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because of insurance, being kicked out of the Holyoke Mall when she tried to walk her husband around the top railing, even being stopped by police in a parking lot when she tried to get him some walking with a harness. When she found out about this program at Springfield College, she says, “Honestly, it was like from God.” For all the challenges, there have been

some gifts. Mary says that Bob has become a more social person, delighting especially in his contact with students. Still, he retains his passion for precision. By email, he says that his attendance in the program over the years has been “92 percent.” Bob Swanson says the program is a gift

that goes both ways. He describes it as “a sit-u-ay-tion where…they…ben-e-fit…and… we…do…al-so.” Julie Harris describes working with

Swanson as “awesome.” He makes it easy, she says, to see the person and not the disability. Too often “people are scared,” and write off those like Swanson. “That’s part of the reason I got into the field,” she says. “I just want to be able to help people, to see how happy they are once you have been able to help them accomplish goals they have had for so long.” **

Orange leaves pirouette down as the setting sun casts a glow on the red bricks of regal Judd Gymnasia, the oldest building on campus. Genesis Rosario, a senior from the South Bronx, bounds up the steps. Along with Lawrence Edmonson, a lanky English major from Roxbury, Mass., she sets up long tables in a semicircle. While Edmonson arranges games of Sorry, Monopoly, and an orange jug of Jenga on an outside table, Rosario goes through the student folders for 5A, the tutoring program they run together.

third grader from the Pottenger School is working under the guidance of Rosario’s roommate, Chloe Ware, on an addition and subtraction worksheet. He closes his eyes, counts on his fingers, narrates the process. “Seventy-one,” he proclaims as an answer

for 22 + 59, and looks up closely to Ware, who shakes her head and smiles. Trevor looks back at the sheet, studies it, then offers up, “81. My mistake. Forgot to carry.” Ware pats him on the back. He heads on to the subtraction problems.

“I’m going to check them after you’re done,” Ware says. “That’s okay,” Trevor says. “I’m not

scared.” He successfully comes up with “41” for

57-16, but then delivers the same answer for 97-58. “You sure?” says Ware. Trevor puts his pencil back down on his

sheet and gets back to it. “You can’t take eight away from seven, so you have to borrow,” he says. He closes his eyes. “Thirty- nine!” “Great job.” When he finishes the sheet, Ware sends

him over to Genesis Rosario, who looks it over, then smiles. Trevor is already racing over to the game table, staking his claim for the green pieces in Sorry. **

TRIANGLE 1 Vol . 84, No. 1 During the next two hours—spent in

three segments (a career awareness activity in a computer lab, a homework session in Judd, and dinner at Cheney Hall), their three-year bond becomes abundantly clear. The banter goes back and forth. “You going to college? You going to call

me when you graduate from high school?” DiTore asks in the computer lab, nodding approvingly as Destanee chooses as her first category of career interest “Helping Others.”

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“No matter what, kids love you,” explains

Rosario, a youth development major who is considering a career in social work. “The environment with kids just makes me happy.” Soon the kids filter in, setting up at the

tables with tutors and homework, bags of Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips and Capri juice boxes. Rosario and Edmondson make the rounds, both drawn at times to an especially animated 8-year-old named Trevor. The

Late the next afternoon, Judd—once the academic setting for James Naismith when the building opened in 1894—again swings open to kids from Springfield. The Partners Program, now in its 20th year, has paired more than 1,000 inner-city children with Springfield College students in long-term mentoring relationships. Destanee Rose Perkins, a feisty almost-

11-year-old whose brown pigtails are held by bright red scrunchies, slips off a purple backpack decorated with stars and peace signs. It’s been a long day for Destanee. At 7:45 a.m., she was dropped off at the Elias Brookings School, where she is a fifth grader, learning in allegedly temporary pods since the building has been shuttered post- tornado for more than a year. Almost eight hours later, she climbed into a van and rolled over to campus. It’s been a long day, too, for Megan

DiTore, a junior from Cherry Hill, N.J. She barely slept, studying for a test in her 9 a.m., class, then headed over to Shriners Hospital to work from 10:30 a.m.-3:30 p.m. in the “Child Life Department.” (That’s right up her alley. She is training to work as a “Child Life Specialist,” which she describes as “all about relieving stress in a health-care situation.”) Then she sped back over to Judd.

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