C M Y K

PubDate:05/22/2005 Page:A1 Plate:Composite Filmed:05/21/05 22:23

WINE DOCTOR

THE

Ernest Bates:Brain surgeon,vintner, pioneer D1

ALL TIED UPBAY BRIDGE SERIES

Fassero helps Giants even series with

Oakland C1

SONOMA JAZZ + Tony Bennett, Diana Krall, Mavis Staples headline the 3-day festival Q

$1.25

AHARDER EDGETO GANG VIOLENCE

As Sonoma County gangsbecome more entrenched,bloodshed more common

By JEREMY HAYTHE PRESS DEMOCRAT

Thursday will come and Eric Rodriguez willturn 18. His house arrest, which has con-fined him 24 hours a day for the finalweeks of a three-month juvenile hall sen-

tence, is set to end that day.These things he knows.The gangs and violence and drugs that have ruled

his teenage years, helped shape his identity andnearly cost him his life, will again beckon.That, too, Rodriguez knows.What he doesn’t know is how he will respond.“Sometimes I want to go back,” he said. “Some-

times I want to make a life. Make a life with my girl-friend and my son and get out.”His mother, Jovita Rodriguez, 38, a Head Start

teacher, can’t imagine what more she could havedone in the past four years to steer her son from thelife he chose to lead.“He wants to change,” she said, sounding hopeful.

“He has a good heart.”His father, Victor Rodriguez, 39, blames himself

TURN TO CROSSROADS, PAGE A13

Sunny and warmSanta Rosa | High: 85 Low: 46

Bodega Bay | High: 63 Low: 50Details, Page B8

By JEREMY HAYTHE PRESS DEMOCRAT

On a May evening in2003, a group ofAsian Boyz Crips,aged 15 to 20 and

wearing blue, drove to RohnertPark looking for their rivals,the LOK, or Loked Out KhmerBloods.They found them, four

young men also aged 15 to 20,wearing red and playing bas-ketball at Sunrise Park.Fists, feet, sticks and broken

beer bottles were wielded in afight that lasted only a few min-utes. Finally, a 9mm handgun

was fired.Roeun

Kloat, an18-year-oldLOK member,was shot inthe abdomenand died atSanta RosaMemorial Hos-pital.Kloat lived

his short lifein a slice of

Sonoma County society inwhich gang culture is at oncemore widespread and more en-trenched, where violence ismore commonplace and in-creasingly serious.The violence often is more

public, too. It erupted in gather-ing spots like Sunrise Parkand more recently at SantaRosa Plaza, where two shotswere fired through a door atSears in January.Last weekend, a 25-year-old

man was shot in the leg on aSouth Park street, apparentlyby gang members who mistookhim for a rival, police said.Although the number of

gang members appears to beholding steady, police and pros-ecutors say their caseloads aregrowing as gangs cleave intonew factions, fostering rival-ries that spur more violence.Trauma surgeons are treatingmore stabbing and shootingvictims. The number of homi-cides and other serious crimesinvolving gang members is ris-ing.“The nature of our gang cas-

es has changed,” said Chris-TURN TO GANGS, PAGE A13

Business E1Classified F1Comics D11Crossword D9

Editorial B6Food D1Lotto A2Movies D4

Sports C1Theaters D2TV D10Weather B8

AN EMOTIONAL LOSS FOR SR RUGBY PLAYERSThe Lobos Rugby Club of Elsie Allen High fallsto powerhouse Highland High of Salt Lake Cityin the national championship game Saturday.C1

ONLINE AT:PRESSDEMOCRAT.COM

‘I just don’t know what I want’Once he’s free from house arrest,

Eric Rodriguez says he’ll be torn betweena fresh start and a return to his gang

SIGNS OF THE TIMESIN THE COURTSProsecutions of serious gang crimeshave nearly doubled in the pasthalf-dozen years.ON THE STREETSGangs are blamed for a growingpercentage of Santa Rosa homicides.From 1991 through 1997, 27 percentof the homicides involved gangmembers as either victims or suspectsor both. From 1998 through thismonth, that number has grown to58 percent.IN THE E.R.At Memorial Hospital’s trauma center,patients with penetrating wounds —shootings and stabbings — rose from45 in 2000 to 96 in 2004.

TEEN AT A CROSSROADS

INSIDE

By ROB STEINWASHINGTON POST

WASHINGTON — Neva Hart’s mother,grandmother and aunt all battled breast cancer.So when Hart heard about an experiment test-ing a pill that might protect women like herfrom the malignancy, she jumped at the chanceto volunteer.“I wish science could find something aside

from chopping off parts of the body to fight thisdisease,” said Hart, 57, of Wirtz, Va. “I decidedto donate my body so people might not have togo through that kind of torture.”The study that Hart joined and a similar one

based in Europe are raising hope that a newclass of drugs may offer women at high risk ofbreast cancer a safe way to protect themselves.But the experiments also raise thorny ques-tions about whether the potential benefits out-weigh the risks.“Studies like this raise serious ethical is-

sues,” said Michael Grodin, a bioethicist at theTURN TO CANCER, PAGE A10

Hopes, concernsraised by study ofbreast-cancer pill

JudyLampeeNb bdvdfgkvdjfbn fhkbf f jf fjhvffvff fgvfjhf fjhvfjhffjhvf ffjhf fhfguhgfvgfdvdfhkgv.

