New Blog Address

Hello everyone! Long time no post, I know, but I've been busy. Sorry. Just a quick update, I am now living in Phoenix, AZ! I arrived here from California a few days ago, and life has so far been a whirlwind of people-meeting and sweating. But I digress.

I just wanted to give the heads up that the events of this coming year will be documented on a new blog address, redbirdrising.wordpress.com. I've enjoyed my time on blogspot, but I just think wordpress looks cooler (I apologize if that offends any die-hard blogspot fans). So, just give me a few days to get settled and I will be writing up substantial posts on such topics as my final days in Baltimore, my first days in Phoenix, how hot I think it is, and my thoughts on jeggings. It's a big world out there, and if you have time to read about what I think of it, then I'll try not to let you down.

That's it for now! Remember, check out Redbird Rising! Peace!

Garfunkel's Given Name

Hmm, let me see, I know it’s here somewhere…let me click this thing right here…

Oh, here’s my blog!

Sorry for the utter neglect of this here blog page, I know you faithful reader have hardly been able to concentrate on even the most mundane daily tasks without the knowledge of what I have been up to the last month.

As much as I would love to get into that, we have no time! That’s right, I have about a week and half left here in Baltimore, and if you think the time has flown by, well, quite frankly, it has! The past month has brought a lot of heat, but that hasn’t stopped us from making the most of our ever-dwindling time here in Charm City.

This past weekend myself and the housemates moseyed on over to ArtScape- Baltimore’s own and the nation’s largest free arts festival. Let me pull your coat to something; it was large.

Of the many modicums of art that were on display, I managed to catch some musical acts on Saturday night. From a dead grass-covered hillside, I listened to such artists as Jackie Greene, the Cold War Kids, and Government Mule, all the while using a bendy-straw to sip some lemonade. Free music? Lemonade? Come on, you know better to wonder if I had a good time.

The following day, Sunday, I was in the mood to take in some art in a slightly cooler, less dead grass-covered environment. Enter, the Charles Theatre! The Maryland Film Festival was showing independent short films every hour on the hour in the Baltimore landmark theatre, so I figured, “Hey, this ain’t a bad way to spend a Sunday.”

I found some films hilarious, others confusing, and others weird, but I very much enjoyed all of them. Probably the best part was the air-conditioning! What a great world we live in.

So ArtScape was a hit, for me and for the thousands of Baltimoreans who attended. I’ll tell you, Phoenix has some pretty big shoes to fill in terms of cool, free things to do on weekends. I swear, it seems like Baltimore has never heard of charging admission the way it promulgates free events every weekend (which might explain why City Hall is crying broke.) Oh well.

The artists who participated in ArtScape this weekend probably don't, nor ever will, make any money. But they are doing what they want, and I think we need more festivals like ArtScape to give them their day in the sun.

And because everyone likes photos, here are some from the weekend!


This one probably didn't pass inspection.



Some festival action on Charles St.



This is me too lazy to stand up, so instead I took a photo of Jackie Greene through two handrails and in between passers-by.


Everyone likes photos of traffic signs.




Baltimore's Penn Station.


Night scene out front of the Charles Theatre.

Out of the Frying Pan and Back Into the Frying Pan (or, a Whole Lot of Heat)

It is HOT in Baltimore. Like, really hot. Like, sticky, sweaty, dehydrating-just-by-sitting-on-the-front-porch hot. Thankfully, we volunteers of the Arrupe House on Guilford Ave. have been saved from the lugubrious, energy-draining clutches of the Earth’s inevitable approach toward the Sun; our air-conditioning has been fixed! Now, as the sixth month of the year reaches its adulthood, we have a sense of empowerment as we leave our front door to adventure around town on weekends. For we know, now matter how high the temperature might get on the sidewalk, just one turn of the key inside our semi-rusted keyhole grants us access to the Freon-loaded atmosphere of peace, love and social justice (or, more commonly, our living room).

I rolled out of bed early (much like the nimblest of cats) on Saturday morning to get a nice, adult-like start to the weekend. I took on the noblest of missions and walked up to the Farmer’s Market in the Waverly neighborhood to obtain, quite literally, the fruits by means of which the housemates and I will be nourished this week. Twelve apples, some rhubarb, and some other leafy vegetable later, I returned home to enjoy a nice English muffin and cup of coffee on my front porch. No sugary cereal nor cartoons. I am getting old.

After briefly checking out a massive yard sale that Johns Hopkins was hosting, I decided that 11 a.m. was the perfect time to go for an eight-mile run with nary a glimpse of shade along my route. So there I was, plugging along on miles of Baltimore sidewalk, feigning a fourth harmony to the songs of Good Old War and wondering what shade of gray my shirt had actually been when I started idealistic crusade. Along the way I got lost; I think I may have stumbled upon Baltimore’s version of the fictional Philadelphia suburb that the Matthews lived in on Boy Meets World. How I had hoped to run into Cory and Topanga and that silly Eric! But nay,

The ultimate remedy for a physical adventure such as the one I had just completed is, needless to say, a freezing cold shower, so of course I almost spent the rest of the afternoon in that vein-numbing deluge. After eventually emerging from that liquid igloo, I ate some lunch and began preparing our television for the USA World Cup match at 2:30 p.m.

Yes, that’s right, I said prepare. Our little 20-inch GE boob tube can only be aptly described as a conundrum wrapped in an enigma coated in the most befuddling of riddles, and has been the cause of many inward- and outward- curses and attempted evil hexes this year. As relyingly-unreliable as it’s been this entire year, how could I honestly expect it work during the biggest month of my 4-year soccer-watching cycle? It’s times like these when I wish I was a sorcerer and could conjure up a crystal-clear image of Alexi Lalas telling me how the US has a legitimate chance. Ah, to dream…

With about 47 seconds until kickoff, the roommates and I made a mad dash to the local establishment, where air conditioning and HD and, most importantly, soccer! awaited us. We cheered an exciting match. This is going to be a great month. I love soccer.

Saturday night found us on the “Avenue,” in Hampden, a neighborhood I can only describe as…well…a lot of references come to mind but none I think that would make sense to any of my readers. We were there for “Hon Fest,” a real Baltimore delight. During this two-day festival, the fine citizens of “Bawlmer” put on their best feather boas, don their tightest leopard-print leggings, and slap on as much hair lacquer as is chemically possible, all in the hopes of recreating what Baltimore was apparently best known for in the 60’s (really, Baltimore? You couldn’t have offered anything more substantial?). That being, of course, the “Baltimore Hon.”

Picture a boisterous, slightly drunk Kathy Bates with the kind heart and good nature of your grandmother (or, picture any of the females from Hairspray. And John Travolta, too, I guess), and you’ve got the kind of person who was walking around Hon Fest. These Hons (pronounced huns) are famous for their endearingly-clashy outfits, the way they adorably butcher any hint of proper English that escapes from their overly-lipsticked smoochers, and for the full foot and a half height increase that their beehive hairdos give them. In a word they are Baltimore, and in two words, they are pretty hilarious.

