ONE FOR ALL, ALL FOR ONE; DEATH OF MEMBER ANGUISHES NORTH VALLEY DRILL, DANCE SQUAD.

Byline: Jenifer Hanrahan Daily News Staff Writer

Vickie Johnson waited just beyond the flashing lights, not wanting to get too close, afraid she might see what she most dreaded.

Ricky was shot.

Ricky might be dead.

It started with a phone call. These things always start with a phone call, she thought.

Ricky had been walking with a group of friends after a Monroe High School football game on Nov. 21 when a white Cadillac pulled up slowly behind them and someone inside opened fire.

At 15, Ricky Evans was dead. Out there on Aqueduct Avenue in North Hills, his family began to grieve. In shock, in anger, in pain, they wept.

Vickie Johnson, 37, cried, too. Because she knew there was another family that would also need to mourn him, to come to grips with losing one of their own.

Ricky was the star drummer of the Ladies First and II Hype Dance and Drill Team, a ragtag group of 30 young people that Johnson has devoted much of the last 13 years to turning into polished performers.

In a neighborhood where many children had run from the sound of gunshots, where too many had a relative or neighbor killed in a violent crime, Johnson's group experienced some of life's first triumphs together. They brought home trophies, got standing ovations, learned that dedication can sometimes pay off.

And now, together they would experience one of life's most heartbreaking tragedies, the senseless death of a friend.

Sick feeling

Ricky's murder came just three weeks before what are usually the most joyous performances of the year, the Pacoima Christmas Parade, followed later that day by the Community Holiday Fest in the Boys and Girls Club of the San Fernando Valley.

Last year, Ricky was part of it, feverishly pounding on a drum with his special sticks - the only ones he ever used - that he duct-taped taped together when they splintered.

Every stomp, step, jump and formation change of the drill team is coordinated to an eight count. The drummers provide the backbone, announcing the team's arrival with a powerful, syncopated thump-thump.

The group ranges in age from 5 to 21, but the majority of members are pre-teens or teen-agers.

Only a few showed up to the first practice after Ricky's death. Quieter than usual, they filtered into the Pacoima Community Youth Culture Center.

They came with newspaper clippings glued to the front of the notebooks. One girl brought a photo album. Pictures of Ricky.

``I told them we needed to go on,'' Johnson said. ``At least for the two hours they're practicing, I wanted them to let it go.''

Those who stayed home were scared.

Most heard the news the following morning over the phone from another drill team member, a neighbor or a friend relaying the word.

One of Ricky's friends told Sunshine Heard, 14.

``I said, `Quit lying,' '' Sunshine said. ``Then I started crying, and I didn't stop.''

Sunshine cried so hard she got a headache and an upset stomach. Her mother took her to the doctor, thinking she might have the flu. The doctor said it was nerves.

Kay Kay McCarty, 14, slept in her mother's bed for two weeks after she heard the news of Ricky's death.

None of the kids will go to football games anymore.

``I don't feel right to be going there, having a good time,'' said Sunshine's sister, Mahogany, 12. ``We used to all go to the skating rink together, but we can't go there anymore because he's not there.''

Mary Allen, 12, tried to be brave. She kept telling her mother, Mary Fisher, that she wanted to go to the funeral. In the end, she stayed home.

``It frightened her, deep down inside,'' Fisher said.

Fleeting safety net

For 13 years, Johnson has worked to envelop the drill team in a protective shield, volunteering her time and love to young people who would probably fall into that category known as ``at-risk.''

But the shield was fragile. In August, another drummer, Terrel Tucker, 24,

died in a car accident in North Hills, about 100 feet from the spot where Ricky was gunned down.

Ricky had helped teach Tucker to play the drums.

Johnson had figured that ``keeping the kids off the streets'' was the best way to keep them away from gangs and guns.

She laid down rules that were simple but firm. Rules that befitted a team, a performing group that would grow into a family.

Everyone is welcome. No one criticizes anyone else. Older kids teach the younger kids.

Don't come late.

Ricky was sometimes late. He'd use his charm to make Johnson laugh instead of making him run laps around the gym. He's claimed he was sitting in with Kenny G or cutting a demo tape for Madonna.

``He was always the clown,'' Johnson said. ``All the girls wanted him.''

The shield was more than figurative. Two brawny volunteers attend practices to make sure no troublemaker spots the kids through the large windows at the community center and tries to come inside.

As the troup's skills matured, Johnson's dreams for the youngsters grew as well. She wanted the kids to see a world outside of Pacoima.

Last year, with the help of dozens of volunteers, the team held a fund-raising fish fry, fashion show, barbecue dinner and performed in grocery store parking lots so that 40 kids and a cheering squad of 60 fans and family members could pile into buses for a competition in Las Vegas.

For many of the young people, the trip meant their first night in a hotel room, their first sit-down restaurant. For many families, it was a first sightseeing trip.

They had no money for uniforms, so they wore anything in black and white.

The better-dressed teams snickered, but Ladies First and II Hype got the last laugh.

They brought home first-place trophies in three out of four events.

Their faith in their own abilities kept getting stronger. They reached for bigger goals.

Next on the list was a national competition in Louisville, Ky. Again, they started fund-raising.

But at a barbecue in Pacoima's Hubert Humphrey Park, a man began circling the gathering of families.

They asked him to leave.

Instead, he started shooting into the crowd.

No one was hurt, but the team lost nearly $1,000 in food and supplies.

Johnson only had enough money to take 12 team members to the competition.

Ricky didn't get to go.

Squad goes forward

After Ricky's death, the drill team's drum corps fell apart. Johnson recruited the Ebony Elks Drum Squad from San Bernardino to fill in until her own group was ready to start again.

``There was no way we could say no,'' said Gloria Wade, the drum corps director.

During Saturday's Pacoima Christmas Parade, with no floats to overshadow them, the 30 II Hype performers highlighted the mismashed procession of fancy cars, folklorico dancers, even an MTA bus decorated by school kids that makes its way down Van Nuys Boulevard.

The drill team is the final act, guaranteed to keep the crowd from dispersing.

Thump. Thump. The drill team approached the judges stand. The beat got faster, more intricate.

A few of the kids wore air-brushed T-shirts bearing Ricky's face and ``In Living Memory. Ricky Evans. 1982-1997.''

A whistle blew to start the drill, a mix of cheers and hip-hop moves. Their white gloves darted through the air like butterflies. They moved their hips, stomped and clapped in unison.

The crowd spilled out into the street, encircling the dancers, pushing closer to get a better view.

From there it was onto the Pacoima Community Youth Culture Center, where they got the loudest cheers from the crowd.

Johnson stepped on stage. Her three gold hoop earrings interfered with the microphone, causing it to emit a high-pitched whine.

In a voice hoarse from directing the team on the parade route, she asked for a moment of silence to remember Ricky.

``It seemed like everything all hit at once,'' Johnson said after the performance. ``We miss Ricky. What happened was unnraecessary. But the rest of us need to keep going.''

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