Saturday, March 8, 1997 | 11:59 a.m.
It is a door that can open the bleakest chapter in a child's life as easily as it can be a turning point.
Ultimately, though, it is the child who will make the decision.
And that is often the most frustrating part for probation officers at Clark County Juvenile Hall who handle the ever-increasing caseload of kids escorted by police into the overcrowded facility.
Some are the toughest kids in town. Many are basically good kids who made stupid mistakes. All of them need help.
"The hardest thing is the age range," said Sally Huncovsky, juvenile probation supervisor. "We've got everyone from second-graders to seniors in high school. You have to adapt to each kid and what they are going through at their age. ... Sometimes it just breaks your heart."
Like the little ones, she said, who can barely see over the counter where their names and charges are typed into the system moments after arriving in the lobby.
But size and age can't be stereotyped with crime.
Metro Police recently found a gun while frisking an 8-year-old boy. Another 8-year-old appeared in Juvenile Court this week for throwing rocks that caused $3,000 in damage. A 14-year-old girl with the sweetest smile now lives in the juvenile detention facility. Her MO was stealing cars and leading police on high-speed chases.
Then there are ones like Steve who isn't old enough to vote but has a rap sheet two feet long.
Police brought him in Tuesday morning after finding him sleeping in a car stolen the night before. Three bags of marijuana were in there, too. It was the 27th time he'd been in Juvenile Hall, just hours after his 26th arrest Monday on charges of auto burglary, possession of burglary tools and running away from home.
Steve was 8 the first time he was arrested -- the minimum age police can arrest a person in Nevada. He'd been arrested nine times by his 9th birthday. He's been caught for burglary, petty larceny and shooting at someone with a BB gun. He's also a self-proclaimed gang member with a year served in the Nevada Youth Training Center in Elko.
But you'd never know it, meeting him face to face. Huddled under a charcoal gray blanket, he jumps to his feet when you walk into his private cell, keeps his eyes to the floor and says "Sorry" before you say "Hello."
"He needs to go to prison," Huncovsky said, when asked how to handle what on paper spells a hardened criminal. "He's a danger. We need to keep him in custody, because he is a major concern for the safety of the community."
The Juvenile Hall experience begins along a curved sidewalk leading up to the front door and passing alongside an ominous wire fence a story and a half tall, topped with rolled razor wire.
Some children are handcuffed when they arrive, others within arm's length of the arresting officer.
Once inside the lobby, their alleged crimes dictate which of two paths they will follow.
Tougher kids like Steve are booked, then escorted to detention -- their home away from home till their case comes to court, a prescribed jail time is served or other arrangements are made.
Some are in detention a few days, others weeks. The real bad seeds -- those charged with attempted murder or murder -- are housed with adults at the Clark County Detention Center.
Jeremy Anderson, the 9-year-old boy who gained international media interest last week as an accused felon for writing his name and his friends' names in a sidewalk's unhardened concrete, followed the second -- and less punishing -- path.
Police never handcuffed Anderson when he was arrested at school Jan. 28, delivering him to "juvie" where he was booked and placed in a private holding cell until his mother arrived.
A booking officer enters the child's identification -- name, address, charge, Social Security number, etc. -- into the computer while the child empties his or her pockets onto the intake/release counter.
"Sometimes the kids won't tell us anything, or give us a wrong name," said Brad Harden, a booking officer. "We run whatever information we can get through (a criminal database) to see if there are any warrants out for them."
Personal items -- belts, knives, gum, combs, some even have condoms -- are logged on a property inventory sheet the child signs as the items are heat-sealed into a clear plastic bag. The child signs the form again upon release when the items are returned.
Shoes are stored in lockers (socks, whether the child's own or the county's orange ones, are the only footwear allowed in the cells). Money and jewels are held in locked safe drawers.
Next comes the strip search, a standard procedure for all booked children.
The media blitz surrounding Jeremy Anderson hyped the strip search as an invasion of a child's privacy, a stance that dismayed law enforcement authorities.
The purpose, said Kirby Burgess, director of the county's Family and Youth Services, is not to embarrass the child but to ensure no weapons, contraband or drugs slip into the facility.
The search takes place in a bathroom a few steps from the booking desk. A female is searched by a female intake processor, a male by a male intake processor.
The processor and the child are alone behind a closed door throughout the tedious process of checking everything from hair ties to shoe soles.
"We check the seams, the neckline, the pockets -- anywhere something could be hidden," Huncovsky said.
Kids are even asked to remove their underwear -- a request that provokes controversy, but not to booking officers who have seen knives and drugs drop to the floor with boxers and panties.