We trekked back over to Hon Fest on Sunday to catch the crowning of Baltimore’s Best Hon 2010 (A lady from Loyola narrowly defeated a 98-year old who had to be wheeled out onto the stage. I would have thought it cute had I not been seriously worried for her health in this oppressive heat). After returning home and gaining entrance to our living room, we immediately fell onto the nearest piece of furniture that would catch us (luckily, I made it to the recliner. Others were not so lucky) and succumbed to the hazy stupor that only this type of heat can elicit. I spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping, reading, mopping the kitchen floor, and watching Grease (that Danny Zucko’s got some moves! And in an unrelated note, I am now looking for a leather jacket). I even capped off the weekend with a Reese’s McFlurry from McDonald’s!

Hey, I don’t mind the heat so much if there’s going to be a McFlurry in my hand. Just saying.

The Final Bell

Charcoal grills. Hot diggity-dogs and hamburgers. Popcorn and chips. Peanut butter Oreos (yea buddy!). In terms of "healthy choices," this menu failed miserably. But in terms of contributing to the growing feeling that summer is upon us and that Alice Cooper was right in one of those songs he sang, a cook-out with all the classic ingredients was the only way we could properly bring an end to the After School Program.

Ah, the After School Program. That time of the day at 2:30pm when I brought the bin of sports equipment into the gym and welcomed the kids into the building. Some days I was Joe Flacco, throwing tight spirals to my kindergarten-receivers. Other days I was much like a lamp post that can swing a jump rope as all the girls tried to see how many consecutive jumps they could do. And still other days I acted as the King of the Dodgeball Court, inflicting faux-terror in all the kids as I over exaggerated a wind-up, only to muster enough force on the ball to lightly graze a leg or two (well, most of the time). But every day I enjoyed the heck out of being essentially a 22-year old at recess.

Ah, the After School Program. Where I relearned all the skills from elementary school, like multiplication tables and Venn diagrams and what a prepostion is (the jury's still out on that one). Where I had to get creative to get the kids to do their homework- nothing beats a room full of kids chanting HOMEWORK! HOMEWORK! while they actually complete their assignments. Where impromptu attempts at the Thriller dance always got kids' attentions. And where I was thoroughly impressed at a certain 1st grader's improvement in reading since the beginning of the year.

The After School Program, where I received a crash course in "How To Teach If You've Never Done It Before" (I'm still waiting for my final grade). Where I discovered I had the chance to bring music into the lives of 30 schoolchildren, and at the same time educate myself on some things. Where I planned and successfully executed a field trip! Where frustration and impatience loomed daily. Where the physicality of Musical Chairs increased conversely to the number of chairs remaining in the game (I don't know if that's completely clear. What I'm trying to say is, the kids got more physical as less chairs were still in play). Where I realized that good teachers are perhaps the most valuable resource our nation has, and that they should be compensated as such.

Ah, the After School Program. At 5:30pm, when I stand at the door and wave goodbye to all the kiddies. When I sometimes walk two brothers to their front step, and the younger one "helps" me push my bike by hanging onto the handlebar. Where, at the end of the day, I am totally drained. Where, at 2:30pm the next day, I am full of energy.

Bye kids, see you in two weeks for Peace Camp!

Hold Me Down

Upon this street I bind my feet
Past the station where the homeless sleep
And the cops, they walk a crooked beat
'Cause they don't care for me

On Eager Street I see my fate
It's an empty bottle on a sewer grate
And the man who tosses it away
Is the one who waits for me

He's a specter of another life
His pawnshop words cut like a knife
He says, "Hey kid, you wanna take a ride?"
But I ain't got the time

No! no! no! and you can't hold me down!
No, no, no, you can't hold me down

I saw the death of the human race
On the corner of Greenmount and Chase
Now all I'm asking is for your love
And a little bit of grace

It's the bait of complacency
That ensnares us all like a dream
And my father's sins have become
The burdens placed on me, and they wrap me in chains

No! no! no! they won't hold me down
No! no! no! you can't hold me down

Though my body's tied to the ground
My head resides up in the clouds
And every noise is a joyful sound
Of what has yet to be

No! no! no! and you can't hold me down
No! no! no! you can't hold me down

I bear this weight, like a crown,
And it won't hold me down

The Peace Movement

Why is it called the Peace Movement?
Why does peace need to move?
I think we need it here, so it should stay here.

All the things we need- like Peace, like Civil Rights, like Progression and Equality, like Social Justice- why do we call them movements?
It makes it sound like they arrived here a time ago, helped fix our situation, and in a short while, they'll head on down the road.

We need them- we've always needed them- shouldn't we ask them to stay?


I think that war, oppression, bigotry, and ignorance should all be called Movements...




...So then maybe they'd all just move away.




-SMD

"Bring Your Jesus To Work" Day

I went on a JVC-sponsored silent retreat this past weekend, in Morristown, NJ. For three days, my fellow JVers and I were free to contemplate, relax, and reflect on our time in JVC thus far, and what the future may hold for each of us. Since I have a pretty good grasp on what the near future looks like for me, I used this time to work on effectively capturing my Baltimore experience through words. With the help of a Spiritual Director, I was enlightened to a different means by which I can speak for this experience on a more personal and hopefully transcendant level. I wrote a lot during the course of the retreat, and the following is an early attempt at writing in this new style. Tell me what you think!

"A story is a way to say something that can’t be said any other way, and it takes every word in the story to say what the meaning is."
~ Flannery O'Connor
---------------------


Jesus came to work with me today. I rode my bike; he just floated beside me.

I introduced him to Mr. Moore, and Jesus looked at him differently than he looked at me. From their interaction it seemed that the two were old friends and that this was not the first time Jesus has been to Baltimore. I guess that living in Baltimore as a black man for 57 years, Mr. Moore probably invited Jesus to come to his "work" on more than one occasion. Ralph looked at him as if to say, "Good to see you again. Go easy on this one."

Jesus came to work with me today and pulled up a folding chair next to my computer. He didn't say much as I spent the morning working on a music lesson for the kids later that day; in fact, he was so quiet that at times I forgot he was there. But then an old lady from the neighborhood came in needing help looking for a job, and Jesus jumped right out of his chair and joined the conversation. Again, he seemed to know this woman very well, as if they had been together just last week when she was at the hospital visiting her son who had just suffered a brain aneurysm.

Anyway, the three of us sat around my computer and filled out online job applications. Jesus gave the woman a hug when she left, and with that she said to me, "I'll be back next week."

Jesus came with Mr. Moore and I as we watered the newly-planted flower garden across the street. He was silent as he paced the lot that had once held homes and families- his own children. As he grabbed a watering can and moved methodically about the garden, I swear I heard him address each flower by name, as if somehow, the memory of what had once made that empty lot a home was being re-installed into the earth. When his can was empty, I saw him use his own tears. Funny, I thought, I had assumed they were just flowers. I didn't know they had names. Next time I'll remember that.

