Alexandra DiPalma reporting in Altar, Mexico (photo by Samantha Sais)

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Alexandra DiPalma reports from Altar, Mexico.

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A salty hamburger and french fries. Stock photo

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Reporter Alexandra DiPalma on the salt battle.

Cigarette smokers, soda drinkers and fast-food lovers aren’t the only ones who are being affected by Mayor Michael Bloomberg’s health crusades. Now, to the outrage of many New York City restaurant owners, chefs and diners, the mayor has added another target to his list: salt.

In January, as part of his National Salt Reduction Initiative, Bloomberg called for restaurants and food manufacturers to reduce the salt content of their food by 25 percent over the next five years. The initiative has been embraced by more than 40 other U.S. cities and is being backed by several health organizations.

Within the past few days, in a major victory for advocates of the plan, Bloomberg successfully recruited 16 major food companies to voluntarily cut the amount of salt in their products. According to a report from the New York Department of Health and Mental Hygiene, these companies include Starbucks, Kraft and Heinz.

“By working together over the past two years, we have been able to accomplish something many said was impossible; setting concrete, achievable goals for salt reduction,” said Bloomberg in a statement.

Ratha Chou, head chef at Kampuchea, a critically acclaimed restaurant in the Lower East Side, is among those who staunchly oppose the new initiative.

“I don’t understand how Bloomberg can try to regulate the amount of salt we’re using,” said Chou. “It’s a basic right. It would be like saying we can only walk on our left foot or something.”

The sodium regulations are meant to address the issue of high blood pressure, which, according to the Institute of Medicine, kills up to 23,000 New Yorkers and 800,000 Americans each year.

Currently, one quarter-pound cheeseburger or one deli sandwich can contain up to
one-third of our daily allotment of salt. Surprisingly, only 11 percent of our daily allotment of salt comes from our own saltshakers, while nearly 80 percent of sodium in American diets is added to food before it is sold. Thus, the initiative aims to protect innocent consumers who have no control over sodium levels in pre-packaged foods.

“Lowering sodium is essential to reversing the trend of more Americans developing high blood pressure — a major risk factor for heart disease and stroke,” Chief Executive Officer of the American Heart Association Nancy Brown said in a press release.

Still, many believe that Bloomberg is using a hatchet instead of a scalpel to address health issues like high blood pressure. For chefs who are trained to cook with potentially harmful ingredients like salt, the regulations threaten the ability to make food properly.

Ram Chhetri, an ice cream alchemist of sorts, says even the slightest change in his recipe can have disastrous results. His shop, Lulu and Mooky’s, also in the Lower East Side, serves liquid-nitrogen ice cream and allows visitors to choose from thousands of flavor combinations, or invent their own.

“We use Himalayan rock salt to make the ice cream, and it’s very important to use the right amount,” Chhetri said. “Just a small cut in the salt would change the chemicals and the taste of the ice cream completely.”

Some out-of-towners can already taste the difference in New York food.

Matthew Haught, 25, of St. Albans, W.V., stopped at Five Guys Burger and Fries in Manhattan during a recent visit. He frequently visits the Five Guys branch at home, and was shocked when he got his burger and fries at the Bleecker Street location.

“The stuff back home is a little saltier and a little richer. Here, I was watching and they didn’t use as much salt or grease when they cooked it,” Haught said.

Haught, like many diners, resents the mayor’s attempt to control sodium levels in restaurants. He believes that he can control his own diet without the mayor’s help.

“If you resign yourself to going to Five Guys, you know you’re going to get a ton of salt and fat in your meal,” he said. “You also know that you’re going to have to spend an extra twenty minutes at the gym that afternoon.”

But considering the country’s statistics on obesity and high blood pressure, not everyone does spend that extra time in the gym, and not everyone is able to make healthy decisions on their own. Even so, Haught says, responsible eaters shouldn’t be punished because of a few unhealthy ones.

“Bottom line: there’s what’s good and then there’s what could have been better,” Haught said of his restaurant food. “And even if it is a little unhealthier, I would rather have it be better.”

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Hard-court bike polo players engage in a match at The Pit on the Lower East Side. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

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Each Sunday in Sara D. Roosevelt Park in the Lower East Side, six athletes ride small bicycles, racing back and forth over a blacktop surface about the size of a tennis court. They are divided into teams, and most wear helmets, padding and hockey gloves. Each player wields a mallet, attempting to hit a small plastic ball into a goal while biking without crashing, falling or putting a foot to the ground.

