My friend Nancy is good people, too

Remember the post I wrote early last year about going to Steppenwolf Theatre for a special touch tour of the set of “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” I learned so much from that experience that I signed up for the touch tour of “Good People” at Steppenwolf last Sunday. My friend Nancy Beskin came along, and she generously offered to write this guest post to give you a sighted-eye view.

That’s Nancy Beskin, today’s guest blogger and good people.

Good People at Steppenwolf

by Nancy Beskin

I’ve always been interested in the production aspects of theater (sets, staging, casting, etc.), so when Beth invited me to join her for a touch tour preceding Steppenwolf Theatre’s performance of Good People last week, I immediately accepted.

A touch tour offers visually impaired theater-goers an opportunity to go onto the stage and literally “touch” the sets. Evan Hatfield, the Director of Audience Experience at Steppenwolf, started the afternoon with a discussion with one cast member and the Audio Describer. Jack, the Audio Describer, has a pretty unique job. Audio Describers are right there at the performance to narrate what is physically happening on the stage: scene changes, character entrances or exits, any other movements audience members who can’t see might not detect on their own. The listener hears the Audio Describer through headphones connected to a device they hold in their hands to control the volume. Beth thinks the narration is a distraction, but I imagine it would be very helpful for plays in which there is not as much dialogue as the one we were about to see.

The actor talked with Evan about the play and the characters and described some key elements, including a discussion about the South Boston accents most of the actors use during the play. Then Jack explained the layout of the stage and described each of the numerous stage sets in detail. At first it was disorienting for me to walk into the theater and see all the sets up on stage at one time, but it was fascinating, too. When we all moved onto the stage to walk amidst the different sets, I really understood the value of the touch tour. I helped Beth narrowly maneuver around the church basement/bingo hall, the main character’s kitchen, the doctor’s office and the alley outside the Dollar Store, all the while keeping tight reign on her so that she and her dog Whitney wouldn’t fall off the stage!

Steppenwolf staff members were on hand to describe the mechanics of all the sets. Some sets came in from either side of the stage and one even came down from the ceiling. As we walked through, I did my best to explain to Beth what I thought would be interesting to her, including that all the books in the doctor’s bookcase were in actuality books related to his specialty.

When we returned to our theater seats, the rest of the actors came out to introduce themselves. Each one described and defined their characters, including what they looked like, and what kind of clothes they would wear. The actors who’d be using accents gave us a taste of what they would sound like during the play. One actor, playing the doctor’s wife, explained that since her character was from Washington, D.C., she would be speaking in her regular voice, rather than the “Southie” accent of South Boston.

It was a very eye-opening (ahem, as Beth would say) experience for me. Many theaters offer Touch Tours as well as other services for the visually impaired. Steppenwolf, for one, provides playbills in Braille, large print and audio format to listen to before the performance.

The Steppenwolf staff that we met (including Stage Manager Libet, who told us she follows this Safe & Sound blog) couldn’t have been more helpful. Thank you, Steppenwolf, for all you do to make the theater-going experience more accessible and enjoyable for everyone. You are Good People.

1968

That’s me with writers from one of my memoir classes.

With all the talk about political conventions in the news lately, I can’t help but think of what happened right here in 1968. Many of the writers in my memoir classes were young adults in Chicago then, but when I assigned “1968” as a topic, few of them chose to write about the Democratic convention that year. Their essays definitely spoke of the times, though.

Judy’s essay opens in the 1950s, when she was lobbying the Yellow Springs, Ohio Board of Education to let her Antioch College classmate Corrie Scott student-teach there. Corrie was barred from working in the Yellow Springs schools, and when she and Judy got together at an Antioch reunion years later, Corrie said that school officials used to tell people she’d left “to marry some preacher.” Judy described the loving smile on Corrie’s face as the two friends shared the irony. Some preacher. The essay ends with a description of what a sad year 1968 was. It’s the year her friend Corrie’s husband, Martin Luther King, Jr., was murdered.

***

Maria and her husband had immigrated to America from Italy in the early 1960s. Maria was enjoying a lovely April day in 1968 at a park with her three and four-year-old boys when she heard the news on her transistor radio. “The Dallas drama was repeating itself. This time it was Martin Luther King,” she wrote. “In what kind of country had I come? Were my children going to grow in the midst of this violence?”

