Juan Salazar was a bully, the guy you didn't want to encounter after school, the guy you wanted on your side in a scuffle.
"It's what I did. It's what people know me for," said the Taylorsville 17-year-old.
But a semester under the stern, caring tutelage of Robyn Moore has given Salazar a new identity. His grades are up, he's looking to exit high school with a diploma and he has learned to channel his energy through martial arts and sports.
"He has worked hard and, like a lot of kids here, found success," said Moore, coordinator of a Granite School District program aimed at getting help for students who have threatened the safety of others.
Salazar is among a growing number of kids directed into off-site educational placements for students with so-called "safe school" violations -- those caught fighting, threatening violence or possessing weapons, drugs or alcohol on school grounds.
The programs operate differently in each district, but are increasingly popular alternatives to lengthy suspensions, expulsion and sending students home to an unsupervised environment where they may get into more trouble.
In the past five years, Granite has added two classrooms to its safe-schools repertoire. The program this year served 239 kids from first grade on up, including the 15-year-old charged last month with plotting to torture and kill two students and a school resource officer.
But whether growth is driven by an increase in school violence is unclear.
Utah is inconsistent in its reporting of school crime. And nationally there is much debate among researchers over the relative safety of schools.
Violators are getting younger and Granite is seeing more sexual offenses, said district student services Director Curt Hansen.
But there's also been a shift in thinking about how to best combat juvenile crime.
Punitive approaches, such as detention and expulsion, can create a revolving door. Minors who get into legal trouble and stop going to school have a hard time finding a steady job and are more prone to alcoholism and mental disorders on average than their peers, studies show.
And while in-school interventions aren't a cure-all -- as Hansen notes, "We're not the courts, and we're not the family" -- the rewards they offer for academic success and proper social behavior can shield at-risk kids from other negative influences.
Granite doesn't track grades or graduation rates of safe-schools participants. Hansen said he can't afford to hire a researcher to follow kids after they leave school to see how many run afoul of the law.
But the recidivism rate, those who re-offend and return to the program, is only 7 percent, he said.
Moore credits success to small class sizes -- about two teachers for every 15 to 25 kids -- and working closely with parents, probation officers and mental health professionals.
But Jeffery Sherwin, state special education coordinator who works with the program, credits Moore, whose talent for connecting with hard-luck youth, he says, "has saved many souls."
As a teen, Moore struggled in school and had more than a few run-ins with the law.
"I hated teachers and police, and now I'm a teacher and police officer," said the school resource officer-turned-educator.
Students are referred to her class, housed in portables outside Granite Peaks High School, 501 E. 3900 South, South Salt Lake, by a jury of teachers, parents and administrators. The jury can order a 10-day suspension or send them to Moore for almost any length of time up to a year.
The half-day program pairs regular schoolwork with peer-to-peer support and training on consequences and making good decisions. Students in need of further behavioral treatment are referred to counselors. Their exit from the program is determined by how well they behave.
Most parents are supportive, though some prefer outright suspension, said Hansen. "We look at everything on a case-by-case basis. You may have a kid caught burning toilet paper with a lighter. It poses a danger, but is it arson?"
At least one Glendale mom calls the program "the right mix" of punishment and reform.
Her son was referred for brandishing a tire iron in a fight.
"He felt ganged up on, but he knows it was his fault. He made the wrong decision," said the 47-year-old, who asked not to be named to protect her son's identity.
Moore is tough on the kids and "doesn't take any crap" but gets respect because she gives it, said the mother. Her son is now back at regular school and excelling.
"He's a good kid. But schools should have a zero-tolerance for bad behavior," she said. "There's no punishment anymore, no fear of God."
