Tucked atop a mountain near Taneytown lies a sprawling campus that has achieved what eludes most high schools in America: small class sizes, a full staff of highly qualified teachers, strong ties to the community, and students who don’t want to leave.
But to get there, you have to commit a crime.
In a state where the government-run system for educating and rehabilitating juvenile delinquents has been failing, Silver Oak Academy, a private residential facility contracted by the state, has been hailed by leaders as a model for success.
Serving some of the most vulnerable youths in the state, Silver Oak gives its charges something comparable facilities don’t: rigorous education and vocational training that helps them land jobs or places in the military and college.
“Nobody would believe it,” said Betsy Baker, 73, a volunteer from Taneytown who has become like a grandmother to the students. Baker chuckles when she thinks of the teenagers, many of whom grew up poor and in troubled communities, having tea with elderly neighbors and talking about their different worlds. “You almost have to see it.”
The secret, some say, is all in the school’s philosophy: the kids aren’t treated as criminals, but rather as students who need extra help. Like teens at any other high school, they play sports, work on the student newspaper, take field trips and raise money with spaghetti dinners and car washes. Some choose to stay longer than they have to in order to get their high school diplomas, which will be awarded this Thursday.
“There are no juvenile delinquents here,” declares Kevin McLeod, Silver Oak’s longtime director. “We present ourselves as a residential boarding school for at-risk young men. The young men who come here make a commitment to certain expectations, and we remind them of that every day.”
Silver Oak, which has been operating in Carroll County with little fanfare since 2009, grapples with the same challenges as other juvenile facilities: kids who don’t finish, or commit new crimes. With students given more freedom than at other facilities, there is more contraband.
But the school’s track record thrust it into the center of a General Assembly debate this year, when the education program in Maryland’s juvenile justice system came under fire.
A Baltimore Sun investigation of that system published in December found persistent teacher shortages, a lack of high school courses and materials, scant access to technology and a dearth of vocational and extracurricular offerings. The schools, which officials said were woefully underfunded, were often described as “warehouses with worksheets.”
In particular, youths with special needs — about a quarter of the population they serve — were being denied their right to education. Officials acknowledged that teachers had altered federally mandated special education plans that required them to provide services the schools couldn’t afford.
Even though the state Department of Education began taking over the schools in 2003 in an effort to improve them, problems persisted.
The Juvenile Services Education Program runs schools in the 14 state facilities. Teens may stay in these programs for weeks to months. In that time, they fall so far behind on classwork that they often struggle to catch up when they return to their public schools, if they return at all. They can get GEDs, but they can’t get diplomas. There is only one treatment center where youths have access to courses at a community college.
The state spends about $30,000 per student.
In legislative hearings this year, lawmakers and advocates held up Silver Oak — the largest program of its kind in Maryland — as an example of how youths could be rehabilitated, given a focus on education, and more money.
Silver Oak, which is funded through a different formula tailored to its program, spends roughly $50,000 per student.
Youths typically stay in the program for about 14 months. By the end, they have completed a full high school course load, earning a diploma or GED. They may have certifications in trades such as barbering and construction, hundreds of hours in jobs and internships in the community, academic and athletic scholarships for college, and military enlistments.
Brandon Barnes, a 19-year-old from Montgomery County, has been at Silver Oak since last June.
“It doesn’t mess your head up like the other places do,” he said. “It feels like someone trusts you. I feel like they view us as good kids, we just had troubles at home.”
The stark contrast between Silver Oak and the state-run juvenile facilities prompted lawmakers, in a bipartisan effort, to order state education and juvenile services officials to produce a report on the challenges in the state-run schools. They also want more information about the education services at Silver Oak. The report is due in November.
To address the gap, Sen. Delores Kelley sponsored legislation to dramatically boost funding for the state-run schools. Their budget is about $17.2 million; Kelley requested an additional $7.3 million.
“Everything about Silver Oak tells you it’s a very different place than the rest of the system,” the Baltimore County Democrat said. “We want a Silver Oak for everybody.”
Vulnerable Kids
The school is an important case study at a time when states are grappling with how to better educate juvenile offenders, considered one of the most difficult populations in the country.
Many of them are African-American; many have disabilities or have experienced trauma. Failures across the country have drawn lawsuits and legislative battles.
In 2014, recognizing the poor education provided to the nation’s 60,000 incarcerated youths, the U.S. Department of Education and Department of Justice issued guidelines affirming the right of juvenile offenders to the same education as their peers in public schools. The report stressed that a high-quality education can help prevent recidivism and its social and financial costs, including the $88,000 average annual price tag to confine a juvenile. According to research, inmates of all ages are half as likely to be incarcerated again if they pursue a college degree.
Silver Oak opened in 2009 on the site of the former Bowling Brook Preparatory School. That once highly regarded institution, also privately contracted by the Department of Juvenile Services, had been closed two years earlier after a 17-year-old Baltimore teenager, Isaiah Simmons, died after being improperly restrained by staff.
