| Relief from the Heat By Jim Correale (Published in the East Boston Sun Transcript on August 10, 2001.) Early in the afternoon on Monday the temperature in Central Square, according on the bank clock, was 95 degrees, and the sweaty grip of heat and humidity was scheduled to hold onto the region for the week. Such uncomfortable weather tends to make people quick-tempered. In ten minutes at Shaw's I saw a pair of parents yell at their children, a cashier lose patience with a customer, and two elderly women almost come to blows after one accidentally bumped the other. I am not a fan of hot weather. Of the four seasons, I much prefer autumn and winter. If there has to be summer, then I'd like the temperature to remain below 80. Teaching does allow one to hide from the sun during the worst of the warm days, but not too long ago -- as a staff member at the Salesian Boys & Girls Club -- I had to work through July and August. The summer program at the Club was a long and grueling experience for staff members. The building at 189 Paris Street had no air conditioning and would sometimes become so humid that taped-up signs would slide off the walls. Meanwhile, the blacktop playground outside would be sizzling by midday. The Club had about a thousand members in the last few years that I worked there, and between 100 and 200 would come by on a summer day. We scheduled as many activities and trips as possible, and we had some very good teenage counselors to assist us. During one summer, however, the staff assigned to our program wasn't much help. It was the mid-1990s and we had just expanded to include activities at the Savio gym, spreading our staff a bit thin. Melissa Deveau, a high school student from Chelsea, was one of the few counselors that summer who was competent and trustworthy. That year was particularly warm. The entire summer was one stifling day after another, and I spent eight long hours sweating and felt drained every night. One afternoon in August, the Club very hot and very crowded, I felt the toll of the summer getting to me. Everyone in the building was sweaty and uncomfortable. Kids were getting on each other's nerves. I was on edge. Gary Brewington, one of the funniest members we ever had at the Club, was dribbling a basketball in the hallway. Bouncing a ball in the building was against the rules, and I asked Gary to stop. He didn't. I'm sure now that he never even heard me, but it wasn't the basketball that was getting to me, it was everything. I raised my left hand, pulled tightly into a fist, and swung it. My intention was to pound the lockers so I could get Gary's attention. But I wasn't in front of the lockers. I was in front of an office door, which had a square window at the top. My hand went right through the glass. Everybody froze. All of the kids in the corridor were staring silently, and members who had been in different rooms were now all crowding into the hall to see what happened. Without looking at my hand, I wrapped paper towels around the bleeding wounds, concerned that I had done some damage to nerves or muscles. Calmly, I told one counselor to clean the glass, another to supervise the rooms, and a third to call Wally Bowe, who was unit director of our program at Savio, to tell him what had happened. Then I asked Melissa if she had her learner's permit with her. She did, and I told her to drive me to the East Boston Neighborhood Health Center. Punching a window was a stupid thing to do, and I ended up with 13 stitches in my hand and forearm; however, there was no lasting damage. Since then, I always try to slow down and think instead of losing my cool. Sitting in the health center waiting area that day, away from the noise and commotion of the Club, I leaned back in my seat and relaxed. I turned to Melissa, who sat next to me, looking more worried about my hand than I was. "It's quiet," I said to her, "there are no kids here, and there's air conditioning. You know what? This might have been worth it." |