Ice Cream Man

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by SELENE D. GUERRERO
photography by MATT EICH

When Albert Doumar is done with cone making, a task he calls his daily exercise, he carefully takes off his black apron, dusted in flour, and adjusts his signature suspenders before he takes a seat at a booth. His slightly off-center bow tie is smeared at the edges in batter; his eyes are focused on the door as he warmly greets customers walking in and welcomes small talk about the weather.

His presence is synonymous with Doumar’s Cones & Barbecue, the establishment that has been on Monticello Avenue in Norfolk since 1933 when George Doumar, Albert’s father, moved the business from Ocean View. The consistent nature of the diner might be what has kept the retro-looking drive-in going, but while Doumar seems always to be there, sometime in 1940 after high school he walked away from it. “I transferred to William & Mary and was going to get an engineering degree, but my dad talked me into taking economics and business courses,” he recalls. Eventually, he earned a business degree and served in the Navy from 1943 until 1946. He made his way to Florida, where he ran a building supply store.

“I wanted to open up a supply store in Norfolk but my dad didn’t think that was a good idea,” says Doumar, now 91. “In those days, you more or less tended to be in a family situation” – he moved back and continued with the family business. He learned everything from running the soda fountain to working the cash register, but it was the soda fountain he enjoyed most. And though he has long since sold the company to his son and son-in-law, Thad Doumar and Randy Windley, he still goes into work every morning.  That work ethic he attributes to his father, who’d never close as long as there was a customer: “He would go home in the afternoons and sleep from 3 to 5 and then go back in to work.”

And while Doumar says he has never been much of a cook, he effortlessly spouts off the cone batter recipe and another for a creamy treat, the orange freeze. One scoop of orange sherbet, one scoop of vanilla ice cream and 6 ounces of carbonated water forms a thick concoction that, according to Doumar, cures upset stomachs and hangovers – though he has only been told about the hangover bit.

Standing at the cone maker, Al Doumar smiles as he shapes a cone with a wooden form. He’s on No. 64. He motions to a pair of young men sitting in a booth and enjoying a milkshake at 10 a.m. “Any time,” he says, “is a good time for an ice cream or a shake.”

Casting On Sight

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On the ocean, it’s you, your wits and your prey. The lure of cobia and red drum makes the Beach a hot spot for fly and traditional fishermen.

by Ric Burnley
photography by Keith Lanpher and Harry Hindmarsh

I’m slowly motoring through the glistening ocean with a few fellow anglers. We’re a half-dozen miles off the Virginia Beach Oceanfront, our eyes all searching for the prize: a big brown fish.

Finally we spot a 4-foot-long cobia swimming just under the surface of the crystal-clear water. We turn around and start to close in.

When we get about 30 feet away, professional angler Colby Trow hauls back his long, thin fly rod and shoots a wild concoction of feathers and fur a few feet in front of the fish.  He strips the line and the fly darts across the water. The cobia reacts, splashing and swirling just inches behind the lure. Trow strips again, and the fish lunges. Another strip, another lunge, the cobia grabs the fly and yanks, but misses the hook. The fish is teasing the fisherman – grabbing, slapping and chasing the lure all the way to the side of the boat, where it splashes its tail one last time and disappears into the blue.

This is sight casting for ocean prey, and it’s like big-game hunting: stalking a fish, sneaking up on it, shooting a bait, hoping for a hit. On the toughest day, an angler can spend hours searching the water for a single fish. On the best days, he might encounter huge schools swimming at the surface, looking for an easy meal. There are easier ways to catch these fish, but sight fishing isn’t about catching – it’s about the hunt.

To be sure, sight casting isn’t for everyone. It can be hot; bright sunshine is vital to spotting the fish swimming at the surface. It can be frustrating, and, like any other worthwhile pursuit, fruitless. But it’s intimate and purposeful; in the heart-pounding moments after you spot your prey, it’s just you against that fish. It’s about outsmarting the prey, hooking it, fighting it, beating it.

Sight casters can cruise around the Oceanfront, lower Chesapeake Bay and up the Eastern Shore looking for red drum, cobia, black drum, even crevalle jacks and striped bass. Big black drum, some weighing more than 80 pounds, can be spotted hanging around the rock islands of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel. The bridge will also host schools of striped bass and even squadrons of silver jacks patrolling the pilings and circling the rocks.

But cobia are the real star of the show. They can grow to 100 pounds and fight like a caged animal. They can be found hiding behind bridge pilings or under navigation buoys, shadowing turtles and stingrays, or just swimming out in the open.

As we patrol the Atlantic on this late August morning, we spot pods of porpoises, schools of swift stingrays, and even a rare and massive leatherback turtle. But no cobia.

Undeterred, Colby Trow stands ready on the bow with his elegant fly rod while another angler maintains watch on the hard-top with a beefy spinning rod.

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Since sight casting requires bright sun, a fish hunting expedition doesn’t even start until after breakfast and is usually over in plenty of time for drinks and fish stories at a watering hole. For many anglers, the day starts at Long Bay Pointe Bait and Tackle on the Lynnhaven River, sight casting central and only minutes from the Chesapeake Bay. Shop owner Steve Wray says he has seen the sport take off in the past few years. “It seems like everyone is sight fishing,” he says. “We’ll have 20 or 30 boats in here buying tackle and fueling up on a weekday.”

The sport came to town about five years ago, Wray says, when a group of enterprising anglers brought back techniques they had learned in North Carolina and Florida. Before that, anglers looking to catch cobia and drum would anchor on the shoals of the lower Chesapeake Bay and blindly soak bait on the bottom. Two problems: This method produces more stingrays, sharks and other “trash fish” than target species, and – as Wray says – bait fishing is boring.

“Not many people have the patience to sit and wait for hours until the tide turns right,” he says. Sight fishing, on the other hand, is active and engaging. “You’re looking, searching, covering water, not sitting in one place and waiting.”

Another draw for sight casting, Wray says, is its simplicity. “It may not be easy to find a fish in a haystack,” he says, “but the tackle and techniques are pretty simple.”

To get started, all an angler needs is a heavy-duty spinning rod, a couple bucktail jigs, a pack of hooks and a bucket of live eels. Wray also recommends a good pair of polarized sunglasses. For protection from the punishing summer sun, he suggests a full suit of sun armor – long sleeves and long pants, wide-brimmed hat, even a light balaclava and fingerless fishing gloves. “The sun and wind and salt,” he warns, “will beat an angler down.”

After sight fishing came here, it took only a
couple years for the Beach to become a world-class destination, Wray says, and he has seen anglers from all over the country pulling into the fuel dock. “The charter guys are booked solid,” he says, “and a lot of anglers are bringing their own boats from as far away as Florida and New England.”

Not only do anglers come a ways to chase these fish, but the fish also travel from afar to visit the Chesapeake Bay. According to data from the
Virginia Game Fish Tagging Program, cobia that were marked with an identification tag in Virginia have been recaptured as far away as Louisiana. And red drum outfitted with a pop-up satellite tag have migrated to the edge of the Continental Shelf – 50 miles offshore. Still, not enough tags have been
returned to provide a clear picture of the migration patterns of these great fish. Program director Lewis Gillingham says, “We don’t know much about where these fish go in the winter, but we do know they return to Chesapeake Bay each summer.”