***

Sheila returned from a six-week training course in NYC in 1968, accepting a job as a TWA Reservations agent in Chicago along with 19 fellow graduates. “Our triumph was short-lived,” Sheila wrote. “More than half the class was fired the first day in the Chicago office.” All the women who were fired were Hispanic, Black or Jewish. “We Caucasians spoke up about the obvious reason our friends had been fired. TWA told us to shut up, or we’d ALL be out of a job.”

***

Bob grew up on the South Side of Chicago and was raising his boys there, too. His oldest son would be starting high school in 1968, and with tuition so high at the Catholic schools, Bob and his wife opted to move the family to the suburbs.

***

Gwen’s essay came right after Bob’s. Gwen and her husband had decided to move in 1968, too, but that’s where the similarities in their stories end. From Gwen’s essay:

On the day of the closing we took our sons out to see their new home. It was located in the far South Side in the Rosemore area of Chicago. The boys were excited to have a larger home, although they didn’t want to leave their friends. My husband and I were happy that the house had been vacated by the former owners and we had immediate possession.

Gwen’s husband called her at work the next day with disturbing news. Someone had tossed a chemical into their house after they’d left – the chemical simmered throughout the night, eventually burning through the floor. A worker from People’s Gas Company who’d been sent out to take a final reading from the meter the next morning noticed the windows were all black from the smoke. He called the fire department. “The fireman, who knew how to enter a burning house, told us that if we had opened a door the house would have exploded and been completely destroyed,” Gwen wrote. “We were completely unaware that we were the first Black family to move into that block. Had we known we would have skipped that area. I did not want to put my children in danger.” Their three-year-old was afraid to enter the house, so the family moved into her brother’s attic for a few weeks until her husband decided it was time to clean up the house and move in. He checked on the house every evening during the process, hoping the culprits would return.

“But of course they didn’t,” Gwen wrote. “And I was glad. I didn’t want a confrontation.” The family finally moved in a year later, in March of, you guessed it: 1968. Gwen said it took a long, long time before they could relax in the house. “It seemed that every time we started feeling comfortable there, the weather would turn humid and the smoke smell would seep down from The attic.” They lived there for 20 years, and after the kids were grown they moved to the south suburbs. Gwen told me she’d buried this whole ordeal deep inside until I gave the assignment to write about 1968. “It all came back to me then,” she said, still refusing to allow the incident too make her bitter.

Her essay concluded with these words: “We cannot allow the actions of a few to poison our minds and cause us to react in a manner that would be completely contradictory to what Martin Luther King and other Black leaders have preached and marched against.”

What’s wrong with this picture?

That’s Laura Martinez of Charlie Trotter’s.

Charlie Trotter’s, a five-star restaurant here in Chicago, is closing its doors for good this Friday, August 31. Laura Martinez, a graduate of Le Cordon Bleu, has been working at the iconic restaurant for more than two years, and now she’s having a hard time finding a new job.

Most people with a prestigious cooking school and experience in the kitchen of a five-star restaurant on their resume would have an easy time finding a new job, but Laura Martinez is not like most people. She’s blind.

Laura got her job at Charlie Trotter’s after the famous chef and restaurant owner visited the Chicago Lighthouse for the Blind. Laura had been working in the Lighthouse cafeteria kitchen at the time, and it was love at first taste. Charlie is quoted in an article in the Chicago Tribune about Laura:

“I was watching her work and saw how she handled things with her hands, touching for temperature and doneness, and I ate her food and it was quite delicious. We got to talking and she told me about her dreams and I said, ‘What would you think about working at Charlie Trotter’s?’”

Laura was already attending the prestigious Le Cordon Bleu culinary program at the Cooking and Hospitality Institute of Chicago at the time. Charlie Trotter offered to help with her tuition, and Laura accepted a job at his restaurant after she graduated.

The Illinois Department of Human Services hired a personal assistant to help Laura with on-the-job training, but then staff at Charlie Trotter’s took Laura under their wing and started providing her with supportive job assistance, removing the need for the personal assistant. I had the privilege of meeting Laura last year, and she told me co-workers on the line at Charlie Trotter’s had become comfortable having her there prepping, cleaning and chopping.

