Five Minutes with Bobby Orr

Published in the book Chicken Soup for the Soul: Hooked on Hockey, October 2012

Five Minutes with Bobby Orr

It’s nice to be important, but it’s more important to be nice.

 ~Author Unknown

         To hockey fans, Bobby Orr is a legend. To our family, he’s a gentleman.

         The Sports Museum of New England, founded in Cambridge, Massachusetts and now located in Boston’s iconic “Gah-den,” home of the Bruins and Celtics, has always held impressive attractions, including sports artist Armand LaMontagne’s life-sized wooden sculptures of some of Boston’s greatest athletes. Bobby Orr is one of those LaMontagne immortalized in basswood.

         My sister-in-law Denise worked for the company that commissioned the Sports Museum Orr sculpture, and to celebrate the work's completion the firm hosted an unveiling for its employees at a hotel ballroom. Retired Bruins defenseman Bobby Orr would be on hand to pose for pictures beside his wooden look-alike. As her guest, Denise brought her mom Bertie, a huge fan of the Bruins in general and Bobby Orr in particular.

         My mother-in-law had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis years earlier and by the time of the sports museum gala she was largely confined to a wheelchair. Neither MS nor the chair stopped Bertie from living with grace and gusto, and she dressed to the nines, complete with earrings and pearls, for the evening with Bobby Orr.

         When Denise and Bertie arrived, a long line already stretched from the hockey great and his chiseled likeness. It would be a while, it appeared, before they’d be able to shake Orr’s hand. Then Bobby looked up and saw them. Excusing himself, he walked to the back of the line, introduced himself to Bertie and asked permission to take her for a spin.

         As people watched, Orr wheeled a smiling, delighted Bertie through the venue and to the statue. For a full five minutes -- or at least what felt to Bertie like five amazing minutes -- he focused solely on her. They talked, laughed and admired the artist’s work. Bobby Orr conducted a private showing in a crowded room, just for Bertie.

         A few years after Bertie died my husband Mike attended a business dinner that included a charity fundraising auction. Mike zeroed in on one item: an 8x10 color photo of a young Boston Bruins’ #4 in action on the ice, autographed, “Best of Luck, Bobby Orr.”

         Mike put in bid after bid, but another man, in the interest of raising as much as possible for the charity, kept outbidding him. Finally, when the man’s bid reached a level bordering on too rich for Mike’s wallet, Mike approached the man and told him about his mom’s evening with the gracious former Bruin.

         “That’s an incredible story,” said the bidder. “You can have the picture. And not only that, but I’m going to buy it for you!”

         It hangs on our wall today, and when we look at it, we see more than a hockey player. We see a caring human being who brought joy to another through a simple act of kindness. And we also remember that kind man at the auction who carried on in the same tradition.

~Lori Hein

A Holiday Romance

Published in the book I Can't Believe My Dog Did That! by Chicken Soup For the Soul, September 2012

"I'm watching Olive while India's in Costa Rica," announced my daughter, Dana, home on summer break from college. The news alarmed me because Olive is a dog.

            "Where are you watching her?" I hoped Dana was moving into her friend India's Boston apartment for the duration of the caretaking assignment.

            "Here. I'm getting her tomorrow. She'll be here for nine days."

            I smiled the "that's great" smile moms conjure when they need to show support for something their kids are doing that mom wishes wasn't happening while my brain began contemplating how I'd survive what I was sure would be the longest nine days of my life.

            I'd had a dog, Licorice, when I was a kid, and I loved him. But my good dog feelings had been gnawed away by years in a town where dogs roam unleashed in the green spaces where I run, owners invariably saying, "Don't worry, he doesn't bite" as Rover nips at my Nikes, and where a half-dozen dogs on my street are allowed to bark early, late, often, and for prolonged periods, making sleep difficult and life less enjoyable. I'm not shy about letting my neighbors know I don't appreciate the auditory assaults. Once I sent a morning email that read, "It's 6:23 and your dog is killing me."

            When Dana pulled up with Olive, a Pyrenean Shepherd puppy, I admit to feeling an odd joy on seeing her round-eyed, hairy face. And when Olive strained at her leash to get to me, pulling Dana up the walkway, I felt a little special. 
            "She likes you, mom!" said Dana, either sincere or clever. Olive and I had our first physical contact, she exuberantly licking my shins, me patting her once on the head then moving away. This was Dana's gig, not mine. I'd said hello, now Dana was on duty.

            Or not. Dana's 19. She sleeps in. 
            When I woke at six I realized Dana's "I'm watching Olive" really meant that I was the one watching Olive. Olive hadn't been out since the night before. Dana wouldn't be up until after noon. I realized with mild horror that a fair amount of the upcoming canine care would fall to me. 
             I called Olive's name. When the furry ball bounded out of Dana's room and down the hallway, I felt a little flutter. She didn't know me, but she nuzzled my legs and looked up with trust and anticipation that warmed me. Hmmm.

            I noticed the training pad we'd put down -- India had sent Olive's gear, including pads that smelled like grass to encourage duty-doing there rather than on the floor -- was saturated with pee and piled with poop. I was delighted. 
           "Olive," I said, bringing her near the pad and stroking her back and head, "You're a good, good girl." In a strange house, with strange people who didn't get her out in time for her day's first constitutional, Olive had kept her business on a small plastic square. And, she hadn't barked since setting paw in our home. I was officially smitten.