For red and black drum, that may be many, many summers. A red drum can live more than 30 years and grow as big as 50 pounds, and black drum will live more than 65 years and push 80 pounds, Gillingham says.

Cobia, on the other hand, grow fast and die young. While they can weigh more than 100 pounds, they rarely live longer than 10 years. “A 50-pound cobia may only be 6 or 7 years old,” he says, “and a 100-pounder won’t be more than a teenager.”

Not only are these fish big, but they also have a habit of swimming at the surface. “No one is sure why they do it,” Gillingham says. “Maybe to warm up, or maybe that’s where they find food.”

Whatever the reason, this behavior makes drum and cobia perfect candidates for sight fishing. “These species are sought after by anglers around the world,” he says, “and they live right here in Virginia.”

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Which is what brings us all together on this boat on this hot, still, summer day. The diesel engines drone as we slowly patrol the open ocean. We maintain a silent intensity, searching the water.

Suddenly we spot one.

Bobby Kostinas, who’s been looking out from the hard-top, slings his rod. A bucktail jig arcs through the air like a feathered missile and splashes down a few feet in front of the fish. Kostinas jerks the bucktail once and the cobia pounces. The line comes tight and the angler drives the hook home. With the rod bent double, he climbs down from the hard-top and positions himself in the cockpit for the battle.

Cobia fight dirty. This one charges the boat, dives deep, cuts across the surface, shakes its head, even makes a dash for the propeller. The fisherman dances with the fish, retrieving line when he can, holding tight when he can’t.

After the two trade blows for half an hour, the cobia’s energy is waning. A few more charges and Kostinas has the fish bulldogging closer and closer to the boat. When the fish is in range, Kostinas’ dad, Russ, reaches down and snares the cobia with the net, then lifts it into the boat and flops the fish – a 50-pounder – onto the deck.

Even out of the water, the thick brown fish doesn’t quit fighting. It writhes and bangs around the cockpit. After it finally gives up, a photo is taken for remembrance, and the fish is lowered over the side and released. It gives the crew one last splash of the tail to say goodbye.

Watch our behind the scenes video by Harry Hindmarsh Late Summer Cobia below.

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A Sacred Sound

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by JANINE LATUS
photography byRICH-JOSEPH FACUN

Dramatic classical music soars and swells through the neo-Gothic arches of Norfolk’s Christ and St. Luke’s Episcopal Church. Kevin Kwan’s hands range over the three levels of its organ’s keyboards, pulling out a knob to make the notes ring like trumpets, another to make them trill like flutes, his leather-soled shoes heel-and-toeing over the foot pedals. In a pair of chambers overhead are nearly 5,000 pipes, some 32 feet long and as resonant as ships’ horns, some as small as pencils and as piercing as piccolos.

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“Mozart called the pipe organ the king of instruments,” Kwan says, “because it has the widest range of dynamics – from very, very soft to very, very loud.”It’s also a wonder of mechanical engineering, with bellows and pipes and valves that open and close as Kwan touches the keys, letting him play a kaleidoscope of sound. The 50-year-old pipe organ is one of the largest in Hampton Roads, and it plays against the building’s Indiana limestone as if the building itself were part of the instrument.

Kwan, 30, fills that lofty space with music. As organist and director of music, he leads the church’s 45-member, semi-professional choir. He manages its Sacred Music in a Sacred Space concert series and he’s starting a choir of children. He came to Norfolk, where he also lives, in October – only the fifth person to hold the position since the congregation began – after four years at the prestigious St. Thomas Church on Fifth Avenue in New York. There he worked alongside John Scott, an organist so renowned he played at Charles and Diana’s wedding. Before that, Kwan spent a year at Gloucester Cathedral in England, his morning commute a walk through fan-vaulted cloisters so ornate they were used as Hogwarts in the filming of Harry Potter movies.

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“They had services every day,” he says, “and that gave me a chance to go head-into-the-water and live that rhythm of life that they’ve been doing for 2,000 years.”

Kwan didn’t even start playing the organ until he was 18. He had started piano lessons when he was a kid, but when he went to the University of California-San Diego – planning to study engineering – he saw a course in organ in the university catalog and asked the professor if it was OK for him to give it a try. From then on he was hooked, transferring bus-to-bus for an hour each way to get from campus in La Jolla to his lessons at St. Paul’s Cathedral near downtown San Diego. After he graduated, he went to the Cleveland Institute of Music, where he earned his master’s degree in music. He then took off for a year of immersion in England that included two international tours with the Gloucester Cathedral Choir of Men and Boys, a live performance on BBC Radio and recitals at cathedrals all over Britain, and in Bath and Westminster abbeys. He was all of 25.

Now he sits balanced on his backless bench, his face content, his hands and feet reaching. He pulls out a knob – called a stop – that opens a valve, directing air through a wind trunk to a specific rank of pipes, this row fitted with reeds so that when he presses middle C it sounds like a softly played clarinet. Other ranks are made of open-throated flue pipes, and Kwan adjusts the stops so every pipe in the organ will get air at once.

He plays one quick, reverberating note that if left long would rattle the stained-glass windows in this 104-year-old church.

“And that,” he says, smiling, “is what is meant by ‘pulling out all the stops.’ ”

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Mike Jabbur

by JANINE LATUS
photography by ERIC LUSHER

Mike Jabbur’s hands slide over the column of clay, compressing here, pulling there, his fingers scissoring to stretch open the top, the clay contorting in its spinning dance.

He pulls a disc of plastic from his rack of tidy tools and presses in the swooping swirl that makes his mugs bend and twist like bodies in motion, then smooths the lip of the vessel with a scrap of chamois whose end is snapped into an empty film canister so it doesn’t sink in the slippery slurry in which it soaks.

Jabbur (pronounced jab-oor) uses one and an eighth pounds of clay for a cup, two and a quarter for a bowl, mixed on site in the pug mill that sits between his two pottery wheels, one for stoneware, the other for porcelain, so that a speck of iron from the former can’t infect a piece of the latter and leave an unacceptable brown stain.

“A lot of people who see my work assume the process is kind of loose and casual,” Jabbur says, relaxed and lanky in his blue jeans and flannel shirt, “but I actually control as much as I can so that the kind-of casual feel isn’t a one-in-a-million success.”

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Jabbur, 32, has had plenty of success. He was honored in 2011 as an “Emerging Artist” in Ceramics Monthly, and his work is shown regularly in galleries as far apart as upstate New York and southern Texas, and for the past few years at the conference of the National Council on Education for the Ceramic Arts.

“His is a very distinctive style,” says Avra Leodas, owner  and director of Santa Fe Clay, in New Mexico. “There’s a flow to his throwing style that has his personality all over it.”

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Jabbur has made thousands of vessels, and his hands move from muscle memory, his mind focused on the spinning clay as he sings along to the Avett Brothers or Bruce Springsteen or Emmylou Harris, the volume kept reasonable so that he doesn’t disturb the artists behind the walls they share. Five days a week he’s here in his Williamsburg studio, looking out over the water, staying away only on the days he teaches and sometimes the days in between, when there are kilns to fire, clay to make, glazes to mix and classes to plan.