Trotter says Martinez is an exceptional worker who brought value to his restaurant. “Besides being a great cook, she brings value through her professionalism. She is a great team member.” When I talked with Laura, I asked if she had a specialty. “Well, a lot of vegetarians come to Charlie Trotter’s,” she said, her voice betraying a proud smile. “They like my vegetable risotto.”

I have Laura’s contact info, but out of respect for her privacy I won’t leave it here. If you do have an idea of a Chicago-area restaurant or restaurateur interested in hiring a graduate of Le Cordon Bleu who is a great team member with years of experience at a world–renowned five-star restaurant under her belt, please leave the idea here in a comment and I’ll pass it along to her.

Florence and the trombone machine

My brother’s in town, and he brought his trombone!

That’s Doug: Has trombone, will travel.

Doug graduated from high school the year I was born, and I grew up listening to the jazz records he left behind when he embarked on his music career. Louis Armstrong, Hot Five and Hot Seven. King Oliver. Lil Hardin.

My sisters and I went with Flo to hear Doug perform live a lot, too – he played and toured with the Original Salty Dogs Jazz Band, the Smokey Stover Firehouse Band and Bob Scobey’s Frisco Jazz Band before he had to leave home to join the Marines. We all breathed a sigh of relief when he got into the 3rd Marine Air Wing Band in El Toro, CA – playing for national parades and ceremonies in the United States kept him out of Vietnam.

Before he left home, Doug bought the family a piano, and though it may have been seen as a frivolous expense on Flo’s budget, she made sure we three youngest took lessons. I wouldn’t be playing (or appreciating) the piano the way I do if it weren’t for those two. Thank you, Doug and Flo.

Once his Marine Corps days were over, Doug left his music career behind to focus on raising a family and pursuing a corporate career. Any time Doug’s name was mentioned after that, you could count on Flo to shake her head and lament, “I sure wish Doug would pick up that trombone again.” He finally did in 1996, working long and hard to get his chops back in time to put a band together to surprise Flo on her 80th birthday. Thank you, Doug and Flo.

Doug has been playing his trombone ever since, and while he and his lovely wife Shelley are in town from Louisville this week, he’ll be sitting in with a couple Chicago bands.

• Thursday, August 23: 8 pm at Untitled, 111 W. Kinzie (312.880.1511) with the Jake Sanders Quintet. Jake used to play in New York’s Cangelosi Cards, and now he’s here to bring “the jazz age into the new age” every Thursday at this new River North dance club.
• Sunday, August 26 8 pm at Honky Tonk BBQ on 1800 S. Racine with The Fat Babies, a Chicago-based traditional jazz group that’s heavily influenced by musicians like Bix Beiderbecke, Louis Armstrong and Jelly Roll Morton.

The Jake Sanders Quintet and the Fat Babies both feature Andy Schum on cornet, and Doug and Shelley can’t say enough about this guy. “All the musicians are young and really enthusiastic and knowledgeable about the old, old stuff,” Shelley says, adding that some of them are 78 collectors. “That’s really unusual…and wonderful!” I was thrilled to read that both of these Chicago venues boast huge dance floors. Mike and I have been enjoying SummerDance lessons in Grant Park the past couple years, and at Doug’s gigs in the early 60s we little girls all shared stints as Flo’s dancing partner. So bring your dancing shoes and look for me this weekend: I’ll be the one swinging like a hep cat on the dance floor. Thank you, Doug and Flo.

I Am Curious (Red)

Whitney and I visited Hendricks and St. Mary of the Lake Elementary schools in Chicago this week, and the kids at both schools had tons of terrific questions.

Whit and I had a great time at St. Mary of the Lake (pictured here) and Hendricks.

For some reason the first and second graders at St. Mary’s seemed particularly interested in color blindness. When one of them asked me if it’s true that dogs can only see black and white, I explained that dogs do see some colors, but they can’t tell the difference between red and green. “If we’re at an intersection with a stoplight, it’s my job to judge when it might be safe to cross.” I described the way I stand up straight, concentrate, and listen for the rush of cars. When it sounds like the traffic is going the direction I want to go, I take a guess the light is green and command Whitney to go forward. Whitney’s ears perk up, she listens for traffic and looks left and right to confirm it’s safe before pulling me across.

The students seemed satisfied with that answer and went on with other questions. Are you blind all of the time? When you were at the Seeing Eye school, what was your teacher’s name? Does Whitney like to lick a lot? What do you and Whitney do to have fun? Their thoughts eventually returned to colors, though.