            It got worse as the days progressed. Olive worked some animal magic and cast a dog endearment spell on me. I started doing weird things -- and enjoying them.

            I became an ardent dog walker, confounding my neighbors, which I loved. I looked forward to our walks and the way Olive circled the kitchen in joyous frenzy when I jangled her leash to call her. As we walked, sometimes side by side, sometimes one pulling the other, I studied the sniffing Olive did before choosing where to make her deposits. 
            I saved the plastic bags I bought my produce in and became skilled at wearing them as gloves then turning them inside out after I'd retrieved Olive's neat little messes. I left the door between our kitchen and deck open all day. That way Olive could be outside whenever she wished and hang with me while I read my newspapers at the umbrella table, forgiving the flies that found their way into my house and bounced off walls. I spread a blanket on the deck, and Olive spent hours lying on it, lifting her head frequently to give me a happy gaze and contented smile. 
           On a shopping trip to buy Dana back-to-campus items, I threw dog treats and chew toys into my cart. I perused my grocery store's pet aisle, comparing food labels to ensure Olive was getting the good stuff. I stopped wincing whenever Olive slurped my limbs and face, which was often. And, I, who heretofore would run for hand sanitizer anytime politeness dictated I pat someone's dog, developed a soothing chin-chuck that made Olive close her eyes and grin. I even considered giving Olive a bath. I didn't, but I thought seriously about it.

            "I'm taking Olive home in a few hours," said Dana one morning. "India's flight comes in tonight, and I'm picking her up at the airport."

            The news hit me hard. This dog had achieved the impossible: she'd made me fall in love with her. I looked down at Olive, who was licking my toes. "I can't believe it's been nine days already. They went by so fast."

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

           

            

Latin: Alive and Well in the Classroom

Published in the January 2010 issue of Boston Parents Paper


Among the classes that kids take in public and private schools today, Latin isn't the first to come to mind. Many people might say it's unnecessary, a "dead language" that no longer applies to "real life."

Yet, more than 60 percent of our English vocabulary has Latin roots. And, while you may not know the origin of the words you speak, many of today's Massachusetts students do. Latin is alive and well in schools across the state. Long a cornerstone of classical education at many private schools, this ancient language now has fans in a wide range of academic settings from municipal to Montessori, charter to parochial, in grades as early as elementary.

For the past five years, Boston lawyer Gregg Bailey has voluntarily taught Latin to Dorchester tweens and teens attending rigorous area schools where the language is required. He does it through Project D.E.E.P., the Dorchester Educational Enrichment Program that tutors and prepares Dorchester youth for entry exams required by schools like Boston Latin and Roxbury Latin. D.E.E.P.’s been so successful getting kids into these institutions that five years ago it launched Learning Latin to support them in their schoolwork.

Bailey, who holds an undergraduate classics degree, stepped in to teach the program. Once a week he and a group of mostly 7th, 8th and 9th-graders study Latin vocabulary and tackle homework challenges. Enrollment doubled in the first three years and, according to D.E.E.P. assistant director Lauren Hughes, continues to climb.

“Latin,” says Hughes, “is paramount to a comprehensive education. It can expand a child’s knowledge of English as well as help in learning any other Romance language.”

Growing In Popularity

Recent Latin enrollment statewide has held steady or grown, with Latin’s value as a building block of English a key reason why.

Alice Lanckton, a Newton South High School teacher who’s seen Latin enrollment double to about 100 since 2002, says, “Students appreciate the importance of Latin in increasing their vocabularies, both for the SATs and for life. Kids who take Latin enjoy understanding words.”

Claire Planeta, Latin teacher at Easton’s Oliver Ames High School agrees. “People tell me they use Latin more than any subject because it helps them with vocabulary. Most of my students would tell you they learned English grammar in Latin class," she says.

Latin classes start in the 6th grade at many private schools. At Brookline’s Dexter and Southfield schools, for example, middle schoolers take three years of Latin, then decide whether to continue at the high school level. About 50 percent do. “We’ve always had a strong interest in Latin among our student body,” says Lisa Pyne, the schools’ classics department head. “Because they’re exposed early, our students are invested in their study of the language.”

Early exposure means parental investment, too. Lynn Sullivan-Galvin, a Boston mom whose son is a Dexter 8th-grader, says, “Sam’s in his third year of Latin; therefore, I’m in my third year of Latin.” Sullivan-Galvin’s seen Sam read novels without looking up words while his high school-age sister, who doesn’t take Latin, keeps a dictionary close. “I can’t believe how much Latin has helped Sam’s vocabulary. When reading, he can figure out words because of the Latin root, making the reading much more enjoyable. When writing, he’s able to use less common words because of Latin.”

Putting It To The Test

Currently, Latin is taught at about 20 percent of middle schools in Massachusetts' 220-odd public school districts and 62 percent of high schools, according to state education department data. A quarter of those high schools offer Advanced Placement (AP) Latin, built around works of ancient Roman poet Vergil.

A trend toward diligent SAT preparation in recent years may help explain the old tongue’s 21st-century appeal: that Latin-takers outperform peers on the verbal (now Critical Reading) portion of the SAT is supported by 2007 Educational Testing Service data showing average scores of 678 for Latin-takers versus 502 for all students. For younger students, Latin may provide an MCAS edge: a study of midwestern 6th-graders shows those exposed daily to Latin surpass peers in reading, spelling, math, social studies and science.

