Only at The Club
Reflections on life at 170 Jarvis by David Bruce, Director of Human Resources and Administration.
January 31, 2012
"Sorry, I didn't know."
It was a very typical thing here in the downtown core. I was walking the four blocks or so from the Club to the subway, and stopped for a red light.
A younger man in his twenties asked me for some change to buy food.
I don't have strong feelings one way or the other about panhandling. I understand how some can be intimidating, and an impediment to tourism or other commerce, but I also hate to think that as a society we need to "round them up" as miscreants.
I looked at the fellow--I always want to speak to people who ask me for anything--and said, "Sorry. I work for The Good Neighbours' Club, so I don't carry any cash."
I was being truthful. I know I can be a soft touch, and working among the needy as I do, it would be a very bad idea for a guy like me to carry cash, only to be hit up for a series of "micro-loans." Not only might I start to resent being picked clean, but it would be impossible to set and maintain healthy boundaries.
What made the incident memorable for me was this. As soon as the man heard me say that I worked at The Good Neighbours' Club, he said, "Sorry, man--I didn't know."
First, I was impressed with how quickly my refusal was understood. People who are truly in need don't want to bite the hand that feeds them. They know they need places like the Club, and that places like the Club need people who are willing to work in that environment.
Second, I was impressed that this younger man instantly knew what I was talking about. Even though The Good Neighbours' Club serves only men over 50, it seems that virtually everyone on the street know about us. We may not be a household name (give us time), but we are very well-known among the marginalized in Toronto, whatever their age.
Imagine, a panhandler apologizing for asking for cash! That's a first for me, and happened because the fellow in questions knew what great work we do... only at The Club.
December 21, 2011
"Let us pray."
As a minister for twenty-five years, I've done a lot of funeral services for people from all walks of life. I've conducted memorials in grand churches, in funeral homes, in banquet halls, in backyards, and even hanging over the surging waters of the Miramichi River.
Some of them have been overwhelmingly sorrowful affairs, as in the case of a death of a young person. Some of them have actually been good-natured affairs, as in the case of a well-loved and long-lived family matriarch or patriarch.
Last week I conducted two services on two consecutive mornings at one of the local funeral homes, both for older, marginalized men. I had never had the pleasure of meeting either gentlemen, but that didn't set me off: I had often been called upon to conduct services for those I'd never known.
But these two services were startlingly different. At both services, there were staff members of the funeral home present, a couple of staff from The Good Neighbours' Club... and me.
No family. No friends. In one of these services, all we knew was the man's name--nothing more.
It really drove home for me just how isolated many of our older, homeless fellows are. Having been hurt just one too many times by life on the streets, they have understandably withdrawn, and kept to themselves, in some cases for years.
It also drove home for me just how much our guys need The Good Neighbours' Club. Everyone deserves the dignity of being known, of being loved, of belonging somewhere. All the meals we serve, the clothes we hand out, the health-care and counselling we arrange, are all for real people, with real stories, who deserve to be known, and remembered. And for many of these fellows, this is going to happen... only at the Club.
December 8, 2011
"It's was a very good year."
Last summer I accepted the invitation of Dr. Bruno Scorsone (he's a very persuasive man) to join the staff.
One of my several roles is to take minutes for the Board of Directors. I'll be the first to admit that I sometimes forget that my role there is to be quiet and record what others are saying. I get pretty caught up with all the exciting things that are happening at The Good Neighbours' Club.
As the last meeting of the Board was winding down, our Chair Adrienne MacLennan opened the floor for observations, and Board members reflected on how much stronger the organization seems to be compared with even twelve months ago.
One comment summed it up nicely: "It was a very good year."
In 2011, the Club expanded it's program offering to our members, forged new relationships with individuals, corporations, and organizations ready to help us, and has begun to develop a vision to take The Good Neighbours' Club to a whole new level of engagement with older, marginalized men (more on that later).
The Good Neighbours' Club has a long and proud history, but it has present strength and a promising future. We aren't in a world-class facility, with world-class resources, but we have a world-class mission, one that can be found... only at the Club.
November, 2011
"I'd be honoured."
Okay, so that's me I'm quoting this time. Shoot me.
In constructing this website--how I drew this assignment, I'll never know!--I couldn't help but be very, very impressed with the heartwarming generosity of so many people--individuals, service clubs, congregations, and corporations--toward The Good Neighbours' Club. Every sponsor, every donor, every corporation, every service organization I contacted said they'd be honoured to be associated with our Club on this site.
I shouldn't be surprised. I started here as a volunteer, after all, pitching in a few hours here and a few hours there, at the invitation of my friend, Executive Director Dr. Bruno Scorsone. The work here has a way of grabbing you, and you suddenly realize that being involved with the Club is doing far more for you than you are ever doing for the Club.
