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Despite all our strategizing and preplanning, the event that catapulted City Year from a tiny, largely unknown Boston experiment to a nationally recognized brand was, essentially, an inspired fluke. The lesson of the story: you never know who is going to be in a position to help you, so be open to everyone; and the best ambassadors for any program are not its founders and theorists, but the people who sign up for it and make it their own.
The unexpected growth opportunity presented itself three years after Michael Brown and I founded City Year. We were standing inside our headquarters, a cavernous hall of a converted warehouse, on a frigid December day in the old waterfront district of Boston. By this time, City Year had grown to 100 corps members in Boston and served 2,500 children throughout the city. Michael and I developed City Year to be a model program that showcased the power of service to change lives and com- munities, and unite citizens from every walk of life. But it would only be a model that was adopted elsewhere if we could attract leaders to visit it and be inspired. Otherwise we would labor on being largely ignored. For that reason we always welcomed visitors, as a way to leverage our work and have a larger impact be- yond the direct service City Year completed. Now, on this chilly December day, we were about to get a visit from a long-shot presidential candidate: a young governor from Arkansas named Bill Clinton, who at that time barely registered around three per- cent national name recognition in the polls. Clinton had heard that City Year might be a model for national service, an idea he believed passionately in, so his campaign had called and asked if he could come visit.
City Year headquarters always had a scrappy, start-up feel, with lots of donated, mismatched furniture, exposed-wooden beams and pipes, a beautiful hard wood floor, and a large open space for full community meetings. The offices around this open space were partitioned cubicles. What they lacked in privacy they made up for by encouraging lots of teamwork and collaboration, and a free flow of ideas. As a staff, we had spent several weekends scraping old paint off the walls and ceilings, “prepping” it for professional union workers who donated their time to transform an old abandoned warehouse space into a funky, functioning, youth corps command center. We had built most of the tables ourselves from old doors nailed to sawhorses. The walls were covered with whiteboards and a blizzard of paper and to-do lists. Overlooking it all were pictures of our heroes—John F. Kennedy, Robert F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Gandhi, and more.
We loved the atmosphere, and the fact that we wasted no money on frills and décor. But our mean-and-lean look wasn’t exactly the perfect backdrop for a visit from a presidential candidate. Our staff had whipped through the offices, trying to transform the controlled chaos of our workspace into something slightly more presentable. It had all come together well enough and we had assembled a great audience for Governor Clinton, including Boston Mayor Ray Flynn, Mitt Romney, CEO of Bain and Company and a strong City Year champion, Hubie Jones, a civic leader and Dean of the Boston University School of Social Work, all of whom waited patiently with seven corps members from seven different socio-economic, ethnic, and educational backgrounds.
The governor was running late, and soon as Clinton’s van pulled up, he jumped out and immediately grabbed my out- stretched hand with his right hand as he threw his left around my shoulder. I was enveloped in the famous “Clinton grip,” and felt the power of his charm. He was larger than I had imagined. His hands were huge and his arm length enveloping. Rather than using his size to intimidate, he pulled me to him in an inviting way, fixed his gaze directly at me as if I was the only person there, and immediately put me at ease. I said: “Hello Governor Clinton, I’m Alan Khazei, City Year Co-Founder. We are so honored to have you here and deeply appreciate your taking the time from your busy campaign schedule to visit with us today. We have the mayor, some special guests and some City Year corps members waiting for you inside, so if you could just follow me up these stairs we will get started right away.”
Clinton responded as if we were old friends. “Alan, I’ve heard so many wonderful things about your City Year program,” he said with that soft drawl. “I’m honored and excited to be here and know that I’m going to learn a lot from you all. Thank you for having me today. I’ve been so looking forward to this visit.” But he had no intention of following my suggestion that we might start right away.
Many of our staff members, excited to meet this dynamic new presidential candidate, had gathered at the top of the stairs to say hello and shake his hand. Clinton, of course, was more than happy to pause and oblige. I was starting to panic the mayor, Hubie, and Mitt Romney had already been waiting for sometime. It was one of the biggest days in City Year’s young life, and critical to the vision that Michael and I had been working so hard to bring to life, but all I could think was that the event might be about to break up before Clinton even got to the main hall.
Clinton, who would later be described by journalist Joe Klein as “The Natural” for his extraordinary political gifts, would not be hurried. He not only proceeded to shake every single City Year staffer’s hand, he looked them in the eye and asked them a question. He made sure to make a personal connection with each and every one of them, and for the first time I saw up close the Clinton magic at work. I didn’t have time to admire it though. When he finally had completed his bid to convert everyone be- fore him, I grabbed his arm and said, “Governor, we are going this way.” I desperately tugged him toward the room where the mayor and others were waiting. But even a half-mugging wasn’t enough to divert Clinton from what he does best: working potential voters one by one until everyone surrenders. Before I could get him into the reception area, he spotted out of the corner of his eye a couple of City Year staff he had somehow missed in his procession through the headquarters. He broke free from my grip, briskly turned away, and strolled over to them. “Hi, I’m Governor Clinton, I’m so excited to be here at City Year today,” he announced, once again reaching his big hands out to touch and shake the hand of everyone before him. “What are your names? What do you do with City Year? I’m honored to meet you. Thank you for your work and service.”