Jesus was with me at 2:32PM when the kids came exploding through the door. Most of them had met him, but only once or twice before, so they were still a bit shy. Only a few, like the two adopted girls and the boy whose mother is in prison, felt totally comfortable around him. Still, no matter, Jesus jumped right in and immediately display more love, patience, and authority than I have been trying to muster these past nine months. Must be nice, Jesus.

He threw a football to a four year old and the kid caught. That kid never catches the balls I throw to him! He explained to a group of 4th-grade girls, without a single roll of the eyes or stomp of the foot, that "Even though you're 'just playing,' you should never hit or strike anyone, for any reason." And they all understood and accepted that.

The biggest help of all was when Jesus passed out the snacks so I could have more time to listen to this 1st grader read me his stories. He got through two stories because of that. Thanks, Jesus.

Jesus came to work with me today, and he and Ralph could not stop laughing as I conducted my music lesson. His smile was as wide as the parted sea as I demonstrated how to play a note on the recorder. Not one kid could play it correctly, but for some reason, every noise, buzz, and squeak sounded perfect. And when two seventh-graders asked me if I could teach them to play the guitar, I felt like I was made of gold. At the end of the lesson, I looked to the back of the classroom, and Jesus was still there. He had not once taken his eyes off me, and he was still smiling. This is the best part of my day.

Jesus could tell that I was tired, so he put the wind at my back as I rode my bike home. i didn't want him to go as we said goodbye on my front porch. I had much more to ask, show, and tell him about what I have seen and what I think about it. But I also wanted him to get back to his home, so he could tell his dad about this place, and about what he saw and what he thinks about it. Baltimore needs more people thinking about it. We all need more people thinking about us.

Jesus left me on my porch and floated up Guilford as the sun set. It was nice to have him here; I'll certainly have to invite him out to Phoenix once I get settled there.

Before he left, Jesus said, "Thank you, Scott, for being here when I cannot. I'll tell my Dad to give you more time, because it seems to me you have a lot more work to do."

Hitting The Pavement

This past Sunday I, along with 30,000 other runners and my favorite gal Caitlin, took part in the Broad Street Run, a ten-mile foot race straight through the heart of my beloved Philadelphia. The following is an artist's rendering of what would have been a blog post had I been running with a lap top, but alas, I'm pretty sure ten miles of asphalt is not the best place to pick up Wi-Fi. To the tale!...

THE START (8:30am): And we're off! After going on a quick warm-up jog and doing some nice stretching in the grass (and after waiting in line twice to use the Port-o-Potty...hey, it's a ten mile race and I've been drinking a lot of water!), Caitlin and I are off and running! The first few miles are really just a jumble of people weaving around each other, so I'm just coasting along at the pace of my fellow runners. It's a bit overcast, but getting warmer. What a beautiful day!

MILE 2: Caitlin informs me that we're hovering around an 8-minute mile. At this point I've given up hope that I will catch the Kenyans, as they have probably finished the race by now. To my left and right are some of Philly's finest- drum lines, bands, homeless people, priests and nuns- everyone has come out to line the sides of the course and cheer us on. I figure it's pretty cool that people get up and cheer as 30,000 strangers run by their front door on a Sunday morning. But then I also figure that I'm about to run into a middle-aged woman wearing purple, so I deftly maneuver to the left. Crisis averted.

MILE 3: Fire hydrant! The city has opened a number of hydrants along the course, and they are spraying fountains of cool relief upon the runners! Caitlin and I see one ahead, and we make straight-away for it. As I pass under the technically wasting of water, I feel like I have been transported the final seconds of the Splash Mountain ride at Disney World. Mmmm, Disney World. Then, seconds later, I am back in the ever-emerging sun. I wonder when the next fire hydrant will appear...

MILE 5: Meat and potatoes time (not literally, of course, because who would want to eat meat and potatoes during a race? Certainly not I!). Where City Hall seemed an eternity away at Mile 1, it is now staring me right in the face. Our pace has remained around 8 mins, and I'm starting to feel it. Come on legs, don't fail me now!

MILE 6: Ouch! It feels as if a bystander threw a knife into my side. Could it have been Gov. Ed Rendell, whom I just passed? No, he doesn't have it out for me...does he? Turns out, because I was running so incredibly fast, I'm now cramping up! Caitlin tells me to grab some Gatorade, which I do, though in my attempt to drink it, I get most of it on my shirt. Whoa baby, this thing stings! Let's slow down that pace a bit...

MILE 7: Well, now our pace has slowed, and City Hall is getting further behind us with every step. We're passing over famous streets like Market and South, and the stadiums are on the horizon. Our fellow runners have gotten more quiet; everyone seems to be mustering the intestinal fortitude required to finish these last three miles. Come on Scott, you can finish this race that you voluntarily signed up for!

MILE 8: Another fire hydrant. My shirt is soaked. I utter to Caitlin, "Ahh, my legs!" She responds, "Mine too!" But wait! What is this? Recognizable faces in the crowd! Caitlin's parents call to us from the side of the road, and about ten seconds later, my family cheers us on from the other side! I guess it's true what they say, that parents can always pick out their children from a crowd of 30,000 who basically all look the same.

MILE 9: The final push! I dig deep and quicken the pace a bit, because hey, in eight more minutes, we can stop running! I barely pay heed to the stadiums on the left (where my Phillies will put on a shalacking of the Mets later in the night...but I digress), and now we're now approaching the Navy Yard. After a few misleading arches over the street, I finally see the finish line. Caitlin and I go for broke- end of the road, here we come!

FINISH: A second after I stop running, I am so glad I did this. What a cool experience for all runners and for the city, to be out and doing something together on this beautiful day. As Caitlin and I catch our breaths, chug a lot of water, and eat a Philly soft pretzel (what else would we eat?), we meet up with our families and watch some more runners go by. For us, it was no walk in the park to complete this race, but for many others, people who were running for more personal reasons, overcoming greater challenges and obstacles, to cross the finish line is a true achievement. Now it's time for some WaWa hoagies!

Philadelphia, I just think you are the greatest.

Doing Things

"They're actually DOING something!" the man on the corner of Greenmount and Chase said to me as I was walking back to the Community Center this past Saturday. It was Comcast Cares Day, and I was explaining to him why he had seen over 400 blue-shirted people with shovels and trash bags combing Johnston Square for trash all morning. As I told him about the partnership between St. Frances and Comcast had struck, he at first seemed skeptical, as if Comcast was trying to pull a fast one on this neighborhood. When I repeatedly insisted that, to my knowledge, the cable company doesn't have any diabolical motives behind this day, his attitude quickly changed to one of excitement and appreciation, and as I walked away, I thought, "Hey, this could be the start of something."