“Do you just see the color black?” one girl asked. “Or do you just see the color white?” Another girl told me that the school uniforms they wear are red. “But does Whitney think they’re green? I gave that question some thought, and realized I couldn’t answer it. I remember writing a story for Dog Fancy magazine years ago about dogs and vision, so when I got home I looked it up:

Dogs see colors, but not the same way humans do. People can see variations of violet, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red. Dogs can only see blue, violet, yellow, and some shades of gray.

I checked my source list, and the information for that Dog Fancy story came from an article in the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association called Vision in Dogs, written by P.E. Miller and C.J. Murphy. A credible source, but not sure it answers this sweet first grader’s question. If dogs can’t see the color red, what do they see instead? Blue? Violet? Yellow? If any of you blog followers have an answer, by all means leave a comment. I’m curious to know now, too!

My old favorites: an update

Here’s guest blogger Mike Knezovich with a status report on some old friends:

Whit is right at home in the city, including on the subway.

So, in case there was any doubt, Whitney’s definitely my new favorite. Though she has brain cramps (children and certain other dogs make her forget herself momentarily), she’s game for the city buzz, she responds to Beth’s corrections, and she will play — infinitely — catch and fetch for as long as a human can. Gotta’ watch her teeth, though — she’s actually shredded a couple Kong toys and even destroyed a Lacrosse ball.

Meanwhile, my old favorites are thriving. Hanni, the eternal star, enjoys a rich life in Urbana with Nancy and Steven. She’s slowed down, for sure — she doesn’t always leap up to greet you every time you enter the room. But she still thumps her tail on the floor at the first hint that you might give her a pet, a scratch, or even just a look. And at 12 years old, she still gets around. Nancy and Steven regularly take her for long walks at Urbana’s Meadowbrook Park or at Homer Lake, which is a forest preserve just outside town.

On one such walk, Hanni showed she’s still got spunk, too. Nancy reports that on a recent walk, a couple dogs got off leash and started a mad dash

Hanni, in retirement repose.

toward her and Hanni. Hanni is typically the most submissive dog I’ve ever seen. If even a tiny dog approaches, she rolls on her back and goes into the “how low can you go” routine to signal her un-aggressive intentions. Which is what she did as the dogs approached, according to Nancy. This time, though, when one of the approaching dogs bared its teeth, Hanni sprung to her feet and let out an authoritative WOOF that sent the would-be bullies packing in the other direction. I always knew she had it in her, and am happy she never really had to use it.

And then there’s Harper, the retired gentle hero. We still miss him, his giant head, his soft ears, and his generally sweet and peaceful disposition. Well, mostly peaceful, it seems. Chris and Larry, who took Harper in when it was clear he couldn’t work any more, have patiently helped him build his confidence and nerve. You may recall that after his and Beth’s traffic near-miss, he refused to venture more than a block or so from our apartment. He was the same in the suburbs, too. But gradually, walking backward while coaxing him to keep walking, Chris and Larry have gotten Harper to walk all the way around the block — and beyond! He regularly plays with the Collie across the street, and he’s even gotten cocky enough to…chase a squirrel into the neighbor’s yard and tree it.

Harper hangin' with his Collie buddy Beau.

OK, OK, we don’t want him terrorizing squirrels. But my heart swells at the thought that Harper is shaking off the trauma that used to freeze him in his tracks. And I’ll admit it — I’m kinda’ proud of the guy.

And grateful to our friends Steven and Nancy and Chris and Larry and before them Randy Cox — who took in Pandora (who lived to 17), Beth’s first guide dog. All-time favorites, all of them.

Underground

Some el stops in Chicago make it easy to cross busy streets. I regularly use the underground blue line stop near our apartment this way — Whitney guides me down the steps on the south side, we walk underneath Congress to get to the exit that feeds out on the north side, and, bingo! We’ve safely crossed a four-lane highway!

Whit and I often use Subway stops to cross under busy streets.

When Seeing Eye trainer Chris Mattoon was here last month helping me with Whitney, I used the underground red line el stop to cross State Street. He found my subway street-crossing idea so slick that he asked if he could videotape us. “I’ve gotta show this to the apprentices!” he laughed, explaining that new trainers might regard my trick as cheating — they might insist the dogs keep their street crossings, ahem, above ground. “But really, an important part of the job is learning to trust the blind person you match with the dog. Each person is different, and you’ve gotta let them do what works best for them,” Chris told me, then started to chuckle again. “And this seems to work for you, Beth!”

