the earth go. I even had that impression until I started working with these kids. They are good kids that have problems that can't be helped in regular high schools."
The last bell rings at 1:20. Two shirtless boys stand around a car waiting for their friends to get out of class. A few parents pull in and wait. Down the hill, past the gates and the view of suburbia, dust and burning rubber lift off and heat waves rise.