INSIDEXXXX XXXXXXX XXXXXVvg dgvvdfkghfvf vfgv fgvf fvgffv fjvf fv f / A12BREAKDOWNOF GANGSA list of someof county’sgangs / A12

JOHN BURGESS / The Press Democrat

Eric Rodriguez, 17, got the tattoo of the Angelino Heights gang in 2002 after he was shot in the face during analtercation with a rival gang. Rodriguez is under house arrest after spending three months in juvenile detention.

MAY 22, 2005 . SANTA ROSA, CALIFORNIA

COPYRIGHT © 2005, THE PRESS DEMOCRAT, 148TH YEAR, NO. 213 E

C M Y K

PubDate:05/22/2005 Page:A1 Plate:Composite Filmed:05/22/05 00:00

WINE DOCTOR

THE

Ernest Bates:Brain surgeon,vintner, pioneer D1

ALL TIED UPBAY BRIDGE SERIES

Fassero helps Giants even series with

Oakland C1

SONOMA JAZZ + Tony Bennett, Diana Krall, Mavis Staples headline the 3-day festival Q

$1.25

AHARDER EDGETO GANG VIOLENCE

As Sonoma County gangsbecome more entrenched,bloodshed more common

By JEREMY HAYTHE PRESS DEMOCRAT

Thursday will come and Eric Rodriguez willturn 18. His house arrest, which has con-fined him 24 hours a day for the finalweeks of a three-month juvenile hall sen-

tence, is set to end that day.These things he knows.The gangs and violence and drugs that have ruled

his teenage years, helped shape his identity andnearly cost him his life, will again beckon.That, too, Rodriguez knows.What he doesn’t know is how he will respond.“Sometimes I want to go back,” he said. “Some-

times I want to make a life. Make a life with my girl-friend and my son and get out.”His mother, Jovita Rodriguez, 38, a Head Start

teacher, can’t imagine what more she could havedone in the past four years to steer her son from thelife he chose to lead.“He wants to change,” she said, sounding hopeful.

“He has a good heart.”His father, Victor Rodriguez, 39, blames himself

TURN TO CROSSROADS, PAGE A13

Sunny and warmSanta Rosa | High: 85 Low: 46

Bodega Bay | High: 63 Low: 50Details, Page B8

By JEREMY HAYTHE PRESS DEMOCRAT

On a May evening in2003, a group ofAsian Boyz Crips,aged 15 to 20 and

wearing blue, drove to RohnertPark looking for their rivals,the LOK, or Loked Out KhmerBloods.They found them, four

young men also aged 15 to 20,wearing red and playing bas-ketball at Sunrise Park.Fists, feet, sticks and broken

beer bottles were wielded in afight that lasted only a few min-utes. Finally, a 9mm handgun

was fired.Roeun

Kloat, an18-year-oldLOK member,was shot inthe abdomenand died atSanta RosaMemorial Hos-pital.Kloat lived

his short lifein a slice of

Sonoma County society inwhich gang culture is at oncemore widespread and more en-trenched, where violence ismore commonplace and in-creasingly serious.The violence often is more

public, too. It erupted in gather-ing spots like Sunrise Parkand more recently at SantaRosa Plaza, where two shotswere fired through a door atSears in January.Last weekend, a 25-year-old

man was shot in the leg on aSouth Park street, apparentlyby gang members who mistookhim for a rival, police said.Although the number of

gang members appears to beholding steady, police and pros-ecutors say their caseloads aregrowing as gangs cleave intonew factions, fostering rival-ries that spur more violence.Trauma surgeons are treatingmore stabbing and shootingvictims. The number of homi-cides and other serious crimesinvolving gang members is ris-ing.“The nature of our gang cas-

es has changed,” said Chris-TURN TO GANGS, PAGE A13

Business E1Classified F1Crossword Q27Forum G1

Jobs J1Lotto A2Movies Q17Real Estate R1

Robert Rubino C2Chris Smith B1Susan Swartz D1Volunteers B5

AN EMOTIONAL LOSS FOR SR RUGBY PLAYERSThe Lobos Rugby Club of Elsie Allen High fallsto powerhouse Highland High of Salt Lake Cityin the national championship game Saturday. C1

