| September 8, 2002
Trial by fire: Girls
in juvenile rehab program battle wildfires, their own demons
By REBECCA COOK
Associated Press Writer
NASELLE, Wash. (AP) _ Crystal Horne has been burned before. The
quarter-sized pink scars on her left forearm testify to that.
And, for a time, the 17-year-old girl with an anarchy-symbol tattoo and
flame-red hair seemed destined to burn out: drinking heavily, dealing
and using drugs, running from police.
But
when her bad deeds landed her in juvenile prison, she found a calling
that turned her stubborn energy into a saving grace:
Fighting wildfires.
Horne now leads an all-girl firefighting team of juvenile offenders from Naselle Youth Camp, in the southwest corner of Washington state.
There, car thieves and gang-bangers learn to put axes, shovels and chain
saws to good use. They plant trees, clear brush and maintain trails,
while training and hoping for a big wildfire to fight.
This summer, she and the other girls watched on TV as firefighters
battled fierce blazes in Oregon, Colorado and other Western states _ but
not in Washington. They itched to prove themselves.
"I
like this," Horne says, "It's something I can say I did good at."
___
The
girls wake at 6:05 a.m. every weekday. Horne, her hair now faded to its
natural strawberry-blonde, leaves a stuffed animal on her bed and a
"Chicken Soup for the Cat and Dog Lover's Soul" on her desk.
Waiting outside their dorm after breakfast, the sleepy girls light up as
foreman Sid Hicklin ambles into view. Lanky and tan from years in the
bright sun, Hicklin worked in law enforcement before joining the
Department of Natural Resources.
Supervising the girls is unlike any other job.
"They take everything I say to heart. I can't be so critical," he says.
"Some of their backgrounds are really devastating. You just have to
build them back up."
He's learned a lot they don't teach in forestry school. He knows who's
taking new medication, whose father just died, who's in or out of the
ever-shifting cliques. His daily log has notes like, "Girls are nit
picky. Told them to work without talking."
The
one thing he doesn't know is what crimes the girls committed. He says he
never asks.
When Hicklin stops the crew truck at an overgrown crossroads, the girls
climb out past a blue-and-gold decal on the door with the words, "Hicklin's
Angels."
"Let's go," he calls to them. "Three saws this morning."
New
girls take a while to build the muscle needed to cut trails, saw
branches and run chain saws.
"I
wasn't used to working that hard," says Cassandra Carey, 15, of
Lynnwood. "You start to get the hang of it and you start to get in
shape. It starts to build your self-esteem."
Carey has earned a blue hat, a mark of leadership, while serving time
for possession of stolen property. It's the first time she's felt like a
leader. Following her friends got her the gang tattoo below her eye _
three dots for "Mi Vida Loca," my crazy life _ that she now wants
removed.
"I
always feel stupid because I've committed crimes. I feel looked down
upon," she says. "You come here and it's like they don't even care.
You're working so hard, your mind just is free."
She
proudly remembers the time they cleaned a cemetery. Some old women had
been unable to do it and afterward they thanked the girls.
Carey notes with some surprise, "It's fun to do good once in a while."
___
Washington used to have several youth rehabilitation centers like Naselle. After years of budget cuts, Naselle's the only one remaining.
Naselle staff are nervous about next year's anticipated state budget
crisis.
The
camp has four boys' fire crews and one for girls. Everyone else works,
too, whether in maintenance, the sign shop, the garden or the fish farm.
After work, they go to school and counseling.
Superintendent Thomas Quinn wants them to learn social responsibility.
He thinks it sinks in. Last winter, the 150 inmates raised $3,000 to
"adopt" a local family for Christmas.
Recently a Naselle graduate called the camp, demanding to speak to a
boys' crew foreman. Sirens wailed in the background, and everyone
assumed the worst.
But
the boy had become an emergency medical technician; he wanted to thank
the foreman.
The
fire crew program has not been without problems. In June 2001, two boys
beat their foreman and left him for dead. The severely injured foreman
survived. Now security staff accompanies the crews.
Generally, Hicklin trusts the girls until they give him reason not to.
In return, the girls adore Hicklin. He's like a father to them. They
notice how he talks about his wife and family with obvious love.
"On
the outs," their term for outside world, "you don't see a lot of that,"
Horne says.
The girls believe Hicklin would never put them in danger _ even if they
got their wish, the chance to work on a wildfire. They'd get to leave
the camp, sleep in tents and eat good food, maybe even talk to boys.
They'd also get paid, though not as much as professional firefighters.
Amy
Earl, a sometimes surly 17-year-old from Tacoma, loves fire crew.
"I
like knowing I'm saving people's lives," she says.
She
was charged with criminal assistance to murder after her boyfriend
killed a friend. The same boyfriend gave her three sexually transmitted
diseases and urged her to drop out of school.
He's serving a life sentence for murder. She believes fire crew put her
on a different path.
"My
saw breaks down, I have to fix it," she says. "Now it's like, I'm my own
woman and I don't need anybody to make decisions for me. It's time to
realize it's not a game any more, this is life."
___
As
summer wanes, the girls finally get their chance. On Aug. 18, they go to
a 100-acre fire near Spokane _ not big by wildfire standards, but it is
threatening several homes.
Some people give the all-girl crew odd looks, but they quickly prove
themselves by extinguishing all the hot spots in their area.
"Everyone was really surprised," Horne says. "When they realized just
seven girls did all that work, they were like, 'Wow.'"
As
advertised, they eat well. They're impressed by the flavored coffee
creamers, which they have never seen before.
The
work is tough, a lot of hauling water hoses and running up and down
hills. The air is so smoky their skin turns black even under their
clothes and three girls get nosebleeds. But they persist.
The
girls can't talk to outsiders on a fire, but Horne appreciates when
people wave or call "thanks!"
"It's given me an opportunity to do what I can, to be a leader," she
says. "On that big fire, y'know, I kinda felt free a little bit. I want
to keep doing that." |