The only thing that kinda doesn’t work about my underground crossings is this: the spot where we emerge from the blue line is also the spot where a gaggle of homeless men like to hang out. The men are no trouble, it’s just that Whitney needs to work us around them to get us to the next corner. We make this trip so often that one of the men recognizes us now and has decided to take us under his wing. “Three o’clock!” his baritone sandpaper voice rings out when he sees us come up the stairs. “Twelve o’clock!” he shouts as we head down the sidewalk.

I have never found the face-of-the-clock method very helpful, but I’ve come across a number of sighted people who think it’s pretty clever. Maybe they’ve all seen the movie See No Evil, Hear No Evil? That’s the one where Gene Wilder plays a deaf man who uses clock-face directions to tell his blind buddy (played by Richard Pryor) how to beat up some guy they meet in a bar.

“Nine o’clock! “Twelve o’clock!” The shouts from my Tom-Waits-sound-alike can be disconcerting. And distracting. I do my best to hide my annoyance and just smile his way as we pass. He’s only trying to help.

A few weeks ago Mike walked with Whitney and me to Union Station to catch a train to a suburban grade school. It’s been an unseasonably warm winter in Chicago — the sun was out, sidewalks were clear, and Mike escorted Whitney and me sighted-guide across the four-lane highway. I gotta admit, It was a relief to avoid the shouts from the Tom Waits soundalike at the el stop.

I kissed Mike goodbye at Union Station, assuring him he didn’t have to come and fetch us there later that afternoon — Whitney could guide me home on her own. Only problem: I hadn’t anticipated a blizzard.

The snow started falling when Whitney and I were talking to second-graders in the gymnasium at Kipling Elementary School, and it was still coming down when we got off the commuter train in Chicago. The American Federation of the Blind devotes a section on its web site to traveling in winter weather:

Winter-weather is often more time consuming, more physically and mentally tiring, and possibly more fraught with danger than traveling in good weather. The cold often brings personal discomfort, making it difficult to concentrate and learn during travel or mobility lessons. Your toes, fingers, and ears are particularly at risk. To protect your extremities, it is necessary to plan one’s clothing and equipment well beforehand.

When I was a kid, I thought it was magical, the way snowfall muffled the sound around you. I still do. But on my walk home with Whitney that afternoon, it just wasn’t the magic I was looking for. By the time we left the train station, enough snow had fallen to mask the audible cues I use to navigate the city. Commuters trudging towards the station kept their heads down to avoid the snow pelting their faces. This would have been fine if they all had dogs like mine to guide them, but they didn’t. Whitney was on her own, weaving me around the blinded commuters in our path.

Snow had accumulated between the raised, circular bumps I’ve come to rely on to tell me we’re at the edge of a curb ramp, so I wasn’t always exactly sure where we were. The further we got away from the train station, the fewer pedestrians crossed our path. And then suddenly I realized: we were alone. I stopped. Listened. No footsteps in the snow, no sounds of shovels, nobody there. Panic. Where were we? My iPhone was in my bag, and I knew I could call Mike. But what would I say? How would I tell him where to find us?

And that’s when I heard it. A voice like an angel. “Twelve o’clock!” my subway sentry shouted.

I picked up Whitney’s harness, squared my shoulders towards the foghorn, commanded, “Whitney, forward!” and Wonderdog Whitney pulled me towards the voice in the wilderness. “Twelve o’clock!” he called out. “Twelve o’clock! Twelve o’clock!” When we got close enough, Tom Waits reached out. He put his gloved hand in mine, and led Whitney and me to the subway stairs. Once there, he placed my palm ever so gently onto the banister and walked away. We got home fine from there.

And now, when my pal by the subway entrance croaks out a clock direction, I don’t just smile his way. I thank him.

I’m so proud

Over 50 is where it’s at, man. This excerpt from a Chicago Sun Times review of the Soul Train concert I went to Monday night explains why:

Slightly-more-than-middle-aged women swooned to Marshall Thompson and the Chi-Lites’ “Oh Girl” and “Have You Seen Her,” no doubt knocked out by the trio’s sartorial splendor of pumpkin-colored suits and white fedoras with pumpkin-colored brims.

