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An era ends for McCune center for troubled boys [The Kansas City Star](Kansas City Star (MO) Via Acquire Media NewsEdge) Dec. 29--The closing of the McCune Residential Center this month ended one of the region's longest-running social welfare programs. For more than a century, thousands of troubled boys who had been judged guilty of crimes served their time in the rolling hills of eastern Jackson County instead of some distant facility operated by the state. Closing the home saves the county about $2 million a year, but it also has left its teachers, administrators and boys pondering the school's legacy and lessons for the future. "I learned how to become an independent person," one of its last residents said in early December. Angela Werkowitch, the assistant facility manager, faced her feelings recently as she watched workmen pull whiteboards off classroom walls and unbolt video projectors from ceiling mounts. "It's going to be a sad time," she said quietly. "The people who are here have a passion for working with these kids and with this population. It's not always easy." Even those who made the decision to close McCune shared that wrenching feeling. Circuit Judge Charles Atwell, who is retiring at the end of the year, grew emotional recently when discussing the decision to close an institution that has been part of the fabric of Jackson County life since 1907, when it opened as the McCune Home for Boys. "It was hard," Atwell said, his voice quavering. "Real hard." Though by no means perfect or immune from controversy and the politics that roiled Jackson County throughout the 20th century, the home's administrators generally focused on nurturing positive change, rather than merely warehousing boys. Charles M. Johnson spent several months at McCune in the mid-1970s after he was arrested as a juvenile for burglary, and later did time as an adult for armed robbery. But his experience at McCune convinced him that boys are worth fighting for. "I hate to see it close," said Johnson, who now works with at-risk youth through his company, Pinpoint Consulting. "We're losing a major resource in our community." Though education always was at the heart of McCune's mission, the school's social philosophy constantly evolved. The institution was the brainchild of Judge Henry McCune, the county's first juvenile court judge, who believed strongly that jail hurt boys more than it helped society. "Judge McCune wanted a place where boys could work and not be institutionalized," said Amber Rumpel, a McCune English teacher who compiled a history of the school. "He wanted a place where boys could feel at home." The county paid $9,000 in 1907 for a 100-acre tract east of Independence and created a place where boys could be reared as if they were the sons of wealthy farmers, Rumpel said. And while the farm had both fallow and fat years, a 1943 report by Superintendent John W.J. Highley painted a picture of bucolic plenty: 40 acres of field corn, 14 acres of alfalfa, 2,000 cabbage plants, 200 brood sows, 100 spring pigs and 14 milk cows. "Every foot of ground that is usable is being used," Highley wrote in a summary to the county court. In addition to traditional classroom education, the school offered vocational training, including building construction, steam laundering and shoemaking, according to Rumpel's history. McCune had its dark side, too. Grand juries periodically found that some administrators had resorted to beatings and other harsh measures to enforce discipline. Debates occasionally arose about whether the school was to be a penal institution or should be focused on rehabilitation. The school also had its place in the politics of the time. In November 1959, county officials learned that employees at McCune had been paying a 1 percent "lug" from their salaries to the Eastern Jackson County Democratic Club and that the superintendent's wife was the club's collector. In the late 1970s, the court appointed Sister Peg Driscoll of the Sisters of Charity of Leavenworth to work as administrator. Driscoll said she instituted a "positive peer culture" program, which encouraged the boys to identify a dozen areas of their lives on which they could improve. Boys held group meetings every night to talk about their progress and encourage each other. Remembering those days, Driscoll said her time at McCune was the most satisfying she has spent in religious service. "It was a very humane and spiritual place," she said. "We all worked hard. ... We were there to help them become better boys than they had been before." You can thank the crack cocaine epidemic of the 1980s for McCune's current grim appearance. High security fences punctuated by locked gates surround the buildings. A generation of gun-toting, drug-influenced teens simply swamped the system, forcing the county to institute more stringent security procedures. The healthy, open campus envisioned by Judge McCune and sustained for almost 80 years wilted before the crack onslaught. Escapes, once a rarity because of the threat of being transferred to a more restrictive juvenile jail, became more common, and neighbors complained. Today, the last remnant of Judge McCune's agrarian dream is a small produce garden. The staff, though, still judges the McCune experiment to have been worthwhile. In recent years, the county has worked hard to keep boys out of juvenile detention, which, like adult prison, now is seen as doing a better job of creating smarter criminals than rehabilitated men. In 2006, when the county began aggressively exploring detention alternatives, the courts placed 147 boys at McCune. But in 2011, the courts placed 40 boys there. "We're a victim of our own success because of the reduction in the juvenile referrals," Werkowitch said. On a recent December Monday, nine boys remained at McCune, all waiting for the fall semester to conclude. Most would go home on furlough or be transferred to the Hilltop Residential Center, a similar, but less secure, facility. Only one of the nine -- a teenager named Carlos -- would be transferred to a state facility, which now is the only option for Jackson County youths who need secure housing. Even so, Carlos said he found value during his months at McCune. "I learned that consequences could get way worse than they are," Carlos said. "I learned not to minimize things. Things can get way out of hand." Arthurine D. Criswell, director of residential services for the Jackson County Family Court, said her office will compensate for the McCune closing by consolidating its programs at Hilltop and focusing on getting families more involved with their children. Creating a stable environment is critical to building on the successes achieved at facilities like McCune and Hilltop. "While the kids are with us, in a structured environment, they do really well," Criswell said. "When they leave, they go back to homes that haven't changed. They get back to neighborhoods that haven't changed, an abyss of chaos." After one of the last counseling sessions at McCune, social worker Catherine Bogue observed, "We're still grieving, but Judge McCune's concept of providing something different for boys will go on (at Hilltop)." To contact Mark Morris, call 816-234-4310 or send email to [email protected]. ___ (c)2012 The Kansas City Star (Kansas City, Mo.) 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