USD Magazine, Spring 2002

It's not surprising chat a man who chose the most improbable of scenarios as his life's work - opening a tuition-free, Catholic school in San Diego's worse neighborhood, with a staff of greenhorn college graduates as teachers - is playing David co a Goliath of a mouse. It's a role he's been comfortable in since the age of 26, when he decided chat slaying giants in the form of social problems was his calling. Turning his back on a six-figure income; a hilltop house and a player lifestyle, Rivera did what many consider unthinkable: he adopted a barebones existence and an unshakable faith in God chat compels him co serve ochers. He has found himself serving a handful of 11-year-olds lefr behind by the education system, kids labeled "at-risk'' because they are poor, can't read or ace our because chat's the only behavior they know. Rivera opened a one-room school in their neighborhood in September and promised a 12-hour school day, Saturday classes and breakfast, lunch and dinner. He filled the kids' heads with dreams of a college degree if they committed co the demanding curriculum. He filled their par– ents' hearts with hope. Rivera used his considerable charm and determination co wheedle money and advice

from community leaders frustrated with politicians' empty promises co improve educa– tion. He lured graduates from the nation's cop universities co reach in exchange for room and board. He convinced his alma mater, USD, co help his rookie teachers become great teachers by covering most of the cost of their master's degrees in education. On chis day, like most, Rivera is crying co do coo much with coo liccle. In between caking a delivery of donated copier paper and frantic calls about mutant mice, he is looking for more money co keep the small school afloat. The tired van chat transports the kids co swim lessons is barely lurching along. About $18,000 in bills comes due each month and he has $6,000 in the bank. A promised big-money donation fell through because of the Railing stock market. Yee Rivera's not worried. He believes in divine intervention, says God will provide. He has in the past - in October, wi ch $19 in the bank, a donor came through co keep che school going. "How big of a risk really is it?" says Rivera, now 34, of his decision co walk away from a successful career and cry co improve educa– tion for San Diego's poor kids.

"I could gee a job doing anything tomor– row. There is no risk in ic for me compared co the children and families here who have liccle hope or opportunity," he says from outside his "house," an 8-by-20-fooc con– struction trailer behind the teachers' home in Logan Heights. An extension cord snaking across the dire backyard provides his electricity; he sleeps on a cot. His salary is $91 a week. "These kids who come co school and these teachers who traveled a thousand miles ro work here for nothing, they are che ones who are caking the risk," he says. "Talk co chem. They're the story, not me." B uc you can't cell the story of this improbable school without David Rivera. Those who signed on for his dream of giving low-income kids a first-race education will cell you the sheer force of his will makes che school possible. "Would chis school exist in San Diego without David Rivera? No," says USD Provost Frank Lazarus. "To scare a school

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