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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze Shifting Paradigms

El Segundo High valedictorian inspired, motivated by school custodian

El Segundo High student inspired, motivated by school custodian

June 24, 2013

El Segundo High valedictorian Kevin Qualls was inspired by an unusual mentor, school custodian William Ochoa. Qualls hung around the school while waiting for his mother to pick him up for their commute to South L.A. and the pair struck up a friendship. Ochoa, left, with Kevin in front of the school. (Robert Casillas / Staff Photographer)
El Segundo High valedictorian Kevin Qualls was inspired by an unusual mentor, school custodian William Ochoa. Qualls hung around the school while waiting for his mother to pick him up for their commute to South L.A. and the pair struck up a friendship. Ochoa, left, with Kevin in front of the school. (Robert Casillas / Staff Photographer)

It is often said that, to succeed academically, students need just one adult on campus to believe in them. For Kevin Qualls, a recent graduate of El Segundo High, that person was the school custodian.

In truth, many adults at the school surely believed in Kevin — who graduated earlier this month in the top 5 percent of his class. But in custodian William Ochoa, Kevin saw a kindred spirit.

Both grew up in poverty-stricken south Los Angeles, where Kevin still lives. Both were raised in single-parent families with an absent father. Both were outsiders who felt embraced by a suburban community whose quaint small-town architecture feels a world away from the gritty neighborhoods they’ve called home.

“Everybody shows me so much love here,” Kevin said.

Their friendship began one day after school hours, when Ochoa walked into the computer lab and found Kevin in there alone, lost in work.

Valedictorian Kevin Qualls gives his speech. (Photo for the Daily Breeze by Axel Koester)
Valedictorian Kevin Qualls gives his speech. (Photo for the Daily Breeze by Axel Koester)

Normally, Ochoa would kindly ask such a straggler to leave — in fact the rules require it. But Ochoa, who is commonly chatty with students, struck up a conversation. He learned that Kevin hung around the school or in the nearby El Segundo Public Library every night until 7 or 7:30 p.m., because that was the earliest his mother could get to school to pick him up after working all day in Century City.

“I thought to myself: If I kick him out, where is he going to go?” Ochoa said. “I figured, it’s not going to hurt anyone for him to stay here for an hour.”

Over the course of the year, Ochoa and Kevin got to know each other better. Sometimes, in the evening, Kevin would walk back to the school from the library — perhaps to retrieve a book he’d forgotten, or perhaps just to shoot the breeze. Ochoa would open the locked door.

“He would always ask about my kids,” said the 32-year-old Ochoa, who these days lives in Lawndale with his wife and two young children. “You never see a kid ask you about your family, about your kids.”

When Kevin worked the snack shack at Friday night football games, Ochoa and the other custodians would joke around with him.

When Kevin learned he was a finalist for the prestigious Gates Millennium scholarship — a jackpot award funded by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation that foots the entire bill for the tuition, room and board of the lucky winners — Ochoa was one of the first people Kevin told.

From the beginning, the odds haven’t been in Kevin’s favor.

Half-black, half-Samoan, Kevin is a resident of Leimert Park, a south Los Angeles community located within the attendance boundaries of Crenshaw High School, where test scores are abysmal and the dropout rate astronomical.

In 2006, Kevin — an only child — saw his small family become smaller. That was the year his father, who’d long battled depression, was committed to a board-and-care facility for the mentally ill in Carson.

From that point on, his immediate family has consisted of two members — Kevin and his mom, Alofa Qualls. Every day, she drove him to school in El Segundo from Leimert Park, then traveled all the way up to Century City, where she works in the accounts-receivable department of an insurance company.The family actually lived in El Segundo in the distant past. But they moved out when Kevin was in kindergarten because they couldn’t afford it. Ever since, his mother had enrolled him in El Segundo’s public schools as a permit student.

Kevin was in middle school, he said, when the sacrifices made by his mother really hit him.

“I thought, if my mom is pouring so much sweat and hustle to take me here, I might as well make the most of it,” he said.

Alofa said her son has been undeterred by the roadblocks. “He’s not using any of those excuses to use it as a cop-out,” she said. “He rose from all that.”

At El Segundo High, where student test scores are exceptional, Kevin did more than hold his own. In addition to graduating near the top of his class, he won the contest among students for giving the valedictory address, which he delivered on commencement day June 13.

He was recognized by the El Segundo Masonic Lodge earlier this month as El Segundo High’s Student of the Year.

“I had the pleasure of teaching Kevin in AP physics this year,” said teacher Steven Eno. “Kevin is the most respectful and hardest working student that I have ever worked with. … Kevin made a habit of coming into class early and leaving class late to get as much time working with physics as possible.”

Most impressively, Kevin was a recipient of that Gates Millennium scholarship, which will cover the entire $62,000-a-year bill for him to attend and live on the campus at USC, where this fall he plans to begin studying mechanical engineering.

Shortly after he learned the good news, he sought out Ochoa.

“He was sweeping one of the science rooms, and I came up to him,” Kevin said. “We just looked at each other and he’s like, ‘What?’ I said, ‘I got it.’ ”

Ochoa threw the broom down and gave Kevin a hug.

Any student who receives so many accolades in a year has also by now doled out public thank yous. During these moments, Kevin is quick to credit his parents — and Ochoa.

Ochoa — who in addition to his full-time job as a custodian works 20 or so hours a week at a print shop in El Segundo — is a little hesitant to take any credit for Kevin’s success.

“I don’t know what I did — he did all the work,” he said.

But Kevin assures that Ochoa was a big help.

“He was just the friend you could count on at the end of the day,” he said.

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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze

Best-Selling ‘Unbroken’ Star Louis Zamperini, 94, Returns to Torrance High

A Hero Comes Home to Torrance High

Published on April 1, 2011

Torrance legend Louis Zamperini paid a visit to his alma mater Torrance High to visit with alumni and meet students. Robert Casillas
Torrance legend Louis Zamperini paid a visit to his alma mater Torrance High to visit with alumni and meet students. Robert Casillas

If anybody knows the secret to life, it’s Torrance’s very own Louis Zamperini, who has captivated the world by the miraculous ways in which he’s cheated death.

The secret, if there is one, seems to be this: Stay cheerful through it all.

On Thursday, the 94-year-old subject of a best-selling biography enthralled students at his alma mater, Torrance High School.

With the stooped-over posture and comic timing of Bob Hope, Zamperini made light of some of the darkest things imaginable: what it was like to kill a shark with his bare hands in order to survive, what it was like to shake the hand of Adolf Hitler, what it was like to float adrift at sea in a life raft for 47 days with no food, what it was like to be a prisoner of war.

But he also waxed philosophical, saying he prefers the term “Hardy Generation” to “Greatest Generation,” the moniker coined by Tom Brokaw to describe Zamperini’s age group.

“To be hardy is to overcome adversity, and we had a lot of adversity in my day,” he said, speaking in the school’s auditorium. “Each adversity you overcame made you more and more hardy.”

Zamperini, long the pride and joy of Torrance — where an airport landing strip and high school football stadium are named in his honor — has become a national hero of sorts thanks to the book “Unbroken,” penned by Laura Hillenbrand, author of the best-selling novel “Seabiscuit.”

A crowd swelled around Zamperini, consisting mostly of girls, who were jostling to take a photo with him.
A crowd swelled around Zamperini, consisting mostly of girls, who were jostling to take a photo with him.

By now, thanks largely to the book, his story is world famous.