I had no choice but to abandon the schedule and let the man move through the room at his pace. If the mayor, Romney, Jones, or anyone else had to leave before the event even got started, there was nothing I could do. The planned ninety-minute event was clearly going to run overtime.
Luckily, there were only so many hands to shake. Clinton finally allowed me to steer him to the large open space in our headquarters where folks were waiting. He bounded over to the table we had set up and introduced himself to all the assembled dignitaries and corps members, pumped their hands, and said again-with utter sincerity how glad he was to be with us. He had met Hubie just once before at a conference on social policy at Boston University a few years earlier, and gave him a big bear hug. “Hubie,” he boomed, “I’m so glad that you are here. I didn’t know you were coming.” It was the first, but not at all the last time I would witness his steel-trap memory for names and faces. Everyone was relaxed and smiling, and we settled down to business on folding metal chairs for what came to be one of our most effective tools for engaging public officials: a roundtable discussion with the City Year corps members. As we often did when we had visitors, we decided that the most powerful spokespeople for City Year would be our young corps members who had commit- ted a year of their lives to service. Neither Michael nor I sat at the table; we were happy to let the program speak for itself.
Clinton removed his blue blazer, hung it on the back of his chair, and rolled up his sleeves. He opened with some very brief remarks, stating he was a strong believer in the idea of national service, was proud of our work, and that he was here mostly to listen and learn. He then pulled out a pad and pen so he could take notes as people talked.
Mayor Flynn, who had supported City Year from the very be- ginning (and would later become Clinton’s ambassador to the Vatican), spoke about City Year’s partnership with the city and our strong work in the public schools. Hubie Jones spoke about City Year’s approach to making change from the grassroots up, and that a key part of our model was partnering with community based organizations and uniting young people from all back- grounds in a shared mission of service as we developed them into leaders. Mitt Romney, who as part of his Mormon faith had spent two years in service, explained City Year’s strong corporate partnership program with companies like his, Bain, and others pro- viding not just financial support, but employee volunteer time as well, in a win-win for both City Year and the companies. As a leading Republican businessperson, we especially appreciated his presence that day. We wanted to send the message that we were a non-partisan organization, even when we hosted a Democratic Presidential candidate.
Despite these strong testimonials from leading Bostonians, it was the corps members themselves who made the most compelling case for City Year and service. Individually, they spoke about being a first-generation Dominican family, or about what it was like to come from streets that were dangerous and with- out rules, and how City Year was a way to transcend the violence. Many speakers talked about how, in spite of having so many is- sues in common with other members of the City Year corps, there had been no connections or efforts to work together until City Year had begun to establish them. Each shared stories about the difference they were making through their service projects and how they were one by one changing lives and communities.
Stephen Spaloss, in particular, riveted Clinton’s attention. He told Clinton about growing up as a tough African-American kid who was branded a “dolt” early in school by his teacher and turned to life in the streets. Eventually, his antics landed him in front of a judge, who assigned him a “City Year,” rather than jail, to straighten him out. Spaloss confessed he had barely heard of City Year, and then explained to Clinton that his first service project focused on developing and presenting a violence-prevention curriculum to inner city middle school children. Spaloss admitted how uncomfortable that made him feel, how hard it was to confront his own violent behavior. But it had also made him realize that he could turn his past into an asset because of his firsthand experience that violence was a dangerous trap that children had to work to avoid.
Stephen also explained to the rapt Clinton how he had become best friends with someone that, were it not for City Year, he never would have met. Creighton Reed was a graduate of Phillips Exeter Preparatory Academy and on his way to Harvard. He came from a world of privilege and opportunity entirely alien to Stephen. Before Stephen got to know Creighton he had assumed that all “preppies” were stuck up and didn’t care at all about what went on in the city or its neighborhoods. But Creighton was funny, passionate, and full of concern for what was happening in those parts of Boston City Year was working in. His very presence in the corps forced Stephen to rethink all his stereotypes about people. Now he was closer to Creighton than he was to most of his old gang. And Creighton had learned just as much from Stephen.
The two friends shared an apartment with three other City Year corps members in Somerville. They called themselves the “fearsome fivesome frat.” Stephen told a story to illustrate how he came to rethink his preconceptions in relation to his friend- ship with Creighton:
“Creighton was a big guy—6’2’’ and could bench press 350 pounds. He was always eating—his favorite snack was to dip raw spaghetti in honey. One night, I got really sick. I had a really high fever, and Creighton heard me stumbling around in the hallway and came out to see what was going on. He took one look at me and put me to bed with a wet cloth on my head. I remember waking up a few hours later to a dark room, and there was Creighton, sitting on the floor next to the bed, dipping raw spaghetti into honey. I asked him what he was doing there and he said he was just making sure I was okay. I was 21 years old when I went to do City Year and I had a perspective that was formed by my previous experiences, but it was things like that that broke down my preconceptions. I could no longer say: ‘I think an Exeter kid is this’ or ‘I think a Harvard kid is that.’ Because I knew Creighton, and he was so much more than that.”