By JOSE L. SANCHEZ Jr.THE PRESS DEMOCRAT

The 60-year-old Sebastopol woman who diedFriday when a suicidal driver on the wrongside of the road slammed into her, dedicatedher life to helping troubled people like the wom-an accused of killing her.Judy Lampee was on her way to the Shiloh

halfway house she co-founded inWindsor whenher car was struck head-on by a woman policesaid was driving recklesslyand likely under the influenceof drugs.Leslie Ann Gomez, 43, of

Windsor, remained in Sono-ma County Jail on Saturday,held without bail on suspicionof murder and driving underthe influence of drugs.Even as they grieved for

Lampee, her family expressedforgiveness for Gomez.“The woman involved with

this accident was the type ofperson my mother had a heartfor,” her daughter, ShawnaLampee, said Saturday. “I’mvery upset, but I know thatmy mom would be 100 percent forgiving, so Iam 100 percent forgiving for this lady,” Lampeesaid.Gomez told police she intentionally drove on

the wrong side of the road and struck the on-coming car. The crash occurred about 1:20 p.m.at a curve on Shiloh Road.Gomez appeared to be under the influence of

a stimulant, probably methamphetamine, saidWindsor Police Sgt. Ed Hoener.Lampee was a sociologist who had been work-

ing at Santa Rosa Junior College as a lecturerand activity leader at senior citizen facilities inSanta Rosa and Sebastopol.She also had served as director of the Sebasto-

pol Senior Center for 15 years.In 1980, Lampee was “saved,” said her hus-

TURN TO FATAL, PAGE A10

ONLINE AT:PRESSDEMOCRAT.COM

‘I just don’t know what I want’Once he’s free from house arrest,

Eric Rodriguez says he’ll be torn betweena fresh start and a return to his gang

Sebastopolcrash victim

led life ofcompassion

60-year-old dedicated her life to helpingpeople like driver accused of killing her

SIGNS OF THE TIMESIN THE COURTSProsecutions of serious gang crimeshave nearly doubled in the past6 years.ON THE STREETSGangs are blamed for a growingpercentage of Santa Rosa homicides.From 1991 through 1997, 27 percentof the homicides involved gangmembers as either victims or suspectsor both. From 1998 through thismonth, that number has grown to58 percent.IN THE E.R.At Memorial Hospital’s trauma center,patients with penetrating wounds —shootings and stabbings — rose from45 in 2000 to 96 in 2004.

TEEN AT A CROSSROADS

INSIDE

By ROB STEINWASHINGTON POST

WASHINGTON — Neva Hart’s mother,grandmother and aunt all battled breast cancer.So when Hart heard about an experiment test-ing a pill that might protect women like herfrom the malignancy, she jumped at the chanceto volunteer.“I wish science could find something aside

from chopping off parts of the body to fight thisdisease,” said Hart, 57, of Wirtz, Va. “I decidedto donate my body so people might not have togo through that kind of torture.”The study that Hart joined and a similar one

based in Europe are raising hope that a newclass of drugs may offer women at high risk ofbreast cancer a safe way to protect themselves.But the experiments also raise thorny ques-tions about whether the potential benefits out-weigh the risks.“Studies like this raise serious ethical is-

sues,” said Michael Grodin, a bioethicist at theTURN TO CANCER, PAGE A10

Hopes, concernsraised by study ofbreast-cancer pill

JudyLampeeSince 1980,she has helpedseniors, homeless,troubled teensand drug addicts.

INSIDEMOORLANDGANG TIESNeighborhoodhas long historyof violence / A12BREAKDOWNOF GANGSA list of someof county’sgangs / A12

JOHN BURGESS / The Press Democrat

Eric Rodriguez, 17, got the tattoo of the Angelino Heights gang in 2002 after he was shot in the face during analtercation with a rival gang. Rodriguez is under house arrest after spending three months in juvenile detention.

MAY 22, 2005 . SANTA ROSA, CALIFORNIA

COPYRIGHT © 2005, THE PRESS DEMOCRAT, 148TH YEAR, NO. 213 C

C M Y K

PubDate:05/22/2005 Page:A13 Plate:Composite Filmed:05/21/05 22:14

tine Cook, a deputy district attorneywith the gang prosecution unit. “Wehave a lot more multiple-defendant at-tempted murders, serious assaultsand violent assaults than we did justa few years ago.”For instance:Ç Prosecutions of serious gang

crimes have nearly doubled in thepast half-dozen years. Cook’s unitprosecuted 95 serious crimes and162 defendants during a three-year pe-riod ending in June 2003. In the next32 months, the numbers jumped to162 cases and 286 defendants.Ç Gangs are blamed for a higher

share of Santa Rosa homicides. From1991 through 1997, 27 percent of the 37homicides in the city involved gangmembers as either victims or sus-pects or both. From 1998 through thismonth, 58 percent of the 26 homicidesinvolved gang members.Ç Medical records also reflect ris-

ing violence. At Santa Rosa MemorialHospital’s trauma center, the numberof patients with penetrating wounds— shootings and stabbings — rosefrom 45 in 2000 to 96 in 2004.“The gang violence is probably at

least 30 percent of our penetratingwounds,” said Brian Schmidt, chiefsurgeon at the hospital’s trauma cen-ter, where the medical staff asked fora briefing from gang investigators af-ter seeing a big spike in serious inju-ries in 2002.The roots of the gangs run deep:

Nearly a third of the known SonomaCounty gang members have been on astate gang list for at least five years.Several factors contribute to the

growing intensity of gang rivalriesand the increasingly violent conflicts,say police, probation officers and in-tervention workers.“The numbers haven’t really

changed a lot, but it’s become moremature,” said Sheriff’s Sgt. LorenzoDuenas, who heads the county’s Multi-Agency Gang Task Force.“Before, I’d say they were trying to

find their way, establish their identi-ties, and now they’re farther alongand they’re playing hardball,” Duenassaid.Rafael Vasquez is a gang preven-

tion counselor who grew up in westSanta Rosa. He is often a critic of po-lice tactics, saying teenagers frompoorer communities are too quicklylabeled as gang members.But on this point, he is in agree-

ment with Duenas.“It’s all about sending messages,”

he said.The battle for notoriety takes place

against a backdrop of crime that in-cludes drug dealing, robberies, bur-glaries and auto theft, which often pro-voke their own violent encounters,gang investigators say.Immigration has distinctly influ-

enced how Sonoma County’s gangpresence has developed.The county’s two largest gang fac-

tions are norteños and sureños; bothprimarily Latino and each an umbrel-la for many smaller gang “sets.”The two gangs attained roughly

equal numbers early this decade, asimmigration swelled the ranks ofsureños. That parity has led to a moresustained level of violence, gang inves-tigators say.“They consider themselves to be at

war with one another,” said SantaRosa Police detective Robert Scott, agang investigator since 2001.Norteño gangs have been in the

county for at least 20 years. There are1,400 to 1,800 members, most locally-born Latinos, although many arewhite and a lesser number are Afri-can-American, American Indian orAsian, Duenas said.Police estimates of the number of

sureño gang members — typically re-cent immigrants from Mexico andelsewhere in Latin America — grewfrom about 200 in 1991 to between1,400 and 1,500 today. The seven-foldincrease took place as the county’sLatino population nearly doubled to80,000 over the 1990s.Vasquez believes fractured relation-

ships between economically-pressedimmigrant parents and children grow-ing up in a foreign culture are a ma-jor factor pushing many teenagersinto gang life.“I think it’s one of the greatest prob-

lems I find when working with mycommunity, the Latino community,”he said. “And when a child turns 13or so, there is a sense of being lost.”The county’s gang atmosphere has

intensified as Asian gangs — mostlyVietnamese, Lao and Cambodiansfrom refugee families — have grownand developed their own rivalries.

There are about 200 known Asiangang members in the county, most inSanta Rosa, with the Asian BoyzCrips outnumbering LOK. Each hasties to nationwide Asian crime gangs,and each gang also clashes withsureños, Scott said.The Asian gangs’ enmity led to

Kloat’s slaying and has grown be-cause of it, Scott said.In September 2003, at a preliminary

hearing for the Kloat murder trial,friends of an LOK member involvedin the deadly fight threatened twowomen and a child, family membersof the Asian Boyz’ defendants.“Kill ‘em, Kill ‘em,” the young men

said in the hallway, according tocourt documents.In 2004, a 17-year-old who claimed

to be a founding member of LOK wasparalyzed in a drive-by shooting, thefourth to target his Campbell Drivehome.A troublingly large number of gang

members in the county are teenagers,police say.Of 3,250 Sonoma County residents

in a statewide law enforcement gangdatabase, 851, or 26 percent are 19 oryounger. And 2,323, or 71 percent, arebetween 20 and 28.From March 2004 to March 2005, 267

juveniles were ordered onto probation

with what are known as gang condi-tions, barring them from associatingwith gang members or displayinggang colors, according to ProbationDepartment figures.“Everybody is sensitive to the level

of violence our kids are capable of,”said Robert Ochs, deputy chief proba-tion officer for Sonoma County. “Thisis not just boys will be boys. It’s notpetty stuff.”The department — which last year

began arming its two gang-case proba-tion officers — has a juvenile caseloadof 600 to 700 clients at any one time,Ochs said.One measure of how entrenched

gang life may be becoming is found inCalGang, the statewide gang informa-tion database. Under federal law, aperson’s name must be purged fromthe database if they have no contactwith law enforcement for five years.As of April, of 3,250 Sonoma County

gang members currently listed on Cal-Gang, 930 had been listed for morethan five years, Sheriff’s Sgt. DennisSmiley said.Of those currently listed, 430 have

been in the database since 1997, saidSmiley, who heads the department’scriminal intelligence unit.Where the gangs settle, violence of-

ten follows.Countywide, the state collected re-

ports of 256 people aged 14 to 25 whowere hospitalized from 1996 through2003 because they’d been violently as-saulted — an average of about 3.7 as-saults per 1,000 people.In that same eight-year period,