So when state officials proposed bringing in the Nevada-based nonprofit Rite of Passage to take over the campus, advocates and lawmakers protested. Bowling Brook housed as many as 175 youths. Many feared that the new school, Silver Oak, would expand and become unsafe.
Around the country, private contractors who run facilities for juvenile offenders have had a mixed record. Recently, for instance, Rite of Passage has been in a legal dispute with the state of Nevada over the closure of a maximum-security juvenile detention center it operates there, which has racked up violations and also experienced a large-scale riot.
In Maryland, Silver Oak opened with 48 boys, the state’s population cap for juvenile facilities. In the first years, the state’s Juvenile Justice Monitoring Unit — an independent arm of the attorney general’s office — noted problems with restraints and with classroom learning. The school was cited for failing to meet state education standards. But staff overhauled the education program, which now draws high praise.
“They’re always changing, adapting, and adding stuff. They’re always in the process of self-improvement,” said Eliza Steele, a monitor with the unit. “It’s thoughtful, it’s cohesive and it’s supportive, and you don’t get any vibe that this is punishment.”
Three years ago, with the support of Department of Juvenile Services, state officials approved a proposal to double the school’s capacity to 96, though the facility has so far never housed more than 75.
Most of the youths have been sent to Silver Oak for committing misdemeanors, ranging from theft to second-degree assault. Some have committed more serious crimes, such as stealing cars or dealing drugs. The Sun is not specifying the youths’ crimes, because those records are not public.
A spokeswoman for the Department of Juvenile Services said Silver Oak was a strong option for youths who fit its mission and its strong emphasis on athletics.
“The department supports the work of Silver Oak Academy and the opportunities Rite of Passage’s … programming offers the youth who are selected to attend,” spokeswoman Audra Harrison said in a statement.
The school doesn’t accept the most violent teens, such as those who have committed rape or arson. It screens youths to ensure that they can handle the rigorous program. They should have an IQ of at least 70, which is below “low average,” but those who don’t meet that score can sometimes be admitted after an interview.
About 80 percent of the students are African-American. About 40 percent are in special education.
McLeod, the director, says the school is not for everybody.
The youths must buy into the stringent, almost confrontational style, which doesn’t work for many kids who suffer from trauma and mental illness.
But many attorneys and advocates say it’s often the best option in the state for their clients.
Big campus, high expectations
No matter where you go on the academy’s sprawling, 75-acre campus, the Silver Oak way is palpable.
Expectations are spelled out in acronyms. Upon entry, youths have to memorize the school’s motto — “I VALIDATE” — and what it represents: Individual, Vocational training, Activities, Life skills, Individual strengths and skills, Demonstrated behavior change, Aftercare, Treatment and Education.
The school’s nickname, the Rams, wasn’t chosen simply as an intimidating logo for sports uniforms. It stands for what the school aims to teach its students: “Respect, Attitude, Motivation and Spirit.”
On one morning, the hallways filled with young men clad in burgundy ties, lettermen’s jackets and khakis. The few words spoken were pleasantries. Even introductions were uniform — starting with the same first two words, “Student Athlete,” and ending with a handshake.
The formalities are part of a larger set of norms, such as prayers and washing hands before entering the dining hall, and no talking when preparing and cleaning up after mealtime.
According to the student handbook, the only personal belongings the youths are allowed to keep are the written addresses of loved ones, three photos and a Bible or other religious text. Each student is issued three pairs of sweatpants, underwear, socks and other uniform items. They must wash the clothes themselves.
The teens are required to read at least three hours per week.
Byron Currie, an 18-year-old from Northeast Baltimore, said it was hard for him to adapt to Silver Oak. The teen was not a rule follower. He would leave Reginald F. Lewis High School in the middle of the day to meet up with friends and smoke marijuana.
“Now that I’ve changed my perspective on things, it’s gotten a lot easier,” he said. He will graduate this week and attend Carroll Community College.
The youths’ days are packed with a grueling nine-hour schedule, including six hours of classes. The school has two semesters a year, in which youths can earn up to 28 credits. It uses the curriculum of the Carroll County public school system.
“We normalize everything they do,” said Catherine Gammage, the school’s principal of three years.
“When they first come in … they’re in detention mode and just want to get a diploma the quick and dirty way. Then they realize everything that they have to do.”
In the state-run juvenile schools, teachers earn considerably less than their peers in public schools. But Silver Oak’s teachers are paid on the same scale as public school teachers. They’re also all dually certified in special education. Low turnover and full staffing allow for a 1:6 student-teacher ratio.
Christy Kennedy, a history teacher, said Silver Oak reminds her every day why she chose her profession.
“This is why I went into teaching,” Kennedy said, “to show students that there’s more to life than what they thought was set for them.”
In a large, well-equipped, bright center on campus, students get two hours a day of vocational training in a full restaurant-style kitchen, barbershop and wood shop. They are able to earn trade certificates in culinary, barbering, nursing and automotive programs.
Youths learn from professionals such as Al Reid, a YouTube barbering star. As a group of boys watched one of their classmates shave a sharp line around the temple of a staff member, Reid explained that male grooming is an art, a skill, and an asset in the real world.
