Dousing Gang Life

At the top of Mike Jaramillo’s wish list are steady salaries and health insurance for members of the Aztecs firefighting crew based in Boyle Heights.

A few miles away, in South Los Angeles, Kevin Nelson speaks of providing a van, uniforms and other equipment for the Highlanders crew.

The two men, who run independent programs affiliated with the U.S. Forest Service, want desperately to help young men and women stay away from Los Angeles gang life and out of prison. Their pitch: Dousing fires, though a tough and dirty job, presents a far better career path than drug dealing and gangbanging.

“I’ve lived in the barrio all my life,” said Jaramillo, who grew up in Boyle Heights and now lives in Irwindale. “I want to get these young people in my neighborhood healthy and working. That’s my dream.”

Nelson, who grew up in South Los Angeles, said most crew members have modest expectations.

They “need to do things like get out of debt,” he said. “They want a home and a car like everybody else.”

But the challenges are plentiful.

The crew members, many of them with gang affiliations, must put aside rivalries. To get a job, they must be able to carry 45 pounds of equipment over three miles in less than 45 minutes. And because the crews are on-call units, the members must be willing to drop whatever they are doing to fight out-of-control blazes anywhere from Santa Clarita to Montana.

The relationship with the Forest Service, which developed after the 1992 riots as a way of creating more job opportunities for local residents, has experienced a few successes and many failures. Jaramillo and Nelson say that of the nearly 500 people who joined the two programs over the years, about 40 have been hired at least part time by the Forest Service.

Organizers and participants say many of the candidates have a tough time breaking away from the street life. The quick money associated with drugs remains intoxicating. Gang loyalties often result in other illegal activities. Many lack the discipline or focus required by the program. Many end up in prison. Some end up dead.

Deshion McIntyre, crew boss for the Highlanders, said he still thinks about the death of crew member David Hastings in a neighborhood shooting in 1999.

“That tore me up,” said McIntyre, who opened an additional training program last year to help prepare Highlanders. “I teach them everything they would need to know to go through the Forest Service’s training program.”

Each program can enroll up to 40 members at a time. Crew members can earn up to $13,000 a season, which traditionally runs from mid-May to mid-November.

Both programs mine their neighborhoods for recruits using radio announcements and word of mouth.

Hector Verdugo was in a prison fire camp program in 1994 when he first saw the Aztecs fighting a fire in Hemet. He was drawn to them because they looked similar to the gang members he grew up with.

“With the Aztecs, it was like a net,” he said. “As soon as I got out of prison, they smoothed things out with my parole officer. I was involved in a respectable profession. They didn’t have pity for you. You were just another brother.”

Jaramillo said one of the program’s main goals is to prepare firefighters who can land full-time jobs with any number of agencies.

Some agencies will not hire convicted felons, which complicates placement for some participants.

But crew leaders also acknowledge that many stumble when it comes time to apply for the Forest Service.

“The only reason guys don’t get picked up is they don’t follow up on their application,” McIntyre said.

Angie Lavell, equal opportunity manager for the Angeles National Forest, said the predominantly Latino Aztecs and the African American Highlanders are viewed as ideal recruiting sources because the Forest Service has not attracted many minority applicants.

She said many applicants from the Aztecs and Highlanders programs were qualified, but could not produce competitive essays and were opposed to relocating to other parts of the country. Candidates for the Forest Service must be 18 or older and have at least a high school equivalency diploma.

“They do not survive the process because they don’t sell themselves on paper,” she said. “We have conducted training sessions to help them, but they don’t show up.”

Jaramillo says offering incentives--especially year-round jobs and medical benefits--to stay on board is the key to widespread success for the program. Jaramillo said he has been requesting funds from the city for years.

Councilman Mike Hernandez, who has been petitioned by the Aztecs for help, said he is looking to have the program receive a fee for service contract through the city’s Recreation and Parks Department.

“I can’t guarantee that will happen,” he said. “But I think they have a model that works.”

Roberta Villa, human resources specialist for the city’s gang intervention program, Bridges II and Youth Opportunity Movement, said the programs allow men and women to shift back into mainstream society.

Several of those who have been on the crews said they were thankful for what they learned.

“The education I received from being part of the Aztecs crew is one that I’d never exchange for anything,” said former Aztecs crew boss Richard Berni, 28, who works seasonally for the Forest Service. “It taught me patience, work ethic, and showed that I can do whatever I want to do.”

Many others, like Von Miles, are waiting in the wings. The 34-year-old Highlander has served two terms in prison, the first a 6 1/2-year sentence for manslaughter when he was 19 years old and later a stint for possession of drugs. He said he will work with the Highlanders this year and apply to the Forest Service.

“I have a lot of value for life now,” he said. “I’m looking to really provide for myself and my family.”