Joseph Kropschot heard a noise. He awoke slightly, but it was probably nothing. Drifting into slumber, harmony abruptly became more chaotic panic.
A pair of hulking figures unfamiliar to him were in his bedroom with a pair of handcuffs. Kropschot tried to fight back, but he was overmatched, cuffed, and dragged out of his house. Kropschot tried to spit on the men, but his shirt was pulled over his head; his own clothing used as a defense mechanism against him.
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“Two humongous Samoan dudes show up in my room and they take me out of the house, handcuffed me, because I tried to fight them,” Kropschot recently told MMA Junkie.
It wasn’t a real abduction in the legal sense. It was a coordinated one, for a kid with anger issues and a real knack for misbehaving and getting into street fights. His parents had orchestrated it.
“Once we got to the airport, I’m like, ‘Oh, this is ‘Scared Straight,’ I’m gonna be good,'” Kropschot said. “Then, I was out there for 11 months.”
Kropschot was a teenager, transported from the suburbs of California to the Saint George, Utah wilderness. It was certainly a change of pace. The concept, as well-intentioned and effective as it may have been, isn’t one Kropschot thinks he’d encourage even now, looking back on it.
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“We drove blindfolded into the woods out there in public land, and it’s literally like your life is in your backpack,” Kropschot said. “I was in the wilderness for three months and then went to another place in Utah for eight. But it’s literally like you got your dehydrated beans and rice in your backpack, and every night you’re eating beans and rice. Every morning is granola and oats, and you’re hiking and setting up a camp. Then just doing the same thing for three months with a group of delinquent boys.”
Looking around, Kropschot felt like a bit of an angel. He reflected on the wilderness retreat a bit more fondly than the secondary program – more of a delinquent school – filled with approximately 100 kids, some accused of home invasions, auto theft, and more.
“I was literally just getting in street fights, skipping class, sneaking out, and then I just had to learn to navigate through that with these crazy f*cking kids, but it made me tough,” Kropschot said. “I wouldn’t change it. It made me a lot tougher than I should be.”
It’s a double-edged sword for Kropschot. He says he’s an example of how the program worked, and it had the unintended benefit of introducing him to combat sports. But most of his counterparts didn’t find that outlet to utilize as an escape, excel at, and turn into a career. Many are no longer even around.
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“The second place got shut down because too many kids died there,” Kropschot said. “The first one, the wilderness, I think also got shut down because I think, and it had to be in Utah because the laws are way more lenient. So they’re both shut down now, but I got sent in like the worst years of it. … I’ve thought about this on a lot of levels. In my dorm, when I got sent to the second place, in my dorm of eight kids, six of them are dead right now from OD, suicide. But I honestly wouldn’t change it for me because I do feel like it made me tough, and I just had to literally figure out how to game the system and get out of there. So I wouldn’t change it. I don’t think most people can do well. I don’t think those places are good for kids. I think in spite of that place, I did well with my life.”