And yet, to see that experience repeated over and over among those who visit the Club is impressive. People really do care, but they need to know that their concern isn't misguided, and their efforts aren't misplaced. One visit to The Good Neighbours' Club is usually all it takes for people to know that the need is real, and what they to offer means a lot.
Hey, where else could you go to fall in love with real-life "grumpy old men"? Only at the Club.
October, 2011
"I'm sorry about that, young fellow."
Simple words, too rarely spoken--anywhere.
Anyone of us could wax long and loud about the so-called generation gap. You can hear it referred to often in our popular culture, and it isn't hard to spot in Shakespeare, in the Bible, or in ancient Greek literature..
One of the primary reasons that The Good Neighbours' Club exists is that there is a huge generation gap on the street. Most street-involved gentlemen, by the time they reach our minimum age of 50, have lost a step or two. They can't outrun the punks, and they usually don't band together to defend themselves against gratuitous gang violence.
There's a lot of mistrust, and a lot of reasons for it. Not a week goes by when we don't welcome one or two of our members into the Club in the morning who have been swarmed or muscled or rolled.
The other day one of our members verbally abused one of our staff, a mild-mannered young man. The staff member was visibly shaken, so I took him aside. After some time apart and some de-briefing, he was okay and returned to his duties.
I walked the Club member outside for some quiet conversation, and it turned out that he had lost his methadone over the weekend, and this morning's dose was a catch-up, and was just starting to kick in. He was genuinely grateful for someone offering some understanding.
A couple hours later, the Club member approached that same staff member, and I stood by with an eye on things. And then, the miracle: the older gentleman apologized to the younger fellow, something that must have been very difficult for him to do.
At The Good Neighbours' Club, we can't absolutely control anyone's behaviour, but we can, and we do, create an atmosphere that brings out the best in our members, and when that happens, I remember why I love to work here, because I get to see this up-close... only at the Club.
September, 2011
"Is it over? Did we survive?"
This is what I asked my boss, Dr. Bruno Scorsone, our Executive Director, as we shared a celebratory meal one evening in late August.
As a skinny little agency, it takes a lot of nerve to put on a media event like we do every year, our annual Day of the Homeless. It was a roaring success, thanks to the sponsorship of Daniels Corporation and TD Canada Trust, and the behind-the-scenes work of Babble On Communications.
Digging out after the event, I discovered that in the months of July and August alone, I had exchanged 2,500 emails relating to this event, and heaven knows how many phone calls. It was all-consuming. But it was worth it.
There were strong speeches delivered, an announcement of new funding, and a call from our Club members to society at large to make sure that concrete actions would follow their well-chosen words.
The Day of the Homeless continues to honour the life of Paul Croutch, a Club member, who was kicked to death for sport one sorry summer night. We appreciate the continuing support of the Croutch family. You can read more about our event on this site. It only happens once a year, and only at the Club.
August, 2011
"Lauro, how many sinks are supposed to be in the washroom on the second floor?"
The question came from Henri Fraser, one of our Support Care Workers, to Lauro Monteiro, our Director of Operations. It hung in the air for just a second, and then both men burst into belly-shaking laughter.
The second-floor washrooms, shower area, and laundry had been under renovation for what seemed like forever. With five city departments coming and going, and our members traipsing through the area, the conditions had been naturally chaotic.
Was there a sink missing? Had someone literally yanked a sink off the wall? And if so, who? One of our city workers? One of our staff? One of our members? And if so, where had it gone? Was in in one of the shower units? Had it been put in the back storeroom? Had it been reclaimed by the city? Had it been, um, relocated and pawned?
The laughter was a reflection of the constant uncertainty of life on the front-lines. As we regained our composure, Lauro shook his head and said, "Only at The Good Neighbours' Club. Only at The Club."
And in case you were wondering, we found the sink, and all was well. And my blog had a name: Only at the Club.
July, 2011
“He’s headed down to the Club right now.”
Walking along Adelaide Street, I heard a well-dressed man in his thirties shout this into the phone, making arrangements to meet a couple of friends. Which club? I don't know, but that man and his friends knew. It was their club.
When I hear the word “club,” I sometimes conjure an image of overstuffed leather chairs, book-lined walls, cigars and brandy snifters, and older gentlemen with English accents calling each other “Major.” I don’t know about that young man’s club, but I do know that having a place to retreat to and meet up with friends and neighbours, where people know you by name, is important whatever your background and whatever your age.
The Good Neighbours’ Club began in 1933 as a place for older men to gather who were socially and economically out of reach of belonging to a more exclusive club. The GNC was to be the inclusive club, for men of challenging circumstances, and 78 years later, it still is.
We offer an expanding range of front-line health and social services, but we’re not just another agency: we are still that place where men who are unknown everywhere else are called by name, encouraged and supported as a friend and a good neighbour. And for many of our guys, that happens... only at the Club.