48 people ages 14 to 25 in the 95407 ZIPcode — which includes most of south-west Santa Rosa and the neighbor-hoods of Roseland and Moorland —were intentionally shot, stabbed orbeaten, a rate of about 9 in 1,000, aPress Democrat analysis found.In the 95492 ZIP code that takes in

Windsor — where Dylan Katz, 16, wasbeaten nearly to death in 1996 by gangmembers from the West Side Windsorsureños who mistook his red sweat-shirt for a sign of norteño affiliation— 22 people between ages 14 and 25were intentionally shot, stabbed orbeaten from 1996 through 2003, thestate data shows.That’s about 7 per 1,000, the Press

Democrat analysis shows.“The issue is the youth,” said Due-

nas, who grew up in Roseland andnow helps police his old neighbor-hood. “The violators are becomingyounger and they’re more willing tobe more violent, and they’re more aptto use weapons.”Among the group that went looking

for rivals in Rohnert Park that May2003 evening was a high school stu-dent named Yai Phanchanh.He had no prior criminal record,

but was a documented member of theAsian Boyz Crips. He was 16 when heshot Roeun Kloat at Sunrise Park.He was 17 in 2004, when he was sen-

tenced to 25 years to life in prison forthe murder.

News researcher Teresa Meiklecontributed data analysis and newsresearcher Michelle Van Hoeck alsocontributed to this report. You can reachStaff Writer Jeremy Hay at 521-5212 orjhay@pressdemocrat.com.

CONTINUED FROM PAGE A1

for working too many long days atthe Petaluma chicken farm where heis a supervisor, for spending too littletime with his son.“I had to start staying away, and

that’s when, I assume, I lost him,” hesaid.He and his wife immigrated sepa-

rately from Mexico three decades ago.They met at a dance in Guerneville,and have since climbed from ruralpoverty into a solid working classlife, into a two-story home and mort-gage in north Santa Rosa.They have five children and Eric is

their second son, the troubled centerof a storm that has consumed somuch of their hearts and minds.They are willing to talk about their

troubles, they said, because perhapssomething can come of them.

Torn between family, gangEric Rodriguez has a shaved head,

chestnut brown eyes and when hesmiles, which is frequently, a look ofsurprise steals over his face. He has agang tattoo covering one brawny tri-cep and, since a rival gang membershot him in 2002, he has had a .22-cali-ber bullet lodged in his sinus cavity.“I kept on thinking to myself that

in another minute I’ll be dead and Iwon’t be here,” he said, recalling thatnight. “I’ve never been so scared.”But when Thursday comes, he still

will be torn between the gang thatmade him happier than his familydid, and the knowledge that if he re-turns to it he may end up dead or be-hind bars.“I think I just want to get out of

this gang stuff, just get totally out ofit,” he said. “But at the same time, Idon’t want to leave my friends, leavemy gang. I just don’t know what Iwant for myself sometimes.”Indecision rules his days as he

waits for Thursday, for freedom andall its uncertainties.He’s removed the three dots that

once were tattooed on his left handand signified his sureño loyalties.But his upper left arm still carries

the “VAh” tattoo that tells of his mem-bership in Angelino Heights, the

street gang he’s hung with since hewas 14.

The beginningAt the start of it all, his family

lived in Roseland, on Sunset Avenue.It was a rough neighborhood but onethey could afford, Jovita Rodriguezsaid.She shook her head. Eric blames

the neighborhood, she said, but sheand Victor tried. They don’t drink;they don’t smoke; they tried hard.“I used to talk to them,” she said

about her children. “I would check upon them. They played soccer withtheir dad.”His parents always were working,

said Rodriguez. He was bored andwanted out.Don’t go across the street, his moth-

er said. But his father said, “He’s get-ting older, let him grow up, havemore freedom.”He was 12 and playing soccer on a

Roseland field — he was a good play-er back then, he said — and some old-er gang members, from VSL, a long-time sureño set, asked to join in.“It was like, ‘OK,’ ” Rodriguez re-

called. “We were hanging out. Theystarted smoking weed with us andnext thing you know, I was claiming”— responding “VSL,” when askedwho he was with.