Comcast Cares Day was a bit different than previous events that the Community Center has hosted in that Mr. Moore and I were not responsible for all the planning. A few times before the day occurred, a couple representatives from Comcast came to St. Frances, walked the neighborhood, and shared ideas with Mr. Moore as to what projects could most enhance the neighborhood. Ultimately, they came up with trash pick-up, mural painting, garden planting, and fence painting as the tasks that would keep the most amount of volunteers busy. So when the day came (a bit on the early side for a Saturday, but hey, I'm going for the "Most Early Days As A Jesuit Volunteer at St. Frances" record), over 400 people showed up in our gym, and the Caring of Comcast Commenced!

After a rousing rendition of the National Anthem (sung by yours truly...truly, I did sing it) and some words from a full line-up of elected officials and other important people, the volunteers got to work. Under heavenly skies, they picked up trash at the playground where we take the After-School kids, they planted flowers in a garden overtaken by weeds, they painted hopscotch squares where there were no hopscotch squares before, and they painted the rusted fence of the swimming pool we had fought to keep open. They also did a lot of work on the school grounds, painting and planting and cleaning and other such service-oriented verbs. All in all, it was a very productive day in which both St. Frances Academy and Comcast put into action each's commitment to this community.

And that's what I liked best about the day: Community. It was pretty cool to see the number of different social groups, i.e. elected officials, fraternities, my JVC community, the SFA community, Johns Hopkins students, all come together to participate in something constructive. If you were a loner who just showed up looking to do some service and maybe grab a free t-shirt and lunch (which, by the way, was delicious...when was the last time I had an Italian sub?), you would have immediately felt welcome and at home.

So yes, it was one day, and maybe trash will blow right back onto the street tomorrow. But, as the man said, "They're actually DOING something!", and that has to count for something. Click here for WJZ's coverage of Comcast Cares Day, featuring two of my After-School kids, Cameron and Jahquan.

-------------------

In other news, I have some rockin' friends! I received a little box in the mail a few weeks ago, and lo and behold! RECORDERS were in it! That's right ladies and gents, remember those plastic flut-o-phone-type things that we all learned to play hot cross buns on in elementary school? Well, my good friends Andrea and MacKenzie decided to donate 35 of those snazzy, colorful noisemakers to my music class. They made their debut last week as I passed them out to each student. I started with the basics, like how to hold it, how to cover all the holes with you fingers, and how to play the notes C and D. Well, as you might imagine, progress was slow, but the kids absolutely LOVED having their own instruments to take home, and they were especially excited about the Loudest Note Contest at the end of the class (I'd have to say they were all winners in that one, as they soundly defeated both my eardrums in a shrill fury of air and plastic).

With guitars and recorders, music class is really shaping up! Thanks, Andrea and MacKenzie, for inspiring the next generation of recorder virtuosos!

Road Trippin'

I saw a lot of highway miles this weekend as Tom, Kelly, and I took a road trip up to Connecticut to visit JV houses in Bridgeport and Hartford. We left beautiful Baltimore on Friday after work, and we took refuge at my house in New Jersey for the night, where we were greeted with Hi-Def cable, pizza, and chocolate cake. Oh, and my family was there too. It was good to see them (and the Phillies on the Hi-Def cable).


After an ample breakfast prepared by the Donovans, and after having even more road trip snacks and treats thrown at us, we made like Santa on December 26 and headed north. Tom, the laudable lad he is, did the driving, and in his Mercury Mountaineer, accommodations were very accommodating. We made good time up the NJ Turnpike, and before long we were greeted with the familiar view of the New York skyline to our right, and the distinct aroma of North Jersey in our nostrils (Tom says he likens the smell to old hot dog water. I tend to agree).


The first stop of our Tour de CT was the community of Bridgeport. We arrived around 2 pm, and spent most of the afternoon chewing the fat (not literally, of course. JVs only chew injustice! Say, that should be painted on a wall somewhere!) in their apartment. That's right, ladies and gents, JVs can live in apartments, too! Aren't we just so versatile? Anyway, after many good words, a few giggles, and a meal of pasta and corn, Tom, myself, and a small contingent of JVs embarked on the cross-state journey down an apparently scenic highway (though not when it's dark out) to the former home of the NHL's Whalers. That's right, hockey and/or Ron Francis fans, Hartford.


The community of Hartford comprises of seven- count 'em, seven- women, all living in the same three-story, wooden-floor-creaking, labyrinthine-room-connecting, house. I had a most pleasant time catching up with my fellow volunteers, some of whom we might not see again until August. Again, fun was had by all, and after a delightful pancake breakfast with butter that was made by pouring heavy cream into a jar and then shaking it for 30 minutes (the ladies tell me this has something to do with how the cream settles, but I have the sneaking suspicion that they're all magicians), we hit the reverse button on our road trip and headed back to Bridgeport.


We then said our goodbyes to the Port of Bridge, and after struggling to turn down an offer to check out an antique warehouse that would only delay our trip by a few hours (Jeff, a volunteer in Bridgeport, said he's been hoping to find a sizable painting of a sailboat before he leaves Connecticut this year, and now, I feel that he probably could have found that at the warehouse. Therefore, I regret not being able to help in on his quest...One day, Jeff, one day ye shall find what ye are looking for!), we made our way south, back to the land I love, back to the town that Mr. Moore calls "Pie Plate." Back to Pittsgrove.


My house is known for, among other things, its sufficiently stocked cupboards, and upon our arrival Sunday afternoon, we were treated to even more food (this time, tuna sandwiches). Tom and Kelly then departed for Baltimore, and I got to spend some time with the family before my next social excursion- that being, attending the Joe Bonamassa concert with my amigos Brad and Zach.


So Z, B, and S (that's Zach, Brad, and Scott for those not following along...which, at this point, I don't know why you'd still be reading) maneuvered to Delaware to check out the new King of Blues do his thing with his six-string. And do his thing, he most certainly did. I've never heard guitars sound so good as when they are played by Joe Bonamassa. The show was so good, I am even choosing to overlook the fact that we were sold imaginary seats. Details of that adventure are available upon request.


I arrived back in Baltimore around 11 pm on Sunday, just in time to catch some Z's before work the next morning. Brad and Zach dropped me off and got to check out my abode before returning to the land where the seeds of our friendship were sown (how poetic); that is, NJ. So, a 5-state, many-mile weekend filled with friends, family, and some darn good music.

For a weekend in the JVC, that ain't too shabby.


Coming soon: Comcast Cares Day this Saturday, and the introduction of recorders to my After-School students!

Sink or Swim

It must be tough to be a kid, especially here in Baltimore. With the announcement that 13 archdiocesan schools will be closed this upcoming fall, along with the city government's plan to close rec centers and city swimming pools all over town, kids must be asking, "What are these adults thinking?" Well, young child of Charm City, I can't tell you for sure what they are thinking, but it is becoming all to apparent for whom they are not thinking, and that is, you and all your friends.


