Leave the gun take the cannoli (9)

Making conversation with the homeless is easy.  Start with  a simple “how’s it going?” and you end up to with an hour of childhood memories and  war stories.  

Last Saturday,  I served coffee to three generations of homeless men at the Village Temple soup kitchen.  More than two thirds of the men that come in every week are veterans.  The older men served in World War II, the baby boomers were drafted for Viet Nam and the thirty somethings were in Desert Storm.   There are over 6,000 homeless vetrans in the five boroughs according to the statistics buried  in New York City’s  daily newspapers last week.   Sandwiched in between advertisements for Vetran’s Day coat sales and sports scores this news item was as easily over looked and forgotten as the homeless themselves. 

 Its no wonder that the suicide rate is so high in this population.  According to research from SPAN USA, veterans are twice as likely to take their own lives as men who have never served in the military.   SPAN volunteers launched a letter writing campaign to help  two survivors, Randy and Ellen Omvig gain support for the Joshua Omvig Veterans Suicide Prevention Bill.     President Bush signed the bill into law on November 5th.  One  small victory for the men who won the wars.

Cheering up the elderly can be challenging.  Usually, the first five minutes of our monthly Sunday breakfast at Methodist Hospital are devoted to scanning the room to find one or two patients that need some quality time.    Making initial contact  with  the patients can be tricky, as the elderly are often fearful of strangers.  So many seniors are aware of their failing memories that sight of a friendly, but unfamiliar, face can be confusing.

 One of the regular volunteers, Anthony Best, possesses a rare talent for coaxing even the shyest senior out of her shell. His contagious smile  and active listening skills make him the Merv Griffin of volunteers, as he brings out the best in everyone.

Last Sunday, I noticed a woman in the corner sobbing uncontrollably.  The people sitting it a  table on my left clearly      wanted to be left alone.   As my fellow volunteers dispersed around the room,  I sat next to the crying woman.  She didn’t seem to notice.   I said “Good Morning.”  She didn’t even look up.   I checked her name tag and tried again.  

“Senora, parle italiano?”

“No!  Not good.  I was born there but I speak English,” she insisted through  a thick  Neapolitan accent.   I made her a cup of tea and she told me her life story.      

When the nurse came to check her blood pressure I excused my self and  took a  left turn.   I stopped at  the table where   a frustrated volunteer was  engaged in  a staring contest with the patients.  Anthony  was also headed for this table.   I tried to get a conversation going but the most I could get out of anyone was that one woman likes to play the piano. Instantly,  Anthony cleared a path to a piano in the back of the room that none of us had noticed before.  

The minute the woman sat down her face lit up.  She played a mixture of gospel and show tunes for the rest of the morning.

I returned to my Italian friend.  She wanted me to go ask the nurse for something.   I didn’t want to leave her alone for fear she would start crying again, so I called over Anthony.

I was only gone for two minutes but when I returned Anthony had her laughing and reminiscing about her favorite Brooklyn apartment. 

Anthony always has the right  questions to keep the conversation  moving.  Whether he’s listening to a former seamstress explain the subtleties of her favorite fabrics or discussing an  old movie,  Anthony makes these women feel as if they  are the only person in the room.                 

Its amazing how a little male attention can help a lady perk up, even at an advanced age.                    

Getting kids to love reading is easier if  they have a partner, someone older and wiser to help decode vocabulary, increase comprehension and convince them that  reading is cool.  New York Cares sent Children of the City five brand new reading partners; Lin, Maria, Sarah, Vanessa and Vincent, to boost the self esteem of struggling, emergent readers.   

The  kids who come to Children of the City’s  Super Saturday events every month live below the poverty line in the up and coming neighborhood of Sunset Park.  In this area of South Brooklyn  the high school  drop out rate remain at 48%.

In an effort to change the culture of poverty, Children of the City provides mentors,  role models, and tutors who foster a positive attitude towards academics.    

When the reading partners arrived the kids were reluctant, but Maria knew how to break the ice.  She formed a special bond with  a seven year old from the guardianship program who needs  some extra TLC. 

Vincent sat down at the table where I had placed a box of new books.  He  looked at the titles and started reading a book.  As soon as he cracked open “The True Story of the Three Little Pigs,”  one of  the boys sat down at the table with him.  Vincent read the first line and the next thing I knew two other boys were asking if they could have a turn reading with Vincent.  

