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Life in many attitude-adjustment schools is closer to prison than prep school. Facilities are spartan, discipline strict. At Tranquility Bay, students are supervised from wake-up at 6:30 a.m. to lights-out at 9:30 p.m. Punishment for violations of the 54-page student rule book range from loss of merit points to "observation placement"--meaning a student must lie on the tile floor of his room all day, not sitting up except for meals and bathroom breaks. And parents sign a contract allowing the school to use handcuffs, mace and stun guns on their children. "Restraints are rare," says Jay Kay, a former San Diego gas-station and mini-mart manager who owns and operates Tranquility Bay. "But we take them seriously, and we train for them."
The love is even tougher at attitude-adjustment wilderness camps. Teens are enrolled for one to three months of rigorous camping and treks through the wild. To establish discipline, food and water are often withheld. For punishment, the camps often impose grueling hikes and uncomfortable sleeping conditions. Cathy and Bob Sutton of Ripon, Calif., sent their 16-year-old daughter Michelle to camp Summit Quest in the summer of 1990 because she had become depressed and dabbled with drugs after she was date-raped. The Suttons, who thought from a marketing director's pitch that the camp sounded challenging but kind, paid $14,000 for 63 days. But Michelle's counselors got lost on an exercise in which the campers had limited supplies of water. When Michelle ran out of water, a counselor told the other hikers not to share, and joked that Michelle's parched mouth was so white "it looks like you've been eating marshmallows." After complaining she couldn't see, Michelle collapsed and died of dehydration. Six weeks later, at another wilderness camp a camper named Kristen Chase died of heatstroke after a forced march in 105 [degree] heat. In 1994, yet another camper, Aaron Bacon, died of acute peritonitis compounded by neglect on another wilderness program.
Supporters of schools like Tranquility Bay say it's unfair to lump it with rogue institutions in which children are abused. Life at his school is not easy, Kay says, but no one is harmed. "The first days are very, very rough for the students," he concedes. "But after that they realize we are pretty good people." A 19-year-old said that after her parents sent her to Tranquility Bay, she began reversing her slide into drug use. "When I came here, I was a typical type of person that needed to be here," she says. "It was like I was wearing a sign that said, HELP ME." She was not an athlete when she arrived last March, but since then she has lost 40 lbs. and become a star soccer and basketball player. "You are stripped of your freedom here and take pride in it when you earn it back," she says.