Little stepsHe started going to parties, started

wearing blue, the color that sureñosclaim. “Little by little, I started car-ing about gangs,” he said.“It made me feel like, if anyone

messes with me, they’re going to backme up,” he said.Not gangs, his mother thought, it

couldn’t be. She didn’t believe it atfirst.But the signs were clear.“I noticed right away he was differ-

ent,” she said. “He was angry, he wasgoing with them and coming homelate.”She refused to buy him blue

clothes. He’d bring them home; she’dthrow them out. She and Victor“would go out and look for him in thebad streets at night.”Rodriguez was expelled from Cook

Middle School for fighting the sameyear the family bought a house offMoorland Avenue. His parents beganaccompanying him to his counselingsessions for drug abuse and angermanagement.He resisted the counseling — “it ir-

ritated me,” he said — but the movewas good for his aspirations as a gangmember.He’d avoided getting “jumped in” to

VSL — the initiation rite of beingbeaten by gang members to gain full-fledged status — because his eyeswere on Angelino Heights, which hadstaked out Moorland in the early1990s.“I got recruited in and I felt they

were harder than any other gang,” hesaid. “If they had a problem theycould handle it. They kept their wordabout what they said they would do.”He started “putting in work” for

the gang, earning stripes that wouldqualify him to get jumped in: “Crimesagainst rivals, fighting, just like shoot-ings, just stuff like that.”The rules were simple, he said. For

a sureño who saw a norteño, “it wasmandatory, go and challenge him.”And he started using methamphet-

amine. “I’m really addicted to it,” hesaid. “If I use it I won’t stop until I getarrested or something bad happens.”As they had in Roseland, his par-

ents got to know the Moorland streetsas they tried to keep him safe, reinhim in.“He used to go with his friends and

I used to go looking for him, knock-ing on doors in really bad areas,” his

mother said.The family, growing desperate,

moved again, to its current home innorth Santa Rosa, and sent Eric tolive with Victor Rodriguez’s parentsin Guadalajara, Mexico.There were a lot of girls there, and

he liked his grandparents, liked work-ing as a cook at his uncle’s restau-rant. But he was told he’d have tostay back a year in school, and heworried he’d fall behind his friends.He was 15 when he returned to SantaRosa.He no longer lived in Moorland.

But it was still his neighborhood, hesaid. Angelino Heights was still hisgang.“After two months he started get-

ting back with his friends,” his moth-er said. She and Victor attendedparenting classes, “for weeks andweeks.”“I think I did more than I was sup-

posed to do,” she said. “We did a lotto help him, and it’s been workingwith my other kids, but not withhim.”

Shot in the faceIt was July 9, 2002, and Rodriguez

and two friends had been drivingaround Roseland, spray-painting“Varrio AH” in the streets aroundSunset Avenue. On West Avenue,they saw some girls by the roadsideand started talking with them.Rodriguez, in the back seat and

wearing a blue jersey, saw a carparked across the road and guessed itwas a rival.Rival gang shouts were exchanged:

“Norte.” “Sur Trece.” “AngelinoHeights.”“I thought we were going to fight,”

he said. “Let me out,” he told hisfriends. Then a bullet shattered thewindow. It tore into his face just be-tween his nose and the corner of hisleft eye.Rodriguez turned on the car’s over-

head light, he said, and, “I could seemy blood squirting out like a hose.”He called his mother from the car,

screaming that he’d been shot.“I told her I loved her,” said Rod-

riguez, who left the hospital vowingto be more careful, thinking about

staying away from the life altogether.“I would just try to kick back, not

do any crimes,” he said. “It wouldonly last a few weeks.”His friends asked him: “What are

you going to do about it?”So for a time he carried a gun and

looked for whoever it was that shothim. He didn’t find him; nor have thepolice, and the case remains open.The bullet that still causes Rodrigu-

ez to get headaches also elevated hisstatus with the gang, saving him thetrouble of getting jumped in. Hisfriends told him, “That’s it, you’re al-ready from the ‘hood,” he said.

‘I have hope’Gangs, drugs, violence. He stayed

in the life. He was violent at home.Last year, he and his 16-year-old girl-friend had a son and named him An-gel. Eric came home late and chal-lenged his father to fights, frighteninghis mother. His sisters cried. His par-ents’ marriage grew strained. His old-er brother grew angry at the disrup-tions.Time and again, Victor Rodriguez

called 911, filed assault chargesagainst his son, sent him back to juve-nile hall.“I explained to Eric a lot of times, I

prefer to see in (him) jail than to see(him) die,” the father said. “Believeme, before I make the decision, I dis-cuss with my wife. And I cry to my-self. I don’t want to do this thing.”Thursday will come. “I have hope,”

he said.Eric Rodriguez misses fighting,

misses the feeling he gets when fistsare swinging.Whoever his opponent, he said,

whether he knows his name or not,“I’m just taking out all my anger onhim. I used to like that rush.”Maybe, he said, he’ll finish high

school somewhere and get a job; he’sinterested in construction. And dur-ing his last stay in juvenile hall, “Itold my dad I loved him, because Ihaven’t told him that for a long time.”Victor Rodriguez still smiles when

he talks about his son.“Eric is special,” he said. “It’s more

important, the family, than the job.That’s what I’m learning now.”