“Mike is very, very driven to keep his ideas flowing,” says Leodas, “and that takes a time commitment, to be in your studio and let it be happening.”

Joe Bova, a fellow ceramics artist, professor emeritus at Ohio University and Jabbur’s longtime friend and mentor, marvels at the hours Jabbur invests in his work.

“He’s an art monk,” he says, and laughs. “One thing creative people experience more than most people is that our head is full when we wake up in the morning with everything we’re going to do. Mike is one of those.”

Jabbur’s studio overlooking Lake Matoaka on the west edge of the College of William & Mary, where he is an assistant professor of ceramics, is nearly eat-off-the-floor clean, even though his medium is inherently dirty. He makes a practice of wiping and sweeping and constantly cleaning, a discipline that comes in part from his post-college job making bread in an artisanal bakery in Kansas City and in part from the undergraduate clumsiness that had him dropping blobs of clay onto pieces that were already neatly done.

“It’s a way of respecting the process,” he says, “and the product you’re making.”

His works aren’t art you dust weekly or glance at in passing, but things you hold between your palms or use as vessels for a shared meal.

“They enter daily life in a way that most other types of art don’t,” he says. “It was that relationship between the object and the way we live our life that really attracted me.”

“His is a very distinctive style. There’s a flow to his throwing style that has his personality all over it.”– Avra Leodas, Santa Fe Cla

Jabbur stank at pottery in high school. His friends were more advanced, and the younger version of himself got frustrated and gave up. A few years later he was required to take a pottery class as a graphic design major at Virginia Tech, and that time it clicked. He stayed there an extra year to get more practice, then worked at Red Star Studios in Kansas City before going after his master’s in fine art at Ohio University. After graduation, he worked for three years as studio manager at Santa Fe Clay before coming to William & Mary.

Through the years Jabbur evolved through making straightforward, functional pots, to vessels that were about pots, to sculptures that referenced pots, to nonfunctional, purely sculptural work –
and now back to the kinds of pieces that people
use when they’re savoring a cup of coffee or a bowl of soup.

His biggest struggle in his art is balancing aesthetics and usability; his biggest joy is emptying out the kiln and finding that one piece that’s better than he expected, whether because of the interaction of clay and glaze or a sweet warping.

“There’s nothing more exciting than emptying
a kiln that went well,” he says. “That feeling is a
big part of what I’m chasing in all the days that are prep work, wedging, trimming, sanding. … That’s the reward.”

Noblemen’s Red Hot Valentine’s Ball

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More than 700 people packed the Old Cavalier Hotel in February for the Noblemen’s Red Hot Valentine’s Ball (RHVB – a sly nod to the name the group had to give up or pay to license, Robin Hoods of Virginia Beach). The Valentine’s Day theme included red carpets and chocolate fountains. According to Noblemen founder Al Midgett, the event raised more than $30,000. The nonprofit helps local children.

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TOP ROW: Al Midgett, Noblemen CEO; Mary Love, Monarch Bank vice president; Richard Roy, Noblemen chairman. Terri and Robyn Gayer. Mark and Melissa Hartley.

CENTER ROW:  Ed Hopper, Bert Johnson, Ron Brooks. Audrey and Ken Brown with Suzanne and Blair Garcia. Lee Ann and Hal Breedlove with Paul and Virginia Merrit.

BOTTOM ROW: Jean Drinko with Patti Drinko Miller. Michelle and Bill Burnette with Robert and Melanie Maroon. Joey Thatcher and Scott Buckwald.

photography by BOB ALLEN

Stuntkid

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by GABRIELLA SOUZA
photography by ERIC LUSHER

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Every evening, Jason Levesque sits down at a drawing table decorated with his inspirations – small, bleached animal skulls, black widow spiders in their glass-jar homes, a stuffed bat. His wife, artist Elizabeth Levesque, takes the spot across from him and sets up oil paints and canvas. He takes out paper and pen to draw.

After a quick dinner, they put on Netflix – Futurama, Archer, something to make them laugh – or perhaps a science podcast. Then they create.

These moments are vital for Levesque’s day-to-day life. “A lot of people live each day without doing something creative,” he says. He cannot. He has to see a part of his art advance each day or unfulfillment creeps in.

Levesque, 37, has spent most of his life drawing. When he was a boy, his mind spun tales of ninjas and monsters – and those required illustrations. The snails and slugs he watched while playing in the mud flowed onto paper. Over time, themes began to emerge – the pairing of beauty and repulsion; death begetting life. “I like to take two things that push and pull,” he says, “and put them together in a way that holds someone’s attention.”

His imagination and creative spirit extended his childhood, he says. He dropped out of high school in Chesapeake and got his GED. Then adult life caught up with him. At 19, with his first child on the way, Levesque abandoned drawing and found work in Web design. But he knew then it was only a temporary break; though he still maintains that career, his art is his main focus. Now Levesque – aka Stuntkid – is a celebrated artist, one who frequently shows in Los Angeles and will have his first New York show this month. He has dozens of magazine covers to his name and he co-curated an I Like Soup exhibit, which ran last year at the Beach’s Virginia Museum of Contemporary Art in conjunction with an Andy Warhol exhibit.

Levesque had approached MOCA curator Heather Hakimzadeh about the possibility of such an exhibit. She says she was drawn to his art, especially his pairing of the grotesque with the beautiful. “His work almost gives you the heebie-jeebies,” she says. “But it draws you in and you can’t look away.”

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Levesque describes his art, a mix of photography and drawings, in this way: A viewer might be pulled in by the bright shades of color, or a pair of pretty eyes. The repulsive elements – brightly shaded snails covering a woman’s skin, a spider entrapped in a girl’s hair, an octopus possessively extending its tentacles over a woman – keep, as he says, the eyeballs engaged.

Over the years, he’s watched himself evolve. Young artists can be obsessed with defining their vision and voice, he says. That can create pressure not to deviate. But in the past few years, he’s given himself the freedom to expand his style. For example, his New York show includes a foray into sculpture. Fame isn’t as big a motivator these days. “Superstardom would be nice, but it doesn’t keep me up at night,” he says.
His daring, though, continues, and it lives too in his nickname. He got it, he says, from the crazy tricks he would perform while skateboarding – riding down the stairs of his office, for example. But it wasn’t his first choice for a professional moniker; he adopted it only when other choices weren’t available as Web addresses.

California-based artist Eric Thomas Bostrom noticed Levesque’s self-assurance when they met in 2008 at a show in Culver City. He says he asked Levesque if he felt he was a photographer or a draftsman and which was more important to him. “His easy response was noncommittal, and I am under the impression that the label is no more important to him today,” Bostrom says. “Jason’s response was humbling to me.”

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Though Levesque has always called Hampton Roads home – Norfolk, most recently – he rarely has shows on the East Coast. Over the years, he has made connections in Europe and in Los Angeles. “Everybody likes to show in their hometown, but that’s where you sell stuff,” he says, referring to Los Angeles. He travels frequently, paying his way by selling postcard-sized ink drawings on watercolor paper. His most recent ones include motifs of skulls and mushrooms – life coming from death.

Levesque has passed on his creativity to his son and daughter, who are 16 and 14. His daughter is musical, and his son wants to study stop-motion animation. He also shares his love of the open road with them. Each year, they plan a trip together. The most recent was to Montreal. “I want them to always have a sense of adventure,” he says. “It’s really just as easy as putting gas in your car.”

