Steve Mellon, Post-Gazette Counselors in Garfield's Community Intensive Supervision Program provide guidance and support to young offenders. Click photo for larger image. Video: Listen as young men in the CISP program discuss the absence of fathers in their lives.

In a dimly lighted room in Garfield, there is a circle of 14 young men.

Their voices are deepening, and the fuzz of new moustaches shades their upper lips. They are 13 to 18 years old, and each has an electronic monitoring device on his ankle. One by one, they stand to recount the positives or negatives of their week.

In the circle, they stand before men like Rick Cokley, a broad-chested overseer. He is both cheerleader and bullwhip.

There is much that must be accounted for in the circle -- school performance, community service, drug use. Mr. Cokley celebrates their good behavior and chastens them when they miss the mark.

Linking behavior and consequence is a core part of the Community Intensive Supervision Program as it aims to keep youth offenders out of jail and to get them to take responsibility for their actions.

CISP is run by the Allegheny County Court of Common Pleas. Its philosophy is that young offenders are most likely to change by being at home, closely supervised and mentored, rather than in a juvenile facility.

Most are ordered into the circle because they are property offenders, charged with burglary, auto theft, misdemeanor retail theft, or have charges related to drugs.

Steve Mellon, Post-Gazette Another participant in CISP listens intently while others in the group talk. Click photo for larger image.

The electronic monitoring devices let CISP staff know if the juveniles are anywhere they aren't supposed to be; violations show up on a computerized system. If they are in violation, youth are taken to Shuman Juvenile Detention Center.

Probation officers are involved in the program, which includes frequent group meetings to discuss problems or successes. There is a drug and alcohol counselor on staff, and the juveniles are regularly drug tested. They also pay restitution, where required, and write letters of apology to victims, where appropriate.

Youth at all five centers do 100 hours or more of community service, such as picking up litter or cutting grass, during their six to eight months in CISP.

The program served 322 youth last year: two-thirds of them were positive discharges, meaning they were placed on probation or released from CISP and their case was closed. The others came back into the system for committing new offenses or failing the program.

In one corner of the Garfield center where the young men sit, there are vials of urine, waiting to be tested for drugs. In another, there is a ping-pong table and weight-lifting machines. Of the 14 young men in the circle, 13 are black. Ten of them have no relationship or very limited involvement with their fathers; 10 of the 14 say they know someone who's been shot; nine say they know someone who's been killed. Almost all raise their hand to acknowledge that they have struggled in school.

The circle doesn't tell the story of every young black male in society, but its members reflect the circumstances of the 3 million inner-city black males who scholars say seem to be especially affected by poverty, street life and social alienation.

And in Pittsburgh, a city with double-digit rates of unemployment for black males, a small black middle class that is strained to push for policy changes to address the issues, the situation is severe. Nearly 70 percent of black families in Pittsburgh do not have fathers in the homes, according to studies done by the University of Pittsburgh Center on Race and Social Problems.

Bundles of bottled-up angst and misspent emotion, the boys in the circle are ready to tell their stories. Because of confidentiality, the Post-Gazette is not fully identifying the young men, but they come from all over Pittsburgh and spoke about fatherlessness, their experiences with violence and their hopes.

"The stereotype is that we were raised in a negative society, so we show negative action by being negative people, like stealing cars, selling drugs and stuff like that," says Shannon, 17, of East Liberty. He was arrested a few months ago for conspiracy to commit armed robbery. He now lives with his father and is watched by two older brothers, both college graduates.

Many of the young men admitted their choices have drawn them close to living the stereotype. They say they have made mistakes, but want to be looked at as individuals.

"People see us, and they don't want to be bothered," says Shannon. "We feel like all people are judging us" and because of how they dress, the choice of music and the way they talk, "everybody sees us as young black people and a bad race."

But they are far from immune to the pressures.

The negativity "comes from like the person in the neighborhood who got everything. Like respect and everything," said Shannon, who plans to enroll in Community College of Allegheny County after he finishes the program. "You want to follow in his footsteps and have all that money and girls and jewelry and all that. You want to strive and do whatever it is to be that person.

"It's pretty hard to really open your eyes [and see something different] when everybody is trying to live up to that image. You kinda want to try to fit, so you go down the wrong path. You try to take the fast way out because it just seems easier."

A short time in their presence and the personalities creep forth: in the circle, some rest with their chins on their hands, silent; others chat away, eager to express themselves.

At one point, they argue the merits of self-determination and its impact on getting an education.

"If you don't do well in school, that's yo fault," says Mike, 17, of Highland Park. "I ain't go blame it on the teachers. You pay attention, you go [learn] something. If they talked about some girls or some money, everybody would soak that up."

Mike is at CISP for violating his probation for aggravated assault. He lives with his mom and five siblings and dreams of earning a business degree from Robert Morris University and "owning something."

He's expecting his first child this fall.

The young men have heard the studies and watched the news reports that warn they are an endangered species.

They run through the same list of negative influences in their lives as the ones the experts cite. They talk about living without fathers.

Carl, 16, of Larimer is the oldest of eight children: four on his mom's side and four on his father's side.

His father left the family when he was 2. He wants his father to be a father. "Yo' mom can't raise you," he said.

Most of what Carl shares with his dad are telephone conversations from Houston. His father, he said, speaks too often about drinking and the men he's punching out in the bars. Too little does he ask about his son's life or know what to encourage or congratulate him on. "My dad talks like he's my best friend. He's still making the same mistakes I am," said Carl, who writes his own rap music and works the cash register in his mom's store in Lawrenceville.

"We don't know right from wrong. No fathers to teach us. If my dad was there, half the stuff I did, I probably never would have done."

Most said that they believed CISP was making a positive difference in their lives.

"This is a big turnaround for everybody," said Shannon. "I think if their eyes wasn't open before, it's open now because we got positive role models now, and you have no choice but to do what's right."

"People should care about us," said Shannon, "because we're not a lost cause. We're just people who made a mistake. But we're not going to continue to mess up. Everybody wants to do something with their life."