“I want to show them that it’s bigger than here, it’s bigger than cutting hair,” he said. “I’m trying to show them there’s more than standing behind a chair.”
But the school softens the rigor of the program by celebrating the youths. The walls are decorated in student work, sports achievements and college scholarship announcements.
Sometimes, students are able to travel to see sporting events, to tour college campuses or, on a recent trip, to visit civil rights landmarks in the South. The concept of traveling while locked up was so foreign to Barnes that the first time the Montgomery County youth was loaded in the van to attend a Ravens game, he thought he was being kidnapped.
Sports is a cornerstone of the program at Silver Oak. Students play football and basketball, wrestle and run track, competing against public and private schools.
The program gave Robert Taylor, a 19-year-old from Northwest Baltimore, a second opportunity to compete for a college football scholarship after he blew off school at Edmondson-Westside High School.
“This is another chance,” he said. “They taught me the real world ain’t a game, for real.”
It is not lost on the youths at Silver Oak that they got the luck of the draw. The school has an aftercare program that helps keep the kids on track once they move on.
Connor Ruff, an 18-year-old from Anne Arundel County, expects to graduate in December. He plans to use his OSHA certification from Silver Oak’s construction program to get a job or join the military.
“Here, I’m treated like they actually want me to graduate,” he said. “It’s a big deal for us to get to come here.”
A ‘clear disparity’
Youths who would be candidates for Silver Oak but don’t get a spot there are most likely to be sent to one of four youth camps in the Western Maryland mountains.
The institutions are comparable in some ways. They house youths for low-level offenses who are not considered public safety risks. There are no fences or barbed wire.
Harrison, the Juvenile Services spokeswoman, said Silver Oak and the youth centers have similar three-year recidivism rates of about 50 percent.
But for Silver Oak, the rate is improving. Of the 69 youths at the school in 2015, only two were re-convicted.
According to advocates, attorneys and juvenile monitors, three-year recidivism rates is about all that the schools have in common.
“Silver Oak has a therapeutic approach above all else,” said Steele, of the monitoring unit. “And the clear disparity is that I don’t see the same in the DJS facilities.”
According to the unit, schools at the youth camps still struggle to maintain staff and resources such as internet connections. The schools also have limited vocational and extracurricular programs, which were once a hallmark of the camps but have been dismantled over the years.
State education officials have pledged to improve the youth camps and the rest of the schools in the system. The schools now offer the full state curriculum, are supposed to provide access to the internet, and are working to expand trade certification programs.
One youth camp, Backbone, works with Garrett Community College to allow youths to get college credit, and state officials are looking to create similar partnerships with other colleges.
After being awarded additional money in the governor’s budget, the state education department also plans to hire 40 additional staff members and substitutes to help relieve chronic vacancies in their staff of approximately 170.
The education department still faces a complaint filed in November by the Maryland State Conference of the NAACP with the Civil Rights Division of the U.S. Department of Justice over the failures in the state-run juvenile schools.
“In Maryland, the [state-run] schools and centers aren’t doing anything substantial to eliminate the school-to-prison pipeline,” said Barbara Dezmon, state education chair for the NAACP. “Instead they are fortifying and greasing it.”
Silver Oak has areas in which it can improve, too. Harrison, the juvenile services spokeswoman, said contraband was a concern. Last year, the Juvenile Justice Monitoring Unit reported, Silver Oak had 50 instances of contraband, while the four youth camps had 19. McLeod said the contraband items were mostly iPods, cellphones, and inappropriate pictures students brought from home after weekend visits.
Juvenile justice monitors and state officials say they are also concerned about completion rates.
Department of Juvenile Services officials say 57 percent of Silver Oak students have finished the program. The rest haven’t for a range of reasons. They may have broken the rules, re-offended, or simply not made progress in the program.
The young men who do make it say they got there not only because of Silver Oak, but also because of the neighboring community, which has embraced them.
Youths logged 18,000 hours working, interning and volunteering in the area last year, and earned $68,000 from local employment. Silver Oak students can often be seen around Taneytown, catering community dinners. Some have run down Main Street in red high heels for an annual domestic abuse awareness event.
“They’ve become an integral part of all of the functions that we do,” said Henry C. Heine Jr., city manager of Taneytown.
Baker, the school’s honorary grandmother, coordinates the students’ work at her senior citizen residence, where they move furniture and set up for yard sales. If too much time goes by without seeing Silver Oak students, she said, residents start calling her, asking where they are.
“I find it even odd today that I’ve never asked any of the boys what they’ve done,” she added. “I learn about the boys by watching them and talking to them.”
That kind of contact also resonated with Greg Kahlert, a local philanthropist.
On his first visit to the school, he was struck by the young men who looked him in the eye, shook his hand and said, “Welcome to the academy, Mr. Kahlert.”
His foundation donated $50,000 to open a transitional living house, called Kahlert Hall. It’s a place for those who have finished the program and are starting on different paths. They’re completing a diploma, or learning how to live on their own.
Others simply just want more time.
egreen@baltsun.com