They are playing hard-court bike polo, a variation on traditional horse polo. And while the sport is usually associated with high society and royalty, bike polo matches in Manhattan’s Lower East Side draw a more diverse following.

According to Doug Dalrymple, the unofficial promoter of New York City bike polo, interest in the sport has steadily increased in recent years. But despite its growing popularity, many New Yorkers still know little about hard-court bike polo.

“If I had to describe the game to someone who knew nothing about it, I’d say that it’s something like horse polo, with the feel of street hockey,” Dalrymple said. “On bikes.”

Dalrymple has been playing for more than five years. Now, he helps to organize league play and is responsible for running the club Web site.

“We have about 40 people who play regularly,” said Dalrymple. “But it’s not like we’re a legit club — you don’t have to pay to play with us; you don’t have to be a member. All you have to do is show up.”

The community’s loose attitude makes the sport accessible to newcomers, and the nature of the game attracts young players who cannot necessarily afford a horse. Players ride on souped-up bicycles and use homemade mallets. Rather than a 300-yard grass field at an exclusive polo club, hard-court bike polo is played on parking lots or basketball courts.

In New York, enthusiasts gather at an asphalt court called The Pit, between Chrystie and Grand streets. Large crowds come out every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday to watch pick-up games played by bike polo veterans and rookies alike.

The Pit has been the location of several high-profile bike polo tournaments and is a well-known venue throughout the national bike-polo community. Just last week, a two-day tournament at The Pit drew bike polo teams from France, England, Germany, Switzerland, and all over the U.S. and Canada.

While the game might sound like some new-fangled extreme sport invented by urban youth, there is a great deal of history behind it.

“A lot of people think it’s a new thing, but bike polo has been around almost has long as bikes,” Dalrymple said. “It probably looked a lot different than this, considering bikes had just been invented, but the idea is still the same.”

First played in Ireland in 1891, traditional bicycle polo was played on a rectangular grass field and was included as a demonstration sport in the 1908 London Olympics.

Hard-court bike polo is different from the original game in that the rules are less formal and can be played in a wider variety of spaces, making it popular in urban environments where large grass fields don’t exist.

Most of the New York regular bike-polo players are men in their 20s and 30s, but there are a few die-hard players who are exceptions.

“We have college students and young people, but we’ve also got a few women, and our most senior player, Frank.” Dalrymple said. “I’m not sure anyone really knows how old he is.”

Frank Marcus, a middle-aged man who jokingly claims to be 25 years old, comes from his home in Long Island to practice each week. Like Dalrymple, he’s been playing for about five years and has no plans of stopping anytime soon.

“I just like to come out and enjoy the game,” Marcus said. “But sometimes I get in trouble for it. I got a few drinking tickets from the cops for having beer during the games.”

Marcus’ teammates tease him about the incident, and one of them caught the exchange on video and posted it to YouTube. Now Marcus is well known throughout the bike polo community for his run-ins with police.

“At the tournament last week, guys kept coming up to me and saying ‘You’re that guy who got the drinking ticket! You’re famous!’ ” Marcus said. “I still haven’t seen the video.”

Marcus and many of the other regular players have been dedicated to the game for several years, and they have the scars to show for it.

Ethan Benton, left, looks on as Phil 'Ram Man' Miarmi exposes his customized T-shirt. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

Phil “Ram Man” Miarmi, 34, moved to New York in 2007 and first saw a bike polo match at The Pit within his first few days in the city. He immediately was hooked.

“I started playing right away,” Miarmi said, unzipping his jacket to reveal a custom-made T-shirt with “Ram Man” emblazoned across the front. “And it’s been painful ever since.”

Miarmi is notorious for his countless injuries, and his tendency to cause them on the court.

“The first time I was out there, I just remember smashing into everyone, going full speed into the wall and pieces of my bike flying in the air,” he recalled. “I just don’t care.”

He has marks from several injuries, including cuts, scrapes, blackened nails and even a bruise that he had to “drill a hole in to get the blood out.”

Miarmi is not the only one with battle scars. Ethan Benton, 33, from Brooklyn, has been on hiatus since his shoulder injury.

“I fell off my bike, then my arm fell out of the socket, then I moved my arm and nothing went back the way it was supposed to,” Benton said. “So I’ve been taking a little break.”

