Erasing yesterday

SLO County’s Liberty Tattoo Removal Program gives participants a clean start

BY RYAN MILLER

Daniel Guzman had 172 tattoos.

Had.

Though characters and phrases still wrap around the Nipomo resident’s upper arms, chest, stomach, and legs, he’s clean from wrist to elbow, from ear to ear.

A prison tower: Gone. Musical notes and a peacock: Gone. Clowns, spider webs, and bare-breasted women: All gone.

"I am going to remove every single one," he said.

It’s more than a symbol of wiping the slate clean, it’s a matter of day to day living. Of being able to get the services that Guzman said were denied to him when his exposed arms also exposed his questionable past.

Earlier this year, Congresswoman Lois Capps, D-Santa Barbara, was criticized for securing $50,000 for the San Luis Obispo County Liberty Tattoo Removal Program in December 2001. According to a Reuters story picked up by national media, Citizens Against Government Waste listed the project in its review of the record $20.1 billion spent on pet projects by Congress last fall. The story mentioned tattoo removal in the first paragraph.

Now, more than half a year after the program got its controversial boost from Capps, participants are seeing the money. Raye Fleming, director of health services for San Luis Obispo’s Economic Opportunity Commission (EOC), said that after a formal grant process, the 18-month grant began July 1.

The EOC is approaching its one-year anniversary of coordinating the program. Anita Broughton was San Luis Obispo’s first coordinator, hired in September 2001 after the EOC took over from the probation department. She said that when she started, she had about $4,500 to work with.

"If we hadn’t gotten this [federal] funding, this program would’ve folded, as far as we know," she said.

Since the grant is spread over 18 months, Broughton said the program is run on a shoestring budget. She said that using the recent grant money over the course of a year and a half helps them to buy more time to establish a plan for sustainability and to raise even more funds. Anything less could mean scrambling to make ends meet, even after getting the federal dollars.

"If we get funding to sustain us for four months, I need to spend four months to look for more money ... my time needs to be put into the program, not raising money all the time," she said.

Broughton believes that the program is worth the money because it helps motivated people to change their lives. She calls it a "restorative program"–as opposed to "rehabilitative"–because many of the participants have already turned their lives away from crime, gangs, drugs, and destructive tendencies. Their tattoos may be the last roadblock to a new life.

Unfortunately, the wearers are not the only ones who see the tattoos as a visible reminder of a less than savory history. Potential employers tend to balk at swastikas on wrists. As children grow, they start to ask questions about the skulls on their parents’ arms.

Though effective, Broughton said the restoration process is hard to quantify. At the moment, there’s no way to measure how many participants are going through school, holding down jobs, or simply staying out of prison because of the help.

"One of the things we’re working on–and the grant is allowing us to do–is developing tracking tools to see what results are," she said.

But while they can’t yet measure some results of this program, there are figures that show success. With 16 hours of required community service for each participant before each tattoo removal session, Broughton said the program turns out about $40,000 worth of volunteer services each year.

Though other tattoo removal programs exist around the nation, San Luis Obispo County’s is fairly unique in requiring community service hours. The program was modeled after one in Santa Barbara County, which began around 1993.

"I used to treat patients all the way from San Luis Obispo to Ventura," said Dr. John F. Padilla, who helped start Santa Barbara’s program. When the San Luis Obispo project began, it eased his workload and freed up room for Santa Barbara County residents by providing a closer venue for patients from Nipomo and Arroyo Grande who were making the long drive south.

Padilla started the program in his office, then watched as it rapidly outgrew his facility. About five years ago, a hospital stepped in.

"St. Francis Hospital was actually kind enough to take this program under their wing," Padilla said. "I don’t think it would have survived."

Now, Padilla and others treat up to 50 participants each monthly session.

The success of Santa Barbara’s program eventually drew the attention of its northern neighbors. Padilla said that dermatologist Jeff Herten did the original pushing for the program in San Luis Obispo, which began with help from the County Probation Department.

"It had been their goal to get it going and then look for who they thought would be the perfect nonprofit to keep it going," said EOC’s Fleming. "And it was us."

San Luis Obispo’s program also has support from the County Sheriff’s Department and numerous local businesses. Several doctors, including Herten, volunteer their time, and Sierra Vista Regional Center donates the space where the laser is stored and the tattoos are removed.

Fleming said that 80 individuals have received about 240 laser treatments within the last year. They come from around San Luis Obispo County, and even from Santa Maria.

Nipomo’s Guzman is one of those individuals, and also testifies that the money and effort are definitely worth it.

He began his mission to rid his body of ink in the early 1990s after he tried to cash a payroll check at a local grocery store and was denied. After a long, hard look at his heavily inked arms, he went home, put on a long-sleeved shirt, and tried to cash the check again.

He was successful.

His first tattoo came when he was 16 years old. His last was inked when he was 33. He said that he got 80 percent of the tattoos while in prison. Though he had since turned his life around for the positive, the grocery store incident reminded him that his years of prison gang life had left their mark.

Now, he performs 16 hours of community service for a non-profit before each removal session, as required by the program. At one session per month, he’s been erasing his past a section at a time since 1999.

"[I’m] clean on the inside," he said. "[I] want to be clean on the outside."

Guzman’s volunteer work puts him in a position to help others who want to turn their lives around and have skin to match. He volunteers with Santa Maria’s Right Detour program, San Luis Obispo’s gang task force, the San Luis Obispo County probation office, and works as a drug and alcohol counselor at a local boys’ home. He speaks at schools about the lessons he learned from his past.

Kids have turned over their guns to him. They come to him when they want help getting out of a gang. And they talk to him when they’re ready for the ink to come off. He’s referred dozens of people in both San Luis Obispo and Santa Barbara counties to the Liberty Tattoo Removal Program.

He sent one girl to get her boyfriend’s name removed so she wouldn’t cut it out herself. One boy wanted to get a job, but had an obscenity tattooed on his face.

"It’s hard to work with ‘Fuck you’ on your lip," Guzman said.

Fleming said that to qualify for the removal program, tattoos must be anti-social or gang related–basically anything that would interfere with a normal life or prevent the wearer from finding employment. Participants must be clean and sober, and must agree to not get any more tattoos.

"[This program] helps people previously associated with gangs leave that life and become productive members of our community, and the counties benefit from the hours of community service work participants are required to complete," Capps said in a statement.

Like a vivid memory, some tattoos don’t disappear easily. The faint outlines of a bare-chested woman can still be seen on Guzman’s arm. He still has a while to go before he’s totally free of pictures and words on his skin, but is willing to pay the cost of community service, time, and pain.

He said that the process involves a topical treatment that takes about 45 minutes to work. Then the laser treatment, which breaks up ink molecules, lasts three to seven minutes.

"Does it hurt?" he asked rhetorically. "Yes, it does. It’s like a big sunburn when you’re finished."

For Guzman, though, it’s all worth it. Simple daily acts that most people take for granted have become a reality for him once again.

"I can walk into stores," he said. Æ

Ryan Miller is editor of the ‘Sun.’ He can be reached with comments or story ideas at [email protected].