Zamperini grew up the son of Italian immigrants, living at 2028 Gramercy Ave. in Torrance. He began the first chapter of his life as a hooligan, ditching classes, stealing bread from bakeries and hopping freight trains. But his older brother, Pete, a track coach, pulled him aside one day and slapped sense into him, telling him it was time to grow up.

Aware of Louis’ running talent, Pete encouraged him to try out for the track team. Louis not only made the team, he became known as the “Torrance Tornado,” winning meets and breaking national records. He ran his way to a scholarship at USC and into the 1936 Berlin Olympics, where he performed well, though won no medals.

Then, like so many other promising young men of the era, the Tornado enlisted with the military and found himself serving on a B-24 bomber in World War II. In April 1943, he was among a dozen men on a B-24 that nose-dived in the Pacific Ocean. Only three men survived.

“It felt like someone hit me in the forehead with a sledgehammer,” Zamperini recalled in a documentary that the students watched Thursday, referring to the plane’s head-on collision with the deep blue.

Zamperini and the two others took refuge on a circular life raft. From the perspective of a plane, it was practically invisible — but a germ on the great expanse. The men soon ran out of food and water, and literally killed sharks and seabirds to survive.

On at least one occasion, they were strafed by the machine gunfire of an enemy plane, which miraculously missed.

Newspapers in Torrance and across the country declared the men dead. By the time the raft made landfall on a remote island 47 days later, only two men remained. They were so weak they had to crawl onto the sandy beach. Zamperini weighed just 65 pounds.

As luck would have it, the island was an outpost of the Japanese Army, which had a presence there. The two Americans were taken into custody, and served as POWs for 2 1/2 years.

Speaking to the students after the movie, USC ball cap perched atop his head, Zamperini recalled one of the most emotional moments of his life. It was during the 1998 Olympics in Nagano, Japan. Zamperini was running with the Olympic torch, alongside the labor camp in which he toiled. Lining the street were throngs of Japanese fans cheering him on. Later on, at a ceremony, a Japanese official asked Zamperini if anything good came out of his incarceration as a POW in Japan.

“I said, `Yeah, it prepared me for 55 years of married life,”‘ he said, cracking up the crowd. He added that his wife later saw a video of the ceremony. “I had a hassle getting in the house.”

Zamperini went on to describe his encounters with a team of interrogators. The most hard-nosed among them happened to also be a graduate of USC.

“This guy was the most obnoxious of the six,” he said. “I couldn’t believe he was a Trojan. … I finally came to this conclusion: He had to be a third-year transfer from UCLA.”

His prepared remarks were brief, but the jokes kept flowing during a question-and-answer session with the students, who stood up and shouted their questions toward the podium on stage. After each question, Zamperini, who is hard of hearing, cocked his head while the nearby student-body president who organized the event — Danish Akmal — repeated the question in his ear.

“How did you feel meeting Adolf Hitler?”

“It was no big deal at the time,” Zamperini said, referring to how the notorious dictator, impressed by Zamperini’s strong finish in the 5,000-meter dash, demanded to meet the athlete. “We always thought that he was what we call a dangerous comedian. With that mustache and the mannerisms, he would have done great in Hollywood.”

For the rest of the day, Zamperini — once the school’s student-body president — was again the big man on campus. While eating lunch in the cafeteria, a choir sang for him. He signed books for hordes of fawning students.

After lunch, Zamperini and an entourage of organizers made their way to the student quad, where the drum line and a cheer squad performed for him. Not long after, a crowd swelled around him, consisting mostly of girls, who were jostling to take a photo with him.

“He’s so cute!” gushed Jordan Brown, a junior.

“To have the will to live for that long — for longer than a month on a boat, stranded, nothing to eat, just like, sharks to kill,” marveled sophomore Saige Shive. “That’s God, all the way.”

As late as this week, the book, which soared to No. 2 on the New York Times best-sellers list, ranked No. 1 on nonfiction best-seller lists for independent bookstores around Southern California, according to the website L.A. Observed. Universal Studios has purchased the rights to the book, and actor James Franco may play the lead, Zamperini said.

Even in old age, Zamperini has lived an active life. He not only skied until age 91, he took up skateboarding at 65, and took his last ride on a board at age 81 on Gower Street in Hollywood, the city where he now lives.

“I work with kids,” he explained. “What kids do, I do — you get closer to them. And I like a challenge.”

Zamperini said the secret to longevity can be found in the Bible: “Have a cheerful countenance all the time.”

“Even if I go to a funeral, I have a cheerful attitude,” he said. “After all, their problems are all over.”

rob.kuznia@dailybreeze.com

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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze

High school football player helps reassemble a ruined team after everybody walks

High school football player helps reassemble a ruined team after everybody walks

April 6, 2013

 

For Jason Ferguson, captain of the varsity football team at St. Bernard High in Playa del Rey, the first day of this past season was pretty normal: everybody showed up, ran some laps and went home. But that was the beginning and end of “normal.”

When the powerhouse football team at St. Bernard High School in Playa del Rey quit en masse this fall and its members scattered to other schools, Jason Ferguson, the captain, stayed behind. He later helped recruit a large group of boys to assemble a new junior varsity team from scratch. St. Bernard High recently honored Jason with a leadership award for his team spirit.
When the powerhouse football team at St. Bernard High School in Playa del Rey quit en masse this fall and its members scattered to other schools, Jason Ferguson, the captain, stayed behind. He later helped recruit a large group of boys to assemble a new junior varsity team from scratch. St. Bernard High recently honored Jason with a leadership award for his team spirit.

Later that night, Coach Larry Muno, upset about a contract calling for him to fundraise for his own salary, walked. It was a bombshell. Within a week, nearly all the players on the varsity squad had scattered to other schools. Suddenly, what had been a 10-0 team the prior season was dust. Vanished, too, was the junior varsity team.

The teams were gone, but not all the players. Ferguson, captain of the varsity team and an outside linebacker, stayed on.

“St. Bernard is pretty much a family to me,” said the soft-spoken high school senior, who next year plans to study computer science at either Northern Arizona University or the University of Arizona. “I couldn’t really leave it behind.”

It was a painful decision. All summer long, Jason had been looking forward to a final year of football, and now that senior dream was dashed. Or was it? A new coach was soon hired. That coach, John Bibb – nicknamed “Bama” for his Alabama upbringing and faint accent – solicited Jason’s help in recruiting some guys to assemble a junior varsity squad.

Jason took this calling to heart. He hit up five senior guys who weren’t already on the team. Using Facebook and Twitter, he gently cajoled the waverers.

Jason also gave tours during freshmen orientation with an ulterior motive in mind. If a group contained an unsuspecting big guy, Jason made sure to take a detour through the courtyard, where Bama was lying in wait. The coach gave a quick spiel and let the kid know what time practice would be.

“They were like, ‘OK,'” Jason said. “They pretty much kind of got tricked into it.”

Eventually, they’d cobbled together a team of about 30. About half of the players had never before suited up for the gridiron. The junior varsity squad canceled its first couple of games so it could get up to snuff. But the Friday night of the team’s first game on Sept. 14 was soon less than a week away, and Jason was pumped: He was going to play football again after all.

That Thursday, the day before the game, Jason and the five other seniors were summoned into a room by Coach Bibb. The school’s two principals, Cynthia Hoepner and Mike Alvarez, were there. They had bad news: The Del Rey League had rejected the team’s request to allow the seniors to play. (CIF rules allow seniors to play JV football, but divisions within the statewide league can override the rule.)