Phil 'Ram Man' Miarmi shows off one of his many bike-polo-related injuries. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

Even the newcomers seem immune to the roughness of the game. Sara Wojcik, originally from New York, started playing bike polo in Poland a few months ago while she was living abroad. Wojcik and a few friends started a club in Warsaw when her mother agreed to sponsor them, providing mallet head material and balls.

“I came back to New York for a vacation, then I intentionally missed my flight back to Poland and went to my first polo tournament in Richmond, Virginia,” Wojcik said. “It was totally worth it, but it was very, very ‘bro.’ ”

Wojcik doesn’t mind being one of the only women in the scene. In New York, she has helped to organize a women’s bike polo night, or as they refer to it, “no bro polo.” Since skipping her flight back to Poland, Wojcik has had a lot of time to focus on the game.

“I’m still unemployed at the moment, so polo kind of rules my life,” Wojcik said, while bandaging her knuckles to cover a fresh cut. “It’s awesome and awful at the same time.”

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Paul Brainard stands among the “Vaga Lume" exhibition in Eleven Rivington, an art gallery in the Lower East Side. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

On a recent Saturday, the Lower East Side buzzed as crowds of people went from restaurant to boutique to gallery, taking advantage of the long-awaited taste of spring.

One gallery, Eleven Rivington, has attracted an impressive amount of visitors throughout its short existence. Although the storefront is small and inconspicuous, passersby constantly stop for a closer look. “Vaga Lume,” the current exhibit by Brazilian artist Valeska Soares, is especially eye-catching.

The white-walled main room is completely empty. Thousands of beaded metal chains hang from ceiling to floor, filling the space. Each of the chains is attached to individual light bulbs that cover the ceiling. The piece is interactive, so a steady flow of people comes in to navigate the space and turn the bulbs on and off.

Eleven Rivington is only one of several new galleries in the area. As restaurants and retail shops throughout Manhattan close their doors for good, art galleries in the Lower East Side are thriving. In the past year, eight new galleries have opened, adding to the more than 50 that already exist.

David Suarez, executive director of the Lower East Side Business Improvement District, views the trend as a welcome surprise considering the tough economic climate. He says the number of galleries has increased by almost 65 percent since 2006.

“The increase in art galleries throughout the area is remarkable,” Suarez said. “It signifies one of the many changes in the neighborhood; this change is certainly positive.”

To assist emerging art galleries in the area, the BID works directly with local artists and gallery owners to organize “Every Last Sunday” on the Lower East Side, a free guided tour of up to 16 galleries.

“When we first started offering the tours, there weren’t nearly as many galleries,” Suarez said.

Ryan Steadman stands in Anastasia Photo in the Lower East Side. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

According to some gallery owners and employees, the reasons for the massive influx are several and varied. Ryan Steadman, 36, of Brooklyn, is an artist and employee at Anastasia Photo on Orchard Street. The gallery, specializing in documentary photography and photojournalism, opened in April 2009.

“Rent prices are one of the main attractions to opening in this neighborhood,” Steadman said. “It’s cheaper than Chelsea or the West Village, and there is still a great art community.”

Rent in the Lower East Side typically runs from $5 to $15 per square foot, while rent in Chelsea can be anywhere from $20 to $60 per square foot, depending on the floor number and condition of the space.

Anastasia’s current exhibit features work from young artist David Wright, whose photos depict a school in northern Uganda. Although the pieces are considered affordable, starting at $2,000, Steadman classifies most customers as “people with money.” And even they haven’t been buying much.

“The dead of winter was really bad this year,” he said. “Luckily, the owner is more than comfortable. She was in the position to weather the storm.”

Of course, not every gallery owner is in such a position. According to Paul Brainard of Eleven Rivington, which features contemporary works in various forms, his gallery has survived the old-fashioned way.

“All things considered, we’ve been doing really well this year,” said Brainard. “We depend on ‘established clients,’ but we make money by selling things for as little as $600.”

Brainard agrees that rent prices in the Lower East Side are a major draw but cites other advantages of the location that have benefited the galleries.

“In Chelsea, you’re not only paying more, but you’re stuffed into the eighth floor of some massive building,” Brainard said. “Here, we’re right on a busy street. People come in because they like what they see from the window.”

At Eleven Rivington, those who stumble upon the gallery unintentionally drive much of the visitor traffic. In the case of the current Soares exhibit, people come in to snap photos and play with the hanging chains.

