A Day for the ‘Losers’

When John Santos teaches, he punches the air, claps his hands and points with the energy of a guy firing a volley of new ideas at a kid who can’t help but listen.

He’s a stocky, dark-haired man with the kinetic presence of an Olympic athlete, and it fills his room at Manual Arts High to the point of spiritual detonation.

“Move,” he’ll tell you, “and the kids will move with you,” a philosophy that explains both his past as a football coach and the leadership he brings to young people living on the edge in the inner city.

Manual Arts is a cluster of buildings in South-Central L.A. in an area troubled by a high crime rate. A former principal once estimated that of the school’s 2,500 students, 200 were gang members.

“We don’t concentrate on those kinds of statistics anymore,” the current principal, Wendell Greer, said the other day. “The only colors at Manual Arts are purple and gray, and they’re our school colors. Sure we have ‘bangers, but we also have John Santos.”

Santos, 39, is a man of almost mythic caring, to the point where students who fear for their safety know they can take refuge in his classroom.

“I let them know,” he says, “that in my room they’re safe. I’m not only their teacher, I’m their big brother, I’m their mom. We’re family.”

And a couple of weeks ago he proved to his family they could win.

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Santos teaches graphic arts. I first heard of him when he e-mailed about half our staff demanding notice for his students who had just won a technical and academic decathlon sponsored by the Printing Industry Assn. of Southern California.

“The Times has covered the success of the Taft High School academic team and the Venice High School science bowl team, but a story about a group of young achievers in South-Central gets passed up.”

After meeting Santos, I can visualize him pounding away with determination at a computer keyboard, standing occasionally to blow off energy by moving around the room, and then pounding away again until the message about the triumph of his kids was completed and transmitted.

“This is too important a story to set aside,” the message begins. And then it goes on to tell about a team from Manual Arts that competed against 1,000 other students in the printing decathlon, many from high schools in privileged communities where money isn’t a problem. By contrast, almost 75% of the students at Manual Arts are on a free-lunch program.

This year’s triumph was preceded by last year’s failure. The 1996 contest was the first decathlon ever, consisting of three separate “rounds” covering a knowledge of graphic arts and an ability to demonstrate that knowledge. While Santos’ students made it to the finals that year, at the end they were unable to answer a single question. Their score in the last round was a devastating zero.

“We were humiliated,” Santos says. “Kids from other schools made fun of us. I remember them saying, ‘They probably can’t even spell,’ and, ‘They’re lucky if they can read.’ ”

Because Manual Arts is composed largely of Latino and African American students, the taunts were especially hurtful. Next year, Santos and his students promised themselves, things would be different. They were.

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Sometimes “losers” have a special gift for achieving and, given the right leadership, can crawl through hell to a triumph sweeter than winning a Nobel Prize. The kids at Manual Arts did just that.

Andrea Contreras, Monica Rios, Fernando Mora and Viviana Puga studied nights and weekends to prepare for this year’s competition and, stirred by the encompassing energy of Santos, not only brought home first prize, but correctly answered every question in the finals. Their score was 100.

What made this special, Santos says, is involvement. Four years ago, when the graphic arts program was begun, the roof of their print shop leaked, the room was in shambles and nothing worked.

“The kids painted the room and cleaned it up,” he says. “By taking part in preparing for the program, they brought pride to our class.”

In his mom role, Santos lectures his students about staying out of gangs and tries to prepare them for whatever they’ll do in life, believing that the job of a teacher must soar beyond the basics of classroom work.

The day I visited the school he was teaching them eye contact and a firm handshake. It wasn’t for graphic arts but for getting started and getting along in the world.

As he spoke he moved around the room pointing, encouraging, demanding. “Look up!” he said to them. “Stand straight!” “Be proud!” Then he turned to me, still afire with enthusiasm, and said softly, “I love doing this.” It shows.

Al Martinez can be reached online at [email protected]