The room fell into an awkward silence. The boys choked back tears, as did the adults.

“We’re still gonna need you,” Bibb said. “You’ve been good role models. ”

Jason was the first to speak up.

“I’m in, coach,” he said.

The others followed suit. That first game was against Washington Prep High. Jason and the five seniors graced the sidelines in jerseys and jeans – fetching balls, calling plays, offering water, but, above all, providing moral support.

Jason doesn’t remember the score.

“It was a blowout,” he said.

A blowout in favor of the St. Bernard Vikings.

And so it would be for the next six games, each of them won by the Vikings, most by a wide margin. The team finished 7-0.

In one of those games – the nonleague game against Marshall High from Los Angeles – Jason and the seniors were allowed to play. On defense, Jason made a tackle. On offense, he ran the ball for a 20-yard touchdown.

After securing the league championship, the team celebrated in the locker room with pizza and fizzy apple cider, which they shook and sprayed like champagne.

Last month, at a gala celebrating the school’s 55th anniversary, Jason was feted with a leadership award for his loyalty to the team. The other person so awarded at the March 16 event was the school’s most famous alum, Kevin Chilton, who, after graduating in 1972, went on to become a graduate of the U.S. Air Force Academy, a four-star general and an astronaut who piloted the space shuttle Endeavour on its maiden voyage in 1992.

Hoepner, one of the school’s co-principals, said Jason is all the more deserving of the award for his humility.

“I don’t know that Jason fully understood what his heroic efforts did for the morale of the school,” she said. “I don’t know that at the time he fully comprehended or even wanted the attention. … He’s a kid. He did what he felt in his heart was right to do. ”

Indeed, Jason is reluctant to take so much credit. He cited another senior who stayed on, Gilberto Cabuto, as well as two other seniors who’d done the same last year, during a strangely similar series of events with the school’s basketball team.

As for Hoepner, this fall was almost as traumatic for her as it was for the players. A new principal, she hadn’t been on staff for a month when Muno quit.

During that first week of practice, she would stand in the library, looking out the window facing the football field at the dwindling number of players. On Day Two, there were 30 or so, sans Muno. By Day Five, the roster of varsity and junior varsity players had withered to a measly eight.

“Eight players on this huge field,” she said. “You’re going, ‘That doesn’t even make an offense.’ ”

That imagery led to a rallying cry that has stuck all year at the school – one emblazoned on school-spirit T-shirts: “From Eight to Great. ”

Over the months, bonds among members of the hastily assembled team grew strong. “They’d go to the chapel before every game with Coach Bama,” Hoepner said. “They were a family. ”

She vividly remembers a celebration in the jam-packed faculty lounge after the team won the title.

“One freshman said, ‘Go hard or go home!’ The whole team, in one roar, said, ‘And home is not an option!'”

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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze

No resources? No problem. Carson High School robotics students make good use of junk

No resources? No problem. Carson High School robotics students make good use of junk

 

Originally published on May 9, 2014

What the Carson High robotics team lacks in resources, it more than makes up for in resourcefulness.

Carson High’s scrappy robotics program began two years ago with a shopping cart, which served as the team’s laboratory. The four founding teammates — all freshmen — spent weeks pushing it around campus, scavenging recycled materials and junk, such as broom sticks and scrap metal, that might prove useful for building an underwater remote operating vehicle.

These days, the team has a little more in the way of resources, but it remains a have-not.

Most notably, Carson High has no swimming pool, thereby complicating the effort to participate in the annual underwater robotics competition, which is happening Saturday in Long Beach.

But team members have a way of making things work, with a little help from their friends and neighbors.

One generous neighbor, the DoubleTree by Hilton in Carson, allowed the team to use its outdoor pool in the weeks leading up to today’s competition.

There, with happy-hour hotel guests sipping cocktails nearby, the teammates have perfected their two remote-controlled vehicles.

“We have to be as creative with materials as we can,”said coach Tammy Bird, a science teacher. “It’s all about repurposing materials. … It’s completely ‘MacGyver.’ ”

Built in the shape and size of microwave ovens, the sibling robots are a complex confection of PVC pipes, broomstick handles, bilge pumps used in boat toilets, scrap metal, diapers (for waterproofing electronics), underwater cameras and skeins of wire. The curious creations are manned by a kid on the surface with an Xbox controller connected to a laptop. The robots are capable of plunging to the bottom of the pool, motoring across the surface, picking up debris, opening doors and collecting samples.

“It’s kind of like the Mars rover, where you’re sending something out to collect data, since we can’t be there,” said Bird, the lead teacher with the school’s Environmental Science, Engineering and Technology Academy.

The months of hard work have led to the annual Marine Advanced Technology Education competition, which is happening all day today at Long Beach City College.

Historically, the team has fared surprisingly well, given its meager resources. In both its first and second showings, Carson High placed fourth out of the 15 or so regional competitors.

“We beat both CAMS teams last year, and they’re an engineering school,” Bird said. “The kids said, ‘Sorry Miss Bird, we didn’t win the competition.’ I’m like ‘Oh hell, you won — you beat both CAMS teams!’ ”

The only Los Angeles Unified School District competitor in Saturday’s event, Carson High is an unlikely robotics standout. It’s an urban school serving a largely low-income population that is among the most diverse in LAUSD. The school’s test scores lag far below the state average.

Of the team’s 24 members, only one or two have a parent who works in the field. None has a car; they make the two-mile trek from the school to the DoubleTree by skateboard, foot or bicycle. (The school technically has two teams — one for each robot.)

Team captain Jelani Dozier was among the four freshmen who pioneered the program two years ago. He fondly remembers pushing the shopping cart around campus that first year in search of materials.

“We have this thing at our school called the graveyard,” he said. “That’s where teachers throw out old desks and stuff they don’t need, old computers that don’t work.”

The cart made passes through there. And Bird still chuckles about how things from her classroom and school garden went missing — and wound up on the robot.

“One of my teacher boxes with wheels to cart my books and stuff around — the wheels disappeared on that,” she said. “The rotors on my sprinkler heads were used for propellers.”

The team’s biggest score that first year was an empty five-gallon water jug, which became the core component to that first legendary robot, “Bottlenose Porpoiseful,” named after the dolphin-like marine mammal.

“The shopping cart was their laboratory, and people laughed at them,” said Nuu “Tui” Tuimoloau, a retired college counselor who volunteers with the team.

The team got the last laugh: their contrivance was the fastest robot in the competition.

True to scrappy form, the Carson High roboteers have tricked out their creations with a few enhancements that have tested the limits of the rules of the game — prompting organizers to rewrite them. For instance, the Bottlenose Porpoiseful had wheels — the ones that disappeared from the teacher cart — enabling the charismatic device to scoot along the bottom of the pool when the intent is for the robots to hover and be “neutrally buoyant.”

Now, wheels are expressly forbidden. Dozier views the new rule as a badge of honor.

“We thought outside of the box,” he said.

The premise of this year’s game mimics an eerie reality on Lake Huron, one of the five Great Lakes. On the bed of the chilly waters separating northeast Michigan from Canada are hundreds upon hundreds of shipwrecks.

Each team is meant to be a company vying for a contract to help identify the “ships,” which in reality will consist of sundry props — such as dinner plates or ship masts fashioned out of PVC pipe — at the bottom of an Olympic-size swimming pool.

Students must use their robots to pick up china, open doors, collect samples and take pictures, among other things. While achieving these tasks, the driver and co-pilot cannot be within direct view of the robots — the camera on the robot and monitor in front of them must serve as their eyes.