And just as street performers are more likely to collect donations in a hat that is already full of money, a crowded gallery attracts more people.

“None of these people would be coming in if we didn’t have the exposure,” Brainard said. “In other areas, it’s impossible.”

Still, non-paying visitors do not produce profit, no matter how many stop by. Potential customers are few and far between.

“Selling art is always very sporadic — you sell a few pieces here and there,” Brainard said. “It has become even more sporadic in the past year, but things seem to be turning around.”

During the first weekend in March, Eleven Rivington joined hundreds of galleries, artists, collectors and critics from all over the world to exhibit work at the annual Armory Show, a leading international art fair. Brainard and gallery co-owner Augusto Arbizo were pleased with the results.

“The show was really great for us,” Brainard said. “It was a good indicator of what’s to come this year.”

Sitting at his desk in Anastasia Photo on the first warm Saturday of winter, Steadman is also optimistic about the upcoming months. As the weather improves, more people will be out and about, taking advantage of tours and spending money.

“We made it through the hard part. … I think the worst is over,” he said. “At least I hope so.”

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The recently closed Guss' Pickles storefront. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

In the span of a few blocks of Manhattan’s Lower East Side, residents and visitors can find themselves sipping wine at a gallery opening, shopping for knockoff purses, touring historic tenement apartments, and ending up at high-end boutique or $3 dumpling shop.

More than any other neighborhood in New York City, the Lower East Side is known for it’s remarkable diversity and rich artistic culture. But now more than ever, store owners and residents fear that growing numbers of affluent middle-class transplants are threatening the area’s unique character.

“When I moved to the Lower East Side 20 years ago, it was the ruckus neighborhood,” said Steven “Sunshine” Potter, longtime resident and manager of the recently opened neighborhood joint Mikey’s Burgers. “Now it’s only a bland, watered-down version of what it used to be.”

Mikey's Burger on the Lower East Side. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

Just as the Lower East Side was transformed from immigrant neighborhood to counter-culture capital in the 1960s, the area has been going through another massive shift. Middle-class residential upgrades have pushed out artists and longtime businesses, such as Guss’ Pickles on Orchard Street near Delancey Street. The pickle shop has sold some of the city’s most renowned pickles for more than 89 years, when Polish immigrant Isidor Guss began selling his products out of a pushcart on the Lower East Side.

But in the beginning of this year, Guss’ finally buckled under the pressure of increasing rent prices. Owner Patricia Fairhurst decided to move from Orchard Street to Borough Park in Brooklyn.

“It’s gotten too expensive here,” said Fairhurst. “And we only have an outdoor storefront — we freeze standing out here in the winter.”

Steve Liebowitz, owner of United Pickle Enterprises based in the Bronx, is also sole owner of the Guss’ trademark and name. In a contentious court battle, Fairhurst lost all rights to use the name when she relocated. He believes that the Orchard Street Guss’ is moving to Brooklyn for another reason.

“They didn’t move to Brooklyn because of the rent prices or because of the neighborhood,” Liebowitz said. “When they stopped buying from us five years ago, the pickle quality slipped. That was the problem — they weren’t getting as much business.”

Whether the rent or the quality of their pickles drove them out of the Lower East Side, Guss’ did manage to hold on long enough to see the block change completely. Now, the neighborhood institution seems out of place.

Upscale boutiques and specialty shops — a spa frequented by celebs, a coffee shop that roasts its own beans, a shoe store that only sells items made from organic materials — have overshadowed the red pickle barrels that once crowded the narrow sidewalk.

Even though the pickle shop is moving to Brooklyn, 88 Orchard, the expensive café directly across from the old location, includes Guss’ famous half-sours with their $11 gourmet sandwiches.

“It’s really too bad that they’ve been pushed out,” said Soo Chin Han, 22, who has recently moved to Orchard Street from the Upper West Side. “Especially since yet another trendy hipster boutique will probably go in its place.”

While some residents are angered by the displacement of shops like Guss’, others are resigned to the fact that the neighborhood’s shifting landscape is inevitable.

“The Lower East Side might have held on to its identity for longer than other places, but everything is becoming gentrified in a sense,” Potter said. “People move down here and want to change it instead of embracing it.”

Potter, whose burger spot opened only a few months ago, is pleased with some of the changes.

“In the ’80s, there would be people partying and doing drugs and getting food at diners at 9 in the morning, not looking for the newest restaurants,” Potter said. “Now the Lower East Side food scene is a destination, which is great for us.”