Hingham High is one local school with a robust, multi-level Latin program. Teacher Ron Urbinati reports “a recent increase in enrollment,” with 160 students in Latin I through AP.

Gail Ryder, who teaches middle and high school Latin in the Dover-Sherborn system, has seen Latin explode beyond the one 8th-grade and one high school course offered when she arrived in 1986. “We’ve built an incredibly successful Latin program,” she says. “We now begin in 6th grade, and this year’s 6th grade class has over 40 students.” Dover-Sherborn has strong 7th and 8th grade enrollment and four high school offerings, including AP. “Many of our students wish to be admitted to top colleges and feel that taking Latin AP is a way to help with admission.” Ryder reports that “usually by the end of freshman year students are reading real Latin regularly: Cicero, Caesar, Pliny and all the poets.”

At St. Agnes, a K-8 Catholic school in Arlington, students start Spanish in kindergarten then, at the end of 6th grade, choose to continue or, as Latin teacher Christopher Bogdanski puts it, “come over to the dark side.” About 35% make the switch to Latin, and Bogdanski notes that some of his students continue in high school where, he says, “we’ve had several go on to earn perfect scores on the National Latin Exam.” The exam, offered at several study levels, had about 6,000 takers when first offered in 1977. About 140,000 turned out in 2009, with Massachusetts delivering 11,948 -- more than any state.

Making It Fun

Ed Foley teaches Latin at Arlington’s Ottoson Middle School, where enrollment’s risen and now holds steady at about 180. Foley thinks new teaching methods play a role in the renaissance. “The old image of Latin as a dull, difficult and dead language is no longer accurate,” he says.

Teachers such as Newton South’s Lanckton use games: I Piscatum (Go Fish) and bingo-like Id Habeo (“I’ve Got It!”). Hingham’s Urbinati uses hands-on projects related to Roman history and mythology. The vast reach and influence of the Roman empire, a multi-ethnic, multi-racial culture, allow teachers to wrap art, archaeology, architecture, politics and philosophy around the Latin language and literature core, furthering engaging and enriching today’s students.

Kids may take Latin to gain academic advantages then find their minds opened to its timeless cultural and societal legacies, topics worth exploring. “Non scholae sed vitae discimus.” (We do not learn for school, but for life. )

Human interest: From a tiny seed, a great gourd grows

Published in the Boston Globe, October 21, 2007


From a tiny seed, a great gourd grows
Norton 16-year-old nurses a giant pumpkin for fall weigh-off



By Lori Hein, Globe Correspondent/ October 21, 2007


Before dawn on Oct. 6, a group gathered in 16-year-old Alex Noel's yard in Norton to lift a gargantuan pumpkin into a truck, the first leg of its journey to the Giant Pumpkin Weigh-Off at Frerichs Farm in Warren, R.I.

It was the day Alex had worked for since April. To guide a pumpkin from mortal to titanic proportions requires spending lots of time with it, nurturing it (on cold days, Alex wrapped it in a blue baby blanket), and tending to the 50-odd vines that together form a single giant pumpkin plant.

His motivating mantra on tough days: "World record, world record."

And then off to judgment day at Frerichs.

At day's end, Alex's 1,224-pound pumpkin placed not first, but a respectable sixth. His 903-pound giant squash did take a blue ribbon. Together the ponderous pair of gourds earned Alex $500 and a handful of medals and trophies - and further recognition in the world of giant vegetable producers.

Alex started growing giant pumpkins at age 12. He had, the year before, been inspired by monster produce he saw during a visit to the Topsfield Fair. His first giant pumpkin tipped the Topsfield scales at 370 pounds, and he was hooked. Each year since, Alex has grown progressively larger vegetables - except for 2006, when he used a chemical spray he described as "a big accident - I killed all my plants."

When Alex started growing giants, he would spend every available minute in the pumpkin patch, forgoing extracurricular activities at The Wheeler School in Providence, where he's a junior. "You spend all your time with it," he said of his first giant. "No sports. You just come home and be with the pumpkin."

Now, as an experienced grower, Alex can afford some nonpumpkin activities. He worked part time this summer at Sharon's Moose Hill Community Farm, and he's playing fall football at Wheeler. "I know all the basics and a lot of the particulars," he said, "so when I'm with the pumpkin, I'll be doing some task, not just muddling around."

But it still takes a lot of time. "The end of June is toughest. I was spending eight hours a day in the patch."

July requires about six hours of daily labor, early August four or five, and late August and September, if all is well and the orb has mushroomed into a robust behemoth, one or two hours daily. On its peak growing day, which occurs in August, a giant pumpkin can gain 60 pounds. As picking time nears, if nights are warm, it can pack on 10 pounds a day.

Alex sows his pumpkin seeds in April in an indoor germination box. A few sprouts declare themselves early as having the wherewithal to go all the way to greatness, and Alex devotes the next five months to these plants.

A pumpkin in the 1,200- to 1,300-pound range - like his entry this fall - is indeed considered world class, he said, "and bringing it the extra couple of hundred pounds you need to make world record is more or less luck. And you have to make zero mistakes." Rhode Island's mistake-free Joe Jutras set the current pumpkin record, 1,689 pounds, last month at Topsfield.