“It’s a real and relevant scenario,” Bird said.

For students, the program has led to real and relevant career opportunities. One junior on the team, Jennifer Baysa, this summer will work as a paid intern at the NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena.

Dozier, who had been pinning his post-high school hopes on football, said he has found a new career path.

“Because of this, I’ve been able to go with Ms. Bird to places like Raytheon and Northrop Grumman and see what they’ve been doing,” he said. “It’s kind of changed my perspective on what I want to do after college. I want to be some form of mechanical engineer.”

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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze

Mind Over Matter: Torrance Man Finds New Path After Traumatic Brain Injury

Mind Over Matter: Torrance Man Finds New Path After Traumatic Brain Injury

Originally published on July 19, 2010

Francisco Sanchez fell during work and hit his head twice; causing a severe brain hemorrhage that led to a coma. When he awoke he was unable to speak and lost some of his memory. On Thursday evening, Sanchez defied the odds and graduated from ITT Technical Institute with an AA in Computer Drafting and Design.  Sanchez holds his diploma, a certificate for academic achievement, and a certificate for being the salutatorian of his department, as he poses for photos after the ceremony. July 08, 2010. Photo by Steve McCrank.
Francisco Sanchez fell during work and hit his head twice; causing a severe brain hemorrhage that led to a coma. When he awoke he was unable to speak and lost some of his memory. On Thursday evening, Sanchez defied the odds and graduated from ITT Technical Institute with an AA in Computer Drafting and Design. Sanchez holds his diploma, a certificate for academic achievement, and a certificate for being the salutatorian of his department, as he poses for photos after the ceremony.
July 08, 2010. Photo by Steve McCrank.

Three years ago, Francisco Sanchez of Torrance was working as a train welder at the Port of Los Angeles when he inexplicably passed out and fell backwards into the empty boxcar six feet below.

His head slammed into a metal bar on his way down and banged against the floor of the train. His brain began to bleed. He was rushed to St. Mary Medical Center in Long Beach, where, despite an emergency craniotomy, doctors expected him to die.

When Sanchez awoke from his coma nearly three weeks later, surrounded by friends and family in the hospital, he struggled to speak, and was blind in his left eye. He tried to write his family a note, but it came out as gibberish.

Although his speech soon returned, Sanchez had to relearn a slew of frustratingly simple words, like “knife” and the number “three.”

And how far he’s come.

Earlier this month, the 36-year-old Torrance native graduated from ITT Tech in Torrance, where he specialized in computer drafting and design. Sanchez enrolled two years ago against the advice of his doctor, who feared he wasn’t cognitively ready for such a rigorous mental workload.

He finished second in his class of about 40 students with a 3.9 GPA. At the graduation ceremony on July 8, Sanchez picked up not only his AA degree but also a salutatorian certificate. Now he’s going for his bachelor’s in the engineering division of ITT’s computer drafting program.

“I was knocking on the door of the Grim Reaper,” said Sanchez, whose closely cropped hair reveals the line from a question-mark-shaped scar covering the left side of his head , tracing the path of the incision made on that fateful day – May 21, 2007 – to release the pressure from the gathering blood.

“But I was positive from the beginning. I had hope – I didn’t look at the negative side. As soon as you become negative you become just a blob, sitting there.”

Sanchez is among about 700,000 Americans who suffer traumatic brain injury every year, according to the Brain Injury Association of America. The victims tend to be young; most are 15 to 30 years old. Many cases are the result of blunt trauma, such as car accidents, hard falls or acts of violence.

But sometimes the tragedy creeps up quietly in the form of an aneurysm, stroke or even the occasional sinus infection gone awry.

Almost always, the damage and resulting debilitation is largely permanent. But, as Sanchez has proved, that doesn’t preclude the injured from making significant accomplishments.

His story demonstrates how a person’s life can come crashing down in an instant, but also underscores the power of determination and the strong support network of a loving family.

“I personally don’t let him say he can’t do something,” said Andrea Sanchez, his wife of nearly 12 years, with whom he has had two girls, ages 4 and 10. “I won’t let him say, ‘I can’t or I won’t or I shouldn’t.’ I’m like, ‘If you’re not fine, then I’m not fine.”‘

As for Francisco, the injury fueled his determination to not only heal, but grow. Until now, he’d never obtained any formal schooling after graduating from Narbonne High School.

New skill needed

In a sense, his hand was forced. Shortly after Sanchez returned home from the hospital, he suffered two massive seizures. This disqualified him from ever again plying his trade, which required working from tall heights. He needed to find a more suitable skill.

Sanchez, the son of an aerospace engineer, recalled excelling in a high school drafting class. This led him to enroll in the computer drafting and design program.

Meanwhile, he still needed rehab. Many who suffer head trauma opt to first rehabilitate and then move on to rebuild their professional lives. Sanchez chose to do both simultaneously.

About 21/2 years ago, he enrolled in the Acquired Brain Injury program at Coastline Community College in Costa Mesa. He concurrently enrolled at ITT. For two years, he attended the former by day and the latter by night.

Progress didn’t come without a struggle.

For starters, the accident seems to have altered Sanchez’s personality.

An outgoing man with an average build, amused eyes and a ready laugh, Sanchez said he’s always been the kind of guy to chat up a stranger in line at the grocery store. But ever since the incident, he and Andrea said, Sanchez has occasionally exhibited the tendency to grow overly excited. Not in an angry way, but sometimes in a manner that suggests he is anxious or frustrated.

“I get excited for whatever we’re going to do, so I start talking fast or start talking loud,” he said. “And my wife’s like ‘Hey, don’t yell at me!’ I’m like ‘I’m not yelling at you.’ I can’t sense myself when I’m being loud to them until they tell me. So I tell my kids: tell me. Don’t just walk away – I need the information from them to help me.”

Personality changes aren’t unusual among victims of brain injury .

Posted on the website for the program at Coastline Community College is a good-natured essay by recent graduate Scott Newbry, who, after a devastating motorcycle accident, came to with a newly acquired Southern accent.

Another major issue is money. Sanchez’s accident had the effect of cutting the family’s income in half, even though Andrea Sanchez says their insurance company has been very cooperative. One of their cars was repossessed and the family had to move into a smaller apartment.

Andrea Sanchez, an office supervisor at South Bay Orthopaedic Specialists Medical Center in Torrance, started working six days a week instead of five. And while workers’ comp paid $10,000 towards his education, tuition ran $20,000 a year.

Scariest of all are the eerie health complications that can accompany a serious brain injury .

One night, Sanchez was studying for a test when he noticed a numbness in his hand. It slowly spread to his fingertips, then crawled up his arm and into his neck.

“Then I started feeling half of my face. Numbness,” he said. “And then all of a sudden, I started feeling it in my tongue, and in my mouth and I was like, you know what, it doesn’t look right.”

To be safe, they went to the hospital. Doctors figured he’d had a stroke, and increased his seizure medication. He hasn’t had another episode since, though the heavy dosage makes him tired.

But Sanchez – who regained the sight in his left eye after surgery – persevered and plowed through, in spite of the splitting headaches and the stress of studying in a house with two small children.

“He was a very pleasant student,” said Frederick Poblete, the dean at ITT. “He did very, very well academically. And he had very good attendance.”

Survivor program grows

Celeste Ryan, co-chair of the Acquired Brain Injury program at Coastline, said advancements in treating aneurysms, strokes and brain tumors – as well as victims of car crashes – have had the unintended effect of boosting the number of survivors who suffer from severe brain injuries .

