Dispatches

By JEFFERY C. RUBIN, in New York City

A sweet foretaste of summer hangs in the air on this hazy spring morning in the Bronx. The sun shines invitingly; the trees' buds are bursting open -- in short, a perfect day for cutting school. But hooky players beware: New York City police department van No. 5932, piloted by Officers Michael DiAngelo and Walter Krajeski, is on patrol, part of a new, '50s-style anti-truancy program launched by new, '50s-style mayor Rudolph Giuliani.

The officers' hunt begins in earnest at 9:30, after a stop for a bran muffin and coffee. "We always give 'em a little play," says DiAngelo. "But if they're an hour and a half late, they're fair game." Cruising along East 182nd Street, the officers describe the finer points of pursuit. Traditionally, says DiAngelo, truants were predominantly boys, "but girls are cutting more now." Girls, Officer Krajeski says, "are always 'sick' or 'late.' They don't run as much. Solos never run; groups usually do."

First to be apprehended are Juan and Jose, spotted strolling along the sidewalk. "I woke up late," Jose explains halfheartedly as he and Juan are hustled into the van. The cops, of course, have heard it all before. "I had one girl tell me, 'Today is my day to get pregnant,"' Krajeski recalls, shaking his head. "I said, 'Excuse me?' I had to ask her to repeat it because I thought I heard her wrong. 'I'm going to meet my boyfriend,' she said. 'I want to be a young mother -- I want to have four children by the time I'm 18.' She was 14."

Juan and Jose settle into the backseat. "At least they got good music," Jose says appreciatively as hip-hop plays on the radio. The van rapidly fills with captives. "We've got two more right here," says Krajeski, zeroing in on a pair of loitering targets. "Look, they're smiling already." Minutes later, a girl in the back catches sight of a passing youth and shouts, "Hey! That's Anthony!" The van slows obligingly, and Krajeski calls out, "Come over here, Anthony." The startled kid climbs aboard. Soon after, two high school sweethearts, draped over each other and oblivious to the world, walk right up to the van -- and into the trap. "We got Romeo and Juliet here," says Krajeski.

At a red light, the van idles and a passerby slaps its side and yells, "Stay in school!" Krajeski beams. "The people on the street enjoy this. We get applause sometimes."

The passengers are getting rowdy: "When are we stopping for doughnuts?" "I'll buy you lunch! I'll buy you a ham-and-cheese sandwich." The officers ignore the gibes. "We get one doughnut comment every day," says a good-natured Krajeski. "And we get offered bribes. One kid offered me a dollar to let him go, but he was special-ed." Says DiAngelo: "We try not to be too hard-ass. We try to keep the relationship open."

The van unloads at the "catchment center," where the truants will fill out forms and be instructed to return to school (most do, since each one's principal is telephoned). As the kids wait to be processed, a squad of ROTC students in crisp blue uniforms marches by in formation. One truant stares, wide-eyed. "What's that?" She cringes. "That's what they're going to do to you," someone tells her. "No way!" she cries. She's right.