A Safe Place For Fun -- Teen Clubs Have Plenty Of Faithful Fans, But Not Everyone Wants Them Around

Dodging the lights that dance in prismatic schemes, teenagers bob up and down to songs their parents would call noise, yell out lyrics their parents would call blasphemous and sway to silky rhythms that would cause their parents to swallow hard.

But in this world dominated by 16- to 20-year-olds, parents aren't around. The Omni Nightclub is a teen dance spot - not so pure, but very simple.

The Omni, in Kent, is also a rarity in South King County. Few teen clubs have managed to survive as long as the Omni - eight years. One reason is that survival involves more than financial considerations. It means evading the watchful, critical eyes of a community that might not be so hot on the latest hits as it is on keeping the neighborhood quiet.

Community pressure on teen hangouts is not new. But the recent shutdown of an Auburn pool hall and increasing pressure on the Omni frustrate teens who say social life in the South End is becoming a dead end.

Options for teens in the South End are fairly limited on the weekends, say police and community officials.

"We've seen this need forever," said Dick Brugger, executive director of Auburn Youth Resources. Brugger is developing a teen center in Auburn.

Some of the solutions to the old what-is-there-to-do problem have, themselves, been part of the problem.

A number of recreation centers and well-meaning community ventures have come and gone, leaving teens unsure about what's

available.

And past clubs have not always promoted the idea that teen clubs are safe. The Matrixx, a teen dance club in a Federal Way strip mall, did little to endear itself to the community. The site of frequent violence, neighbors pressured the City Council to pass emergency legislation to restrict it. It closed in May 1992, 13 months after it opened, for financial reasons.

Another club that gnawed at the patience of the community was an Auburn pool hall the Q Club.

In a strip mall close to a residential neighborhood, the Q Club soon became the whipping post for residents who blamed it for everything from petty crime to an afternoon drive-by shooting a few blocks away.

The club was becoming a hangout for gang wannabes and "trouble-making" teenagers, said Paul Nelson, who lives a block and a half from the site. He said owner Anthony Chung did not do enough to discourage inappropriate behavior. The results, he said, were slashed tires, more litter, gang graffiti and cars racing.

The club itself was not a trouble spot for police, said an Auburn police spokesman.

Nevertheless, Chung, under pressure from neighbors, closed the Q Club four months ago.

Not all neighbors felt the Q Club was a problem. Resident Beverly Steele said the town needs a place for teens to go.

"Teenagers are going to go somewhere," said Steele. "Isn't it better that it's someplace where they're watched than out doing their own thing?"

"It was just a place to hang out and play pool," said 14-year-old Auburn resident Ryan Erickson.

The latest target has become the Omni in Kent.

"It's not a church," admits owner Chris Giannoulas. But it's also not the drug-dealing, drunken-yelling, gun-toting, trouble-making spot that some claim it is, he adds.

Kent police have received very few complaints about the teen, nightclub, said Detective Kathy Holt.

"They must be doing something right," she said, noting how long the club has been in business. And, although there have been problems in the past, including the brandishing of a gun in the parking lot a few years ago, the small number of complaints suggest the club enforces strict rules.

It's a policy that Giannoulas takes pride in.

At the ticket booth, a girl checks identification - patrons must be 16 and older to enter. Those 21 and over are advised by the ticket seller that no alcohol is served. Hands are stamped with the smeared blue imprint of a unicorn. Coats and bags generally are searched, and male patrons are frisked before entering. No alcohol is allowed inside.

Inside, the club has a gymnasium atmosphere, but sophisticated lighting and sound systems make up for the lack in decor. The music, a mix of techno-dance music and top 40 tunes, blares out. There's not much talking done here, just dancing.

The teens are reminiscent of a Benetton advertisement - the clientele is racially diverse. There's no minority in this crowd, except those sitting around the dance floor on the subwoofer box speakers.

The "bar" has a pyramid of television screens showing music videos and a few tables. The most subversive thing to drink is black-cherry seltzer.

But it's clearly not all innocence: song lyrics are obnoxiously explicit, adolescent sexual tension charges the air, and some gang signs are flashed. But the club doesn't appear to be the hotbed of dangerous activity that some have contended.

"The people who don't like this are ignorant about it," said Marcus "Mac" Feau, a 19-year-old from South Seattle. "They haven't even been here."