And if life is overwhelming, he wants them to know how he gets through: “I just have to keep putting ink on paper.”

In Pursuit of Pendants

distinction, distinctionhr, distinction magazine, Addison Weeks, Addison Weeks jewelry, pendants, Lee Addison, Lee Lesley, chalcedony, Jeff Rose photographySmooth and shimmering gemstone pendants to adorn your neckline.

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Show off your neckline and catch a bit of sunlight with a pretty necklace
from accessory maker Addison Weeks.
Designer Lee Addison Lesley (the Addison half of the company)
lives in Virginia Beach.

 From left, the Harris necklace with aqua chalcedony pendant, $380.
Avery pendant, a smooth pink quartz pendant set in heavy gold plate, $480.
Whitten necklace with faceted aqua chalcedony stones set in heavy gold plate, $248.
Conner necklace with faceted rose chalcedony, $280.

 WHERE TO FIND IT: AddisonWeeks.com

Photograph by JEFF ROSE

Life Milked Daily

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Amid goats, sheep, chickens and other farm animals
are the Andersons – soapmakers whose commitment to sustainable
living puts them in a past century (but not without the Internet).

by JOANNE KIMBERLIN
photography by RICH-JOSEPH FACUN

Head south, deep into Princess Anne, to a place where the trees grow thick and the traffic grows thin, where fields are plowed, white fences stretch for acres and the howls of coyotes pierce the night.

Hang a left on Gum Bridge Road, a right on Gum Bridge Court and keep going – beyond where the blacktop ends.

There’s a boy with a stout stick, surrounded by a flock of grazing sheep and black-faced goats. He points you toward a rustic house, where wood smoke pours from a chimney. Barking dogs swarm your car. A crowing rooster
announces your arrival.

Maureen and Kevin Anderson have warned you to wear your boots. Hearthside Farm is the real thing, a 30-acre spread of red barns and gardens and the mud that goes along with living past the pavement.

Add in the animals – a few dozen sheep, six goats, four horses, six dogs, uncounted chickens, a mob of cats, assorted rabbits, a steer, a duck – plus the children (eight, with five still living at home) and you’ve got:

“Insanity,” Kevin says with a grin. “It’s Noah’s Ark around here.”

It’s also a homestead, a piece of land that provides all of the family’s income, not to mention most of its meals and some of its clothing. Wool from the sheep. Vegetables from the gardens. Eggs from the chickens. Honey from the beehive. Milk from the goats, which is handcrafted into soap and sold locally, the staple of the couple’s finances.

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“This place is like Little House on the Prairie,” says one family friend, “only with Internet.” And cell phones. And rock ’n’ roll. And cold beer. Kevin, 41, and Maureen, 47, are not Puritans. They’re purists, people in pursuit of what’s become known as “permaculture” – a lifestyle that revolves around self-sustainability, organic agriculture and the homespun.

Actually, it’s mostly Maureen’s quest.

“I’ve just always wanted to know where things come from,” she says. “Kevin could probably walk away from all this and not really miss it. I think he just really likes … I don’t know … me? Isn’t that awful?”

No worries, Maureen. Kevin, with his long blond braid and guitar (he plays in two local bands), might not look like a stereotypical farmer, but he doesn’t seem grumpy about his fate.

“This works for us,” he says. “I’m the dumb labor guy who builds fences and shakes my fist when the animals get out. But I like it. We’re good partners.”

Music is what brought them together. Maureen grew up in the suburbs of Washington, D.C., moved to Hampton Roads with her first husband, then found herself divorced and working for a magazine that covered the local band scene. Kevin, a Navy kid from Kempsville, had played in groups since he was a teenager.

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“When I first saw him, I picked him out for my sister,” Maureen says. “Isn’t that funny?” They married 15 years ago, blending her kids with more to come until they wound up with six girls and two boys: Caitlin, 29; Mairin, 25; Colin, 23; Rose, 20; Ainslie, 16; Aidan, 14; Gwynneth, 12; and Kieran, the boy with the stick, age 11.

“People always say, ‘Oh, my gosh. It must be great to have all those kids helping on the farm,’ ” Maureen says. “I‘m not saying they don’t do chores – they do – but if I ever wrote a book, I’d title it, My Children are Not My Work Force.” Instead, they’ve been a driving force, propelling the family ever deeper into the Virginia Beach countryside to satisfy childhood dreams of ponies, and parental dreams of smaller, safer schools. The purchase of Tasha, a goat for a 4-H project, stoked something that had been simmering inside Maureen since she was a child herself.

“I guess I was a strange kid,” she says. “I always felt like I was born in the wrong century.”

Tasha’s milk proved perfect for a daughter who was allergic to cow’s milk. The progression from there was like a round of Old MacDonald – with a cluck-cluck here and a moo-moo there.

With every E-I-E-I-O, Maureen ventured further down the path toward the old ways, and a greater appreciation for bygone delights: “When I’m out collecting eggs, there’s never been a day when I wasn’t excited about counting them, wondering, ‘How many will I get today?’ ”

There was plenty she didn’t know about raising animals or making cheese or spinning wool into yarn.

“Mom has always been a huge reader,” says Caitlin, the eldest. “If we didn’t know how to do something, we went to the library and figured it out.”

Maureen attributes that to her father.

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“He was a college professor. If we didn’t know a word, he made us look it up, complete with the Latin that went with it. I think that breeds inquisitive minds.”

The family found its spot in Pungo about three years ago, a house with five bedrooms, big windows, and walls of honey-colored logs. It’s a work in progress. Half of the floor is bare plywood, where Kevin ripped up the old shag carpeting, and the tile is steadily giving up around the woodstove.

But Maureen has an undeniable style. She’s the kind of woman who can get away with wearing a kilt (which she did for this interview), a decorator who can do more with what she finds in her yard than most of us can do with a major credit card. Her home is a sanctuary of cozy country-chic: a collection of rough-hewn furniture, soft pillows, sprigs of ivy, family photos and antique spinning wheels that are actually put to use. Hams smoked by the kids hang from wooden rafters, along with bouquets of dried herbs from the garden. Meals are eaten at a massive table made by a friend from weathered barn wood.

“The refrigerator’s on the back porch,” Maureen says. “It just wouldn’t go with this kitchen.”

That’s the biggest complaint from the kids – an occasional “can’t we join this century?” after a wintertime trek out to the fridge. For the most part, they seem to enjoy their parents’ lifestyle. They’re into cell phones and movies, but they also knit, cook, play instruments and hand-dip beeswax candles.

“It’s not like we’re Amish or anything,” Maureen says, though spirituality is an important part of their life. “This isn’t about religion or restrictions. We go out. We buy things. I stop at Starbucks. Kevin watches American Idol.”  Kevin, a self-professed “music snob,” looks embarrassed at that last revelation.

“That’s a damned lie!” he thunders, then turns away laughing.

Maureen gives him a pat on the shoulder and continues.

“We’re just regular people who like this kind of stuff. The farming, the soap, the animals, the woodstove, even the kids – it’s like having a million hobbies.”