Over the course of raising his giants, Alex's patch can yield odd sights: When the pumpkin was wrapped in its blue baby blanket, it looked much like a large child asleep in the sea of leaves. Passersby stare at Alex, in rubber gloves and gas mask, applying pesticide or Alex working at night under a spotlight, headlamp on, flashlight in hand."They'll just stare," he said. "This must be one of those things that people think it's OK to stare at."

Giant pumpkin growers are an agricultural brotherhood. They meet online, at pumpkin club get-togethers - Alex belongs to three clubs and is a director of one - and in each other's patches to exchange tips. Norton grower Don Langevin, an expert who has published books on giants, has shared his pumpkin wisdom with Alex over the years.

Growers routinely trade proven seeds from giant pumpkins that have produced other progeny - sister seeds - that spawned giants. Serious growers generally sow only proven seeds. Alex stockpiles promising ones and has several thousand in his room. He's proud that the seed for this year's giant came from a 720-pounder he grew in 2005. Alex trusted the seed's pedigree because last year, before the killer chemical incident, he'd coaxed a seed from the same pumpkin to impressive heft.

Alex grew a second giant this year, from an unproven seed donated by an Ohio grower who had statistically calculated it to be, according to Alex, "the best seed in the world, on paper at least." Alex had room in his patch, so he gave the seed a go.It grew like crazy until August, when it developed a split, disqualifying it from the Topsfield and Frerichs weigh-offs. Alex picked it early and took it to the Marshfield Fair, where rules require only that the pumpkin be "sound." At 1,054 pounds, 14 shy of the winner, it took second place and earned Alex $400.

Each year after the fall weigh-off, Alex transforms his pumpkin into a jumbo jack-o'-lantern at his Barrows Street home. "I try to do a better, more elaborate carving every year," he said. "People love it."

After Halloween, when his creation gets mushy and starts to collapse, Alex takes an axe and chops it into 40-pound chunks, which, he said, "rot away and make really good compost." He'll use those bits of pumpkin past to help next year's patch bear enormous fruit.

Copyright 2007 The New York Times Company

Inspirational/Human interest: Art and optimism

Published in the Easton Journal (MA), Dec. 2004:

Art and optimism

By Lori Hein/ Correspondent
Friday, December 10, 2004

It was the afternoon of game three of the 100th World Series, and the Red Sox would face the St. Louis Cardinals in a few hours. Easton's Bob Coe was dressed for his interview in a Red Sox jacket, and his dog sported a bright red Sox t-shirt. Positive, optimistic members of the Red Sox nation.

Positive attitudes and optimism are part of the fabric of Coe family life, and 28-year-old Coe, who has Duchenne muscular dystrophy (DMD), has so much of both that he uses art canvases to catch what spills over.

This year, his painting Sun Plasma became part of the Muscular Dystrophy Association (MDA) Art Collection. The work, a beautiful burst of blue, black and yellow, is on permanent display at MDA national headquarters in Tucson, Arizona.

Founded in 1992, the MDA Art Collection highlights the achievements of artists with disabilities and shows that creativity transcends physical barriers. More than 1.6 million people have viewed the collection, which travels periodically to host locations beyond Tucson. Pieces from the collection have been exhibited in major museums and galleries nationwide.

Coe attended the Massachusetts Hospital School for the physically challenged until he was 22. He played football and motor soccer in his wheelchair. He taught himself to play the dulcimer. And he discovered art.

" I had a great art teacher," he said. "She really made you like it."

But it wasn't until he was about 25 that Coe began painting regularly.

" About three years ago," he recalled, "I was sick a lot during the winter. I don't like to sit still. I looked around my room and said, 'I want to do something different in here. I want to have the whole room filled with Caribbean colors to brighten it up for the winter.' "

So he started painting.

DMD is a genetic, degenerative muscular disease that primarily affects boys. Diagnosed at age 5 and able to walk with braces until 14, Coe now has use of only his head and right thumb, which he uses to drive his microchip-controlled wheelchair. Most artists have an idea, then pick up a brush and put paint to canvas. When Coe has an idea, he has to figure out how to get the paint to the canvas (or Plexiglas or vinyl tablecloth).

"Bobby improvises so much," his mother, Paula said. Sometimes he holds the brush in his teeth. Sometimes he lets his chair do the painting, rolling his tires through paint and approaching the canvas, spread flat on his driveway. "I drive my wheels over it and design a painting through the tires," he said. Sometimes his personal care assistants hold the canvas and apply the paint as Coe directs.

Of the muse that inspires him, Coe said, "I'll either have a painting where the whole image will pop up in my head all at once, sometimes in the middle of the night, or sometimes I sit and think about it for a while. You just really have to let yourself go. You go on a feeling. Sometimes I'll paint every day for a couple weeks in a row, and sometimes I'll paint once every three weeks or so."

It takes Coe five to six hours to complete a painting, and he works perhaps 10 minutes at a time. "I have to break it up," he said. "It takes me longer now to finish one."

Much of Coe's day revolves around keeping his lungs clear and checking that his heart isn't racing. His wheelchair holds machines that help him breathe. "Every day there are a lot of treatments," he said. His team of some 12 personal care assistants rotates shifts and spends about 10 hours a day with him. "You have to be proactive with your treatments and take care of yourself. Then, you can help other people," Coe said. And when he's not painting or tending to his treatments, Coe helps other people.

