AFTER GANG THREAT, IT'S CAP, GOWN AND LOCKDOWN

LEVITTOWN, Pa., - For the 415 seniors at Harry S. Truman High School,
graduation day offered one final lesson -- unplanned and most
unwelcome -- about gangs, violence and intimidation.

Members of the Bloods street gang reportedly threatened to kill the
school's class president, who was a star athlete and honor student.
Besides that, given the outbreak of gang-related shootings here in
recent months, the threat transformed the commencement ceremony in
this Philadelphia suburb into an odd pageant of anxiety and security.

The 4,500 friends, relatives and spectators who came to the ceremony
had to pass through metal detectors before they could enter the
stadium, which was decorated with banners, bunting and sprays of
yellow carnations. Undercover police detectives milled through the
crowd.

Yet when the ceremonies began Friday afternoon, the class of '06 was
missing its president, Tyrone Lewis, whom the police had banned from
the ceremony because they believed that he, and his family, were in
danger from the Bloods. Mr. Lewis's sister had agreed to testify
against gang members in a New Jersey murder trial, and Mr. Lewis was
recently shot at by three men who the police said they believed
belonged to the gang. Also absent from the ceremony was Ahman Fralin,
18, a senior who has been hospitalized, and paralyzed from the neck
down since April, when he was shot in the spine as he sat beside Mr.
Lewis.

Despite protests from Mr. Lewis's mother, he delivered his speech from
a secret spot as the crowd watched on a large television screen.

After being welcomed with raucous applause by the crowd watching on
the screen in the stadium, Mr. Lewis, 18, made only passing reference
to the circumstances that made him an exile at his own graduation. He
asked the crowd to pray for Mr. Fralin and suggested that the police
"lockdown" surrounding the graduation ceremony should come as little
surprise in an age when police dogs search school lockers for drugs
and students have their knapsacks checked for guns each morning.

"We've had some crazy days, but we've also had inspiring days as
well," he said.

Simple American rites of passage were not supposed to be this jarring
in Levittown, a community that was designed in the early 1950's as an
affordable refuge for returning World War II veterans eager to seek
serenity in the suburbs.

But law enforcement experts say the episode is another sign of the
spread of gangs throughout much of the Northeast in recent years as
the Bloods, the Crips and the Latin Kings have expanded operations
from poor neighborhoods in major cities to small towns and the
suburbs, where they now threaten countless teenagers like Tyrone
Lewis, whose status as a gifted student, an accomplished athlete and a
popular member of the school community might once have sheltered him
from the violence.

Even in those parts of the country where the movement of gangs to the
suburbs has slowed, the organizations have become more mobile,
allowing them to reach into small towns that once considered
themselves immune to urban ills.

"In areas where the suburbs are close and similar to the cities, these
gangs really prowl around a lot," said John P. Moore, director of the
National Youth Gang Center. "The old image of territoriality is not
what it used to be. They're mobile; they're going to move around to do
their things. And they're going to run into other gangs, which is when
the violence usually begins."

In Levittown, those gang incursions usually come from Trenton, about
eight miles northeast of here. In recent years, the authorities have
had to fend off sporadic forays by members of the 5-9 Brims faction of
the Bloods, who have come to sell narcotics, particularly in Bristol
Township, one of the four communities that make up Levittown. The
police, and elected officials, assert that the community's gang
problem is small and manageable, but parents say that the fear is
inescapable.

"You hear about gangs occasionally and you worry about it all the
time," said James Drum, who attended the commencement to watch his
son, Brian, and son-in-law, Justin, graduate. "The thing you worry
about most is the crossfire. Your kid's in the wrong place at the
wrong time and its all over."

The police theorize that for Tyrone Lewis, the wrong place was his
home. Mr. Lewis's sister Rachel is now in jail on second-degree murder
charges after her arrest for allegedly driving the car from which
members of the Bloods opened fire on a rival drug dealer last August
and killing Anton Cofield, whom the police described as an uninvolved
bystander. Ms. Lewis later agreed to cooperate with prosecutors in
exchange for reduced charges, and testified against a member of the
Trenton Bloods. The police say it was her testimony that led gang
members to start a vendetta against her and her family.

Ms. Lewis's lawyer, Edward H. Wiley, declined to comment on the
case.

School officials and the police say there is no evidence to suggest
that Mr. Lewis had any involvement with any gangs. And he was such a
star at the school that classmates voted him most likely to be famous.
He set the county record for the most points ever scored by a high
school basketball player and won a full scholarship to Niagara
University in Niagara Falls, which has a Division 1 basketball program.

But after the shooting in April, the police began hearing rumors that
the Bloods had set out to kill Mr. Lewis in retaliation for his
sister's testimony. Then, last Friday, the Bristol Township police
chief, James McAndrew, told school officials that they had heard
credible reports that the Bloods were plotting to kill Mr. Lewis at
his graduation ceremony.

"The police told us that there was some suggestion that the gang
members wanted to make it a statement by doing it at a public event
where he was the center of attention," said David Truelove, a lawyer
for the school board.

Mr. Lewis's mother, Marlene, did not return repeated calls. But in an
interview on the ABC television program "Good Morning America" on
Thursday morning, she said that the gunfire that crippled Mr. Fralin
was a simple case of road rage and argued that the death threats
against her son were unfounded rumors.

Near Mr. Lewis's home on Friday, some friends and neighbors suggested
that the entire episode had been motivated by jealousy, and chastised
the police and local officials for overreacting.

"He found his way out of here, and there's some people just can't
stand him having the spotlight," said Karen Butler, 15, a neighbor.
"He's been walking around here every day, so if the gang wanted to
kill him, he'd already be dead."

But Mr. Truelove said that the police and school officials were
uncomfortable taking the chance that violence might mar the ceremony.

With the help of John Jordan, president of the Bucks County Chapter of
the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, they
struck a deal that allowed Mr. Lewis to deliver his address by way of
a satellite hookup.

School officials and students tried to prevent the gang threat from
dampening the mood of the ceremony and in many respects succeeded. The
graduates clowned around with each other as they marched in to "Pomp
and Circumstance" and waved to friends and family in the bleachers as
the choir sang "Seasons of Love" from the musical "Rent."

But it was hard to escape signs that this was a most unusual ceremony.
A concession stand was closed, because the police did not want the
lines of patrons to provide a target for would-be gunmen. Family
members received a letter before the ceremony, asking them not to
carry large amounts of change or wear metal buckles. When students
began tossing a red beach ball during the valedictorian's speech, two
security guards in sport coats moved in.

Marilyn Spires, whose cousin graduated, briefly considered skipping
the cermony, but decided that the overwhelming show of force by law
enforcement would probably deter any violence. After Mr. Lewis made
his speech, and it was followed with nothing more raucous than
cheering and whoops from the audience, she let out a long sigh of relief.

"All right," Ms. Spires, 19, said. "I would have hated to miss those
graduation parties."