Among the pools that have been projected to be closed by the city is the Ambrose Kennedy pool, located about 2 blocks up Chase St. from the Community Center. Each summer, we bring kids from our Peace Camp to this pool to get some good ol' fashioned aquatic fun, and it is a staple of the summer scene for those kids and families who aren't involved in our summer camp as well. Tell me, Madam Mayor, where are these kids going to have their biggest cannonball contest if the city shuts the pool down? Certainly not in your bathtub!


When a crisis like this arises, it's nice to have a guy like Mr. Moore lead the response. With his many connections to people in the city, we have been able to make some noise voicing our protest against the closing, and I believe we are making some progress. Last week, we were part of a press conference given by City Councilman Carl Stokes, who represents the district where the pool is located. His main call was for an audit of the city's Parks and Recreation Department, whose budget is apparently harder to lay eyes on than that guy the Beatles were singing about (a wooden nickel for anyone who gets that reference), after which he predicts that he will find enough funds to keep the pool open. So, Mr. Moore and I sounded the call and rounded up a bunch of the most reliable and energetic neighborhood kids we could find, made up a few innocently-demanding signs, and raced over to the pool for some camera time. You can watch the video (and see me in the background!) here:

Fox News- Ambrose Kennedy Pool

Last night we stirred up the pot of justice a bit more. Again, with the same group of ultra-reliable neighborhood kids, we went down to the War Memorial Building for Taxpayer's Night, which was just a bit more exciting than it sounds. Basically, it's a town hall type meeting where someone can sign up and speak his or her mind to the mayor and city council president for two minutes. Well, since Baltimore is slightly larger in population than say, Pittsgrove, NJ, there were a lot of people looking to get their two minutes' worth. After a while of waiting (and after giving out all the breath mints in my pocket to the kids so they would stop fidgeting), we finally got our turn. With the kids standing in front of us, facing the mayor, signs held high, Mr. Moore addressed the panel about the need for greater transparency and responsiveness in city government, and I spoke on behalf of the Johnston Square neighborhood about our respectful insistence that the Ambrose Kennedy pool remain open this summer. And all the while, the kids looked up to the wielders of Baltimore's political power with looks in their eyes as if to say, "We want to swim!"


As exciting as this is to let our voices be heard to the people in power, it's a shame that communities like Johnston Square have to do this song and dance every year just to keep open a pool. This neighborhood has little as it is; it would be outwardly dangerous to take away something so safe, healthy, and inexpensive from the kids because, frankly, the devil makes work for idle hands. Come on, adults, I understand that Baltimore is a city with expenses and budget concerns, just like anywhere else. But, as Mr. Moore likes to say, "Don't balance the budget on the backs of the children."


So we'll see what happens. Hopefully we've already stuck a thorn in enough peoples' sides to keep our pool open, but if we have to go to press conferences, town hall meetings, or write letters, then we will continue to do so. Or, if we have to drag a garden hose up two blocks every night to fill the pool, that could work as well. Either way, we will make sure that the kids are swimming this summer, and that the cannon ball contest will be the best one yet!

Symphonies, Rock Stars, and Cable

Update Time! Here's a random splattering of events that have happened over the past few weeks...


... We took the After-School kids on a field trip on the 17th, to take a tour of the Meyerhoff Symphony Hall here in Baltimore. I had contacted and set up the trip, and I have to say, it went very well! The kids were well behaved and seemed to be paying attention to the tour guides. They loved the view from the highest balcony, and they especially liked singing out into the hall from the front of the stage. The trip turned out to be a nice way to expose them to a different side of music than what we've been doing week-in and week-out (mainly because I don't have a full orchestra at my disposal). Overall, a good time was had by all.


... I had mentioned the need for instruments in a previous blog post, and my good friend Brad met the challenge. He graciously donated an electric guitar and amp to the After-School kids, and it made it's debut this past Thursday. Oh. My. Goodness. The kids went wild! I could barely keep any semblance of order once I took this bad boy out and let them strum away on the strings. It didn't matter that not one actual note was played, and that the sounds they created reminded me of the Titanic scraping an iceberg- these kids loved experiencing the power and energy that can only come about through some good ol' rock 'n roll. Now that I have this guitar, I can start teaching some basic chords, notes, and scales- maybe we'll soon have the next Hendrix on our hands. From the kids...Thanks, Mr. Brad! You're the man!


... Much like the kids, my other good friend Zach is also trying to become a rock star. He and his band, the Zach Caruso Band (clever, I know) opened up for legendary guitarist Johnny A at the World Cafe Live in Philadelphia this past Saturday, and I was fortunate enough to make the trip up to see him. Mind you, Brad and I have been playing music with Zach since we were all starry-eyed rock dreamers playing in his basement, roundabout almost 10 years ago, so needless to say it was pretty cool to see him play his best on a big stage like WCL. His set was great, and he really captured the attention of the audience, as well as Johnny A himself. Hopefully this show will open some more opportunities for him! The Zach Caruso Band is currently in the studio recording a new album, so put that on your "To Buy" list once it comes out. Check out his sound here.


... Back in Baltimore, the housemates and I are eagerly awaiting the arrival of spring- we've got some big botanical plans for our backyard that we are excited to start. At work, Mr. Moore and I are making plans for the Comcast Cares Day on April 24th. The Comcast Corporation recently awarded St. Frances a sizable monetary grant, so the two communities are joining together for a day of service to commemorate this partnership. We've got plans to paint playgrounds and murals, do some trash pick-up, and plant and maintain some gardens. It should be a great way to kick off Spring and a day to revitalize the Johnston Square neighborhood. I'm looking forward to it.


... I'm also looking forward to spending the Easter holiday in DC with my family! Have a great Passover/Easter everyone!

Westward Ho!

Well, my faithful blog-followers (can I call you blogowers? Yes? Ok, good), the verdict is in. After months of application-filling, essay-writing, interview-having, and test-taking, I have finally discovered what I where I will be going after I vacate the premises of Baltimore at the end of July. In a mere four months time, I will commence another year with the Jesuit Volunteer Corps in...Phoenix, AZ! (I tried to convey some drama and magnitude with that announcement, but apparently blogs don't allow for such ebullience. So just imagine that I yelled -Phoenix, AZ!- in your ear).

I think it all came down to the fact that I'm not ready to turn the page on this experience just yet. I view a second year in JVC as a whole new experience in which I can go deeper with the mission of this program and how I can incorporate the values into my post-volunteer life. The experience I've had this year, with my community, my job placement, and with Baltimore in general, has thoroughly convinced me that another year in JVC is what I'm meant to do. I am especially excited about my new placement- I will be working as a Job Developer for Catholic Charities. In this position, I will work with refugees (many from countries like Iraq, Haiti, Iran, Burma) to help them get settled in Phoenix and to assist them in finding meaningful employment. The experience I had with the Job Fair event that we hosted back in January sparked my interest in working to facilitate more and better jobs for all of this country's citizens, and I view this new placement with Catholic Charities as a way to fully commit to that line of work. Plus, this will give me an extra year to decide on a grad school, and then decide on how I will pay for said grad school. Needless to say, I'm excited.