The same influx of affluence that fuels the success of upscale restaurants is helping business for small boutiques in the area. While it’s still possible to buy a fake-leather coat off the street, the ‘bargain district’ title is becoming less and less appropriate as fashionable clothing stores displace old discount emporiums.

Isidoro A. Francisco, 29, is also happy with the way business is being affected. An employee at Yumi Kim, a designer boutique opened in 2008, he is still concerned that his clientele, among others, are taking away from the neighborhood’s distinct identity.

“People from the Upper East and Upper West Sides are moving down here and spending money because they think it’s the place to be,” Francisco said. “But now everyone who made the LES cool is moving out to Brooklyn.”
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Isidoro A. Francisco on the changing Lower East Side

Francisco noted the arrested development of several hotels in the area, such as Hotel Ludlow and developer Morris Platt’s plan to build it at 180 Orchard St. Once these developments gather momentum, he said, Lower East Side culture will face a serious blow.

“The Lower East Side still has its edge, but it’s only a matter of time until it loses it,” he said.

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Chess players in Washington Square Park. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

SweetPea
Pavement Pieces reporter Alexandra DiPalma talks to Sweet Pea

Although the ground was still covered in snow and the temperature was below freezing, Bobby “Sweet Pea” Plummer sat on a bench in Washington Square Park with two felt chess boards set up at the table in front of him. He stayed there for hours calling out to passersby, the few who were out in the freezing weather, trying to persuade them to join him for a quick game.

“It’s hard out here in the winter,” he said. “Plus, the economy’s bad so no one wants to play. In the summer I get thirty, forty, fifty people. These days I’m lucky to get five.”

Hours went by without anyone sitting down to play, but Sweet Pea accepted it as part of the job. After four decades of playing chess for money, barely anything ruffles his feathers.

Sweet Pea fell into the chess profession during the ’60s when he couldn’t find a job. He’d wander around the city’s chess shops, looking for a way to occupy his time. As he tells it, he learned how to play from a wealthy rabbi who would always come by the shops. The rabbi told him about guys making money playing out in Times Square, and Sweet Pea jumped at the opportunity.

“The rabbi used to spread all his money around to the poor guys like me. I thank God for that rabbi. He’s up in heaven now,” Sweet Pea says, looking towards the sky.

Sweet Pea has come a long way since his early days. He’s been quoted in newspapers and magazines, and he has been on TV. He had a cameo in “Searching for Bobby Fischer,” a film about a prodigy chess player. He’s played with Woody Allen, Chris Rock and Anthony Hopkins. Sweet Pea says everything Hopkins knows about chess, he learned from him.

Sweet Pea hasn’t let these brief encounters with fame go to his head. He still plays with anyone who’ll pay and gives lessons to beginners, but he’s tough on the inexperienced opponents who challenge him to a game.

“I play to win, no matter who sits down,” he said. “I probably win about 85 percent of my games. There are some good players out here.”

On this cold February day, a young man finally sat down to play a quick $5 game. Jon Fischer (no relation to Bobby, he confirmed), 24, is certainly not someone who will damage Sweet Pea’s winning record.

“I just learned the other day, so I’m kind of a beginner,” he explained apologetically. “Take it easy on me.”

But Sweet Pea had no intention of taking it easy on anyone. From the first move, he relentlessly taunted his opponent, using variations on the derogatory chess term — “fish” — for players like Fischer.

“We call ‘em fish because beating them is like shooting fish in a barrel,” said Sweet Pea, as if the young man across the table can’t hear. “Honorable fish. C’mon, fishcake. Let’s go, Baby Jon,” Sweet Pea shouted. “I’m going to use my duck variation. You’re a dead duck now.”

Even though he was a little flustered, Fischer played along, taking no offense.

“Well, you’re one of the most modest people I’ve met in a while,” Fischer shot back sarcastically.

Sweet Pea laughed and continued his heckling.

As promised, Sweet Pea made quick work of Fischer. He got his third $5 payment of the day, but it only got colder and fewer people walked past. Sweet Pea didn’t seem to mind though — he just likes to play.

“I’m out here surviving, doing what I want to do,” he said. “I love chess. I really love it. It might be tough these days, but things will pick up soon.”

Now Sweet Pea is just waiting for the weather to improve. Until then, he’ll be in Washington Square Park — rain, sleet or snow — waiting to make some real money.

