Moving Men Forward: Dalton Skerritt speaks with a student ROXBURY—Other men are fidgeting, staring out the window, waiting for their time at Whittier Street Health Center to end. Not Charles. Charles takes a seat in the second row, a 29-year-old man in a crisp white T-shirt. He leans forward. He asks questions. He’s required to take this class on men’s health, as part of a prison release program. But this is helpful information right here, about disease and how to prevent it. One thing, he already knows: “Black guys die early.” For years, Whittier has been trying to change that, working in one of the neediest neighborhoods in the city, and using these Wednesday night “rap” sessions to introduce low-income, men of color to healthy living. One of the main goals: connect them to the health care at Whittier, and keep them coming back. Dalton Skerritt, director of Whittier’s Men’s Health Clinic, can tick off the facts: higher rates of diabetes hospitalizations, higher rates of death from AIDS. In Boston, black men are about three times more likely to die of prostate cancer than white men, according to the city’s 2009 Health of Boston report. What he wants to know from these students is why. Bad eating habits, lack of exercise, genetics—all are factors, he confirms, when the men call those answers out. But there’s something else, something bigger. “Oh!” comes a call from the back of the room. “Check-ups!” A King of Contra Contra dancing, with Eph Weiss in blue CONCORD—Apparently, there is no jumping in contra dancing. It seems, somehow, that there should be. A semi-skip feels just right when you’re in the midst of a turn, caught up in a fever of foot stomping, and skirts billowing, and heads thrown back to the sound of the fiddle. But 84-year-old Ephraim Weiss will not let you have it. “No jumping,” he says, calm as can be, as you move with him down the row of dancers. “Don’t jump.” There may be bigger players on the New England folk dancing scene, but for the eager, overwhelmed beginner, “Eph” the retired physicist is it. For decades, he has plucked strangers from the sidelines of Thursday night contra dancing in Concord, guided them into the so-called slow lane, and showed them how to turn. “He’s kind of bossy, but in a good way,” says Julia Huestis, 53, a seventh-grade math teacher who learned to dance with Eph. “He’s a big shot.” If you want to get technical about it, he is bigger on the waltz scene. He’s done an awful lot for that dance. But contra is where Eph started all those years ago, a family man in search of a hobby, and contra is where he likes to stay, dancing twice a week at this 18th century renovated barn, otherwise known as the Scout House. A centuries-old tradition from France, in which partners stand across from, or contra, each other, contra dancing in America is a very friendly affair, the kind of thing that inspires summer camps. People who come alone are drawn into the crowd. Couples who come together sometimes split apart to dance with others. Smiling is encouraged, eye contact is required, and sometimes, between friends, there is a quick flirty kiss on the cheek, as the bodies pass by. “I don’t think you can go anywhere else, and see people smiling for such a long period of time,” says Devik Wyman, 63, a jewelry store owner in Sudbury. Even before his wife died, dancing was Eph’s main extracurricular activity- Scandinavian, English, and Balkan are his other favorite forms, practiced on other days of the week. And then, of course, there is his work as an elected member of Lexington town government, a civic duty he has taken seriously for decades. By now, everyone at the Scout House knows better than to expect Eph on certain days during the spring: He is busy doing the budget. | About This BlogWelcome to The Small Story, a blog about the lives of everyday people in Massachusetts- the challenges they face, the celebrations they make, and the communities they like to call home.
It’s a natural extension of the eight years I spent as a newspaper reporter, first at The Hartford Courant, then at The Seattle Times. Time and again, the small story pulled me in: the first day of school for a boy displaced by Hurricane Katrina, the final months of foster care for a tired teenager, the slow road to recovery for an injured Iraq War veteran and his mother. I work full-time as an editor now, and write this blog on the side. In the rush of reality TV, and minute-by-minute media coverage, the small story still says something important to me, about who we are, and how we live in this country. Here’s hoping you feel the same. - Cara Solomon Email:cara@thesmallstory.com Twitter: csmallstory Become a fan of The Small Story on Facebook, or shoot me an email and I'll put you on a "new story alert" list! Thanks for reading...  CategoriesAll ArchivesFebruary 2010 |
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