So the Great Westward Adventure will commence on August 7th, my first day of orientation in the southwest. But for now, there's a certain Baltimore city pool that may get closed this summer due to budget cuts, leaving our summer camp kids with nowhere to swim...





...and you know this just won't fly with Mr. Moore and I...

Take Me Home, Country Roads

Last week I was fortunate to have the opportunity to participate in my alma mater Saint Joseph's University's Appalachian Experience. Now, seeing as that I currently have a big ol' diploma hanging on my bedroom wall, and I'm pretty sure I still have my graduation gown, you might be wondering, "Hey, I believe Scott graduated. How can it be that he believes he has not?"

Well, my shining stars, I was able to partake in yet another Spring Break due to the fact that I served as an adult facilitator for this trip. Each year, SJU sends around 10-13 groups to different sites in the Appalachian region, where they participate in a week's worth of home building and renovation. I participated in this trip 3 times as a college student, and I led a group last year (so you might deduce that I have a strong affinity for this whole service in Appalachia thing). Anyway, in addition to the student leaders that organize the group, SJU also sends 2-3 "adults" along to act as responsible voices of reason among the cacophony of collegiate chaos. And somehow, I was asked to be that voice of reason. Go figure.

This was my third trip in a row to Franklin, WV, to work with the Habitat for Humanity site there called "Almost Heaven." And let me tell you, it is almost heaven. The drive in never gets old; I still get inspired and amazed at the view of Germany Valley as we make our descent into Almost Heaven. The people of this region are special- everyone looks you in the eye and with every word they speak, they are trying to get the most authentic person out of you. Four years ago I made my first trip to Appalachia, and each time I go back, I am reminded of the impact it has had on my life.

The group and I spent the week working on two 2-story houses located near the main street of Franklin, and there was always plenty of work to go around. I'd have to say that this was one of the best work sites I've ever been on because there was such a variety of work to be done. On any day, we had people digging trenches, working with mortar (or "goose grease", as our foreman referred to it as), nailing braces into walls, and using a circular saw to cut wood. We had perfect weather until Friday, and with a group of 38 college students, humor abounded (to which I contributed my share, of course...hey, you can make me responsible, but you can't make me serious!)

Aside from the work, we also had plenty of opportunities to explore our surroundings. On our first night, a number of students and I thought it would be a good idea to climb the mountain behind our lodgings; we ended up getting to where we could get no higher, and turned around because of the falling darkness. Later, we would learn that the mountain is called Spruce Knob, and is the highest in West Virginia. Go figure! We made another ascent the next day as we climbed to the top of Seneca Rocks- words fail to describe the exhilarating view from the jagged perch atop the mountain. We also took a tour of caverns, experienced an Aikido class, and went bowling and roller skating with some of the locals. Again, humor abounded.

Though physically taxing, this trip was a true vacation for me. It allowed me to reinvigorate the ol' mind and spirit by placing me back in the same setting that inspired me to pursue a year of service after graduation (hey Appalachia, JVC says thanks!). It allowed me to take in the beauty of the natural world, one with mountains instead of skyscrapers and rivers instead of gutters. It allowed me to get my hands dirty and use the energy I have to make something useful. It helped put this year of service in Baltimore into perspective, and it helped me refocus on what I want to do with my remaining time here. It also allowed me to reconnect with my school, and made me feel like a kid again (although when someone said something about studying for a quiz, I almost dropped the power drills I was juggling blindfolded whilst standing on a 3-story scaffold from the sheer hilarity of that statement...oh, to be young and in college).

I am so very lucky to have been able to pay homage to the experience that set my life on its current path, and I can only hope that I will be able to do what I can to continue to stay involved in these trips. These are the kind of real-world vacations I can get used to.



Pictures from my week can be found here. The website for Almost Heaven Habitat for Humanity can be found here.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

On Monday night, the Community Center welcomed author Rebecca Skloot to speak about her book, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Skloot, along with members of the family of Henrietta Lacks (about whom the book was written), and representatives from the Johns Hopkins Institute of Bioethics were in attendance to speak about this incredible story and the implications it holds for the health care debate, and for social justice in general. In typical Community Center fashion, the place was packed, there was hardly a seat to be had, and CBS Sunday Morning even came out to film! (though I don’t think I got on camera, I was too busy finding folding chairs for everyone…oh well, my time to shine will come!)

Henrietta Lacks was an African American woman living in East Baltimore during the first half of the 20th century. She was diagnosed with cervical cancer by doctors at Johns Hopkins Hospital, and she died in 1951 in her early thirties. Before she died, doctors took some samples of her tissue to run tests (without her knowledge), and they eventually discovered that Henrietta’s cells were “immortal,” meaning that, basically, they don’t die. Doctors and scientists put them in numerous test tubes and Petri dishes and the result was always the same; Henrietta’s cells outlasted all others.

This, of course, excited doctors, and soon her cells were being grown and shipped all over the world in order to be tested on and experimented with. Lack’s cells, which were eventually knicknamed “HeLa” (for HEnrietta LAcks), were even flown into outer space. Though Hopkins has claimed that the hospital never made any financial gain from the distribution of her cells, it can be assumed that millions of dollars have been exchanged because of the work that continues to be done with these cells.

The issue that Skloot is trying to grapple with in this book is the issue of bring Henrietta's story to life. Primarily, she was able to tell the story of a woman whose own descendants were not aware of, not to mention the millions of people who have worked with HeLa cells. She succeeded in giving life to a woman who has been dead for sixty years, though her cells continue to live on.

Most of the questions from the audience were centered on recognition and compensation, and here is where I think this story fits into a larger perspective. Fact: though many people (doctors, scientists, etc.) have benefited financially and intellectually from the existence of Lacks’ cells, the Lacks family has not. Fact: the Lacks family is struggling economically, and cannot afford healthcare. Fact: Henrietta’s own son, Sonny, has a $100,000 hospital bill, and is uninsured.

The question is, how does this story get resolved? Many people in the audience were calling for Hopkins to financially repay the Lacks family for Henrietta’s cells, but the hospital is currently not prepared to do so. As I think more about this story, the issue becomes more complex, and the questions become more difficult to answer. The initial act of taking her cells occurred over sixty years ago; how long is too long to give credit to someone? HeLa cells are currently not patented; should the Lacks family patent them, or are they in such widespread use that it would be like someone trying to patent water?

And what does this story say about a system that allows the cells of a woman to be fundamental in numerous medical innovations that have saved countless lives, yet that woman’s family can’t afford to see a doctor?

Though I believe all these complex questions about rights and property and science need to be addressed, I think that the public image of Johns Hopkins Hospital would go a long way if it just took care of the Lacks family’s medical bills. Hopkins has claimed it never profited off of Henrietta; I don’t think that matters. As a leader in science, medicine, and education, as well as being arguably the most recognizable name in the city of Baltimore, I feel it would do wonders for its relationship with the public if it took care of Sonny’s bills, and made sure that this family does not want for anything medically-related. They are not asking for much, just some security for their health (hey, isn’t that what everyone in this country is asking for?). Come on, Hopkins, it’s the least you can do.