Metal racks in the hallway hold the soap as it cures; it sells for about $6 a bar and is easier on the skin than most commercial brands. Kevin is the chemist, turning the kitchen into his laboratory for a few hours each day – mixing, pounding, grating, chopping, running between thermometers with a pinch of this, a dash of that.

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Many of the ingredients come from the farm, including lavender, honey, sage, cedar, berries, eggshells and, of course, goat’s milk – the concoction’s main component.

“We made the kids leave the house the first time he made it,” Maureen says. “We didn’t know if something was going to explode.”

Kevin pours each batch into a pan, where it hardens for 24 hours before he cuts and shapes the bars. Maureen’s job includes the wrapping – which takes place after two weeks of curing – and the milking, which must be done twice a day.

That’s anything but easy. The goats are cooperative enough, inspired by their full udders and a scoop of sweet feed. But there’s a technique that only strong hands and experience can supply. That, and a dose of patience.

The goats see her coming across the field, bucket in hand. They – and most of the sheep – abandon their grazing to follow her inside. The latest crop of babies – woolly lambs, spotted kids, fluffy chicks – darts between their legs, a milling melee of baa-ing and maa-ing punctuated by long, low moos from the steer, who sticks his head in through a window to watch the goats jostling for position at the milking stall.

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Only one at a time is allowed in the stall. On this day, Isabel goes first – a black-and-caramel Nubian who, like most of the animals, is named after a literary character (in this case, Scottish sleuth Isabel Dalhousie from the Sunday Philosophy Club novels).

“I insist on that,” Maureen says. “The names have to come from literature. No Fuzzy or Blackie. That would drive me crazy.”

A few don’t get names at all. The family tries not to get too cuddly with animals destined for the table, like the steer.

“Yep,” says Kevin, as he throws hay to everybody who isn’t getting milked. “If you get a name around here, that’s a real good sign for you.”

Inside the stall, Isabel jumps onto a knee-high wooden platform where sweet feed has been dropped into a manger. She wears a loose collar that Maureen fastens around a post to keep her in place. The bucket is slid beneath Isabel’s belly; then Maureen takes a perch on the platform and grasps a warm, leathery teat in each hand. Milk begins to flow in thick streams.

Want to try? That’s OK with Maureen. She’ll even give you some pointers. Shape your fingers like this. Squeeze your thumb like that. A few minutes and some pitiful squirts later, your forearms are aching and you find yourself apologizing to Isabel, who’s busy munching feed and frankly doesn’t seem to even notice your presence.  “They’re pretty tough,” Maureen says as she reclaims her spot on the platform. “You really can’t hurt them. The trickiest part is keeping them from putting a foot in the bucket. You can still use it for soap, but it’s ruined for anything else.”

She finishes with Isabel, leaving enough in her udder so the new mama can feed her babies, a set of knobby-headed twins bleating loudly in a nearby stall. The next 30 minutes are spent shuffling and shooing goats – dragging the drained ones away from the sweet feed so the next can take her turn.

As the bucket fills with white foamy milk, Maureen sighs: “Can we go to Florida and lay on the beach for a few days? No way. But there’s something
really satisfying about bringing fresh milk up to the house.”

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She likes the idea of being independent, of taking care of her family’s needs off their land.

“I’m the type that gets excited during a power outage. And the longer it goes on, the better. Kevin is not always as excited. During a big fight a couple of weeks ago, he was yelling at me, ‘I’ve been a trooper! A real TROOPER!’ ”

It’s no fairy tale. Money is usually tight. Snakes raid the chicken coop. The ram can be downright mean. The cats prefer sunning on the roof to catching mice. And every evening finds Kevin struggling to wrangle all the animals inside their barns, so he can close the doors against hungry coyotes who stalk the dark in search of prey.

“We ask each other now and then, ‘Do you want to keep doing this? ’  ” Maureen says. “And so far, the answer has always been yes.”.

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Cocktails at the Castle

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Distinction, in partnership with The John Savino Group, hosted
Cocktails at the Castle in the Great Neck Point neighborhood of
Virginia Beach in March. Chef Eric Nelson and sommelier
Jen Saxby of Thirty Seven North, a new Virginia Beach restaurant,
presented a culinary demonstration and food and wine tastings.
Musician David Carter performed as more than a hundred guests mingled.

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distinction, distinctionhr, distinction magazine, Thirty Seven North, Great Neck Point, David Carter, John Savino Group

distinction, distinctionhr, distinction magazine, Thirty Seven North, Great Neck Point, David Carter, John Savino Group

distinction, distinctionhr, distinction magazine, Thirty Seven North, Great Neck Point, David Carter, John Savino Group

TOP ROW: Sous chef Barry Smith of Thirty Seven North, which catered the event, preps appetizers at a home provided by Prudential Towne Realty’s Fine Homes division. SECOND ROW: Holly Stoeckler and Connie King; caterer Thirty Seven North’s chef Eric Nelson, sommelier Jen Saxby and sous chef Barry Smith. THIRD ROW:  David Lauver (Heineken USA) with Andrea and Patrick Collins (Chesbay Distributing Company); John Savino; musician David Carter; Jim and Krista White with Robert and Jody Berndt. BOTTOM ROW: Thad and Connie Nowak with Lynda and Charlie Malbon; Ben and Jennie Willis; Whitney Stevens and Matt Collins.

SPECIAL THANKS TO HEINEKEN USA, ASSOCIATED DISTRIBUTORS AND SOUTHERN AUTOMOTIVE

photography by JESSICA SHEA

 

Building Children’s Futures

Three visionaries each set a goal to strengthen education – and their successes have helped thousands.

by KIM O’BRIEN ROOT
photography by ERIC LUSHER

One set out to prove that children raised in poverty could learn just as well as their peers.

Another wanted to start a school that would become an integral part of the community.

And another turned her attention to helping the youngest of children long before they even began school.

Meet Walter Segaloff, Chuck McPhillips and Lisa Howard: three educational visionaries who run very different kinds of programs. All three have pushed to make strides in education – not to earn recognition or glory but to do something for the next generations.

Segaloff was tired of seeing poor kids graduating from high school without much future ahead of them. McPhillips wanted to bring emphasis back to what he calls “faith-filled” education. Howard, who once struggled to find quality care for her own children, wanted to see preschool-aged children have a chance at academic and social success.

Along the way, their ideas became their missions. Their missions became callings, something to believe in, something to prove.

“If you have the opportunity and the ability to do something that’s going to help your neighbor, you then have a duty to do it,” McPhillips says. “It’s not an obligation, but an opportunity to do what you can.”

In the mid- to late 1990s, the number of Catholic schools across the country was less than half what it been 20 years earlier.

So it wasn’t a big surprise when Chuck McPhillips’ idea to open a new Catholic school in Norfolk raised a few eyebrows.

As a board member for the James-Barry Robinson School Trust – a Catholic charitable trust that grew out of a former boys school, now a residential treatment center – the Norfolk attorney had pondered the idea for a while.

Were the finances there to start a school and then keep it going? Would parents enroll their children? Norfolk had lost its share of Catholic schools over the years, some to the decline in population, others to suburban sprawl. Faith-based education seemed to be losing favor.

By 2001, a new generation of trustees was on the Barry Robinson board, and enthusiasm for a new Catholic school grew. The right people came together to make things happen. And in late 2004, Saint Patrick Catholic School broke ground.

