Ricardo Acuna began each class with 15 minutes of silent reading. They were his only moments of peace.
His students selected paperbacks from racks along the wall behind them. As they read, Ricardo played John Coltrane on a little black boombox. Or Mozart.
Or Billie Holiday. Sometimes Buena Vista Social Club.
One day, Gusto Jimenez, 15, announced to the class that he had never read an entire book. "I've never done it, and I don't think I ever will."
Everybody laughed.
"If you're in my class," Ricardo replied, "you're going to read a book."
That evening, Ricardo perused his own books, lined up along shelves on his living room wall. He passed up "The Beatles Anthology" and "Native Son" and "Chasing Che: A Motorcycle Journey in Search of the Guevara Legend."
Instead, he settled on "The Autobiography of Malcolm X." The next day, he handed it to Gusto.
Gusto rejected it. He said he'd rather read about Latinos.
So Ricardo went to the school library and checked out a book about Cesar Chavez. A month later, Gusto had read two chapters. He gave a halfhearted presentation, but it included a poster about what he had learned. The poster showed a Latino couple dancing and an American flag that said: "Free."
Ricardo counted it a victory. Gusto deserved a C at most, but Ricardo gave him a B-minus to encourage him. He got something out of it, Ricardo would recall thinking. The realization strengthened him for the ordeal to come.
*
Ricardo Lira Acuna, 34, had switched vocations. He had been a fledgling writer, and creative writing was still important to him. But now, as an intern in a Los Angeles Unified School District program for career changers and college graduates without training in education, he was a teacher.
His five English classes at Marshall High School in Los Feliz were a challenge beyond anything he had encountered. Three of his students were especially demanding of his time, his patience, his energy and, most of all, his idealism. In different ways, each was like he had been: None were rich, two were Latino and one was very bright.
They and other students, particularly the lethargic, the recalcitrant and the unruly, were wearing him out. Bureaucracy, paperwork and his internship classes at night and on weekends were frustrating him. His most trusted and available mentor was his wife, also a teacher, but his difficulties were affecting their relationship.
Writing still beckoned. But so did his students. Ricardo Acuna was torn.
*
DISCIPLINING THE CLASS CLOWN
Gusto avoided work. He was a clown, with energy to spare. He disrupted class with jokes and smart remarks.
On Oct. 16, 2003, Ricardo was trying to explain possessive nouns. Gusto sat restlessly in a corner, wearing baggy pants, white Nike shoes and an oversized Ecko Unlimited T-shirt. When Ricardo asked for an example of a noun, any noun, Gusto blurted, "Gangster."
A possessive noun?
"This is Gusto's class." Then Gusto turned to a nearby student. Repeat after him, he said: "This is Jose's territory."
By now, class concentration was in disarray.
Gusto's antics were significant. On his information card for Ricardo's files, he had written in tag, the jagged letters used for street graffiti. When he chose to do assignments, he wrote some of them in tag, as well.
He did it so often that Ricardo learned how to read tag.
By mid-October, however, Gusto's interruptions had become a serious interference. Others simply could not concentrate.
When class ended one day, Ricardo asked him to stay. Afterward, they said their conversation had gone this way:
Gusto spoke first.
"C'mon, Acuna, I'm gonna miss my bus."
"Look, it's only going to be a few minutes," Ricardo replied, "and we need to talk."
Gusto paced near the door. Damn, man, he recalled thinking. I gotta go home and eat.... I will just stay five minutes, and then I will jam.
Ricardo looked at him. "If you have a question or you need to talk about something, raise your hand. When you start talking to somebody when we're supposed to be reading, you're disrupting them."
Gusto gave a here-we-go-again look. "Why don't you loosen up? Why do you wear a tie all the time? Why are you so uptight?"
"I want to be a good role model for you guys. I don't think it would be cool if I showed up in baggy pants or an athletic jersey."
Gusto said he couldn't see anything wrong with wearing either one.
"What do you want to do when you grow up?" Ricardo asked.
"I'm not leaving my 'hood."
The 'hood was all that Gusto knew.
Gradually, he began to relax. He inched away from the door, then sat on top of a desk, facing Ricardo.
Under other circumstances, Ricardo would have told him to sit in the desk correctly, but he did not want to interrupt.
Slowly, Gusto began telling him about his brother. He was 23. On Aug. 11, two weeks before school started and one day after Gusto's birthday, someone knocked on the door and shot his brother six times.