I had mentioned to Mr. Moore earlier in the day that I might be interested in reading this book, and like the wonderful boss he is, he ended up buying me a copy! So of course I got it signed by Skloot and the members of the Lacks family (including Henrietta’s great-granddaughter), and I can’t wait to start reading it. I’ll let you know how it is.

Also, this story should be airing on CBS Sunday Morning sometime in March. Keep an eye out for it!- and you’ll also be able to see Rebecca Skloot speak into the American Idol karaoke machine microphone that I use for my music class! See, I am famous!

Adventus

These are lyrics to a song I wrote about a year and a half ago, and this piece appeared in the 2009 edition of SJU's Crimson & Grey Literary Magazine. At the time, I was in the contemplative mood of imagining the return of Jesus to our society. What would he see, what would he think? Would he be comfortable here? Would we be proud to show him all the human race has accomplished? These were the questions I had, and I tried to answer them through the form of an open letter from Jesus to the big man upstairs, God. Now, as I go through this JVC experience, I find these questions are even more relevant. Anyway, it's called "Adventus"- enjoy, and let me know what you think.
--------------

Adventus

You sent me back down to the place where I was killed.
You said, "There's babies on the corners and there's kids popping pills.
They're ending the lives of those who needn't have died,
And you know just how it feels to be crucified."

It had been a long while since I'd been through this town,
So I decided to see if my friends were still around.
But Paulie lost his head, and Petey went with him,
And Johnny? Well, they caught him and threw him in the prison.

And Old Man Laz, well, he's still waiting for his therapy,
And they say Tommy don't want nothing to do with me.
And my girl Maria, she's back to turning tricks again.
You know Mr. P's still got the cleanest hands of all of them.

You told me to go back to the school where I once taught,
But they knocked that shack down and put up a shopping mall.
Every day and every night they go and pray to their gods,
But this time they have weird names, like Gabbana and Vuitton.

I couldn't take it anymore!
So I caught the first train to the Dead Sea Shore.
But even the Dead Sea Shore wasn't the same as before,
Because all the fish were green, and the water wasn't pure.

I thought that maybe I could find some wood
And use my hands to carve a living, like a good boy should.
But the funniest thing, Pop, I've found in this town
Is that all of your trees have been cut to the ground!

They've got the tallest buildings that I ever have seen,
But they still don't have homes for folks out on the street.
And every night, there's some guys who eat like kings.
And every night, there's some guys who don't eat anything.

So I was walking down the road, wondering what to do.
I had my hands in my pockets and a hole in my shoe,
When some young punks came up and hit me from behind
And sneered at me, "Let him turn his tears into wine!"

They left me for the vultures on the side of the road;
They stole all my belongings and they broke all my bones.
And from every passerby, there was no offer of aid.
I guess for bums out on the street, there's not much worth to save.

I kept praying and praying for the end to come.
I asked you, "How could you twice decided to forsake your son?"
When at that moment, I heard some footsteps come along;
He had his head held high and he was singing this song:

"When the rose fits with the glove,
Even the eagle's gotta fly with the dove.
And if you can't be with the one you love, well,
Love the one you're with."*

He was a nice young boy, with long hair like mine.
I asked him, "Where did you learn such a beautiful rhyme?"
He replied, "Not long ago, there were a couple of guys
Who said 'All you need is love, and you'll end up alright'."

So he took me to his home, and he laid me on his bed
And he swaddled me in cloth and he fixed up my head.
And when I asked him the cost for all his kindness,
He shrugged and said, "Just do unto others, that's the best thing, I guess."

What's All This White Stuff?

Some shots from the Baltimore Blizzard- what a wonderful week (that's not sarcasm, I really love all this snow)!


The view from our front porch on Saturday.




And here's Kelly, trying to start a snowball fight.




A view of Downtown from Charles St.




And then, it got windy.


Check out all my Blizzard shots from this week here.

Staying Power

Can you remember the first music you ever heard? I've tried to do this multiple times, and I always seem to come back to the same three albums. To hear me tell it, my musical life seems to have been born from Bruce Springsteen's "Greatest Hits," Carole King's "Tapestry," and Nanci Griffith's "Other Voices, Other Rooms"- these were the albums that my parents played in the house when I was a kid. Sure, they played more than just those three, and perhaps I had been exposed to other songs and albums prior to my first meeting with Mr. Springsteen, Ms. King and Ms. Griffith, but their works are what stick in my mind as my earliest encounters with music. I remember the loud audacity of the Boss and his band, the perfect placement of each piano note on "Tapestry," and the simple, evocative sound of Griffith's voice flowing through my house, and I remember the feeling that those sounds gave me. Now, as an adult, I find that when I listen to those albums, the feeling I get hasn't changed.

Music, good music, isn't a one-time thing. It is an organic presence built upon hundreds of moments shared between sound and mind. For me, the moments I had with those three albums propelled me to more moments with a greater variety of music and sound. It motivated me to have my own moments learning to play a piano, then the drums, and from there, a guitar. These moments of discovering new musicians, or mastering new instruments, build and feed off one another so that combined, they have an undeniable presence in my life. And at the end of the day, it makes my life more complete to have this thing called music in me. So maybe I'll never be a legendary musician, and maybe I'll never make a "living" playing my guitar. But because I was exposed to music, and because that exposure took on a life of it's own within me, then doing things like playing my guitar or going to a concert gives me all the "living" I need.

I'm trying to build moments for my After-School kids to share with music, and I think it's working. For the past few weeks I've been teaching them the basics of reading notes in a measure and having them work on recognizing patterns and beats. Typically, I'll draw a few measures on the board and place a few quarter and eighth notes in them. Then I'll have a student keep a steady count of 1, 2, 3, 4 and try to clap when they see a note that matches up with their count. They took to this surprisingly quickly and lately they've become really good at recognizing patterns.

Their most difficult task so far occurred Monday when I wrote different patterns on 20 note cards and placed them in a circle on the floor. I had them walk around in a circle to some music (their preference is Michael Jackson, and who am I to argue? 'Cause this is thriller, thriller night!), and when I stopped the music, they stopped at whichever note card they were at (kind of like a cakewalk, except no cake). Then, they had to listen as I clapped a beat with my hands, and if they could recognize that the beat that I was clapping was the one written on their card, they would win a prize.

Well, a lot of them did. As I clapped some eighth notes in a four count measure and looked around the room to see all my kids following along on their note cards, I thought, "This is pretty cool." They're having moments with music, just like I did years ago, and there's no telling where it will take them. Maybe they'll be able to read the music in their hymnals at church. Maybe they'll go home and ask their parents to buy them a guitar. Maybe, years later, they'll win a Grammy and dedicate it to "those silly games Mr. Scott used to make us play." Hey, a guy can dream vicariously, can't he?