Lin was compassionate and patient as she read with a shy older girl.   Vanessa and Sarah  entertained  the kids  with read-a-louds  and a few rounds of  “Sight Word Bingo.”

After the reading partners left I started packing up the books. The boys who were working with Vincent came back to help me.  One of them took a book out of the bag. “Look!” he said as he opened the book and began reading the page aloud.  Then he turned to his friend and said “your turn.”  The other boy read a page then proudly handed the book back to me.   “Does this mean you had fun reading this morning?,”  I  asked.  They smiled and nodded their heads in agreement.  

This week hunger advocates around New York City are wearing orange to draw attention  to the number of empty food pantries across the city.  Dozens of e-mails have appeared in my inbox to persude  me to update my wardrobe with the autumn hue.    

Colors for causes are confusing and   remind me of pseduo- gangs rather than social justice.  But   I’m willing to risk looking like a squashed pumpkin for a week in an effort to get the word out about  the NYC hunger crisis.     

Actually, the problem of hunger in the United States is severely understated.  Every major city in the country has seen a rise in the number of senior citizens and families living below the poverty line. 

Newsletters from food redistribution centers are aimed at an  audience  already familiar with the plight of the working poor.   Hundreds of families  throughout  the five boroughs  rely on free school lunches to feed their kids.  They line up for vouchers  form food pantries  every November so they can put a turkey on the table at  Thanksgiving.   

 I’ve seen a spike in the number of clients we serve every Saturday at  the Village Temple soup kitchen.  In less than an hour we give out over 200 hundred sandwiches and  about 300 cups of fresh homemade soup.  Fortunately, we’ve never turned anyone away empty handed, but for the past few weeks we’re lucky if we have  two apples left over at the end of the day. 

My buddies at Rivington House were in rare form last night.  Instead of our  usual schedule of viewing a documentary and a feature film, we watched  a DVD of an  Alicia Keys concert at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.  A  slight break in the routine was just what they needed on  an Indian Summer night.  The humidity levels outside had taken a toll on my buddies who are already suffering the effects of HIV/AIDS.  You could see fatigue in their eyes and the stiffness in their joints as they  walked or wrapped their fingers around a soda can.  Despite their aches and pains Wheelchair Rambler and T were like two stand up comics in search of an audience.

Wheelchair Rambler was waiting for us in the lobby anxious to talk about the plans for the night and eager to hang out with my NYCares crew, Boris, Caitlin and Kristyn.

Last night, Wheelchair Rambler just wouldn’t let up with the wisecracks.   He was unusually animated about the Alicia Keyes DVD.   I sat behind him and he tested my knowledge of rock and roll trivia by asking me who sang the songs she’d covered like “Wild Horses” and “If I Were Your Woman.” 

“That’s right girl!  You really your stuff” he raised his hand for a high-five.

“That’s why you always ask me.”

“You’re the only one here old enough to remember.” He looked over at the other volunters “they’re  to young to know.”

“You calling me old?”

“I like older women” he smiled.

“You just need to wear make-up like Alicia Keys” T whispered.

“I’m cosmetically challenged.  You can’t expect me to match my eye make-up to my earrings. ”

“I don’t see no earrings.  If you don’t know how to do make-up then you’ve gotta go and find yourself  somebody to teach you  how, so you can do make up like Alicia Keys.” T commanded.  

When the DVD was over, I found out that Wheelchair Rambler was right.  My colleagues hadn’t grown up listening to the Rolling Stones or even the radio, for that matter.  But they have other fine qualities.

Even though it was her first time Kristyn fell  into the rhythm of the night immediately. 

Caitlin is a native New Yorker but the buddies think she looks like a California surfer girl so,  she is destined to endure beach boys jokes they’ve practiced all month.

Boris is the favorite among all my buddies because of his patience and perpetual smile.  Wheelchair Rambler and T can’t wait for Boris to arrive every month so they can tease him relentlessly.   I can only empathize.

The anecdotes and very personal monologues that the buddies shared last night were hilarious and  as raw as sushi.  They’re comfortable saying just about anything to  me, but sometimes I worry about new volunteers.

“There ARE ladies present”  I cautioned T.  “You want us all to come back, don’t you?.”

“I know YOU”RE coming back” he said before questioning the others on their plans to return.  He was  happy to hear that they’d enjoyed his stories.

On the way out I told the buddies that I’d back on November 11th. 

“Can’t get rid of you”,  T said sarcastically as I headed toward the lobby door.                

