COVER STORY : The Subject is Survival : Teacher, Preacher and Father-Figure, Donald Bakeer Makes a Difference in Students' Lives. He's the Talk of Washington High Since His Novel About Gangs Was Turned into the Movie 'South-Central.'

By DIANE SEO

Oct. 11, 1992 12 AM PT

TIMES STAFF WRITER

Donald Bakeer is taking roll at Washington High School in South-Central when an announcement comes over the intercom: A 15-year-old boy at the school has been shot to death in Compton in a gang-related incident. After a few moments of silence, a girl in class buries her face into her hands and begins to sob.

Bakeer is pained as the bell rings and he sees the girl rush out of the room, comforted by classmates who know only too well what it’s like to lose a friend to gang violence. Bakeer decides to ditch his lesson plans for the rest of the day in favor of teaching what he calls “tactics for survival.”

During his next class, Afro-American literature, Bakeer writes on the chalkboard: “No ponytails. No pigtails. No Jheri curls.”

“These are dangerous hairstyles because they’re associated with gangs,” said Bakeer, who has been a teacher in South-Central for 20 years.

And be careful who you call “cuzz,” he warned. That greeting was created by the Crips, and so the Bloods don’t take kindly to it.

This is typical Bakeer--part preacher, part teacher, part gang expert and always a father figure to the students at Washington High who turn to him when they are down, when they are feeling good and sometimes even when they want to kill.

“Mr. Bakeer is loved at this school,” senior Deric Tucker said. “All the kids that don’t talk to anyone else--they talk to him. We can talk to him about our family, what’s wrong and right, and what’s really going on.”

Lately, students at the school have been talking a lot about Bakeer, whose colorful batik shirts and rose-tinted bifocals make him easily recognizable on campus. His first novel, “Crips,” which he self-published in 1987, has been turned into the movie “South-Central.” And the film, which already opened in Baltimore, Washington and Chicago to generally positive reviews, is scheduled to premiere Friday in Los Angeles and 14 other cities.

“Crips” deals with a father who fell victim to gang violence as a young man and is now trying to steer his son on another course. Bakeer said he wrote the book because he wanted to end the tradition of gang killings, and he also wanted to create something students would read.

“It’s very difficult to teach some students in South-Central to read, especially black boys and Latino boys,” said Bakeer, a 48-year-old English and drama teacher who has been passing out free copies of his book at the school. “These youngsters get so much information from radio and television that they become anti-literary and it just frustrated me. I said, ‘I’m going to write a book that’s so compelling that kids who can’t read will want to read.’ ”

Chilton Alphonse, executive director of the anti-gang Community Youth Sports and Arts Foundation in the Crenshaw district, said Bakeer’s novel already has made a difference.

“A lot of people see gangs as just a lot of kids doing bad things to the community,” he said. “But this book has helped the community understand that there is a reason behind the madness.”

Although students were struck by the book’s powerful anti-violence message, they say it’s not so much the book as Bakeer himself that has made a difference in their lives.

Junior Masina, a husky 18-year-old with piercing brown eyes, remembers when he learned last year--three days before Christmas--that a good friend and fellow gang member had been shot to death in a drive-by.

In the midst of his rage, Masina went to Bakeer and told him he wanted to “do a payback.” Bakeer sat him down, cooled him off and made him watch a videotape about gang violence.

“See, when he talks, he doesn’t say, ‘Don’t do it,’ ” Masina said. “He just talks. I look at him as another father, because whenever I need help, he’s there for me. He’s mainly why I haven’t been Crippin.’ His room is like another world to me.”

At 12:30, Bakeer’s Room 200 becomes a haven for hip-hop. When the lunch bell rings, students drag out deejay equipment and set up shop on the classroom’s stage. Within minutes, at least 20 students are rapping and dancing while another 20 or so students cheer them on.

Bakeer says he began the hip-hop club three years ago because he knew that there are many talented rappers at the school who probably would wind up flipping hamburgers if no one helped them foster their talent.

He points to one girl standing with the rappers who was reluctant to take the microphone.

“She wants to rap, but she’s shy,” Bakeer said. “But she’ll be rappin’ soon. A lot of kids start that way. I try to break down their fear of the stage. I try to build them up.”

DeShawn Taylor, who raps as “The Intelligent One,” takes the stage to deliver her message about political power. Her rap captivates the students.