In the fall of 2005, though the new school wasn’t quite finished, Saint Patrick’s welcomed its first students in temporary quarters. After a $25 million, 15-month construction project, the new building and campus opened in January 2006.

Now in its eighth year, Saint Patrick’s is going strong, with nearly 400 students in grades pre-kindergarten through eighth grade in a handsome brick building on Bolling Avenue in Norfolk’s Larchmont neighborhood. In its fourth year, the school achieved full accreditation from the Southern Association of Independent Schools and the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools.

“It’s done incredible things for the families, the communities, and the parishes,” McPhillips says. “It’s a place where, even though we’ve only been there eight years now, it’s hard to imagine it not being there.”

Saint Patrick’s is an independently funded private school, meaning it’s not run by a parish or diocese. But it is inherently Catholic, devoted to teaching students about the Catholic faith. About 64 percent of the student body is Catholic.

“At Saint Patrick’s Catholic School, we pray,” says Principal Stephen J. Hammond, who has been with the school since the beginning. “One of the most important things is teaching children how to pray. We worship – Catholic and what we call friends of other faiths – all together.”

The school uses a philosophy that focuses on the total formation of a child, with 43 student goals that touch on all parts of a child’s life, including spiritual and physical aspects, he says.

“We invite children to reflect upon and to accept in the manner that they can, at the age level and at the developmental level they are,” he says of the school’s approach to learning. “They freely choose. This is part of a decision-making curriculum. We guide decision-making abilities of children.”

Students spend their school career keeping a portfolio, noting their growth over the years. Inside it they tuck artwork, papers – anything they think helped define them as a person. At the end of eighth grade, every student gives a presentation to a group of adults chronicling how he or she has grown.

“You walk out of that room and think, ‘These are the folks who are going to run this town,’ ” says McPhillips, who attends the presentations. “You hope they’ll run this town. They are the future leaders.”

That’s been one of his goals all along – to integrate the school with the community in such a way that it’s building future leaders who will stay in Norfolk and raise their families in Norfolk.

McPhillips, 53, is a product of Norfolk – he attended elementary school at the old Blessed Sacrament School, graduated from Norfolk Academy and returned to practice law in Norfolk after college and law school. He’s a partner at Kaufman & Canoles and lives with Theresa, his wife of 21 years, in Norfolk.

John Tucker, a former longtime headmaster of Norfolk Academy who now serves as a consultant to Saint Patrick’s, calls the total formation schooling and the “journey” portfolio remarkable ideas and “an intriguing model” that he thinks could be replicated in other Catholic schools.

“I would dare to say there’s nothing like it in the country,” says Tucker, who spent 12 years at Norfolk Academy before retiring in 2000. “The students are just having an incredible educational experience.”

Service projects are plentiful – the 15-month-long Million Pennies Project helped children in Haiti, girls regularly chop off and donate their hair to Locks of Love and an on-campus garden is tended by the school’s youngest students. The garden’s harvest is given to the needy.

Public speaking is encouraged at every grade level – if a kindergarten student has a parent stop in for lunch, the child is asked to stand up in the dining room and introduce Mom or Dad.

Students also help lead tours of the school, speaking to small groups of parents and interested educators about what they’re learning. These “Snapshots” begin at 8 a.m. on Thursdays with smiling, uniformed students opening the school doors and wishing visitors good morning.

These student “legati” (Latin for ambassadors) lead visitors throughout the airy, two-story building, talking about what they learn and experience. There’s the dining room, where students sit in multi-age groups of eight in order to build relationships. There’s the gym, where they have physical education every other day in order to build strong bodies.

George A. Neskis listened to his fourth-grade son, George E., give the welcome one fall morning and told the group gathered how proud he was of his once-shy child. Saint Patrick’s, he said, “is exceptional.”

Neskis, a Norfolk lawyer whose parents are Greek immigrants, said he was nervous about choosing a Catholic school for his children, since his own experience was with public school. He quickly realized there was nothing to fear.

“We knew we had stumbled onto something really special,” says Neskis, who now serves on the school’s leadership board and is one of the parents who speaks during the tours. The total formation approach is not a gimmick, he says. “It’s just a wonderful approach.”

“I didn’t know what value-based education meant,” he says. “Whatever you take from it, it’s really about kids being changed as they’re being taught. It’s worth every penny it takes to send our kids here.”

It costs about $8,000 to send a child to Saint Patrick’s, less for grades pre-K through fourth.  But McPhillips says he and the board try to keep the tuition at a level that parents can afford. About a third of Saint Patrick’s students are on financial aid. After all, the school is named after Saint Patrick’s Church – the first Catholic church in Norfolk. The church was burned to the ground in 1856, and the suspects were thought to be part of a political movement that resented Irish priest Matthew O’Keefe’s willingness to let anyone, black or white, rich or poor, worship.

“We’ve done everything we can to keep tuition at a level where working class, middle-class folks can see it as accessible,” McPhillips says.

After finishing eighth grade at Saint Patrick’s, students head to other schools in the area – some to

Bishop Sullivan Catholic High School in Virginia Beach, some to Norfolk Academy, others to public high schools. The first class of graduating eighth-graders are freshmen in college this year.

McPhillips brushes off sole credit for getting the school off the ground, heaping praise on his fellow board members, on Tucker, on Hammond, on the many “community friends” who have helped through the years. “I got the lucky break to be able to lead it,” he says.

But he’s clearly proud that Catholic school enrollment in the Diocese of Richmond, which encompasses Hampton Roads, started rising last year after bottoming out a few years ago.

“I hope it’s not too immodest to claim that Saint Patrick’s, maybe, played a role in helping that occur,” he says. “Whatever skepticism there was about whether a Catholic education was viable in an old city like Norfolk, I guess we’ve proven it is. And that’s emboldened a lot of people to get behind it.”

Hammond, though, says McPhillips deserves his share of praise. From the beginning, Hammond says, “Chuck wanted the highest quality education that could be developed,” helping fund state-of-the-art technology throughout the school and emphasizing writing, languages, arts and music.

“Chuck has just been a gift for Catholic education,” says Annette Parsons, chief education administrator of the diocese’s Office of Catholic Education. “He’s just been a dynamo. A force for good in helping to ensure that families who want a Catholic education for their children have the ability to do so.”

McPhillips, who has no children of his own, says educating children was just something he came to believe in.

“I think about Norfolk and Hampton Roads and what roles these young folks are preparing to assume, whether it’s in religious life, or leadership in business, in government, or in the community,” he says. “They’re going to make this a better place for all of us, and sustain a city I love dearly. I’m a lucky man to have had this opportunity.”

From the start, Lisa Howard knew she might put herself out of a job one day.

At the time, the concept of Smart Beginnings – a nonprofit public-private partnership created to address the issue of children’s readiness for school – was getting off the ground. The organization would bring together business, civic and philanthropic leaders to examine why one in five children in South Hampton Roads was entering kindergarten unprepared.

“People would ask, ‘How can kids not be ready for kindergarten?’ ” says Howard, the group’s president and CEO. “It surprised everyone, but at the national level, research was coming out that told us learning begins long before that child gets on the yellow school bus.” The group seized onto research that showed that 90 percent of a child’s brain is developed before age 5. And that retention rates for local kindergartners – the number of kids held back – were at 25 percent.