CONTINUED FROM PAGE A1

Photos by JOHN BURGESS / The Press Democrat

Santa Rosa Police Officer Rick Kohut holds a flashlight to the face of a suspected norteño gangmember at the 7-Eleven on SteeleLane so the victim of an assault could identify his attacker. Police say three norteños attacked a sureño gangmember.

“I kept on thinkingto myself that inanother minute I’llbe dead and I won’tbe here. I’ve neverbeen so scared.”

ERIC RODRIGUEZOn the 2002 shooting that left

a .22-caliber bullet lodged in his sinus

GANG VIOLENCE

A task forcemeets to discuss strategy for a search on a house containing gangmembers suspected in a drive-by shooting in the South Park area of Santa Rosa.

CROSSROADS: ‘It made me feel like, if anyone messes with me, they’re going to back me up’

GANGS:Battle fornotoriety can startcycle of violence

A13THE PRESS DEMOCRAT . SUNDAY, MAY 22, 2005

C M Y K

PubDate:05/22/2005 Page:A12 Plate:Composite Filmed:05/21/05 22:27

By JEREMY HAYTHE PRESS DEMOCRAT

At Santa Rosa’s southernedge, amid the everydayroutines of the Moorlandneighborhood, the enmi-

ties and violence that suffuse ganglife carry across the years.They echo down streets like Nev-

ille Court, where Rogelio Bautistalived in a concrete-floored room offa garage; down streets like Bar-bara Drive, where the 16-year-oldwas shot dead on New Year’s Eve.It’s a neighborhood of short

streets, many without sidewalks,of ranch houses with faded paintjobs and a few apartment complex-es crammed between the old North-western Pacific Railroad tracksand Highway 101, just south of theCorby Avenue auto dealers.It once was norteño territory, ac-

cording to neighborhood lore.Then a man — whom some callMike and others Mickey — movedup from Los Angeles in the 1990s,and a gang named AngelinoHeights took hold.The gang — whose “AHTS” graf-

fiti is found around Moorland’sstreets — is allied with thesureños.With sureños growing in num-

ber, the norteños were pushedaside.More recently, it is said, some

norteño families have moved back.And pushed back.So it goes, “generation to genera-

tion,” said Gloria Lawson, whofrom her front door can see thedriveway across the street whereBautista died.She is 35, and says her “gang

banging” days are over. Thenorteño tattoo on her left forearmis covered with one of a tangledrose, but she can still seem as hard-bitten as the Moorland streetswhere she was raised.She has a gravelly laugh and

three nephews who are charged inconnection with Bautista’s slaying.She says someone else shot Bau-

tista as he led a crowd of gangmembers wielding bottles and

rocks to attack the house acrossthe street where one of her neph-ews was hanging out with friends.It was, Lawson said, just one in

a string of conflicts that sureñoshave started with her extendedfamily, which has long norteñoties.“It’s because we’re from here

and they want to take it over.That’s what it comes down to,” shesaid. “We’re the last northernerswho are still here. All the othershave moved out.”Whatever the truth of that night,

the persistent and increasingly vio-lent reality of gangs in SonomaCounty has textured life in Moor-land for years.It shades Bautista’s death, the ar-

rests of Lawson’s nephews and thestories people in the neighborhoodtell about what went down Dec. 31and why.Two of Lawson’s nephews who

are charged in connection withBautista’s murder are norteños,prosecutors say: Dominic Nevarez,21, the alleged gunman, and Abra-ham Gonzales, who faces attempt-ed-murder charges for allegedly fir-ing at the crowd that gathered.The third isn’t a gang member, ac-cording to prosecutors.Authorities say Bautista, who

lived two blocks away, was on pro-bation for a gang-related offensebut, citing his age, won’t say if hewas an active gang member.In Moorland, there seems little

doubt that he was.“My son was in the same gang

Rogelio was in,” said MichelleSouthers, 51, who moved from FortBragg to Moorland in 1993, andnow lives in the single-story, four-unit apartment house down thestreet from Lawson’s.Her son has a baby boy named

after Rogelio, she said. The gangwas Angelino Heights.Southers spent her son’s teenage

years trying to keep him out of thegang and failing, so instead, shesaid, “I worried all the time thathe would end up in jail or dead.”Her son, whom she declined to

identify, is now 25 and out of thelife, she said.Others on the street say he’s not.Who is and who isn’t; what hap-

pened to Bautista and what didn’t;who is to blame and what will hap-pen next?In the months since Bautista

was shot, questions like these havericocheted along Barbara Drive.Southers doesn’t know the exact

chain of events that led to Bautis-ta’s death.

