Post by david on Oct 14, 2008 20:37:21 GMT -8
Bless the beasts and the children
For in this world they have no voice
They have no choice
Bless the beasts and the children
Give them shelter from a storm
Keep them safe
Keep them warm
Nearly 100 years before a young Barack Obama arrived in Chicago to work as a community organizer, Jane Addams – the daughter of a man who had served eight terms as an Illinois State Senator – founded an institution in the Windy City called Hull House.
Hull House was a center for some two thousand community members. Within its walls was an adult school, kindergarten and classes and clubs for older children, a drama group, library, art gallery, music school, coffeehouse, gymnasium, swimming pool, public kitchen, book bindery and offices devoted to helping community members find work and obtain fair treatment while working.
This range of programs and services came into vogue in the 1970s – that was 80 years after Addams’ pioneering work at Hull House. The idea of creating “unity in the community” was revolutionary in those days; but controversy was an integral part of Addams’ life. In addition to her community work, she was part of the Suffrage movement, was a member of the NAACP and was an activist for peace and freedom even while America was engaged in World War I. In fact, she was expelled from the Daughters of the Revolution for her anti-war activities.
Though I am impressed by the range of accomplishments completed by this incredible woman – who was the first American woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize, my introduction to her was due to a small, but vital segment of her life’s work. Jane Addams may have established the first community recreation program in the United States, and the first playground program – on the grounds of Hull House.
As the youngest of 27 children, Jane – who was born with a deformed spine – no doubt was the target of thousands of hours of recreational activities led by her loving parents and siblings.
She had hoped to study medicine; but that option was not deemed proper by her father, who feared she’d have difficulty finding a husband if she was a doctor.
So Jane Addams became, among many other things, a playground leader.
Growing up in San Diego, I was exposed to a variety of leisure offerings. I attended Broadway shows at the Starlight Opera in Balboa Park and later was a member of the Youth Symphony that rehearsed a hundred yards from that amphitheater.
Nearby was the aerospace museum and one of our two great claims to fame: the Old Globe Theater; the San Diego Zoo, which put our city on the map – it was touted as the world’s largest.
Our great city park was named for the Spanish explorer who slogged across the Isthmus of Panama about 400 years before the canal. Balboa barely got his feet wet in the Pacific – exploring only a short distance by canoe; but San Diego’s founding fathers honored him with the city’s huge park, second only, perhaps, to New York’s Central Park as an urban outdoor recreation achievement.
The City of San Diego was one of the nation’s most committed municipalities when it came to recreation. During the ‘60s and ‘70s when I was involved, the city operated extensive facilities in Balboa Park, beaches, athletic fields, a couple of dozen community recreation centers and well over 100 elementary school playgrounds.
Living more than a mile from school, I was under orders to walk or ride my bike directly home each day and was unaware of the free, drop-in after school recreation program at my elementary school.
I discovered that same program when I was in junior high, though, and stopped by from time to time, never joining any organized activities, but observing and sometimes playing tether ball.
From a distance, the college student who ran the program appeared to be an enviable fellow. He had a big white patch on his jacket identifying him as a city recreation leader and he seemed to be constantly surrounded by admiring youngsters.
Later, as a college freshman, I looked into working for the “rec department” and learned that positions were coveted. I took someone’s good advice and volunteered at one of the community recreation centers.
Two years later, after my stint as a Vista Volunteer I realized my ambition and obtained a position as Intermediate Recreation Leader at Garfield Elementary School’s playground.
Some of the memories from those times remain with me nearly 40 years later:
Before long, I discovered that the patch on my jacket labeled “leader” and my whistle weren’t what had motivated Jane Addams. She understood that a place – be it a playground or a building like Hull House – and a set of activities present a context for something very important.
When people say, “Recreation leader? Sounds like fun,” they fail to recognize the power – and accompanying responsibility – wielded by those to whom we entrust our children.
My earnings as a playground leader helped support my family and pay for my education. But it meant much more to me than money. It taught me about family and community.
In this age of iPods, cell phones and video games, we could use a lot more playgrounds. And we could use more Jane Addams and even a few more wannabes like I was 35 or 40 years ago.
For in this world they have no voice
They have no choice
Bless the beasts and the children
Give them shelter from a storm
Keep them safe
Keep them warm
Nearly 100 years before a young Barack Obama arrived in Chicago to work as a community organizer, Jane Addams – the daughter of a man who had served eight terms as an Illinois State Senator – founded an institution in the Windy City called Hull House.