There was a window of opportunity there – and Smart Beginnings stepped in. South Hampton Roads was one of three communities in the state selected in 2005 to receive a $500,000 grant from the Virginia Department of Social Services, matched by funds from the Batten Educational Achievement Fund. That fund was started by Jane Batten and her husband, Frank, the longtime publisher of The Virginian-Pilot, which publishes Distinction magazine.

With Howard at its helm, the group has spent the past eight years thrusting the issue in the region’s face – and doing something about it. It’s given grants to preschools and their teachers, worked with child care centers to make them better, and pushed hard to get greater investment in early childhood education.

The efforts have worked. Since 2005, the rate of kids starting kindergarten unprepared has been cut in half. Smart Beginnings figures that some 9,000 children in South Hampton Roads have been affected, attending child care centers where the staff has worked to make buildings and themselves better.

“When a child starts behind, they stay behind,” says Howard, who previously worked for Square One, another school readiness initiative. “It is so hard for them to catch up. The sooner we can build that foundation, the better off they’re going to be.”

For Howard, 41, her work has been personal. A former public school teacher and military spouse who took eight months off after the birth of her first child, she knew how hard it could be to find quality child care. She also knew not every parent can spend time at home.

“Most families require a dual income,” says Howard, a Pennsylvania native who moved to Virginia about 15 years ago and lives in Virginia Beach. “It’s just not an option a lot of times for parents to make that choice to stay home.  And those who are are making a great sacrifice, and they need to be armed with information, too, to help their children become ready.”

Getting the right information out there was one of Smart Beginnings’ goals, through a series of awareness campaigns and the implementation of a system that would rate child care centers on their quality of care.

Such ratings – done on a five-star scale, like a restaurant or hotel might use – are done in other states. Smart Beginnings made it work in Virginia, inviting child care directors to accept the challenge of shining a spotlight on their centers. Every star earned means a center is going beyond the minimum licensing standards.

The Quality Rating Improvement system looks at everything from the education and training levels of teachers to the height of the chairs and tables used by 2- to 4-year-olds and how the preschool rooms are arranged. Do the teachers interact well with their charges? Are there enough books per child? Do the children have access to computers? Are the children and staff diligent about washing their hands?

Today, there are about 100 child care centers in the program – about one-third of the licensed centers in the region. The centers are rated every two years, spending the first year working with a mentor to make the necessary changes to move them beyond the minimum licensing standards.

Simonsdale Presbyterian Preschool in Portsmouth was one of Smart Beginnings’ first four-star rated centers. It was also one of the pilot schools in the program, which made director Carol Wilson a little nervous at first. The state-trained person rating the school scrutinized everything from top to bottom, and a mentor worked with the center for a year. Wilson and her staff took advantage of the $10,000 in grant money that came from Smart Beginnings to make changes.

“They gave us all these ideas and gave us the tools,” Wilson says, showing off the brightly colored, kid art-decorated rooms of her 60-child school, which is attached to Simonsdale Presbyterian Church. “They gave us new eyes – logical eyes to look at the program. And we made some changes.”

With the grant money, the school, which opened in 1971, replaced its ancient playground and bought needed equipment for the classrooms, such as a digital camera, multicultural toys and “cozy cubes” – big, hollowed-out wooden blocks filled with pillows where children can go if they need quiet time. The school is full of hands-on activities for children, such as a workbench where children can pound nails, large buckets filled with sand and rice that children can play with, and habitats for live animals – a turtle and hermit crabs – that they can learn about.

“This old building – we’re not the most beautiful place on the outside, but on the inside, we do our best to make it attractive to the parents and children,” says Wilson, the preschool’s director for 14 years. “You can have the most beautiful, state-of-the-art facility, but if you don’t have good teachers, it doesn’t matter.”

With the help of a Smart Beginnings teacher scholarship, assistant director Cindy Brown completed her associate’s degree. The whole staff became members of the National Association for the Education of Young Children and several teachers took classes at Tidewater Community College – as a four-star center, Simonsdale teachers must get 36 hours of training a year.

Simonsdale is now one of 12 four-star rated centers in South Hampton Roads, including Saint Patrick’s Catholic School. No fives exist in the state yet, because the guidelines are so stringent. A five-star rating, for example, requires all teachers in a preschool to have bachelor’s degrees – which are not always easy to get because of teachers’ salaries.

Howard’s pride in the schools that accepted Smart Beginnings’ challenge to improve is evident. In 2010, Smart Beginnings commissioned the University of Virginia’s Center for the Advanced Study of Teaching and Learning to look at the link between the quality of child care and how it readied children for school.

The study showed that children who attended a star-rated child care center that was mentored through Smart Beginnings were ahead emotionally, socially and in language development, and had overall higher-quality learning environments.

A lot of the preschool programs “were already doing great things for kids,” Howard says. “This was a matter of bumping them up.”

But Smart Beginnings – which exists across the state through 29 coalitions, including in Williamsburg and on the Peninsula – is drawing to a close in South Hampton Roads. By the end of 2013, four of the five communities here will have taken over what Howard and her group started, with the help of $500,000 challenge grants that each locality was required to match.

Portsmouth was the only one that did not accept the grant, but Howard says work in early childhood education there is continuing through organizations such as the nonprofit Portsmouth Reads. The rated preschool centers will stay in the ratings program.

Howard “has just been a leader in changing the focus, and changing the focus in the business community and in South Hampton Roads,” says Kathryn Jessee, who coordinates the R U Ready program in Chesapeake, which formed about a year ago and picks up where Smart Beginnings left off.

Throughout this year, Howard will work to ensure the transition to the localities. She’s already started working with a new advocacy group that launched in November. Elevate Early Education (or E3), chaired by Cox Communications head Gary McCollum, will focus on getting greater public investment for early childhood education at the state level – something Howard says is sorely needed. Howard serves as president and chief executive officer of E3, which hopes to fuel the work of early childhood education groups such as the Smart Beginnings coalitions.

“You don’t keep doing business the same way if you want different results,” she says. “But we keep educating our children in the same way and expecting different results. Our policies in our state have not kept up with the research. At some point, we have to have the stars aligning. And we’ve got to make strategic investments in our education system.”

For Howard, it’s bittersweet as she prepares to pass to the baton to others to continue the work in Hampton Roads. And while she feels good about the work that’s been done, Howard says she knows there is still more to do. A lot more.

“There are still parents who need to be educated about how important this period of child development is, there are still teachers who need to be educated and there are still early childhood programs that need to be worked upon,” she says. “There’s tremendous work happening out there, but there needs to be greater public investment to really keep that work moving forward and to really have the impact that we’ve been able to have here.”

Every morning at An Achievable Dream Academy in Newport News, teachers, staff, soldiers and sheriff’s deputies line the halls, ready to greet students as they file in. The adults grasp each child’s hand, wishing them “Good morning.” The students answer back, looking each adult in the eye as they move down the line. At the front of the line is often Walter Segaloff, an unlikely candidate who one day decided he would make sure at-risk children in Newport News got the education they deserved.

