HIP-HOP MINISTRY

Like others who eventually heed the clang of The Firehouse, rapper
SanJoe remembers a time not so long ago when his life was burning down
around him.

"I was so lost, man -- I used PCP and crank," the ex-gang member
from Modesto testifies from the stage of the San Jose youth club on
St. James Street. "I'd ride around in stolen cars. I've been left for
dead in the desert with an ice pick in my back . . ."

At this, the 29-year-old SanJoe (real name Joe Whitson) nods in time
to his pre-recorded performance mix and raps, "Father, forgive me, I
was stuck in the streets/Thought I had to fend for myself, like a
savage beast."

A popular fixture on the local scene since February, The Firehouse has
become a safe haven for "all young people at risk," explains San
Jose pastor-activist Sonny Lara. "We're an alternative to the thug
life, man. When they come here, they don't need to stand with their
guard up; they can relax . . . be themselves."

The free, non-denominational nightspot meets the last Friday of each
month at the old Oasis disco or, if that's taken, the St. James
Community Center down the street. The club has been hailed by San Jose
Recreation Superintendent Angel Rios Jr. as "cutting edge" and "a
positive alternative" for kids who are confused or have lost their
way.

"When you tell teens don't join gangs or do drugs, that comes across
as preachy," says Rios, a member of the mayor's Gang Prevention Task
Force. "This points them in a new direction, but in a fun setting so
they can still be cool."

Besides SanJoe, this night's decidedly non-gangsta lineup includes
Bloodline and Brother Ig. They do their thing, then mingle with
audience members, some of whom are called onstage to dance or recite
poetry. Each testifies about his or her deliverance from drugs and
gangs.

'Introduce Yourself'

"Get up and walk around," instructs Sonny Lara's son, Israel, who as
emcee-Christian rapper works the crowd with the fervor of a
televangelist.

"Shake hands, introduce yourself," prods Israel Lara. "It's not
about my color, your color, my church, your church -- it's about
fellowship."

If this sounds like a hip-hop version of the old-time prayer meeting,
it is.

"I've seen people break down in tears," Rios says. "The look on
their faces says, 'Man, I'm accepted, I'm important.' So something is
happening there that's meeting their needs."

Adds Israel Lara during a break in the show, "We provide a safe place
for teenagers who are struggling with drugs and alcohol, but you don't
have to be troubled: We welcome kids 12 and up who just want to hang
out and have a good time."

James Chavez and Patty Balderrama, both 16, fit this
description.

Chavez, no stranger to school detention, commutes here from Modesto;
Balderrama, of San Jose, found the youth club when she was taken from
her mother, who was doing time for drugs. "I had a lot of anger in
me," Balderrama confesses. "But I came to this place instead of
going out on the street and doing other stuff, like partying and drinking."

No Fear

Pastor Lara rents the St. James Street club from downtown developer
Barry Swenson for a token $375 or "as close to that as we can come."
He calls The Firehouse "neutral ground," a place where different
religions and ethnicities can mingle without fear of the kind of gun
violence that erupted Saturday morning outside the Ambassador Lounge
on San Pedro Street.

"Neutral means anyone is welcome, man," says the pastor, whose
heavily tattooed body still carries the scars from a gang shooting.
"Check out the atmosphere, man. It's charged with positive energy. We
give the kids a place to express their talents, whether it's poetry,
dancing, drama or rap."

But leave the gangsta attitude at the door.

"It's the Law of Magneticism, man: Who you are is who you attract,"
says Sonny Lara. "The rebellion comes from the music. They hear all
that negative stuff by Eminem and Snoop Dogg and 50 Cent. No wonder
they're depressed. Our music relaxes you, puts you in the mood."

So far, he says, there have been some tense moments, people who were
asked to leave -- but nothing physical. "You'd have to be crazy to
try something here. You see those bouncers? They're big guys, they're
buffed-out, man."

Heading Off Trouble

Angelina Macias and her husband, Freddy, are members of the security
team. A former gang member herself, Macias says she can home in on
potential troublemakers.

"It's easier for me because I was part of that lifestyle," she says.
"Anybody that's trying to sneak narcotics or alcohol in, look out --
I can read your mind."

Rios is impressed by the level of supervision. "It's not just a bunch
of kids running rampant," he says. "It's run by adults who are
trained to interact with young people."

Clubs come and go in the downtown. How long does Sonny Lara think he
can keep this one going with donations? (A fundraiser is planned for
Nov. 5 at San Jose's Wyndham Hotel.)

"I'm training my son Israel to carry on," he replies. "We're not
one of those fly-by-night ministries -- here today, gone tomorrow."

Rios would like the youth club to meet more frequently because
"young people don't just hang out the last Friday of every month."39.