Hull House was a center for some two thousand community members. Within its walls was an adult school, kindergarten and classes and clubs for older children, a drama group, library, art gallery, music school, coffeehouse, gymnasium, swimming pool, public kitchen, book bindery and offices devoted to helping community members find work and obtain fair treatment while working.
This range of programs and services came into vogue in the 1970s – that was 80 years after Addams’ pioneering work at Hull House. The idea of creating “unity in the community” was revolutionary in those days; but controversy was an integral part of Addams’ life. In addition to her community work, she was part of the Suffrage movement, was a member of the NAACP and was an activist for peace and freedom even while America was engaged in World War I. In fact, she was expelled from the Daughters of the Revolution for her anti-war activities.
Though I am impressed by the range of accomplishments completed by this incredible woman – who was the first American woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize, my introduction to her was due to a small, but vital segment of her life’s work. Jane Addams may have established the first community recreation program in the United States, and the first playground program – on the grounds of Hull House.
As the youngest of 27 children, Jane – who was born with a deformed spine – no doubt was the target of thousands of hours of recreational activities led by her loving parents and siblings.
She had hoped to study medicine; but that option was not deemed proper by her father, who feared she’d have difficulty finding a husband if she was a doctor.
So Jane Addams became, among many other things, a playground leader.
Growing up in San Diego, I was exposed to a variety of leisure offerings. I attended Broadway shows at the Starlight Opera in Balboa Park and later was a member of the Youth Symphony that rehearsed a hundred yards from that amphitheater.
Nearby was the aerospace museum and one of our two great claims to fame: the Old Globe Theater; the San Diego Zoo, which put our city on the map – it was touted as the world’s largest.
Our great city park was named for the Spanish explorer who slogged across the Isthmus of Panama about 400 years before the canal. Balboa barely got his feet wet in the Pacific – exploring only a short distance by canoe; but San Diego’s founding fathers honored him with the city’s huge park, second only, perhaps, to New York’s Central Park as an urban outdoor recreation achievement.
The City of San Diego was one of the nation’s most committed municipalities when it came to recreation. During the ‘60s and ‘70s when I was involved, the city operated extensive facilities in Balboa Park, beaches, athletic fields, a couple of dozen community recreation centers and well over 100 elementary school playgrounds.
Living more than a mile from school, I was under orders to walk or ride my bike directly home each day and was unaware of the free, drop-in after school recreation program at my elementary school.
I discovered that same program when I was in junior high, though, and stopped by from time to time, never joining any organized activities, but observing and sometimes playing tether ball.
From a distance, the college student who ran the program appeared to be an enviable fellow. He had a big white patch on his jacket identifying him as a city recreation leader and he seemed to be constantly surrounded by admiring youngsters.
Later, as a college freshman, I looked into working for the “rec department” and learned that positions were coveted. I took someone’s good advice and volunteered at one of the community recreation centers.
Two years later, after my stint as a Vista Volunteer I realized my ambition and obtained a position as Intermediate Recreation Leader at Garfield Elementary School’s playground.
Some of the memories from those times remain with me nearly 40 years later:
- A 7-year-old filling his shirt with hands full of sand and creating a huge fake belly
- A 9-year-old calling me “Dad”
- 6-year-olds crawling all over me when I stooped to tie my shoes and little hands grabbing mine as I walked across the grounds
- The 5-year-old who came to me with a cut toe requiring “Dr. Burke” to “go to work.”
- My struggling squad of 8- and 9-year-old boys who, finally scoring a touchdown after five shutout games, ran to the sideline and cried, “are we winning, Coach?” The score was something like 35 to 7; but they were experiencing the thrill of victory
- Kids who struggled for hours with narrow strands of plastic to fashion key chains or lanyards
- Loners who played hard-to-get when they wanted more than anything to become part of the gang – and who quickly did so with a little encouragement
- Boys, usually, who never shined in the classroom but who found their niche in the after school program and, feeling better about themselves, came to feel that they could succeed
- Teachers and school principals and parents and teens who discovered that what we were doing after the final bell could be as important as reading, writing and arithmetic and who supported and participated in playground activities
Before long, I discovered that the patch on my jacket labeled “leader” and my whistle weren’t what had motivated Jane Addams. She understood that a place – be it a playground or a building like Hull House – and a set of activities present a context for something very important.
When people say, “Recreation leader? Sounds like fun,” they fail to recognize the power – and accompanying responsibility – wielded by those to whom we entrust our children.
My earnings as a playground leader helped support my family and pay for my education. But it meant much more to me than money. It taught me about family and community.
In this age of iPods, cell phones and video games, we could use a lot more playgrounds. And we could use more Jane Addams and even a few more wannabes like I was 35 or 40 years ago.