Not all senior citizens have Alzheimer’s.  There are other forms of dementia listed in the DSM-IV.  While some octogenarians are as sharps as tacks, it is possible that others choose to forget as a way of denying their depression.  The greatest challenge of aging is not the degeneration of the mind or body; its  loneliness.   

I’m far from being an expert on the subject of the elderly.   My experience with this age group is limited to monthly volunteering at Methodist Hospital and my role as primary caregiver to my mother.  

People are always quoting that old cliche about our parents turning into our children for me.  That idiom was coined to advise us  about the corporal aspects of caring for our families.  Yet, those words ring true when observing the quirky ways the elderly command our attention.

When  greeting  volunteers the male patients are chatty and  inquisitive.  The women are demure.   In seconds you can tell if  a woman has raised a family or not.   Women who’ve spent their lives alone  initiate the conversation.  They scan our hands for wedding and engagement rings and keep the conversation light, rarely alluding to the personal.  There may be evidence of a failing memory, but these women never  lose the people skills they acquired by going  solo to  social gatherings.  The mothers in the group are shy and inevitably need the most cheering up.  It is easy to gauge how long its been since a mother has seen her child by the height of the pedestal she puts him on.  The greater the distance between visits,  the stronger the idolatry.    

  Last Sunday some of the patients got up on the wrong side of the bed.  A beautiful Latina was frustrated because she wanted to wash her face and brush her teeth before receiving her guests.  My heart sank when I realized that her attendant didn’t understand her.  I quickly translated and she was whisked off to freshen up.  When she returned she was like a new woman.   During brunch she was animated, witty and the center of attention at the table of Spanish speakers I’d attracted.   

I admire this woman’s vanity and I understand why she wasn’t dressed and ready for us.  This woman is just   like my mother.   She  waits until the last minute to put on their party face because  she’s not sure anyone is going to show up for a visit.        

For several years,  I’ve watched my mom get all dolled up to go to a sibling’s house for  dinner.    I usually leave her  sitting on the sofa with the phone  on her lap and I go off to a soup kitchen.   When I return she’s still  in the same spot waiting for the phone to ring.  When I offer to take her out she refuses because she doesn’t want to miss her call.  Eventually,  the phones  ring  and her other child  offers a flimsy excuse, without apology for standing her up.    

 It always reminds me of the visiting day  scene from that old Judy Garland movie, “a Child is Waiting,” where one boy is left sitting by himself. That image haunts me every month as l leave the hospital.

 When I’m staying good-bye, I  make it a point to tell the patients  the date and time of my next visit.  It doesn’t matter that  some of the patients will be released before I return.  I just want them to know that they won’t be forgotten.   

 The new school semester is my cue to switch to expresso and update the  stories on websites,  polish grant proposals and  subtly beg for donations of toys, books and winter coats for the kids at my two favorite charities, Children of the City  and Magic Hospital.

 Competition for donations is fierce as the days grow shorter and the calender dwindles down to a single page. The high profile charities will kick their fundraising up a notch  soon, so I’ve been hustling to get the  word out about two of the best little non-profits that you’ve probably never heard of.        

 Children of the City has been flying under the radar for about 26 years now.  Founder and Executive Director, Joyce Mattera  is determined to shatter the cycle of poverty by consistently developing programs to meet the needs of children and adolescents in the south Brooklyn  neighborhood of Sunset Park. In the past year she has implemented two new programs designed to help teenage parents cope with stress as they learn both basic and sophisticated parenting skills.  Last year 500 families attended Children of the City’s monthly parenting seminars, GED, ESL and job readiness classes.   Right after Labor day, I started  having  nightmares   about the number of toys they need  this  holiday season   for the 3,000+  kids who faithfully attend their academic and recreational programs.   I wake up in  a sweat worrying that they’ll be one gift short on Christmas Eve.        

Nothing can cure my end of summer blues faster than  an editing assignment from  Claudia Vogg,  the founder  of Magic Hospital an outreach program that services kids in orphanages and hospitals in China .  This summer she launched two new programs , “My Inner Olympics” and “Abracadabra!”  My Inner Olympics acknowledges the courage it takes for these kids  to  fight  their  pain and  chronic illnesses everyday.  Brave little patients are honored with a medal during a private ceremony in their hospital rooms.      Abracadabra! is their wish granting program for critically ill patients.   While we  expect the kids to ask for Bratz dolls and board games, some wishes are less materialistic and more heart wrenching.  Sometimes   children    request a   special visit from  family members who lives far away and can’t afford transportation to the hospital.    Claudia puts her heart and soul into  alleviating the suffering of these kids, even if its only for a single afternoon.      