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The remains of the Deslouches' house in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

Like so many Haitian-Americans, Samira Louis and her family eagerly awaited news of relatives in Haiti in the wake of the Jan. 12 earthquake. Within hours, the Louises were saddened to learn that the sturdy house in which her father had grown up in Port-au-Prince had collapsed to the ground.

When they later learned that her aunt and uncle were on the second floor when the house crumbled, their sadness quickly changed to devastation.

“We heard that everyone was downstairs watching TV when they felt a shake,” said Louis, 23, of East Orange, N.J. “My uncle Gaston and my cousins ran out of the house, but my aunt was still on the second floor.”

By the time Gaston Deslouches reached his wife, Adeline, it was too late; the entire structure fell to the ground while they were still inside. Louis and her family tried frantically to regain communication with their aunt and uncle, but were unable to get any information.

“We all thought that they were dead,” Louis said. “We had no idea what was going on because there was no communication, so my parents decided to fly to Haiti and find out.”

Gaston and Adeline Deslouches

Just as Louis’ parents arrived in the Dominican Republic, en route to Haiti two days after the quake, they got word that Deslouches and his wife had been rescued from beneath the debris and were safe. Deslouches, a Haitian-born Yale graduate and retired doctor, had returned to Port-au-Prince in order to provide medical care to the underprivileged.

Louis’ parents, Marie-Lucie and Nikolai R. Louis Sr., flew to Haiti with only a carry-on bag of medical supplies and $200.

“They thought, ‘Maybe we should wait. Maybe we should go when everything is settled,’ ” Louis said. “But one thing about Haitian people is, no matter what our differences are, we always stick together. Even if the situation is dangerous.”

Her parents told her that because there is so little food, communities pool resources and cook one pot of food for everyone to share for the day, but there is never enough to go around.

“It’s hard for my parents and the other volunteers because they feel like they aren’t the ones who should be eating,” Louis said. “They are in full survival mode — everyone is.”

Thing aboutSamira Louis explains why her parents went to Haiti despite the danger

Despite the overwhelming sense of worry surrounding the events in Haiti, Louis’s first instinct was to become involved with the relief effort.

Samira Louis packs boxes to aid Haiti's earthquake victims.

“When I actually realized the gravity of the situation, my initial thought was, ‘What can I do to help?’ ” Louis said.

She decided to work with friends to create a donation plan of her own.

“Immediately after the earthquake, I was on conference calls with friends, working to contribute,” Louis said. “We reached out to the largest Haitian church in the area and organized a drop-off box where community members could donate supplies.”

The plan was a success. After two days, enough supplies had been collected to fill two church vans, and were delivered to the Charity Waters, a non-profit organization in New York. The donations were then flown directly to Haiti.

Countless New Yorkers who are not directly affected by the disaster in Haiti have taken the initiative to participate in relief efforts as well. Tyler Fischer, 22, of Fort Greene, was wary of text message donations and chose to contribute in other ways.

“I’ve been going to restaurants and events that will donate their profits to various charities,” Fischer said. “I’m donating the same amount as I would via text, but am able to feel like I’m participating in something.”

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By Alexandra DiPalma

Julia Harquail searched tirelessly to find the perfect school for her youngest daughter, Catherine, who has Down syndrome. Having gone through the selection process with her two older children, Harquail knew the difficulties she would face in finding a school for Catherine.

After much deliberation, she decided on a PS 163, a public K-5 school on the Upper West Side. Everything seemed to be going well, until the first parent-teacher conference.

“My husband and I walked in, and the teachers calmly explained that, frequently, Catherine would get physically lost during the school day,” Harquail recalled.

Usually, Harquail learned, panic would ensue, until Catherine was located somewhere in the building, among the school’s 600 students.

“As upsetting as it was, any school with a one-to-30 teacher-student ratio is going to end up with some lost kids,”she said.

But Harquail couldn’t bear the thought of her youngest child going missing again, so she pulled Catherine out of the school and began her search anew. After doing research and making visits, Harquail soon came to the realization that many parents reach: Maybe the perfect school for her child just didn’t exist.

Instead of settling for the next best option, Harquail and two friends took matters into their own hands.