“When you shake hands with 750 kids walking through the door, you feel the love,” Segaloff says. “You look at these kids, and you say to yourself, ‘How do they cope with what they have to cope with?’ You don’t know if they’ve had their meal. You don’t know if they didn’t sleep in a bathtub because of drive-by shootings. You just don’t know what goes on. But when they walk in that building, they know they’re loved. For some of them, it’s the best part of their day.”

Twenty years after he started, Segaloff – who will step down as president and CEO on March 1 – has made enormous strides. What started as a summer program is now in two buildings, one for kindergarten to fifth grade, the other for middle and high school. About 1,250 children attend the schools, which require a contract for parents and students to sign, classes that go beyond the basics, an extended learning day, Saturday classes, and tennis instruction.

Most measurably, however, are the efforts the school has made to raise students’ test scores to be on par with those of other schools in the city and across the state. From the beginning, Achievable Dream, a partnership of Newport News Public Schools, the business community and Fort Eustis, has worked to level the academic playing field for students – the majority of whom come from low-income families in Newport News’ East End community.

The longer the school has a student – such as one who starts school there and finishes there – the better the student’s scores often are, says Kathy Edwards, the school’s chief operations officer.

The schools are fully accredited under state and national standards. Some 300 kids who might never have done so have headed to colleges or trade schools or the military. The graduation rates are “phenomenal,” says Brian Nichols, executive director of elementary school leadership for Newport News Public Schools. Walls in the high school are papered with acceptance letters from schools such as the University of Virginia, Virginia Tech, ODU and Norfolk State.

“It is one of our highest-performing schools,” Nichols says. “It has a nice, upward trend at data when you look at the trend over the past years. You really see the perfect trend line you want to see, across the grade levels, across groups. They’ve done tremendous work, and it’s really paid off for kids.”

For Segaloff, the seed to do something was planted when he ran Virginia Specialty Stores, a women’s clothing chain that evolved from a store his parents started in downtown Newport News in 1947. His company ran distribution centers, and would hire 30 to 40 high school graduates each year. The jobs were simple – packing, labeling, loading up trucks. But when it came time to interview candidates, high school grads would show up improperly dressed, chewing gum and barely able to put together a coherent sentence about why they wanted a job.

“It always bothered me,” Segaloff says. “What a terrible injustice, graduating kids, giving them a diploma, and they go out into the job market and all they can do is flip a burger. Dig a ditch. What a terrible disappointment to the child.”

Then one Sunday, Segaloff was driving in downtown Newport News and saw three young teenagers on the ground, being handcuffed by police. The sight was “just one more two-by-four in the head to me.”

“I realized there is no American dream anymore on 25th and Jefferson,” he says. “It just doesn’t exist.”

And so began Segaloff’s mission.

He went to the Newport News Schools superintendent. He went to the military. He talked to leaders in the business community. He proposed starting a summer program, with tennis as the hook.

Years before, during one of his regular trips to Israel, Segaloff learned about a program there involving tennis. It was used as a way to bring recent immigrants – despite language barriers – together.

Segaloff thought the idea could work in Newport News. Kids could walk to a tennis court. They could hit a ball against a wall if they didn’t have a partner. And the start-up costs were cheap – for $35, Segaloff could buy a racket, balls and a set of tennis clothes.

Today, Achievable Dream tennis players are the mainstay of Heritage High School’s tennis team – the school next door where students can play sports. Some have gone on to play tennis in college.

After two years running the summer program, Segaloff asked the city for his own school and the Achievable Dream Academy was born. It’s grown ever since. Students in kindergarten through second grade come from the neighboring district, but students in the other grades are chosen based on their social and at-risk factors. Nearly 75 percent come from single-parent homes. This school year, about 60 children are considered homeless – living in motels, shelters or not with their families. From the beginning, Segaloff said he wanted “the tired, the hungry, the poor. We want the kids we can make the most difference with.”

Achievable Dream is a private-public school – it’s part of the city system but relies heavily on donations. There are seven corporate partners and some 100 businesses that provide instructors or financial help.

Thanks to sponsors, the school has a state-of-the-art science lab. The indoor tennis center is top notch. There’s a health clinic staffed by Riverside Health System nurses, and parents can take night classes offered by Thomas Nelson Community College instructors.

The Army has been a part from the beginning, with Fort Eustis soldiers at the K-5 school each morning, shaking hands, checking uniforms and working with kids on character development. The city’s sheriff’s department helps at the middle and high school.

Teachers teach a “what-it-takes curriculum,” says Edwards, the COO. Besides the basic school subjects, students have classes in formal dining etiquette, conflict resolution, ethics and “speaking green” – standard business English. Them, not dem; ask, not ax.

At the middle and high school, classrooms are named after personal attributes such as tolerance, responsibility, humility, honesty, trust and courage. Every morning, all students recite a series of “banners,” positive affirmations that they strive to live by.

“Proud to be drug-free.” “An Achievable Dream loves me.” “I am someone special.” “I am somebody.”

Students and parents sign contracts – among the promises, students pledge to stay crime- and drug-free and to not get pregnant or father a child. Parents pledge to keep uniforms clean and provide homework space. “It says a lot for parents who sign the contract and want their children to be here,” Edwards says. “We have some parents who are working two and three jobs, trying to put food on the table. They want the best for their children.”

Unlike a public school year of 180 days, students spend 210 days in school, with days that last 8½ hours. There are uniforms and dress codes. Field trips are numerous – to places students might otherwise not get the chance to visit, like museums, plays, even out to dinner. They can earn money for test scores.

When students graduate, they receive $2,000-per-year scholarships for every year they attend college. The money is provided by companies and families who sponsor the senior class each year.

John Lawson, president and chief executive officer of contracting firm W.M. Jordan Company, has supported Achievable Dream since the beginning. He and his wife, Paige, sponsored the class of 2007, providing scholarships for the 40-member class – and computers as graduation presents. All but two went to college; those two joined the military.  The Lawsons still send Christmas cards and gifts to their class.

“The program is totally unique to anything else,” John Lawson says. “I can’t think of a single cause that does more and accomplishes more than Achievable Dream does. It just seems to get better and better each year. And Walter is the reason.”

Segaloff, who spent much of his life in Newport News, sold his family’s business in 1992 and began pouring his energy into Achievable Dream, amassing a long list of service, citizenship and lifetime achievement awards along the way – including the Virginia Press Association’s 2012 Virginian of the Year. He’s lived in Smithfield for 15 years with his wife, Ann.

When Segaloff steps away from day-to-day duties March 1, Aubrey Layne Jr., president of Great Atlantic Properties, will take the helm. Segaloff plans to help organize the yearly Run for the Dream fundraiser.

Segaloff and Layne, who has served on the school’s endowment board, say they’d like to see its method expand to other cities – in 2010, U.S. Secretary of Education Arne Duncan called the school “remarkable” and “a model for what every child needs.”

The school helped Shukita Massie.

Massie, 29, who grew up in the East End, started at Achievable Dream when it was a summer program, and she was part of its first graduating class in 2001. She went to college at Mary Baldwin College in Staunton, to law school at William & Mary, and today is an assistant commonwealth’s attorney for Hampton. Her goal is to be a judge. She visits Achievable Dream occasionally to encourage the students to push for their goals. “Where you’re from,” she says, “doesn’t have anything to do with where you’re going and where you want to be.”

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