When the Coastline program first opened in 1978, it served 19 students. Last year, it accommodated 230.

The idea of the program isn’t to heal the brain – oftentimes, Ryan said, the damage can’t be undone. Instead, the goal is to help students cope with their newfound disabilities. Students are taught to use personal digital assistants (PDAs) to keep track of appointments, for instance.

“They forget all the things you and I do, but the incidence is much higher,” she said.

Sometimes, the impairments are tragically severe. A person, for instance, might lose track of time and spend hours in the bathroom getting ready for work. The program might then encourage him or her to equip the room with a timer.

Usually, victims of traumatic brain injury have no trouble remembering skills acquired long ago, Ryan said. But forming new memories can prove daunting.

For this reason, she said, Sanchez’s case is remarkable.

“Francisco is an extremely hard worker,” she said. “He also has a very exceptional support network – there’s a high incidence of divorce after a brain injury .”

The bond between Francisco and Andrea Sanchez runs deep. Both attended Narbonne High, though Andrea – whose maiden name is Waack – is six years his junior. They married when she was 19 and he was 25.

She still remembers the fateful day all too vividly.

She’d prepared his lunch – leftover stir fry – and called to say hello while he was eating it. Not long after, during her own lunch hour, she got a call from his boss, saying there had been an accident.

For his part, Sanchez has no memory of that day or the day before. Andrea Sanchez jokes that this a good thing, because it was the first batch of stir fry she’d ever made, and it turned out terrible. The day before the accident, he tried to reassure her at the dinner table.

“He said, ‘No, it’s really good.’ I said, ‘No it’s not, but I’ll make you lunch tomorrow.’ That’s what he ate for lunch.”

rob . kuznia @dailybreeze.com

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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze

Young theater troupe in San Pedro knows the real-life version of ‘Fame’

Young theater troupe in San Pedro knows the real-life version of ‘Fame’

Scalawag Productions presents "Fame, the Musical," at the Warner Grand Theatre on July 19-21. Here, the cast poses for a photo during rehearsal. (Stephen Carr / Staff Photographer)
Scalawag Productions presents “Fame, the Musical,” at the Warner Grand Theatre on July 19-21. Here, the cast poses for a photo during rehearsal. (Stephen Carr / Staff Photographer)

“Fame, the Musical” is a tale about an eclectic mix of high school kids — some from hardscrabble backgrounds — who find family and purpose on stage.

So who better to cast in the production than an eclectic mix of high school kids, some from hardscrabble backgrounds?

That’s essentially the reality of a summer theater troupe for teenagers and young adults in San Pedro that will perform the show this weekend at the Warner Grand Theatre.

Much as the singers, dancers and actors who attend the fictitious Performing Arts High in New York City grapple with learning disabilities, weight issues or drug addiction, some of the real-life California kids portraying them come from families that have faced the hardships of poverty, abuse, neglect — even murder.

“We are living what we do,” said Marcia Barryte, director of the show made possible by a nonprofit group called Scalawag Productions. “It’s been a really strange experience.”

One of the leads is played by Isaiah Barrett, a newly graduated senior at Narbonne High whose mother nine years ago held him and his siblings captive in closets for four days until they escaped and turned her in to police.

Another, 18-year-old Tarah Wells, was only 6 when she witnessed the shooting death of her father in a dispute over a campsite parking spot. While the immediate aftermath was difficult, Tarah said the loss really didn’t hit her until her teenage years.

Actors Isaiah Barrett, left, and Tarah Wells share a light moment as they pose for a photo with the cast of "Fame, The Musical," during rehearsal at the Warner Grand Theatre in San Pedro. (Stephen Carr / Staff Photographer)
Actors Isaiah Barrett, left, and Tarah Wells share a light moment as they pose for a photo with the cast of “Fame, The Musical,” during rehearsal at the Warner Grand Theatre in San Pedro. (Stephen Carr / Staff Photographer)

“I started to realize my have friends all have dads,” she said.

Around her freshman year, Tarah began to find refuge in creative pursuits.

“I started writing music and started to find ways to just let it out and not be so sad,” she said.

Financed largely by corporate groups and local donors, Scalawag Productions is a nonprofit founded in 2011 that offers summer theater training for students ages 14 to 22.

Tuition for the five-week program is $395, but company sponsorships are sometimes available for the those who can’t afford it. The size of the troupe is kept small, around 25, to better ensure one-on-one training and coaching.

Although some of the students come from the school of hard knocks, a disadvantaged background is not a requirement for participation. This year’s cast includes sons of single moms who struggle to make rent and daughters of CEOs who live on the Palos Verdes Peninsula.

“It’s a lovely mix of kids,” said Gale Kadota, the producer of the program who co-founded Scalawag with Anthony Pirozzi. “They come from all walks of life.”

One young actor, Michael Mesias, also a senior at Narbonne High, lives in household so strapped financially the family was nearly evicted last month. Because his mom has a disability, it became too difficult for him to get to school for the last three months of this year and he had to be home-schooled.

Michael Mesias, an aspiring ballet dancer, portrays the fictitious Jack Zackowski, an aspiring ballet dancer from Russia.
Michael Mesias, an aspiring ballet dancer, portrays the fictitious Jack Zackowski, an aspiring ballet dancer from Russia.

Michael, an aspiring ballet dancer, portrays the fictitious Jack Zackowski, an aspiring ballet dancer from Russia.

In other cases, the similarities between actors and character aren’t quite as parallel.

Isaiah portrays Tyrone, the rough-around-the-edges dancing phenom who struggles to hide his dyslexia. Isaiah is far from dyslexic; he just graduated from Narbonne with a 3.8 GPA and this fall will head to UC Santa Barbara.

But Isaiah said he relates to Tyrone.

“I can see he’s going through struggles,” he said. “He’s not the richest guy.”

When Isaiah was 8, living in South Los Angeles, his drug-abusing mother not only locked him and his siblings and cousins in closets for multiple days, she warned that she’d kill anyone who escaped.

“She had weapons,” he said. “Me and my two brothers managed to get out and save my little sister and five of my cousins.”

The children ran to the nearest police station and turned her in.

Growing up, Isaiah lived with a variety of adults — his grandparents, an uncle, foster parents, his biological father — but learned early on to fend for himself. Even though he’s just 17, he rents his own apartment.

Isaiah is also an athlete — last year he played cornerback with Narbonne’s state championship football team — but he says he finds the most camaraderie in theater.

“You really make families on stage, it’s crazy,” he said.

The adults at Scalawag Productions look out for the students, he said, noting how Kadota gives him a ride every day to rehearsal from his apartment in Lomita because he doesn’t have a car.

Tarah, who considers herself reserved, plays the role of Carmen Diaz, a brash firecracker who makes an ill-fated trek to Hollywood with a sketchy agent in search of fortune and fame.

“She’s kind of the opposite of me — she acts on impulse and is very attitudy,” Tarah said. “She’s just spunky, and really fun to play because I’m just sweet. I think about things a lot and try not to do stupid stuff.”

Whereas Carmen’s struggles come as a result of her own choices — she became a stripper and a drug addict — Tarah’s troubles were thrust upon her by cruel fate.

In 2001, when she was 6, Tarah and her family were in an RV, looking for a place to spend the night at Morro Bay State Beach. The campground was packed, and the family noticed a van was taking up two spots.

