Jeremy Estrada

Twelve-year-old Jeremy Estrada felt his heart hardening as he held his best friend in his arms and watched his blood stain the pavement. Six rival gang members had jumped out of a car, stabbed Rudy, and fled. Estrada was left alone to watch the slow death of his only friend.

Life was tough for Estrada, growing up in LA, surrounded by gangs, his family separated since he was ten. His only role model had been Rudy—his neighbor, his big brother, his companion. When Rudy died, Estrada lost interest in school and sports. His only urge was to fight, to unleash his anger and grief. He turned for solace to the gang for which Rudy lost his life.

He was charged with assault and battery, and with no treatment for his anger, Estrada had another assault charge on his record a few weeks later.

After Rudy died, fighting became Estrada's way of life. During one skirmish he sent a boy to the hospital with internal bleeding in the brain. He was charged with assault and battery and given six-months of probation, during which he never saw a probation officer. With no treatment for his anger, Estrada had another assault charge on his record a few weeks later. He was placed on more restrictive probation. The pattern repeated—he was arrested another four times for assault and put on probation each time, but never received any counseling.

At age 13, he assaulted his mother's boyfriend and was placed in juvenile hall for three days. Even with the supervision of a probation officer every month, he acquired two more assault charges, and was sent to juvenile hall on two separate occasions. His assault charges soon escalated to armed robbery and breaking and entering. Finally, he was sent to a group home for a year-and-a-half.

Estrada didn't mind the group home. A lot of friends from his gang were there with him. But it provided no real treatment. When he was released to his mother, the family was homeless. Estrada lived with his father for a while, but continued to be arrested for assault and battery. By this time, juvenile hall was no threat. He liked having hot meals, a bed to sleep in, a daily shower, clean clothes and friends.

A year into the program he met a teacher who took the time to change his life. He taught Estrada how to do fractions, working with him until Estrada learned the skill. From that point on, "something inside of me was sparked."

When he was released from the group home again, he violated his probation by skipping school altogether. He was on the run for weeks, hiding out in friends' houses. When he finally turned himself in, he was sentenced to 6-9 months in a camp where he was taught job skills, but again, received no specific treatment. When this placement expired, he was released to his father.

This time when he returned to the streets his gang was at war. Several of Estrada's friends were killed. "I decided to get revenge," he says. Before he made good on that promise, Estrada's stepmother found his pistol and called the police. He ran from the helicopters and dogs that chased him. Two weeks later he turned himself in and was sent to Rite of Passage, a Wilderness Challenge Program tucked in the Nevada desert, fifteen miles from a paved road. Unlike his previous placements, Rite of Passage offered Estrada positive reinforcement. Although a kid might be disciplined for bad behavior, at the same time, he would be encouraged and motivated to improve.

Although Estrada began to excel, he continued fighting. A year into the program, he met a teacher who took the time to change his life. He taught Estrada how to do fractions, working with him until Estrada learned the skill. From that point on, "something inside of me was sparked—fractions struck my passion for education," he says.

Estrada soon moved beyond fractions—he learned to write essays, and studied politics and government. Estrada began to channel his anger towards learning and earned his high school diploma. His counselor challenged him to go to college and helped him with the financial paperwork.

With the encouragement of his father and counselors, Estrada opted to get out of the neighborhood and attend Lassen College in northern California. Two days after his release from Rite of Passage, Estrada was a college student. During his first night on campus, however, he began having fears of not succeeding. Once his anxiety would have spilled into violence; now, he took up a different challenge: "I'm going to sit in the front row of every class and study harder than any other student."

Keeping his word, Estrada earned straight A's in his two years at junior college, was student body President of the Hispanic Student Association, and a student ambassador. He met a college scout from Pepperdine who encouraged him to apply for admission.

Estrada is now 22 and preparing to graduate from Pepperdine University and plans to attend graduate school to study neuroscience. Estrada attributes his success to Rite of Passage, positive reinforcement, academics, his parents and, of course, the teacher who opened up the world of knowledge for him.

Estrada believes kids need individualized attention. His biggest gripe with the juvenile justice system is that, even when juveniles are rehabilitated, the system throws them back into the conditions that set them up for failure. A major reason for Estrada's success was his decision not to go back to his neighborhood.

Estrada now works for Rite of Passage during school vacations. He speaks at juvenile justice conferences and was recently keynote speaker at the World Conference on Juvenile Justice. He is happily married to Angelita Estrada, who attends California State University in Los Angeles, and is the proud father of a baby girl, Angelica Nadya Estrada. He'd like to obtain a doctorate degree and continue to give back to disadvantaged youth.