The Sun Times Reported that nearly 15,000 fans were at Millennium Park for the extravaganza, and man, what a cool vibe. All those people, and the only time it got unruly was when Don Cornelius refused to deal his signature “I wish you love, peace and soooooooooul!” (The crowd begged and prodded, and of course he finally gave in.)

Those are Janet's kids Anita (center), Ray (left) and AnnMarie (right) in a photo Anita took, reflected off the Cloud Gate (aka The Bean) sculpture in Millennium Park.

Plenty of youngsters (iow, under age 50) were there to dance to the music, too. My niece Janet and three of her kids picked me up for the first part of the celebration. “I’ve gotta show these kids how it’s done!” she told me. For 90 minutes before the concert, legendary Chicago DJ Herb Kent spun classic dusties like “Fire” and “Funky Town” by The Bean in Millennium Park and organized the longest Soul Train dance line in history. From the Sun Times review:

Cliff Boone was at the front of the line.

You couldn’t miss him. He wore a silk, lime green suit with white cuffs dotted with $100 bill icons. He danced in skyscraper heels and wore a wide-brimmed hat over a puffy afro wig. About the headgear, “all I will say about that is that it is ‘Bootsy’ or ‘Sly,’ ” said Boone, slightly out of breath after the dance. That would be Bootsy Collins and Sly Stone.

Janet and the kids had to leave before the concert – it was a school night, after all – so Mike joined

Some came in full regalia.

me to hear the Chi-Lites, the Impressions and the Emotions, each group backed up by a 30-piece orchestra with a horn section that was out of this world. It was chilly outside, but my heart felt warm, and the tingle I felt on my skin was not goosebumps. What a privilege to be a slightly-older-than-middle-aged woman living in the city where this music, these musicians, and this larger-than-life TV show got their start. As the late great Curtis Mayfield used to sing in that beautiful Impressions ballad of his: I’m so proud.

Just in time for Soul Train

My metatarsals are whole again--the body's an amazing thing.

Sound the trumpets! The doc says I can retire the clodhoppers!! No restrictions! I can walk long distances, swim, ride the tandem, even hop on the train to Elmhurst to visit Flo.

How to celebrate my healing? That’s easy. I’m gonna strap on my dancin’ shoes, strut down to Millennium Park and shake my groove thang:

Monday, September 5 (Labor Day) at 6:30 PM

Jay Pritzker Pavilion

Groove to the beat of Soul Train with a concert in honor of the 40th anniversary of the Chicago-based, longest-running, nationally syndicated program in television history. The concert will pay tribute to Soul Train and its legendary founder and host, Southside native Don Cornelius, who will be on hand to participate in the program. Artists scheduled to perform include Jerry “The Iceman” Butler, The Impressions, The Chi-Lites, The Emotions, and Gene Chandler. They will be backed by a full orchestra of veteran musicians who have played and/or recorded with the artists listed above and will be led by conductor/arranger Tom Tom Washington.

Pre-Concert Dance Party

4-5:30 PM

Cloud Gate

Hosted by Chicago radio pioneer, V103 Radio’s Herb Kent, known as the “King of the Dusties” and the “Cool Gent”, hit records from the 60s, 70s and 80s will be spun prior to Chicago’s 40th Anniversary Soul Train Concert at 6:30 PM. Admission to both the concert and the dance party is FREE.

Thanks to all of you for your blog comments, your encouragement and your good wishes during my healing process – I might have lost my mental health completely without you. I’m serious.

I’d write more now, but hey, I’ve spent a summer in front of this computer keyboard already. Time for Harper and me to practice our dance moves.

A remarkable, resourceful bunch

The writers in the memoir class I teach grew up on Chicago’s south side, in the Philippines, on farms, as military brats, in plush Chicago suburbs. They are Catholic, Jewish, agnostic. One thing these seniors all have in common? They are resourceful.

Take Myrna. She lives in a Chicago neighborhood called Lincoln Park, and When she found out there was a waiting list to get into the current eight-week memoir-writing session I lead in downtown Chicago, she called to see if Lincoln park Village might be willing to sponsor a writing class of its own. A post on the New York Times New Old Age Blog this week describes Lincoln Park Village:

A two-year-old nonprofit serving 230 members in 165 households, Lincoln Park Village was organized by older adults who want to age at home. More than 60 such villages, modeled on Boston’s decade-old Beacon Hill Village, have formed across the country, and 100 more are in development.