"We don't actually touch the child, but instead ask them to take off each piece of clothing and hand it to us," Huncovsky said. "We'll ask girls to run their own hands through their hair, because some of them will hide razor blades in there. You'd be amazed at some of the things they'll do."
The white wooden benches in the lobby were altered a few years back as a further safety precaution after officials discovered that the hollowed bases were a convenient place to ditch knives and guns that arresting officers missed during pat-downs on the street.
"We explain during the strip search why we're doing it, that it's for their safety as well as ours," Huncovsky said. "If a weapon gets inside, all it would take is a second before someone gets hurt."
For similar reasons, arresting officers are required to remove their weapons and store them in gun lockers while in the facility.
Body cavity searches can only be done by medical personnel at a hospital with a search warrant.
After re-dressing comes what for some is the most terrifying experience -- waiting for mom or dad to come get them.
Booking officers call the adult's home or work number, notifying them of the charges and requesting an immediate in-person meeting.
A probation officer meets the child for the first time when the parent or guardian arrives. Some relatives never show.
With the adult present, Miranda rights are read and a corresponding form signed by the child. The probation officer interviews the adult to determine if the child would be safer going home or, in the event of intense family tension or psychological problems, staying at a health facility or shelter for children.
Julie was a different case.
Police in Laughlin picked her up Tuesday after she ran away from home. The frail girl said she left in the middle of the night when her mom came back drunk from a bar, jumped on her bed and punched her in the back.
She was brought to Las Vegas because Laughlin doesn't have a juvenile shelter.
Huncovsky spent almost half an hour talking with Julie in her cell, offering consoling words and constructive advice. She listened as Julie talked about potato chips being a typical meal at home, nights spent tracking down her mom in a bar, and wanting to move back to Bullhead City, Ariz., to be with peers who don't bully her.
The mood was different an hour later when Huncovsky met with Kelli, 17, whose cover-girl looks and 3.8 grade point average mask a prostitute who's two months' pregnant.
Huncovsky has arranged for Kelli to go to Children of the Night, a Los Angeles halfway house for exploited and abused boys and girls trying to get back on track. If Kelli completes the six-month program, her charges will be dropped.
"A lot of people are shocked that parents can't come in and take care of the problem, open their checkbooks and pay a fine to fix it, because that's not going to work," Huncovsky said. "It's up to the child."
The impact of the arrest process, she said, is enough to wake many kids up to taking responsibility for their actions, pay restitution to their victims and never fall out of line again.
"Most people forget that these are average kids," she said. "They're impulsive, but most of them never intended for things to go as far as they did. The hardest thing they deal with is forgiving themselves."
A walk through the Juvenile Detention Center echoes of age and overuse.
There is no carpeting on the original facility built back in 1965, now housing most of the male inmates. Cells are Spartan: little more than a two-inch mattress, a cold floor and a flushable steel toilet.
An expansion in 1981 provided bright, fresh areas where detainees watch television, read and attend class in a modified Clark County School District program complete with computers.
The expansion also boosted the facility's capacity to 112 beds, which today is of little help as juvenile crime keeps pace with a bulging million-strong county population.
Recent average daily populations have reached crisis proportions with 200 or more juveniles held at a time.
In January alone, 1,115 youths were booked at the facility.
Kids are doubled and tripled up to make room. Sex offenders tax the system, because the law requires they get a private room.
The county's bond issue, passed last fall, will help by increasing beds to 240, Burgess said.
"We are inundated with juveniles," he said. "The bond issue (will help), but it takes time to get things built."
Clark County Manager Pat Shalmy addressed the overcrowding issue in a report dated Feb. 24, citing overcrowding as the result of inadequate state facilities to take court-ordered juvenile offenders:
"Court-ordered offend ers from Clark County languish as long as eight weeks in the detention center until there is available space in state facilities.
"As the state does not pay for housing these offenders, the financial burden for them is borne by the county. The state only pays for offenders for which it has actually taken custody."
In the meantime, authorities are considering purchasing additional electronic monitoring units and using part-time hourly staff for home monitoring instead of housing less violent juvenile offenders.
They also hope to ease the burden by getting the message through the first time young people come in.
"When they make the decision to change is when they are going to change," Huncovsky said.
"You'll see kids that are 11, 12, 13 getting arrested over and over, and then suddenly they stop, or stop once they become a legal adult. They've started to mature and get redirected. Maybe it's been a teacher at school that's made a difference or they've gotten involved with sports or some program. Something happens.
"While they are here, we try to motivate them that they have the ability to do the right thing and take control over their lives. Because, ultimately, it's up to them."
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