It’s midnight. Do you know where your children are?

It’s almost 2 a.m. on a humid Saturday in August when a middle-aged woman in slippers strides into Baltimore’s Dallas F. Nichols Sr. Elementary School, her elbows and fists swinging.

Her T-shirt proclaims “This Mom Kicks.” Judging by the angry look on her face, the garment speaks the truth.

This mom is one of several retrieving children from the city’s curfew center, which was set up in the midtown school’s gymnasium from early June until Aug. 16. Police rounded up anyone younger than 18 out after 11 p.m. Sunday through Thursday and midnight Friday and Saturday.

As of July 31, 875 youngsters had been caught. The average age was 15, and 60 percent were boys. And 20 had been hauled in more than once—the same number as last year.

While the law has been on the books since 1976, the city began enforcing it more systematically in recent years to prevent crimes committed by and against juveniles. It has a $120,000 federal grant for this year and next.

Sheryl Goldstein, director of the Mayor’s Office of Criminal Justice, said she didn’t have a feel yet for the program’s success. Comparing data might be tricky because last year’s curfew center—Dunbar High in Southeast Baltimore—stayed open until early fall.

“Right now, the city is checking to see which [Dunbar or Nichols] works best … or if we should do something completely different,” Goldstein says.

At least one parent would prefer something else.

“They need to open up some rec centers,” Lisa Wilson said while she waited for her 14-year-old son to be released. “They need something for kids to do. When they’re out of school, they want to have fun. … They’re getting kids in here feeling like they’re criminals. So, they’re going to act like criminals.”

Goldstein says that’s not the intention.

“The whole idea of the curfew center is to keep the kids out of harm’s way or trouble and at the same time not create a criminal record for them. It is an alternative program and would be an example of a way to reduce disproportionate minority confinement and keep kids out of the juvenile justice system,” she said.

Police enforce the curfew throughout the city. “We track some hotspots, many along York Road,” Goldstein said. Police on patrol call when they see children out past curfew, and vans that can hold about 11 go out to pick them up.

Mayoral fellow Desmond H. Serrette has traveled with the van as research for his master’s studies at Harvard University.

“Most of the kids say, ‘I was on my way home,’ ‘My house is right there,’” he said. “Then if you sit down and talk to them, they’ll say, ‘It’s summertime—I want to chill with my friends.’”

Serrette gives surveys to the children and their parents or guardians. He doesn’t want names, just answers to questions about bedtimes and whether the kids would go to a rec center if it stayed open later. He wants to see what services are needed.

“Just a small population is willing to fill them out,” Serrette acknowledged. “We have a lot of surveys with curse words. The parents are upset.”

Not always. On a night Exhibit A visited, a couple was in the gym getting advice on how to handle their daughter, who’d been caught several days earlier. Serrette recalled another parent seeking help with a daughter who’d stolen his truck.

The city can fine parents or guardians whose child shows up more than once at the curfew center. “We are currently considering several citations, but have not issued one yet,” Goldstein said. “The point is not to punish, it is to find out why the kids are out, and address those underlying issues.”  {EXA}

Robin T. Reid is a freelance writer based in Baltimore.