Bakeer does not say anything, but it’s easy to tell he is pleased.

“He’s been telling me I can rap,” said Taylor, who also is likely to be the class valedictorian. “When it comes to rapping, a lot of administrators don’t like it because they think it causes problems. But Mr. Bakeer has this hip-hop club. He helps a lot of people get over their shyness.”

In Room 200, “taggers” are allowed to scribble their names on the blackboard, and students turn in raps as poetry assignments. What some teachers might view as scribblings or silly limericks, Bakeer sees as art. He has published three student poetry anthologies and has encouraged several students to produce tapes of their music.

“I want to be at the forefront of the South-Central cultural explosion,” he said. “So many books, paintings and movies are going to come out of here. At assemblies, when I see kids blow horns or sing gospel, it just touches me.”

Although Washington High School Principal Marguerite LaMotte values Bakeer’s approach, his style created a stir at Manual Arts High School, where he taught before coming to Washington three years ago.

After Bakeer allowed three students to spray paint a graffiti mural outside his classroom, administrators immediately had the mural painted over. Bakeer said administrators also “went nuts” when he invited the militant rap group Public Enemy to deliver an anti-gang violence message. “My point of view ostracized me at school,” he said, explaining why he left Manual Arts.

Manual Arts Principal Robert Barner said that while Bakeer was considered to be a “gentleman with a lot of new ideas,” the more traditional teachers at the school felt he was “ahead of his time.”

“The administration approved a mural, but it ended up looking like graffiti,” said Barner, who was the school’s administrative dean at the time. “ . . . Public Enemy started using profanity, and we don’t tolerate profanity. They also made skewed racial comments, and were inciting the kids to get upset.”

At Washington, LaMotte said Bakeer is held in high esteem by his peers. “I think he understands the impulses of kids,” she said. “He allows them to express themselves.”

Bakeer grew up in Kansas City and moved to South-Central shortly after the 1965 Watts riots. He began his research on gangs in 1981, and ended up interviewing more than 500 gang members before he wrote his book.

For many years, Bakeer and his family lived in South-Central on 74th Street between Main and San Pedro streets. Bloods claimed one side of the street, while Crips staked out the other.

But a year and a half ago, Bakeer moved his family to the Carlton Square development, a gated community in Inglewood. Bakeer’s wife Sharon, died of breast cancer this spring.

“My girls and my wife couldn’t walk the streets,” Bakeer said. “I have a commitment to the community, but I have a commitment to my family too.”

Commitment is a principle Bakeer holds dear, but, given a chance, oppression is what he becomes most vocal about, contending that the spring riots were a reaction to years of oppression. He believes alcohol is a primary source of oppression in the black community. And he thinks many students join gangs to counteract oppression.

But while Bakeer stands firm against gang violence, he will not say anything negative about the gangs themselves.

“I don’t diss’ Crips,” he said. “I don’t go in and say, ‘Don’t join.’ What I tell them is to be smart. I try to be uncle or daddy. If you come at them from a lofty position or if you diss’ Crips, you won’t be reaching them.”

Bakeer became involved in “South Central” after director Steve Anderson approached him in 1989. At first, Bakeer was skeptical about whether a white man could direct a movie about a black community. But after Bakeer saw a short film by Anderson, he agreed to sell the option to make the movie for $1. Bakeer later received a flat sum of $60,000 plus the promise of 2.5% of the movie’s net profits.

But the project was rejected by many studios who feared that the work’s graphic violence could incite violence as did “Boyz N the Hood” and “New Jack City.” Finally, the now-defunct RCA-Columbia home video unit agreed to develop the picture for a mere $2 million, with Oliver Stone as executive producer.

Anderson says Bakeer is one of the greatest men he has ever met: “The man is very passionate, and he really cares about his community.”

Although Bakeer enjoyed working on the movie and even has a cameo appearance in “South-Central,” he grimaces at the idea of pursuing a Hollywood career. He is, he points out, a writer and teacher who believes students bring out the best in him.

Later, among the students in his third-period drama class, Bakeer asks, “How many of you have had friends who were killed in gang violence?”

Only one boy does not raise his hand.

“All these people dying makes things seem inconsequential,” he tells them. “But it should remind you that death can be right around the corner.”

Bakeer paces across the classroom, staring into his students’ eyes. “You’re in a very pressurized situation. But if you can get through this, you can handle everything. You have the potential to all be diamonds.”