VOLUNTARY LOCKUP OPENS KIDS' EYES

When Jolene Kepler and her 12-year-old son Chase arrived at the new
Lane County Juvenile Justice Center on Friday night, Chase took one
look at the massive brick-and-glass building and told his mom, "I have
a bad feeling - I think we should go."

That small display of fear was the effect Jolene had hoped for, and
the reason she signed the pair up to stay overnight in one of the
center's 85-square-foot concrete cells.

The Keplers were two of about 50 parents and kids - including some
local dignitaries - who experienced incarceration firsthand, including
a sentencing by juvenile court Judge Kip Leonard, a typical dinner and
even a group counseling session.

"I wanted him to get scared," Jolene said. "I wanted him to think:
This sucks. I don't ever want to go there."

The voluntary night in lockup was a first at the 125,000-square-foot
center, built to replace the 42-year-old Skipworth Detention Center.
The $39 million center, part of the John Serbu Youth Campus on
Centennial Boulevard, opened in March.

Check-in began about 6 p.m., and the group was divided in half and
assigned to cells in the circular, sea-foam green accented pod. Guests
had 15 minutes to set up their beds before dinner.

After his initial assessment that he'd go crazy if he stayed in the
cell for too long, Chase said he doubted he'd have any trouble
sleeping on the narrow, lumpy mattress on a raised concrete slab.

"I can sleep through earthquakes - it's been tested before," the
freckle-faced redhead said.

His mom looked a little skeptical as she unfolded two thin white
sheets for her bed - an equally narrow and thin flat pad on the
concrete floor.

"It's littler than your room," she told him. "And there's no TV or
VCR.

"I bet no one gives you bedtime snacks here either," she added with a
grin.

Chase said his mom wanted him to sleep over, "Because she doesn't want
me to get in trouble. So, I know what a prisonlike facility is like."

Dinner was served at 6:30 p.m. and was the same fare given to the kids
actually being held elsewhere in the center. Shredded turkey swimming
in salty gravy over two large biscuit-like dumplings, sliced carrots
and salad with ranch dressing filled the muted tan, rose and
turquoise-colored plasticware. Milk was the only drink choice.

As dinner concluded, a counselor collected all 24 forks - potential
weapons - from the participants staying in half the pod.

At 7 p.m., another counselor, Marc Swindling, outlined the system of
levels and points used to award privileges to residents.

The lowest level, orientation, requires kids to spend most of their
time in their cells. Level 3 residents have earned the most
privileges, including staying up half an hour after swing shift staff
leaves.

Leonard presided over a special session of Juvenile Court that began
at 7:30 p.m. Several county commissioners, a City Council candidate,
City Manager Jim Johnson and Lane County Sheriff Jan Clements were
sentenced to one night's detention with a year's probation to follow.
Clements was led out of the courtroom in handcuffs.

Then each kid received the same sentence - minus the
handcuffs.

Leonard set aside the slumber-party mood for a few minutes and spoke
about the seriousness of winding up in juvenile court.

"Let me tell you about what it would be like to get in this building,"
Leonard said. "You'd be arrested, handcuffed and put in a patrol car
and driven here. Then you'd be taken to intake and held in a room with
no facilities and no mattress. You would leave your clothes. You would
be strip-searched, given clothes from the detention center, showered
and interviewed. You are humiliated and embarrassed," he said bluntly.

Leonard said he didn't expect to see any of them in his
courtroom.

"I want you to think about what it would be like if you weren't on a
field trip, but if you were really here in lockup," Leonard said.

By 8 p.m. everyone had toured intake and seen machines that record
fingerprints and take photographs.

For the last hour before lockdown, Dr. David Mace offered snippets of
a 12-week course called "Coping with Life." The course, taught to all
kids held in the center, is designed to help them better deal with
their feelings and conflicts.

Everyone retreated to bed by 10:20 p.m. Lights were dimmed and the
doors all electronically locked. The only way out was to buzz an
employee on the intercom system.

Several youths spent the night as part of school projects, others
because their parents stayed.

For Chase, his mom thought there was a good lesson to be learned. It
took the entire night and most of the morning before Chase was willing
to discuss his mother's motivation.

On the Wednesday before Valentine's Day, Chase paid an eighth-grader
at his school $5 for a small bag of marijuana in an Altoid mint tin,
he said over his sugar-soaked bowl of breakfast oatmeal.

He said he wasn't sure why he bought the marijuana, but he kept it for
90 minutes before his conscience spoke up loud and clear.

"I realized I made a bad decision, so I gave it away," he said. "I
thought: Why do I have this? It's stupid. It's not worth getting into
trouble. It's not worth the risk."

The boy he gave it to was caught and told school officials he got the
drugs from Chase. The next day, Chase was suspended for two weeks,
then later expelled.

After two weeks of home-schooling, Chase switched to Eugene Christian
School and has started seeing a counselor for help with what he called
"anger problems."

Jolene said she thought a night inside juvenile detention would help
her son learn what the consequences could be for truly bad behavior.

"I don't think he'd really end up here," Jolene said. "I think he did
make a really bad choice, and he only took an hour and a half to
figure it out. He's basically a good kid."

After a restless night, overhead lights flashed on at 6:15 a.m.,
followed by the metal doors unlocking.

"I expected worse," Chase said. "I was surprised that they were not as
strict." Nonetheless, he doesn't think he'll be back.