Maybe none of that will happen, and I think that music will still be worth it. It is for me, and I know it will be for these kids. During these times when music programs are being cut from schools nationwide, it's more important than ever to re-institute the presence of the arts in all our lives, and especially those of children.

This country wants something that will last, something that has staying power? Invest in music and arts education. It's worth it. Since those days of my youth when I would listen to "Thunder Road" or when I would try to memorize the lyrics of Griffith's "This Old Town," music has stayed with me, and I can only hope that through their exposure to music in our After-School program, it will stay with these kids as well.

So tell me, can you remember the first music you ever heard?



(I'd really like to start getting some instruments into the kids' hands. If anyone knows of some resources that I might try to obtain some instruments, please let me know. Maybe we'll write a song for you!)

Broom Bohs in Photos

Tom, Stacey and I recently joined some Former Jesuit Volunteers and members of the JVC Staff on a local broom ball team. As you might deduce from the photos, the sport of broom ball is an age-old athletic contest with a history that spans the sands of time (or at least the past two weeks once I found out a sport like this even existed). Basically, it's like hockey except you play with a broom-like stick and a soft ball. We are called the Broom Boh's, and we are mighty! (silly, that is)... here are some shots from last night's game (The Boh's put up a valiant fight, but ultimately succumbed to the team in orange by a score of 4-2..we'll get 'em next week!):


That's me, playing the position of "Rover"


There's Stacey, with the ball in her control and the fierce glint of determination in her eye. Notice how much fun I'm having in the background, it's like the ice is tickling my feet and I'm powerless to stop it!


Diana, FJV extraordinaire and fearless captain of the Boh's.


Our boy Tommy, the Boh's defensive stalwart and only player daring enough to wear a red helmet.


Clearly, this is me on the ice after I slipped and fell, but let's just pretend that I had just made a glorious play mid-ice in which I sacrificed both my body and dignity for the greater good of the club. Yea, I think that sounds better.

A Rising Tide

We’re all working towards something. Every day when we get up, we think of places to go and things to do that will bring us closer to our goals and dreams. For the past few months, Mr. Moore and I have been working towards a successful MLK Day Job Fair, a day of service and self-help that has been a neighborhood staple for eight years. Through the bitter cold days standing on the streets registering job-seekers and through the multitude of phone calls Mr. Moore made and received while trying to enlist the services of employers and volunteers, we kept our eyes on the prize- a successful event in which people could get the help they need and deserve.

I left the JVC mid-year retreat in Scranton, PA early on Sunday morning so I could help Mr. Moore set up the gym and so that I could do other last minute preparation work. When I left him that night, Mr. Moore told me to pick him up at 6am the following morning, and then we would head into work from there. Early, yes, but certainly not the earliest I’ve ever woken up for a job.

Well, guess who I got a call from at 4:30am on Monday morning? That’s right, it was the Boss-man calling to tell me that the caterer was at the community center, and that if I could be at his house by 5am, that’d be great. How could I say no?

I discovered that the trick to working a 12-hour day is to always keep moving, and as I soon found out, that would be easy. The first job-seekers showed up at around 10 minutes to 7am, and after a few remarks from Mr. Moore and State Senator Verna Jones (and myself, too!) the day began. The morning consisted of various job-readiness classes during which people could work on their resumes, brush up on interviewing skills, and pick up tips for motivation in the workplace. As I did a sweep of the classrooms, I saw that every chair was taken, and that people were getting the help that they had come for. A few volunteers were even leading a discussion in the middle of the hallway, because there was no more space in the classrooms. The volunteers’ desire to share their expertise with the attendees, as well as the attendees’ willingness to listen, was very impressive.

At noon we served a delicious lunch prepared by one of Mr. Moore’s friends, and his brother. Previously we had decided that another of Mr. Moore’s friends, a musician named Paul Harris, would play some background music to ease the atmosphere of the day. When lunch rolled around, however, Mr. Harris had gotten delayed, so guess who kept the crowd entertained with smooth, halcyon melodies finger picked on a guitar way out of any Jesuit Volunteer’s price range? That’s right, me! I eventually gave way to Mr. Harris’ obviously superior pedigree, but as I finished I could have sworn I heard some applause.

By 1pm, we were ready to literally raise the curtain on the job fair. One of our fears had been that the employers would get smothered by the sheer volume of people looking for a job, but I think we did a good job of creating a line and downplaying any sense of immediacy that one might have had. The job fair stayed busy right up to closing time, and by 4pm, I was directing a group of Johns Hopkins students to roll up the floor clovers.

To me, the day boiled down to one word: productive. Productive for the 400 job seekers who were given opportunities to take a step up. Productive for the employers who were able to find some good people who had just simply been pushed to the side. And productive for the volunteers who made their day “off” and day “on.” I am especially thankful for those volunteers, the ones who showed up early, stayed all day, and were more than willing to do whatever was needed. Mr. Moore started the day off by saying that “We’re all in this together,” and I think the work the volunteers did really exemplified this. Of course, most were looking for any chance to lend a hand to their good friend Mr. Moore, so should I have expected any less?

We’re all working towards something. On January 18, four hundred people got out of bed and took the opportunity to get themselves closer to their goals, hopes and dreams. On Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, good men and good women came together to remember, celebrate and act. At the SFA Community Center, we learned that it is not your success or my success. It is OUR success at stake these days.

We’re all working towards something. WE are all working towards something. And on MLK Day, WE got a little closer.

Random Job Perk

Random Job Perk: I still get to have recess and throw perfect spirals across the gym to a gaggle of 5-7th graders. I mean, these throws are GOOD. You should really see me lead my receivers across the gym floor, working fish hooks and post patterns, threading the needle right at that crucial moment before they are about to fall out of bounds. It’s like the old days on the playground of Olivet Elementary School; I hang around the periphery, hoping against hope that the kids will ask me to play.

Only this time, I’m 22 years old.

With college loans.

Still, the boys (literally, I’m older than these kids by at least 10 years- don’t they realize I can run faster and throw farther than anyone in the gym? Come on, I’m an asset to any team!) ask me to be all-time quarterback occasionally (the term “all-time” simply means I’m QB for both teams, but I like to think it refers to how long I’ll be the greatest). The teams are evenly matched, the game is tightly contested, and when Sister Gabriel says it’s time to line up, my first thought is Come on! 5 more minutes! Still, even if the boys will go home and tell their friends about how Mr. Scott tried to get them to run a fake end-around with three laterals that would net about 2 yards when really he should have just handed it off to Kamari and used that big 22-yr. old body of his to throw a block once in a while, I get to walk out of the gym, head held high, throwing high-fives to students I’ve never met, with the strict belief that I just quarterbacked my team to the biggest win in After-School Program history (if you’re following along, you might notice that since I am quarterback for both teams, I am guaranteed to win every game. Why do you think this is a called a random job perk?).



Oh, to recapture the joy of believing that I am the next Randall Cunningham, or at least Koy Detmer (even if he did have a better beard).



And I’m sure the kids have fun too.