Susan, another student from the “Me, Myself, and I ”class I teach downtown, offered to host a free introductory class in her Lincoln Park home last week. The event was a success, and starting in September, I’ll be leading two different memoir-writing classes for seniors every week: the Wednesday class I’ve taught for years downtown, sponsored by the City of Chicago , and this new Lincoln Park Village class on Thursdays.

Jeff Flodin was one of many writers from the downtown Chicago “Me, Myself and I” class who showed up at the Lincoln Park Village event Thursday to cheer me on. Jeff lost his sight in his thirties, and he and his Seeing Eye dog Randy took a bus to Susan’s place — Harper and I got a ride from a Lincoln Park Village volunteer. Jeff had never been to Susan’s house before, and the bus stop was four blocks away, but they made it. Talk about resourceful!

Since starting the memoir class a year ago, Jeff has come out of retirement and is working part-time at Friedman Place, a non-profit Supportive Living Community for blind and visually impaired adults in Chicago. He leads a writing class at Friedman Place, and has started a blog for the Guild for the Blind here in Chicago. The post he wrote this week about labels used to identify people who are blind was both thoughtful and funny — just like Jeff! Here’s an excerpt :

So, for everyone out there wondering what to call me, I’ll give you a clue. Blind is OK. But, to really grab my attention, “Hey, handsome!” sure does the trick, too.

One thing I preach to the writers in my class is the merits of keeping essays short: they’re do-able, you choose stronger verbs, and shorter pieces are more likely to get published. So as much as I’d love to go on and on about all the resourceful writers in my class,
I’d better practice what I preach. Just one last story.

That’s Hanna.

Loyal Safe & Soundblog readers are familiar with Hanna Bratman, the matriarch of our writing class. Last year Hanna was featured in a Someone You Should Know segment on CBS television here in Chicago. The CBS interview focused on how Hanna has embraced technology to write her memoirs–she has macular degeneration and uses special software that enlarges the print on the screen for her. From the CBS web site:

what do you want to be doing when you’re 90? Hannah Bratman of Chicago is going high-tech to make memories. As CBS 2′s Harry Porterfield reports, she’s someone you should know.

Francine Rich, my publisher at Blue Marlin Publications had been so moved after reading excerpts of Hanna’s writing here on my blog that she volunteered to collect and format all of Hanna’s essays for her.

So while raising three lively children and running her own publishing business, Francine found time to reformat 64 of Hanna’s essays and professionally edit them, too. The essays are still Hanna’s words, of course. “I didn’t revise her essays. There was no reason to.” Francine wants to surprise Hanna now by presenting the essays in book form. “Any chance you can get me some photos from her childhood?” No chance. There aren’t any.

Hanna grew up in Germany. Her family was Jewish, and she didn’t think to take photos along when she escaped on her own before World War II. She was only 20 years old when she arrived, alone, in the United States. Others in her family didn’t make it out in time. “I’ll tell you this,” she often says to me. “I’ve always been very, very lucky.”

Thanks to Francine, we’re the lucky ones now. we have the opportunity to learn from reading Hanna’s story. I’ll leave you with an excerpt:

I had not told my mother that I had gotten a “B” on that important test, and now I had to confess. “On that last test that he gave us, after his Heil Hitler, he handed out the papers, and I had a B instead of an A. All of my answers were correct. I raised my hand and got up, shouted Heil Hitler, and asked him why I had a B instead of an A. His reply: I gave you a B because you did not follow the formula I taught. You followed a formula I had not taught as yet. Besides, you are a nervy Jew to challenge me. I will downgrade all of your papers.”
I said to my mother, “I didn’t tell you about it, but I will never go back to that school. They don’t want me there.” I started crying again. My mother said, “If you really don’t want to go back, I won’t make you. You know, Hitler will not last much longer. There will be a change in government, and Hitler will not last. In the meantime, even if you don’t go to school, you will have to keep up with all your schoolwork and study French and English. I will arrange to get the assignments, and when Hitler is gone, you can go back. You know, they can take everything away from you, except of what’s in your head.”