Since 1998, he's been a student liaison in the Massachusetts Hospital School performing arts program, helping physically challenged kids and young adults feel their worth and accomplish things they thought impossible. He coaches the students in music, dance and drama. "I guide them into it," said Coe.

Each spring, the students put on a musical that also serves as a fund-raiser. The show raises money for the Canton school, but it also raises the confidence and self-esteem of the young performers, and Coe's guidance and inspiration play a key role.

"The thing is, (the kids) see him. He's a role model," Paula said. "(The Massachusetts Hospital School) wanted him because they wanted someone to show these kids what's possible. He never had any barriers. He wouldn't let anything stop him. The younger kids needed him."

For three years, Coe's been a volunteer greeter at Caritas Good Samaritan Medical Center in Brockton. He works at the front desk, talking with patients and visitors and helping them find their way around the hospital.

And he goes to college and runs a business. Coe's enrolled in Massasoit Community College's art program, "to enhance my art skills," he said. He's learning strategies that will help him market his work. "I'm going there to be an exhibition artist," he said.

Coe has begun marketing his work through Creative Endeavors, a business he runs with his girlfriend, Nicole Warren. Coe and Warren met while students at Massachusetts Hospital School. They've been together for five years and started Creative Endeavors a year ago. They sell original works and copies of their art made into greeting cards, plaques, t-shirts and other items.

Coe noted that many of his favorite works have already found new homes. He gives paintings - "the real nice ones" - to family members. "And Nicole has two or three."

To contact Creative Endeavors, call Coe at 508-238-4125. Locally, Sara Petipas' On The Cusp Gallery has carried the couple's greeting cards. Coe read about the gallery in an Easton Journal article and contacted Petipas. "It was very generous of her," said Coe, of Petipas' support.

In September, Coe was a guest on WCVB-TV's broadcast of the 2004 Jerry Lewis MDA Telethon. Natalie Jacobson asked about his inventive nature and artistic talent. He responded with characteristic optimism: "Sometimes with MD, you're not that strong physically, so you want to be strong in other ways... Sometimes, when you can't do something, you have to figure out a new way to do it... I think of having MD as a positive thing because if I didn't have it, I might not have been as creative. Because I have it, it's actually a blessing."

If there's a guy in this world who sees the glass half full, it's Bob Coe.

"He fights the battle every day," said Paula. "He's the most positive person in the world."

Many of Coe's paintings hang on the walls of his room. Some pieces were covered by full-page newspaper clippings showing jubilant Red Sox trouncing Yankees and Cardinals. Priorities.

A red and black abstract full of action and form seemed to leap off the wall. "I had a great time making that one," said Coe. Rain Splash, a large blue, green and aqua work, is his personal favorite, and he related its genesis: "It was on a rainy day, and it was to give the impression that, as soon as the raindrop hit, it splashed... "

Muscular dystrophy is not for the weak. And there's no stronger advocate for living a rich, full life with MD than Coe. " (MD) sort of forced me to come up with new ways of doing things, " he said. "There's no sense in giving up. Maybe things will be a little harder, but you have to keep trying new things and not sitting around feeling bad for yourself. That's a waste of time. I always think of the positive."

Culture/Human Interest: Students' Peruvian adventure

Published in the Easton Journal (MA), Journal Cuzco (Peru) and InfoCuzco.com, fall 2004

Students back from Peruvian adventure
By Lori Hein/ Correspondent

Friday, September 24, 2004

"I think we all felt a general sprit of adventure throughout the trip," said Debbie Salisbury. "These feelings were punctuated by feelings of dread at the prospect of another bus ride."

It's fall, and Salisbury's teaching social studies at Oliver Ames (OA) High School. Roberta Anderson, Marcus Hammett, Morgan McCafferty, Jonny Monnin and Marisa Pushee are OA seniors.

Colin Basler, an OA graduate, is a college freshman. While all are busy with new pursuits, they share a common bond - a month-long immersion trip this summer to Peru. They're home now, doing their own things, but they're united by an experience that will stay with them for a lifetime.

The trip, organized by Britain's World Challenge Expeditions, sought to build participants' self-confidence and leadership skills. The OA group hiked and traveled, usually by bus over endless miles - and hours - of dusty, mountain roads, with a school group from Deerfield, Massachusetts, and the total contingent was 11 teens and three adults. They slept in tents and hostels. On a rotating basis, the students served as leaders of the day, charged with handling food, transport, lodging, budget and diary entries.

"The jobs changed daily," explained Salisbury. "All students experienced the challenge of having to make transportation and accommodation arrangements in Spanish at some point during the trip. They all felt the pressure of being the leader ultimately responsible for meeting the day's objectives, making sure that those assigned to the various tasks fulfilled the mission."

For much of the trip, the group was based in Cusco, the 11,024-foot former capital of the Inca Empire. In Cusco, traditionally thought to have been founded in the 11th century by Inca Manco Capac and taken by Francisco Pizarro in 1533, history sits on history, with the churches and residences of Spanish conquistadors built atop expertly crafted mortarless Inca walls.

Salisbury had visited Peru in the late 1970s.

"One thing that surprised me was how little bus transportation had changed in 25 years," she noted. "I was also taken aback by how much Cusco had grown. It was maybe 10,000 people in 1979, but was 350,000 in 2004. I was also pleased to see increased prosperity."

