ShareThisBy MATTHEW BARROWS
Sacramento Bee
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Marques Douglas will go behind bars at exactly 3:30 Tuesday afternoon. But don't worry, San Francisco 49ers fans, this isn't the athlete-goes-rotten story line you've grown weary of reading all offseason.
This is the opposite.
Douglas, you see, is a solemn man. While most players joke around or chat on their cell phones after practice, Douglas typically can be found by himself at his locker, quietly going about his business. He's not aloof, not a loner.
He's just one serious dude.
Coach Mike Nolan knew him from their days with the Baltimore Ravens. Nolan brought Douglas west in 2005 because he hoped the defensive end's work ethic and character would rub off on the young players Nolan would bring in as he rebuilt the moribund franchise.
It turns out Douglas is paying dividends off the field, too.
Every Tuesday at 3:30, Douglas walks into a cinderblock classroom here at San Jose's Juvenile Hall. The imposing, sand-colored facility juts mere yards from Guadalupe Parkway north of the city's downtown. Thousands of commuters zip past it every day. Douglas is one of the few to have stopped in.
Douglas says he gave similar lectures when he was with the Ravens and New Orleans Saints. He graduated from Howard University with degrees in human development and pre-law and says he feels compelled to put that knowledge to good use.
But that's not why he's the ideal person to talk to a group of wayward boys.
Officials at Juvenile Hall say their biggest obstacle is a mind-set that there is nothing beyond the world of gangs and drugs the young men grew up in. Look at them and you see teenage faces. Hear what they say and you'll swear you're listening to a far older crowd _ jaded, cynical, cold. The fact they're in Juvenile Hall means they now have few options, they say. And that's that.
The attitude is backed up by numbers.
About 85 percent of those in the facility will at some point make a return trip. When Douglas asks how many boys have been to Juvenile Hall before, 10 raise their hands. Only 13 are in the room.
The lectures _ officials bring in educators and military recruiters as well _ are meant to show the boys that there are options, that they can break the cycle. If they try. In big black letters, a sign at the head of the classroom reads: "Change Requires Effort.''
Who better to deliver that message than the man standing below it? Douglas really shouldn't be in the NFL, much less a starter. He's not very fast. And at 285 pounds, he's not particularly big. His physique is more Grimace than Adonis.
But no one outworks him.
"For three hours, the guy on the other side is going to see the best of me," Douglas tells the class, his voice filling the room like a preacher's. "When I'm tired, I'm still going to come."
Like any classroom, some listen. Some don't.
These boys are not the baddest of the bad. But they're no angels, either. They're in for burglary, car theft, attempted murder. Many are covered in tattoos, and the f-word seems to be an integral part of their vocabulary, even when talking to adults.
The alpha of the group is in the back. He slouches in his seat and doesn't want to let a particular issue die.
Douglas has told the group that when interviewing for a job, it's always best to divulge prior scrapes upfront.
That won't work, the boy in the back insists. In a competitive job market, he reasons, it's best to sidestep the issue early, show the employer you're dependable and deal with past malfeasance if it ever comes up.
There are people out there willing to give a guy who has spent time in Juvenile Hall a chance, Douglas assures them. The boy in the back isn't buying it.
He has a sharp mind, but you get the feeling he might be too brazen, too cocksure for his own good.
As the boys file out of the classroom, you wonder if Douglas' words have sunk in. You wonder if Juvenile Hall is merely a rest stop in the cycle of crime and violence. You wonder if you came back next year, how many of the same faces would be here, how many would be in the adult facility.
But as Douglas gets ready to leave, one of the boys quietly walks back into the classroom. He had been sitting in front and hadn't said much during the hour-and-a-half session.
Now he walks up to Douglas and extends his hand.
"I appreciate you coming in, sir," he says. "I hope you come back again."
Every Tuesday at 3:30 p.m. You can count on it.