Clinton was visibly moved.
At the time of the roundtable, Stephen was in his second year at City Year as a senior corps member, and he remembers feeling antsy that day as the roundtable began. He had participated in other roundtables and although he understood the importance of sharing City Year’s work with visitors, that morning he wanted to be working with kids in Chelsea, not sitting at City Year head- quarters. As the corps members began to tell their stories, how- ever, and as Clinton soon showed himself to be a very active listener, Stephen began to feel engaged and excited. He had begun to learn to “read people” through his experiences with City Year, and what he saw of Clinton was someone who was deeply interested in hearing what he had to say. As Stephen tells it:
“Most of my experiences in these roundtables, if I told people too much deep stuff about me, they would flinch and be uncomfortable. Clinton was different. I remember him saying: ‘tell me everything.’ And I said: ‘Really? Everything?’ And he said yes. So I told him more about myself than I had told any- one in a roundtable. You know how sometimes you carry things around until you can finally let them go? I had been carrying a lot of things. Bad feelings about how I hadn’t done enough to stop friends’ suicides. A lot of violence I’d been part of. With Clinton, it was so easy to talk: he wasn’t judging me. I didn’t understand politics at the time, but if you had asked me if he was going to win the presidency I would have said yes, because he got me believing in politics by giving me a sense of what politics could do. It wasn’t because I had met him, it was because he listened so deeply. I had a sense of how grassroots change and politics might connect.”
When the session drew to a close almost two hours later, Clinton stood up and told the assembled crowd: “I have always believed in the idea of national service. You all have made it real for me today. I promise you that if I become President, I will make this a national program. It has the potential to transform America.”
Stephen was so moved by this response, and the way that Clinton seemed to really get what City Year was all about, he suddenly took off his City Year sweatshirt and handed it to Clinton. “Thank you so much for coming,” he said, choking up a little. “I want you to have my sweatshirt and I hope that you don’t forget about us.”
“Don’t worry, I never will,” Clinton responded. And then he wrapped Stephen in a big bear hug.
After Clinton was whisked away, I strode over to Stephen. “Okay, you gave away your official uniform sweatshirt,” I said with mock severity, “What are you going to do now? You know you have to be in full uniform every day.” Stephen was caught totally off guard. “Uh, uh, I didn’t know, I just felt it was the right thing to do,” he stammered. I let him sweat for a second and then replied “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can manage to find another one for you. That was just awesome.”
Almost exactly one year later, the day before Thanksgiving, I was sitting in my apartment packing up to get ready to head home to New Hampshire to see my folks. The television was on in the background and CNN was showing footage of now President-elect Clinton finishing up a jog. I saw a flash of white lettering on a black sweatshirt and did a double-take. Clinton was wearing Stephen Spaloss’s City Year sweatshirt. He had kept that sweatshirt somewhere safe throughout the grueling primary and then general election campaign. And now that he had won, and was going to be president of the United States, he was sending a beautiful little message about what he cared about.
As I listened transfixed, a sweating Clinton explained to the reporters gathered around him that establishing a national service program would be one of his top four priorities as president. Instantly, my phone rang. I didn’t even say hello and ask who it was. I knew it was Michael Brown. “Are you watching this?!? This is incredible,” he blurted. “Yeah, it’s awesome!” I responded. “Let’s get off the phone and make sure we catch every word.” Click. Click.
In the following weeks, President Clinton would wear Stephen’s City Year sweatshirt over and over. It got to the point that I became more interested in Clinton’s jogging schedule than his news conferences. Our phone started ringing off the hook with inquiries from the news media, supporters, and new champions. Al From, Founding Chairman of the Democratic Leadership Council and head of Clinton’s transition effort, called to say he was bringing a high-powered group, led by Senator Sam Nunn and Congressman Dave McCurdy, to visit City Year and learn from what we were doing. I was even more excited when I got a confidential call from an old friend, Eli Segal, whom I had first met during Gary Hart’s 1984 presidential campaign, telling me that he wanted to spend a couple of days at City Year right away, because the new president had just asked him to lead the effort to create his national service program (as Eli would soon show, President Clinton could not have picked a better person to ensure that his vision would become reality).
It was a transformative leap, unimaginable from our beginnings barely more than four years earlier and impossible without two spontaneously generous acts: that Governor Clinton gave City Year his time and focus, and that Stephen Spaloss gave the governor his sweatshirt
Alan Khazei will be available for interview in late August 2010. Contact us for more information.
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