The trip had both challenges and rewards, and the OA team learned to handle the former and savor the latter. Salisbury described a difficult 22-hour bus ride through the Andes on the trip's second day as "probably our most difficult challenge." Unfamiliar food, switchback mountain roads, stifling heat, and odor from the bus' bathroom made most of the group sick.

"There were no planned stops," said Salisbury, "so relief was hard to find."

But teamwork kicked in, and, continued Salisbury, "While the worst was coming up in most, the best was coming out in the few who were not sick. There were three or four who, for some reason, were not affected and rose to the occasion. They helped the others. They certainly went above and beyond the call of duty."

Once recovered, the travelers looked forward to a five-day Andean trek that was to have been a trip highlight, but the weather had other plans. For three days, rain fell, making for cold, raw conditions and confining the would-be trekkers to their tents.

"How many card games can you play?" quipped Salisbury.

Disappointment was added to discomfort and boredom when the trek was canceled.

"The rain came down as snow in the mountains," said Salisbury. "There was four feet of snow in the mountain passes, making the trek too dangerous to complete." Salisbury said that for most team members, the group decision to forgo the trek was the trip's "lowest point."

But there were highs, as well, literal and otherwise. Of Cusco, their lofty home base, Salisbury said, "We all loved Cusco for its friendly atmosphere, great shopping and interesting eateries." And, she said, "I think we all felt fascination and wonder at Machu Picchu," the fabled Inca citadel perched at 7,000 feet on a rocky outcrop surrounded by soaring green peaks.

At the end of the trip, Salisbury asked each student to describe his or her favorite experience. "They all had different answers," she said.

For example, Anderson enjoyed doing community service at a village school outside Cusco. McCafferty "really enjoyed the jungle fishing" in Kiteni, a mountain village in the Urubamba River valley.

All enjoyed meeting and interacting with Peruvians. "We loved the people," said Salisbury, "especially the concierge at our hotel. She and her family took care of us when we staggered off the bus our second day. We regard them as friends."

Sometimes, technology helped build bridges between cultures and languages.

"I have fond memories of Roberta at the bus station in Quillabamba showing the Peruvian children her digital camera," Salisbury recalled. "She would take their pictures and then show them the image on the screen. They were amazed. Even their parents were amused."

Salisbury and the Easton students had a rich, sometimes challenging experience that showed them another land and another culture and made lasting memories. But the trip's biggest reward may be what they learned about themselves.

The trip stressed teamwork and leadership, and each student contributed to the journey's overall success in his or her own way. "I was very proud of the students," said Salisbury. "As I expected, each one added something special to the trip." Before they left home in July, Salisbury had said, "These kids are all good at something. They all bring something to the table. I don't even know if they appreciate themselves how good they are."

Trip completed, she shared some of the skills and qualities the OA students demonstrated on their month-long odyssey: "Marcus contributed a great sense of humor, while Roberta and Colin exhibited especially strong leadership skills. Jonny did an outstanding job as the group's accountant. And Morgan contributed greatly with his Spanish. Marisa provided first-rate observation and analysis of each day by capturing the essence of each experience in her journal. We marveled at her entries."

Before they left for Peru, the students had shared what they hoped this trip would bring. Marcus Hammett talked of confirming "how blessed we are and how lucky we are to live in America..."

Indeed, our blessings include things we sometimes take for granted. Salisbury described a comfortable moment on the trip when all the travelers "heartily agreed" with Colin Basler's remark that it was wonderful to simply feel "clean, dry and warm, all at the same time."

( Lori Hein can be reached at 508-230-3766 or www.lorihein.com. )

Leisure/Human interest: Kid chess champs

Published in community newspapers owned by the Boston Herald, January 2003

Check and mate: Local youngsters are champions at chess

By Lori Hein / Correspondent
Thursday, January 2, 2003

Imagine "thousands and thousands of kids, different languages, different nationalities" gathered in one place to compete for three days in chess games that last as long as three hours.

" It's very intense, " said Norton's Elizabeth Poggi, as she described the scene her young sons were part of at the recent U.S. Chess Federation's national scholastic championship tournament, where they represented Sage School, an independent school located in Foxboro. "The kids have pretty good focus. "

Jonathan Poggi, 12, and his 8-year-old brother, Chris, must have pretty good focus, for the 4 to 6 hours per week they spend playing chess (Jonathan is "working toward ten hours per week" ) helped both boys' Sage teams nail first place national titles when they traveled to Atlanta, Georgia to match wits with other young chess talents.

Sara Itani of Easton was also part of the Sage group.

"I was excited and scared at the same time in Georgia," said Chris.

Jonathan said he was "very excited to be in Atlanta with my teammates. I did not feel nervous, just excited. I was confident that we would do well, and we all supported each other."

Jonathan and Sara Itani played on the seventh-grade level team with two schoolmates from Sharon and Newton. At the end of the six-round tournament, the Sage team walked away with the national championship for their grade level.

More than 2,000 top chess talents from nearly 700 school teams in 42 states competed. Keen competition sweetens a win, as does successful defense of a title. The Sage seventh-graders, last year's sixth-grade national champs, kept the school's name on the first place trophy.