Tarah watched from a window of the RV while her older brother and a cousin — both 11 at the time — went to knock on the door of the van to ask if the driver could make room for them. The driver, 42-year-old Stephen Deflaun, became belligerent. Tarah’s father, Stephen Wells, ran out to the van to scold Deflaun for being so rude to the children.

Wells and the two boys headed for the ranger’s station to report the man. Deflaun took out a handgun and started firing. A bullet hit 11-year-old Jerry Rios in the head, killing him instantly. Deflaun then took aim at Tarah’s dad and fired. Stephen Wells went down.

Enraged, Deflaun stormed into the Wells’ camper.

“He pointed a gun at us,” Tarah said. “He said, ‘Why did you have to F with me? Do you have a gun?’ ”

Deflaun, a paranoid schizophrenic, didn’t go to prison. Instead, after being found incompetent to stand trial, he was committed to Atascadero State Hospital.

At Narbonne High, Tarah, a singer who writes songs and plays them with her guitar-playing brother, discovered another form of artistic therapy: acting. She took a class in theater arts, and was struck by something the teachers said.

“They would talk about being different people, and getting into imaginary minds, and playing that character,” she said. “I remember thinking, when she was telling me that, ‘Wow, that’s cool.’ Trying to be somebody else might make you feel better about what your life really is.

“Plus it’s fun and it’s a good way to stay out of trouble.”

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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze

Hawthorne student turns down full scholarship in academic gamble

Hawthorne Student Turns Down Full Scholarship in Academic Gamble

Motivated Nigeria native turns down full-ride award for a chance at the Ivy League

For 15-year-old Hawthorne resident Thelma Godslaw, fear of failure was instilled at an early age, when teachers in her native Nigeria rewarded wrong answers with whacks from a cane.

But the bigger motivator for her was the elementary school’s hard-hearted ranking system. Instead of grades, every child was publicly assigned a number, from one to 35, based on his or her standing in the class.

Thelma Godslaw, 15, moved with her family from Nigeria to Hawthorne to receive a better education than what she could get in Africa. Now, she is set to graduate early from Leuzinger High School and is a finalist Thelma is a finalist for a Questbridge National College Match Scholarship. The scholarship would cover 100 percent of tuition and living expenses at one of the participating universities, which include Yale, MIT, Stanford and Notre Dame. 20111121 Photo by Steve McCrank / Staff Photographer
Thelma Godslaw, 15, moved with her family from Nigeria to Hawthorne to receive a better education than what she could get in Africa. Now, she is set to graduate early from Leuzinger High School and is a finalist Thelma is a finalist for a Questbridge National College Match Scholarship. The scholarship would cover 100 percent of tuition and living expenses at one of the participating universities, which include Yale, MIT, Stanford and Notre Dame. 20111121 Photo by Steve McCrank / Staff Photographer

“I was always second best, or third,” she said. “I always wanted to be No. 1.”

Now, at Leuzinger High School in Lawndale, she is.

Though just 15, Thelma is already a senior. She’s enrolled in six Advanced Placement courses. Her end-of-the-semester report card has never been blemished with a B. She’s the only student in the school to have earned a perfect score on the AP calculus test, and by night takes an advanced calculus class at El Camino College.

In October, Thelma was offered a full-ride scholarship to attend the prestigious Bucknell University in Pennsylvania, an award worth $120,000. She turned it down. Why? She has her sights on the Ivy League and is days away from learning whether she’ll get there.

Thelma’s academic success illustrates the inner drive that propels many immigrants out of their social strata, which in her case is a step above poverty. But it also demonstrates how, for high-achieving low-income students, playing the scholarship game can be a high-stakes gamble.

Thelma lives in a two-bedroom apartment with her mother and three siblings, one older and two younger. Though a bit cramped, their living conditions are an upgrade from the one-bedroom unit in which they’d stayed for a couple of years after their 2004 arrival.

Thelma’s decision to say “no thanks” to the Bucknell offer wasn’t easy.

“It’s like turning down a million dollars,” she acknowledged.

On the other hand, saying yes to the award – officially known as the Posse Scholarship – would have meant forfeiting her dream of attending an Ivy League school, namely Yale. That’s because she was given just three days to make a decision that was binding. She decided to hold out.

Now, the rest of November promises to be a nail-biter. Dec. 1 is the day she’ll learn whether she’ll be the recipient of the prestigious Questbridge National College Match Scholarship, which would cover 100 percent of tuition and housing to attend one of several participating universities. These include MIT, Stanford, Princeton and her dream school, Yale.

Thelma didn’t gamble without cause. In October, about a month after she applied for the Questbridge award, word came back that she was a finalist. Winning would be no small feat: Last year, just 310 students across the nation received the honor.

Petite and soft-spoken, Thelma plans to major in biochemistry, with an eye toward becoming a general surgeon. To attain this goal, she spends five hours a night studying at a TV tray in a living room recliner.

“She studies until 2 in the morning,” marveled her mother, Jully Godslaw (pronounced Julie), who speaks in a thick Nigerian accent. “She’s too much.” That, she explained, is Nigerian slang for “she’s excellent.”

Migrating for the children

The family journeyed to the United States in 2004 for the express purpose of providing educational opportunities for the children, Jully said. This required giving up their five-bedroom house and everything else they had in Lagos, Nigeria. Jully sacrificed her college degree in business administration from the University of Lagos; it became void the moment she set foot in the United States.

Upon her arrival, Jully went from working as a public relations officer at an oil company in Nigeria to working as a security guard at an elementary school in Compton.

Now, Jully attends Los Angeles Southwest College, where she studies nursing. She also works full-time as a licensed vocational nurse in the VA Greater Los Angeles Healthcare System.

Their hardships aren’t confined to the financial. The parents have divorced.

For Thelma, the antidote to life’s trials seems to be to study, study, study.

Her academic counselor at Leuzinger, Judy Grood, said she’s never seen a student so driven in her 20 years on the job.

“She will not leave her class, short of being dragged out,” she said with a laugh. “She feels every minute in class is important, for fear that she would miss a gem or a drop of knowledge.”

Despite her low-income status, Thelma can compete with students of privilege. She scored a 1950 on her SAT, putting her in the 90th percentile nationwide. The average score in California and nationwide is just above 1500.

Helping Leuzinger turn around

Thelma’s academic success also is a boon to her school. Leuzinger High has long battled a sullied reputation, sown from decades of dismal academic performance. But the school, which serves a low-income population, appears to be in the midst of a turnaround, with test scores on a steep upward trajectory.

“I think that she represents what we are trying to accomplish at Leuzinger High School,” said Principal Ryan Smith, who informed the Daily Breeze of Thelma’s prowess. “She is a role model for all of our students, in particular those who are African-American.”

Indeed, Thelma is among 3,100 students across the nation – out of 160,000 applicants – to be named an Outstanding Participant in the National Achievement Scholarship Program, which recognizes outstanding achievement among African-American students.

Jully said other parents initially urged her to send her children to another school. But Leuzinger was within walking distance of their apartment. Besides, she had faith in the school.

“My belief is this: Any child that is smart is smart – it doesn’t matter the school,” Jully said, noting that her son Peter also is thriving there.

Thelma, meanwhile, praised her teachers.

“They take the extra time to help us out after school and during lunch,” she said. “They are always pushing us to do better.”

And all without the use of canes.

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Los Angeles News Group / Daily Breeze

Orphaned teen embraces new start

It was the beginning of May, and Heavynle Ceasar’s senior year at Leuzinger High School in Lawndale was shaping up to be an unqualified success.