But she knows too well the atmo-sphere in which the animositiesunderlying it were nurtured.“It’s what gangs do to people,”

she said. “It makes you violent, itmakes you want more power andit makes you feel safe in a way.”She remembers the day her

13-year-old son was jumped in thestreet for his brand new red 49erssweatshirt, a color the norteñosclaim.Soon he was rolling with Angeli-

no Heights.“His explanation was so that he

could feel safer in the neighbor-hood, because he had the gang toback him up,” she said.Linda Gonzalez, 19, Lawson’s

daughter, knows that feeling, butfrom the street’s other side.“I was out running the streets

here. I was gang banging too,” shesaid.Now, with two children of her

own, she wants that past to stay inthe past. When her cousins’ trial isdone, she said, she’s moving away,to Virginia.“I’m going to be 20, and I’m

scared to walk down the street,”she said. “That’s so embarrassing.I’m scared to walk down thestreets that I’ve been in forever.”Her mother, listening nearby,

laughed, shaking her head.Bautista’s family, who have de-

nied his gang involvement, movedfrom the neighborhood in March.Gloria Lawson’s sister, the motherof her jailed nephews, has movedto Texas.“It’s torn up our family,” Law-

son said. “It’s not like we don’t feelfor them, for the mother, but wethink the wrong people are in jail.”One day in April, a memorial to

Bautista was finally taken downfrom the courtyard in front ofSouther’s apartment.When she turned 50, Southers re-

called later, her son threw her aparty. Rogelio Bautista came, shesaid, and gave her a jewelry box.He was a sweet kid, she said,

and a gang member who led a lifethat put him in danger, and in thatway, she said, he shared in the re-sponsibility for his own death.“Just being in a gang, of course

he did,” she said, “and so did ev-eryone who recruited him. I holdthem responsible too.”

Gangs are a fluid and elusive slice of Sonoma Countysociety. Their names and the numbers of their memberschange frequently, as different loosely knit alliances appearand disappear.But police have identified a number with a consistentinfluence and presence in the county’s gang scene. For themost part, investigators say, Sonoma County gangs attachthemselves to identities not territories, but in some casesthe locations each tend to cluster around are identified.The gangs’ criminal activities vary, police say. For example,white-power gangs focus on crimes such as vehicle theftand property crimes, while much of the crime involving therival norteños and sureños is violence toward other gangmembers. All are involved in drug sales, police say.

WHITE-POWER GANGSEngaged mostly in home invasions, drug sales andproperty crimes:Nazi Low Riders: 20 to 30 members; ties to prisongangs; mostly in Santa RosaBarbarian Brotherhood: about 30 members aroundSonoma County

NORTEÑO GANGSA presence in the county for at least two decades. Themembership is mostly locally born Latinos, but includeswhites, blacks, American Indians and Asians. Theestimated 1,400 to 1,800 members, divided chiefly among:VSRN, or Varrio Santa Rosa Norte: The oldestSonoma County norteño gang, with about 300 membersaround Sonoma CountyVSP: 80 to 100 members, South Park area of Santa RosaPachucos Locos: 70 to 100 members; Santa RosaNX4: 50 to 75 members, Santa RosaV.O.P. or Valley Oak Posse: About 100 members whoare generally Latino or Eritrean, based on NorthcoastStreet, in Santa RosaBarrios Cliques Norte: CloverdaleH-Town: Healdsburg, based largely along Grove StreetWest Side Windsor:Windsor; members of this gangwere convicted of the 1996 attack in which 16-year-oldDylan Katz was almost beaten to death

SUREÑO GANGSLess organized than the norteños, according to police,having grown up faster and more recently. About 1,400 to1,500 members around Sonoma County, who clusteredalong the Highway 101 corridor but also in the SonomaValley:V.S.L., or Varrio Sureño Locos: about 300 to 400membersW 9th Street Clique: an offshoot of V.S.L.; about 75 to100 membersRohnert Park SureñosPuro Sureño Cholos: about 300 to 400 membersA.V.S., or Apple Valley Sureños

ASIAN GANGSAbout 200 members, based mostly in Santa Rosa and, to alesser extent, Rohnert Park:Asian Boyz Crips: about 125 membersL.O.K., or Loked Out Khmer: about 75 members

History of deep-rooted violenceMoorland neighborhood’sgang ties have death gripon inhabitants, their families

GANG VIOLENCE

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SIZING UP GANGS

JOHN BURGESS / The Press Democrat

Friends of Rogelio Bautista, 16, hold a vigil at his home onMoorlandAvenue inSanta Rosa. Bautistawas shot and killed by gangmembers onNewYear’s Eve.

A12 THE PRESS DEMOCRAT . SUNDAY, MAY 22, 2005