Elizabeth Poggi recalled last year's tournament, Jonathan's first. They didn't expect a first place win.
"We were hoping for top ten nationally," she said. "When the Sage sixth-graders took the title, it was just unbelievable. "

This year, with confidence and experience along for the trip, the team's goal was loftier than making top ten. They left for Atlanta saying, "We've got to defend our title. "

Check and mate.

Second-grader Chris Poggi, who says what he enjoys most about chess is "thinking hard and winning, " played with Sage teammates from Sharon, Newton, and Brookline. This was the second-graders' first trip to the nationals, and some older brother karma must have rubbed off. They, too, took first place and brought home a national champs trophy that's bigger than some of the players.

These wins are special because, while many competing schools have chess as part of their curricula, Sage's program is a voluntary after school club supervised by parents. Winning tournaments requires the player focus Elizabeth Poggi talked about, but getting to them requires commitment from both students and parents, who fund the trips out of pocket, according to Melanie Shaw, Sage's public relations director. This year, said Shaw, the chess players paid dues so they could bring in an instructor "to go over strategy" to help in their tournament bids.

Shaw described the intensity young players bring to the game. Where kids interested in music may take piano lessons, chess-playing kids may have coaches. "They have the same kind of passion that music or art students bring to their work. It's completely absorbing. The passion often runs in a family. Typically, there's a parent who teaches them," said Shaw.

Love of chess is a leaf on Jonathan and Chris Poggi's family tree. Elizabeth's dad played.

" Not a day went by that I didn't see him at the chess board," she remembered. "It's definitely in the blood, so to speak." She keeps "an image in her head" of her father playing chess with a man, for days, as the family made a shipboard Atlantic crossing between New York and France when Elizabeth was 5. "I didn't know who he was. I just remember him as the man who kept taking my father away. "

The man was Bobby Fischer.

Jonathan's grandfather passed away before his grandson was born, but Jonathan called on him for inspiration during the national championship. He told his mom that during the tournament he'd ask, "Please, Grandpa Van Doren, tell me what to do next. Help me know what the right move is. "

He's sure his grandpa heard him. "I think he helped me," he told Elizabeth.

Sage is a day school for academically talented kids and draws students from nearly 50 communities. There are currently four students from Norton, five from Easton, and 10 from Mansfield, which, according to Shaw, is "one of our top three towns." She described Sage as a place full of happy, excited kids who are "free to grow."

The Poggi brothers have interests beyond chess. School and family rank high, and both play soccer. Swimming, basketball, travel, and building things with K'NEX and Star Wars' Legos rank up there, too.

Besides the Poggis, Sage School has a few other chess family dynasties in the making, including the Rice brothers from Newton, and Sharon's Andrew Wang and his younger sister, Clara. A.J. and Jack Rice and Andrew Wang were on the first place teams that left Atlanta with national titles.

Clara Wang was in Atlanta, too. She played solo, and finished in 10th place nationally. She's in kindergarten.


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Sports/Human interest: Hawaii Ironman

Published in Easton Journal, Mansfield News, Norton Mirror, November 2003:

Easton man earns ironman status

By Lori Hein / Correspondent
Friday, November 21, 2003

Kelley competes in Hawaii triathlon

Let's say you're going to run a marathon. You've trained for months and hope you're ready. If you go the distance, at the end of the day you can call yourself a marathoner.

Now, let's say you're going to run a marathon, but not until you've first swum 2.4 miles in open water and raced 112 miles on a bike. Then, you lace up your shoes and run 26.2 miles. If you go the distance, at the end of the day you can call yourself an ironman.

Easton's Steve Kelley, 34, first became an ironman at the 2000 Ironman USA in Lake Placid, NY. (Capital "I" denotes trademarked races sponsored by the World Triathlon Corporation (WTC), while lower-case "i" refers to ironman distance in general and non-WTC events.) On Oct. 18, after 140.6 miles in 13 hours, 5 minutes and 4 seconds, Kelley crossed the finish line at Hawaii Ironman, granddaddy of all ironman-distance triathlons and holy grail of any triathlete who competes at that distance.

Many athletes spend years trying to snare one of Hawaii's 1,500 coveted slots. There are two ways to get one. You can race another Ironman to which slots have been allocated, and finish at or near the top of your age group. (If your time doesn't have an 8, 9 or 10 in the hours column, you won't.)

Or, you can enter your name in a lottery whose 150 winners are drawn in mid-April. If your number comes up, you then "validate" your entry by completing a triathlon of at least half-ironman distance. That done, you can buy your plane ticket to the Big Island.

Kelley had his name in the lottery for years and, this April, finally got lucky. His daughter, Ava, was born on May 2 and right after he and wife Kati brought their new baby home, Kelley started training for Hawaii. He did his validation race in June.

Ironman training is an average 18-hour weekly commitment to swimming, cycling and running. Kelley spent three mornings a week lapping for one-and-a-half hours in the Brockton High School pool. Wednesdays and Sundays meant four to six-hour bike rides. He'd ride "toward the coast," to Duxbury or Plymouth, where his parents live. His parents' house was a good place to fill his water bottle and hook up with riders who wanted to go out for a short leg.

"There were rides where I'd have ridden with four or five different people before the ride was over," Kelley said.

Occasionally, he'd hook up with his neighbor and brother-in-law, Easton's Mark McCormack. McCormack, the 2003 US Pro Road Race Champion, out on his own five to six-hour training ride, might call Kelley on a cell phone and the two would join up for an hour or two. On running days, Kelley stayed closer to home, doing loops around Sheep Pasture, Stonehill and Borderland. For long runs, he entered local road races.