Heavynle (pronounced “Heavenly”) was captain of the cheer squad, her grades were good and prom was just days away. She’d been accepted at a slew of universities, including San Francisco State and three others out East: Howard, Clark and St. John’s.

Heavynle Ceasar in front of Leuzinger High School in Lawndale. Her father killed her mother then himself. She is getting ready to attend San Francisco State. Chuck Bennett/Daily Breeze
Heavynle Ceasar in front of Leuzinger High School in Lawndale. Her father killed her mother then himself. She is getting ready to attend San Francisco State. Chuck Bennett/Daily Breeze

But on May 5, in an instant, the charming year was marred by a nightmare. On that afternoon, in her parents’ bedroom, Heavynle’s father aimed a gun at her mother, Lisa Brown, and pulled the trigger. Carlton Ceasar then turned the gun on himself and fired again — as Heavynle was struggling to open the locked bedroom door.

The apparent murder-suicide put an instant end to the after-school clubhouse feel of her home on Rosecrans Avenue, located across the street from Leuzinger High School. Nearly every day, a handful of her friends came to the town house to hang out — not only with Heavynle, but also her parents.

“They were pretty close to my friends,” she said of her parents. “My friends called them mom and dad.”

But Heavynle isn’t letting the tragedy derail her college plans. In the fall, she intends to head to St. John’s University in New York City, where she’s never been. She’s looking forward to getting a fresh start in a new setting.

“I’m excited, but I’m kind of scared because I don’t know too many people there,” she said. “It’s going to be a change.”

She plans to major in communications and dreams of having her own talk show one day, like Oprah Winfrey. Money, though, is a bit of a problem. Tuition at the private university runs upward $33,000 a year. Heavynle believes about a third of that will be covered by federal financial aid. She’s believes she’s on her mother’s life insurance policy, but said she doesn’t know much about it.

In any case, covering all the expenses in a strange new land is bound to be a struggle.

Heavynle has since moved in with her maternal grandmother in South Los Angeles. She tried returning to Leuzinger, but everything had changed. The halls were filled with well-meaning people who overwhelmed her with sympathy. And seeing the house across the street brought back a flood of wrenching memories.

She will, however, walk the stage for Leuzinger’s graduation ceremony on June 23.

“I’m really excited about it, but kind of sad,” she said.

Heavynle is a petite and bubbly 17-year-old girl whose easy smile reveals two rows of braces. She has not allowed the tragedy to sap her sense of humor, and delights in good-naturedly rib-jabbing her young-looking grandmother (age 61) about being old.

Her popularity at school extends to her teachers.

“She’s the kind of student that makes my job worth it,” said Brian Yoshii, the school’s longtime ceramics teacher. “Very appreciative, very pleasant. Every day says `Hello Mr. Yoshii,’ when she comes in, and `goodbye’ when she leaves.”

To illustrate Heavynle’s graciousness, he relayed a story. Shortly after the shooting, like many teachers at the school, Yoshii felt a strong urge to help her in some way. He gave her $100 to cover her expenses for grad night on June 16 – $85 for the trip to Disneyland, and $15 for the picnic. Later that day, she learned that the school would be picking up the tab for those expenses. She returned to his classroom and handed him the rolled-up cash.

Heavynle’s mother had worked at Hamilton Adult Center, an adult-education school in Torrance. She’d been attending California State University, Dominguez Hills, in Carson to become a special-education teacher. Her father, Carlton, was not working, in part because he was on disability. Lisa, her mother, had recently left him.

May 5 wasn’t the first time violence had visited the family. In fact, Carlton’s disability status was the result of it. Several years ago, a man tried to shoot him in the face near their home. The bullet struck his hand as he raised it in self-defense.

Also, two decades ago, before Heavynle was born, her mother’s brother died in a drive-by shooting at age 15. Lisa’s recent death means that Heavynle’s grandmother, Patsy Warner, has buried both of her children.

But despite the devastation wrought by Carlton’s actions, both Heavynle and her grandmother insist that he was a good man who was never violent toward his wife until the fateful day.

“My girlfriend had two boys, and if she had any problems with them trying to gangbang, I would call him,” Warner said. “He would try to put them on the right track.”

The apparent murder-suicide has not torn one side of the family apart from the other. While Heavynle’s maternal grandmother has provided her a place to live, her paternal aunt has been serving as a liaison between Heavynle and St. John’s.

“I’ve been explaining her situation to the counselors, so she doesn’t have to do all that legwork,” said Susie Fuller, Carlton’s sister and a human-resources manager at LAUSD, who has a master’s degree from Dillard University in New Orleans. “I’ve been through it.”

Fate can be cruel to victims of catastrophe. A couple of days after the incident, a thief broke into their home and stole three computers and a television.

Hardships notwithstanding, Heavynle’s grandmother has sought to ensure that she not miss out on the joys of senior year.

“That’s the way my daughter would have wanted it,” she said.

Prom took place on the day after the funeral, and it was Warner who insisted that the prom party proceed. About 100 people showed up. Heavynle maintained a brave face at the party, but finally broke down on the way to the dance.

Lisa was not only a mother, but a close friend. It wasn’t uncommon for her to accompany Heavynle and her friends on trips to the mall or to movies.

“There were like eight of them – they’d do everything together,” said Lisa Mims Wyrick, the mother of one of Heavynle’s friends.

Also living with the family was a foster child named Gloria. She, too, is a student at Leuzinger and now lives with Heavynle and her grandmother.

On the day of the incident, Gloria was at home and heard the parents fighting. She called Heavynle’s cell phone. Heavynle ran to her home from the school across the street, accompanied by her cheer coach.

While the coach waited outside, Heavynle went inside the house and tried to open the bedroom door. It was locked. She took a knife from the kitchen to jimmy it open. It worked, but when she pressed on the door, it was blocked by something. She heard a bang like a firecracker and ran back outside.

An hour or so later, the premises were crawling with police and the apartment was taped off. Helicopters thrummed overhead. The next thing they knew, Heavynle and Gloria were sitting in the back seat of a squad car.

“They asked us all kinds of questions, over and over and over again,” she said. “Our names, our parents’ names, our birthdays.”

Heavynle had initially planned to attend San Francisco State University, to be closer to her parents.

“I’m a momma’s girl,” she said.

Is she upset with her father?

“A lot of people ask me that,” she said. “I don’t know. … I don’t know.”

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Noozhawk.com

Couple Severely Burned in Tea Fire Continue Slow Recovery

Couple Severely Burned in Tea Fire Continue Slow Recovery

The couple who suffered severe burns in last month’s Tea Fire are gradually improving. The husband remains unconscious under sedation and is hooked up to a ventilator; his wife has begun to breathe on her own.

Lance and Carla Hoffman suffered major burns in the Tea Fire. (Jim Mills photo)
Lance and Carla Hoffman suffered major burns in the Tea Fire. (Jim Mills photo)

The medical conditions of Lance and Carla Hoffman, both 29, have been upgraded by doctors at UC Irvine Regional Burn Center from critical to serious and fair, respectively, family members and hospital officials said Monday.

(Related: For One Resident, Survivor’s Guilt Taking Emotional Toll After Tea Fire)

Lance, a security guard at Paseo Nuevo, and Carla, a manager at Metro Entertainment on West Anapamu Street, suffered second- and third-degree burns all over their bodies when leaving their rented cottage on East Mountain Drive shortly after the fire broke out Nov. 13. The blaze consumed 210 homes, including theirs.