When September ends I’ll deal with my volunteer fatigue by sleeping 8 hours a night until Halloween and searching for a 12 Step program for espresso addicts.      

The Number One rule for volunteering at Movie Night;   if you’re late you have to tell a joke.  Of course, I conveniently leave this out of the  e-mails that I send to my  New York Cares crew, just in case I’m the one who is stuck in the subway at 6:45.    

This month’s  volunteers, Boris, Julie C., Maria and Stacy, arrived in party mode.   They  embraced my buddies as if we were all old friends.    We started the night with a documentary about RUN DMC.    Clearly, not the kind of music any of the volunteers would download, but we all got caught up in the enthusiasm of the clients.  As soon as the credits rolled,  I yelled out “Who remembers where they were the first time they heard RUN DMC?  and my volunteers just naturally attracted clusters of  clients ready to reminisce about old school days.   It turned out that most of  us are Aerosmith fans.    Under the assumption that everyone knew the words to “Walk This Way”  we attempted a sing- a – long.   This proved to be a new way to torture volunteers and its more fun than putting them on the spot for a corny joke.

Saturday was ice cream day at Village Temple, the gourmet soup kitchen on East 12th Street where I spend my Saturday afternoons.  Stephanie Ching  and Jim Wong,  from New York Cares,  treated 210 homeless and low income clients to a special dessert of homemade ice cream  from Alphabet Scoop, New York’s most nurturing ice cream  store.   

Alphabet Scoop was created by   Carol Vedral, the executive director of Farther Heart’s Ministry as part of a mentoring and outreach program targeting at risk kids from the Alphabet City neighborhood of Manhattan.   Open from April through December, Alphabet Scoops offers kids 14 and older the chance to learn job skills.  Each employee starts off with a training class, where he learns how to make all 16 varieties of the product  from scratch.    A mentor is assigned to each teenager for support, encouragement and friendship.   Working after school and on weekends helps these kids to learn responsibility and accountability while earning a paycheck. 

Profits form Alphabet Scoop help to support other Father’s Heart Ministry outreach programs, such as their soup kitchen and after school program.    

I was walking down Ludlow Street on Sunday evening, enjoying the rain when a bat gently touched down on my blouse.  It stared at me like a jealous woman and flew off in a huff.  I was relieved, because now I had story to tell my buddies at our monthly movie night at Rivington House, an AIDS specific health cared residence on the Lower East Side of New York City.

My buddies, are the patients, or as I prefer to call them, clients of Rivington House.  Although the median age her is 48, they act like kindergarten kids trying to get the teacher’s attention at the  clack of my stilettos echoing through the lobby. 

“Where were you?  I thought you weren’t coming” calls a gray-haired client from across the room.  As usual, I am an hour early.  The movie isn’t scheduled til 7, but my buddies are  in desperate  need of conversation.  Of course, they get visitors, but the nature of their illness and ambiance of a residence makes some guests feel awkward.   My bat anecdote is just the thing I need to break the ice.

“Girl, you are so batty!  It probably thought you were its mother!” quips a curly haired buddy as he turns his wheelchair in a circle for emphasis.  Ten minutes of puns and bat jokes ensued.  As each of my volunteers arrived, a different buddy retold my story, adding their own commentary on what I must have looked like, or what the bat was thinking.  Getting the clients to laugh is the most important part of the night.   It doesn’t really matter to the residents what I show, as long as they can talk about it later.  I usually  show a comedy and plan a theme for the evening.  When the movie “Wedding Crashers” came out, I got permission to bring in some finger food and a fancy, white sheet cake.  I asked my volunteers to dress as if they were going t a reception.  We toasted my ability to put batteries in the remote control with ginger ale.  When the movie was over we entertained ourselves for a few hours, by reminiscing about the best and worst weddings we’d ever attended.  All the women had stories about ugly bridesmaid dresses.  The men  tried to recall the dumbest joke they’d ever heard about nuptials.

Inevitably, I get a new volunteer every month who is clueless about how to treat a buddy.  They mean well but they treat the clients like babies, or agreed with everything they say.  They are always surprised at the way my buddies  crack jokes  and debate over silly things, like who was the best James Bond.  Most people assume that volunteering with AIDS  patients is depressing and draining, but to me, it’s a party.