Kelley, who has a law degree but left that field "for a balanced lifestyle, the general happiness factor," teaches U.S. history at Southeastern Regional. But triathlon is a major part of his life, and he is not only a serious competitor, but also an experienced coach and active multi-sport promoter.

His athletic resume is long. Kelley's been a triathlete for 15 years, is a certified triathlon and cycling coach, was assistant coach of last year's Wheaton College swim team, heads USA Triathlon's New England Region, is a six-time Boston Marathon finisher (marathon legend Johnny Kelley is his great uncle). USA Triathlon and the U.S. Olympic Committee recently named him Triathlon Development Coach of the Year in recognition of his work with young athletes.

In 1998, Kelley co-founded the Baystate Triathlon Team (www.baystatetri.com), an adult team whose 125 members compete in races ranging in distance from sprint through Olympic to ironman.

From this team sprouted a junior team for athletes ages 14 through 23. Kelley channels much of the money he earns from private coaching into the JuniorTri.com Development Team (www.juniortri.com).

Said Kelley, "Our hope is to graduate some of them into the ranks of professional triathletes."

One of their kids just turned pro.

Now to the Big Island. Ironman begins and ends in the tiny town of Kailua-Kona. In a day that puts human beings through extreme physical and mental challenges, one of the toughest is the bike stretch through the stark, searing lava fields of the Kona coast. But Kelley turned the landscape into a source of strength. As his plane was landing in Kona, Kelley "caught glimpses of the lava field. It was exciting. I could feel the energy of the island."

His hotel room faced the swim start, and in the days before the race, he would swim part of the water course, gauging currents, temperature, sun position, buoy placement, and cementing the hotel as a visual to keep himself on course in what would be a mayhem of thrashing arms and legs come Ironman morning.

Kelley wasn't alone at the swim site.

"The athletes strut around all week long," he said, and people sit on the pier and the seawall to watch the superfit bodies. The ritual flexing and gawking has earned this spit of sand the nickname "Dig Me Beach."

Race day. Fifteen-hundred athletes assemble for the 7 a.m. swim start. Fifteen-hundred athletes' worth of accumulated hopes, dreams, fears, prayers, focus, energy, training, determination, and sheer will.

Kelley described Hawaii as "definitely the most memorable swim start" he's ever done.

"There was intense energy at the start of the race. Thousands of people watching on the seawall and pier, loudspeakers blaring native drumming and chants in Hawaiian."

Helicopters hovered above the water, rotors stirring up the sea. He talked of the countdown. "Five minutes, three minutes, one minute. Then, a cannon goes off - an actual cannon- and 1,500 people get into the water trying to find a comfortable place to swim."

Kelley did the swim comfortably and in good time. He felt relaxed, saw "colorful fish," and described the experience as "enjoyable, tropical, sunny." After swimming for an hour and 19 minutes, Kelley ran up the beach to the transition area, where a volunteer handed him his bike bag. After he'd changed into riding gear, he grabbed his bike, and, eight and-a-half minutes after leaving the water, Steve Kelley took off for 112-miles in the saddle.

He felt good on the bike, and expected to, having put most of his training emphasis on cycling.

"The goal of any ironman is to come off the bike in one piece," he said. "If you come off the bike comfortable, not dehydrated, and with enough energy, then you're in good shape for the run." (Remember, there's a marathon at the end of all this.)

Steady headwinds at about 80 miles slowed him down, but he decided not to fight them, and to conserve energy for the marathon.

"I've learned, from 15 years in triathlon," he said, "that you have to be patient."

So, he spent more time on the bike than he'd planned.

"The worst part of the bike was wanting to get off it."

A five-minute bike-to-run transition put Kelley, after eight hours and nearly 115 miles, at the start of a marathon. It was about 3 p.m. He had leg cramps, but worked through them over the marathon's first 10 miles. By mile 18, he was running in pitch darkness.

It is crucial to keep eating and drinking all day, and Kelley's moveable feast included energy bars, pretzels, electrolyte tablets, water, Gatorade, and Coke. (When it was all over, he ate a pizza.)

Kelley described the finish on Alii Drive as "one of the most spectacular race finishes in the world. Complete darkness. Then, all these floodlights, illumination, the crowd. The finish is pretty intense. A really profound sense of accomplishment."

Kelley keeps an old poster of an Ironman finish, blurry, the way it looks to a depleted athlete seeing it within reach. The caption reads, "If you have to ask why, you'll never understand."

Kelley brought some people who understand to Hawaii with him, including wife Kati, a vice president at Community Bank and a runner.

"She's beat me in every marathon we've done together," Kelley said.

In addition, he brought six-month-old Ava. "Ava was a real hit in Hawaii."

Kati had dressed her in leis and a hat, and "she was in lots of photos and got lots of attention." Ava did well on the long trip, too.

"Not a peep on the plane. An excellent traveler," reported her dad.

On Dec. 6, Ironman comes to NBC. A show commemorating its 25th anniversary airs from 5 to 6 p.m.. Highlights of the 2003 Hawaii race air from 8 to 9 p.m. Keep your eyes peeled for bib number 196.

Lori Hein can be reached at 508-634-7563 or easton@cnc.com.