On Monday, family members said doctors expect the couple to stay in Irvine for three more months. Nonetheless, relatives were pleased by their progress.

“Since all this happened, we’ve been in a state of depression,” said Alice Mills, Lance’s grandmother. “As of yesterday, we finally can start seeing really positive improvements, and we’re jumping for joy.”

Both victims are expected to undergo skin-graft surgeries this week, said John Murray, media relations manager for the UC-Irvine Medical Center.

Although Carla is no longer in a medical-induced coma, she is still under heavy sedation and had not yet begun to converse with people, Murray said. “But she is responding to them,” he said.

Family members said the couple’s swelling has improved significantly, as well as their smoke-damaged lungs.

“Before, he was so bloated like a balloon you would not have recognized him,” said Jim Mills, Lance’s grandfather.

On the evening of the fire, the couple apparently were running to their car from their cottage when they were overtaken by a flash fire.

Although badly burned, the couple drove to Santa Barbara Fire Station No. 7, at Stanwood Drive and Mission Ridge Road.

From the station, they were transported by ambulance to Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital, and later were flown by helicopter to Irvine.

Twenty-two percent of Lance’s body was burned, and 9 percent of it was covered in third-degree burns, Jim Mills said. About 30 percent of Carla’s body was burned, although she had fewer third-degree burns, he said.

“It’s going to be a crawl, but that’s all right,” Alice Mills said of their recovery. “We’re on cloud nine right now.”

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Victims of Santa Barbara wildfire sift through the rubble

Victims of Santa Barbara wildfire sift through the rubble

Westmont professor Russell Smelley is among 14 faculty families whose homes were destroyed in the Tea Fire. Despite the loss, he has drawn strength from daily fellowship with members of his Warriors cross-country team. (Rob Kuznia / Noozhawk photo)
Westmont professor Russell Smelley is among 14 faculty families whose homes were destroyed in the Tea Fire. Despite the loss, he has drawn strength from daily fellowship with members of his Warriors cross-country team. (Rob Kuznia / Noozhawk photo)

When Russell Smelley, a Westmont College kinesiology professor and the school’s cross country and track coach, saw the Tea Fire racing down the mountain toward his neighborhood of faculty housing Thursday, he and his wife, Allison, went straight for their daughter Alyssa’s room.

Alyssa had died of a brain tumor 2½ years before, at age 15, and her belongings in the bedroom were precious.

(Related story: Severely burned couple fights for life)

“This was the house where she lived and died, so we have memories of her in that room that are significant,” Smelley said Monday.

Still, Smelley didn’t think the fire would reach the house, since he’d long since removed all the flammable brush nearby.

But a few hours later, while driving through the smoke-filled neighborhood in a golf cart as a member of Westmont’s Disaster Emergency Response Team, he saw with his own eyes that he was wrong. His home was in flames.

“I looked at it and said, ‘That’s a tad disappointing,’” he recalled. “It’s one of those things, you know it can happen, so it’s disappointing. ‘Oh, shucks.’ It wasn’t until later that it didn’t feel so good.”

The Smelleys were among 14 faculty families who lost their workforce homes on the leafy campus of the private Christian college, and among 210 families who were burned into homelessness in the Montecito and Santa Barbara foothills.

On Monday, as firefighters beat the once-ferocious Tea Fire into submission, many of these residents — Smelley included — returned to their charred living quarters, where they sifted through the ashes of what had once been their living rooms, bedrooms, kitchens and garages.

The Tea Fire was a weirdly discriminating inferno, sometimes reducing an entire house to powder, while leaving its next-door neighbors virtually unscathed. Some have attributed the hopscotch pattern in part to how the wind-whipped fire at times spread not so much as a moving wall, but rather through the air, in the form of flaming palm-tree fronds, which resembled enormous floating embers the size of basketballs.

In any case, the capricious selection occurred in the neighborhood of Smelley’s home, which was surrounded by standing houses with minimal or no damage.

Smelley said he and his wife spent about 15 minutes collecting valuables.

“We were reasonably calm, but hurried,” he said.

In addition to grabbing items in their daughter’s room — pictures from the wall, some blankets — they took a few other keepsakes, such as a few DVDs, a computer and some letters written by an ancestor of Smelley’s who served as a cobbler in the Confederate Army during the Civil War.

Of course, countless possessions were destroyed. Over the weekend, Smelley procured some tools for sifting through the rubble. A popular presence on campus, he respectfully declined offers to help look through the ashes. The idea wasn’t so much for he and his wife to recover possessions as to contemplate the memories of what was lost.

“We want to be able to sift it and remember it, and cry over it, if need be,” he said.

On Monday afternoon, Smelley was the recipient of some striking generosity. At one point, a neighbor, who asked that his name not be published, came by to tell him that he had a surprise for his 13-year-old son, Travis: a new drum set, to replace the one that perished in the fire. Then, the neighbor handed Smelley a shoebox containing some of the ceramics that Smelley’s children had created in elementary school. The neighbor had gone into the house and taken them off the wall — while the roof was burning.

Clearly touched, Smelley shook the man’s hand, then gave him a hug.

Smelley was especially grateful on behalf of his son, who at age 13 has lost his sister and now his home, and almost lost his mother to breast cancer last year. (Smelley said the cancer is in remission and his wife has been given a clean bill of health.)

After the neighbor left, a flock of cross-country athletes stopped by to console Smelley. It wasn’t the first time they’d done so: He thanked them for visiting him the night before, and recalled how nice it was to just sit with all of them.

“There was nothing to say, just sit,” he explained.

Smelley assured the students that he was going to be OK, marveling at the generosity of the community, and adding that after all his family has been through, the loss of the house “doesn’t feel devastating. Just sad.”

On the Riviera a few miles away, Doug Crawford was also coming to grips with the loss of his home, in the 1100 block of Las Alturas Road.

“Our house is 12 inches high,” said Crawford, spokesman for the Navy League of Santa Barbara, which his wife, Karen, serves as president. “There was no structure left whatsoever — nothing.”

Crawford said he was amazed at the cooperation of neighbors, who knocked on one another’s doors to make sure everyone would get out safely.

He attributed the smooth evacuation to a neighborhood drill performed in May.

Crawford said he couldn’t believe how fast the fire traveled.

Around 6 p.m. — shortly after the fire started — a friend called to ask him how he was doing.

“We went outside, there was no fire,” he said. “By 7 o’clock it was like we were inside a furnace.”

Crawford said the time he and his wife spent grabbing valuables was harried and surreal.

“You end up taking some crazy stuff,” he said. “I wondered if I was going to have to defend my property — I got my rifle and some ammunition.”

He added, wryly, “The good news is there was no need to defend my property.”

During the evacuation, Crawford said the fire began to feel dangerously close, with large embers falling from the bright-orange sky and the sound of trees popping in the flames.

“My lungs burned for 24 hours afterward,” he said. “That’s how bad the smoke was.”

Crawford said he has been moved by the generosity of the community.

He and his wife were among the victims invited to attend a local briefing by Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger.

“The mayor and City Council members were there; they all hugged us and embraced us,” he said. “They promised the rebuilding transition process would be accelerated for us, and the bureaucracy would be minimized.”

What’s more, on Monday morning, one of the members of his church, El Montecito Presbyterian, handed him and his wife the keys to a three-bedroom condo.

“We just live in an awesome community,” he said. “It feels like jumping off a cliff, with the shock and awe of the fire, and then seeing the aftermath. What you realize when you go off that cliff is there is like a hang glider of love and support from the community.”