El Valor – Spanish for courage – is the name of a social services agency in Chicago's Pilsen neighborhood that serves adults with disabilities. As part of Still Point's “Imagination Workshop,” my brother Gerry, my sister-in-law Rosalie, and I facilitate what El Valor clients call “Music Class” on Thursday afternoons. (As you'll see, the words “music class” don't really capture the nature of this weekly event.) Gerry and Rosalie are professional rock 'n' rollers, who volunteer for this gig; I'm a paid Still Point facilitator; and we've been doing this together for two years.
Here's how it goes: We arrive at El Valor and unload Gerry's amplifier, speakers and guitar onto a small cart, and wheel through the front doors and into the lobby. We greet the folks there, then roll onto the elevator and ride up to the third floor. On the ride up, I look at the elevator door, and think of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz — about to open her front door, to pass from black-and-white Kansas into the technicolor world of Oz. Arriving at El Valor is like that — you never know what you're going to see on the other side of that door.
That is partly because El Valor maintains a year-round schedule of parties and celebrations, and in the weeks before these events, the staff and clients take their decorating seriously. Depending on the season, when you step off that elevator, you might step into a winter wonderland, or a fantasia of Halloween ghouls, or a sea of red hearts and valentines. These efforts transform the venue so completely that you just never know what you're going to see when that door opens.
As we arrive, the clients have arranged a circle of twenty-or-so chairs in the middle of the room. They have brought out the big box overflowing with the coffee cans we use as drums — and a drum-beat has already started. As the clients see us, some shout greetings; others come over to shake hands or bump fists, or embrace us in welcome.
Gerry and Rosalie unpack the amplifier and speakers, and crank up the electric guitar, while I go to the box to help distribute our funky drums. By the time the equipment is set up, some clients and I have a pretty good beat going on our coffee cans. Then Gerry drops a baseline onto what we're doing, or adds a blues or rock progression, and our drumming settles into a groove. A communal musical event — a drum circle and more — unfolds pretty much by itself in these first few minutes.
Next, we pass the microphone among the participants and sing our “Hello Song,” in which we greet each client individually, by name, and pay individual attention:
Hello Rosa, how are you?
How are you today?
Then, for eight musical bars, each client responds musically in his or her own way — usually, with some version of:
I am fine, yes I am
I am fine today
Each client succeeds, in his or her own way, in singing a solo to the world, microphone in hand, being paid attention to, listened to, heard and appreciated.
At this point, the class begins to run itself. Gerry chords the introduction to the '50s hit that many of the clients know — “Last Kiss,” the signature song of one of our regulars, Mary. (By the way, in this class, we have our own names for songs, and we call that one, “Daddy's Car.” We call “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” “Lion Tonight”; and “The Star Spangled Banner” is “Oh Say Can You See.”)
Gerry begins the introduction to “Daddy's Car,” and Mary steps confidently to the center of the circle, takes the microphone, and waits, smiling, for her musical entrance. She owns this song. I announce: “Daddy's Car?” Who wants to sing “Daddy's Car?” Other clients rush into the the circle; then Mary sings the whole song, with gestures and choreography, and we all join the chorus:
Oh, where, oh, where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me
She's gone to Heaven, so I've got to be good
So I can see my baby when I leave......this world
Another client, Gary, is a real rock 'n' roller, and after just the right amount of coaxing, takes his star turn. He strides into the circle like Chuck Berry himself, gathers his best backup singers — Vincent and Javier — puts together a groovin' ad hoc rhythm section, and launches into a stage-worthy production of “Johnny B. Goode” that really and truly rocks.
Another client, Angel, likes to sing in his own style of rock 'n' roll, that features complicated text-and-rhythm juxtapositions like:
Go go Johnny go Johnny go go
Johnny go go Johnny go go Johnny
Gunny sack go go Johnny go go
Go go Johnny go Johnny go go
Something like that, but much better.
Esperanza loves to sing “Donna,” a Richie Valens love song from the '50s. Other clients assemble around her, and they look like a '50s “Girl Group.” She takes the microphone: “Oh, Donna” she croons to her boyfriend, Javier, sitting beside her. He makes goo-goo eyes back, and the rest of us sing: “Oh, Donna, Oh, Donna, Ohoooooooo.”
“Take Me Out to the Ball Game” is another favorite — Almost everybody knows it. At the end, we throw our fists in the air and gesture with our fingers: “One, two, three strikes you're out!” Some of the less verbal folks request “A, B, C” and “Twinkle, Twinkle.” Then we shout, “One more time!” and sing them again.
Rosalie provides a change of pace from the rock 'n' roll and pop scene, as she facilitates singing and dancing with songs that most of the clients know, including “B.I.N.G.O.” and “If You're Happy And You Know It.”
Arlene, an elder client, usually in a wheelchair (but who occasionally and unpredictably stands and dances) likes to sing, “This Old Man” or “You Are My Sunshine.” That latter is also a favorite of Karen's, a sweet lady without much short-term memory — she sings the song, then immediately requests it again. I say, “Karen, you just sang it.” “No, I didn't,” she says.
Vincent steps into the circle and picks up the mic like a pro. Gerry plays a few bars of blues, and Vincent improvises: “I got the blues, baby. I got the blues. I feel good . . I feel good.” In a few minutes, his improvisation morphs into “God Bless America,” and we all join in.
Toward the end, Rosalie gets the whole floor involved in a nicely rowdy “Hokey Pokey,” and gets 20 or 30 clients to stand up and “put your whole self in, put your whole self out.”
Then, it's over. A few clients are disappointed we didn't get to their favorite songs, and we smooth some feathers. I distribute printouts of lyrics, because some clients like to copy them into notebooks, to practice reading and writing, and of course, to learn the words for performance on Thursdays — because that's what these are: Performances.
The clients prepare for snacks, as Rosalie, Gerry and I say good-bye and make our way to the elevator, down to the lobby and out onto Chicago's sunbaked summer streets.
We look at one another and say: And that's what it's all about.
-Steve.