The three women started their own independent school, appropriately named The Ideal School. Dedicated to creating an inclusive learning environment, Harquail and her co-founders worked with education experts to balance the needs of all children. Students with special needs occupy 25 percent of classroom seats, learning side by side with their typically developing peers. Ideal, located at 76th street near Central Park West, is the only independent inclusive school in Manhattan.

The Ideal School on the Upper West Side. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

“There is a huge stigma against people who supposedly look different,” Harquail said. “And for many schools trying to be competitive, the last thing they want to do is take a child with visible disabilities when people are coming to look at the school for their own kids. But that stigma doesn’t exist at our school.”

For Harquail, Ideal is more than the manifestation of her idea for the perfect school. It is one step in the movement toward changing the negative perception of individuals with differences, instilling inclusive principles in children at a young age.

Before founding Ideal, Harquail visited several independent schools that advertised an accepting, embracing environment, but she was met with overwhelming negativity from admissions directors. Many schools told her that there was no possibility for Catherine to enroll.

After talking to friends who also had children with Down syndrome, Harquail discovered that her experiences were not isolated.

“Some places let us apply and take a school tour, even though there was never any chance. One of my friends was told that her child with Down’s was not welcome,” she said. “It’s really hard to face that rejection of your own kids.”

Even in the most diplomatic of circumstances, Harquail was simply told that Catherine could not be accommodated. When they created Ideal, Harquail and her co-founders decided their admissions policy would be different.

“After our experiences, it was critical that we never used the phrase ‘We cannot accommodate your child.’ At Ideal, we blow off classifications from the Department of Education,” said Harquail. “We want to know who you are, what your strengths are.”
Emphasizing individuals’ strengths, regardless of genetic differences, is central to the work of former fashion photographer Rick Guidotti who spoke at a recent event at the school. In 1997, Guidotti co-founded Positive Exposure, an organization that uses visual arts to challenge the stigma associated with individuals with genetic differences.

A turning point in Guidotti’s career came when he saw a young girl with albinism waiting for the bus. After researching the disease, he was appalled to discover the available images of people with albinism.

“All I found were horrible images of sickness, sadness and despair, lacking all traces of humanity — kids in offices with black bars across their eyes,” Guidotti said. “But the girl waiting for the bus didn’t look anything like that. She was beautiful.”

Guidotti believed the perception of people with genetic differences stems from the horrifying images associated with disease. He left fashion photography, and began to photograph people with genetic differences, just as he would shoot high-fashion models.

“A picture of a child in his underwear at the doctor’s office is unnatural. It’s an image used for diagnosis,” Guidotti said. “For other photos, put that kid in the pool! He swims, plays, has fun. He doesn’t just go to the doctor.”

At the school Guidotti spoke about the power of inclusive principles in the context of the wider world. He works with schools, using his art in a curriculum that teaches positive self-acceptance to typically developing children and those with special needs.

“Too often, people have such an empty understanding of the ‘Different is Beautiful’ mantra that is taught in schools,” Guidotti said. “When kids see the photography, they can grasp the real beauty in diversity. At Ideal, there is such a strong grasp on this concept.”

For parents like Harquail, the early acceptance of diversity fostered in an inclusive environment is vital. The atmosphere at Ideal allows special needs students to be a part of the wider community.

“We knew that for Catherine to be able to participate in society, then she has to be part of society from day one,” she said. “And this is the only way to really do that.”

On the surface, it’s easy to see how the environment at Ideal benefits children with special needs. But in Angela Bergeson’s experience, it is more difficult for people to understand the benefits that Ideal can provide for typically developing children. As head of school, Bergeson often finds herself explaining the inclusive philosophy to skeptical parents.

“I try and answer these questions a lot: Why is this school good for normal kids?” Bergeson said. “Why is it better than going to a top five private school where half of the graduates go to Ivy League schools? Why, why?”

Find out what they can doAngela Bergeson talks about teamwork

For Bergeson and other supporters of inclusive education, the answers are simple. She believes that Ideal instills levels of empathy and kindness that no other schools can offer. Beyond character-building opportunities, Bergeson emphasizes the unique utilitarian skills students at Ideal gain.

“The typically developing kids here will go out and have better communication skills than anyone else. Every day, they interact with peers who have actual speech and language issues,” she said. “From day one, they work together, honor each other and learn to communicate in a better way.”

One common concern that parents share is the notion that typically developing students will be hindered by special needs classmates.

According to Bergeson, many parents worry the progress of high-achieving children is impeded by sharing classroom time and space with children of lower ability levels.

“If you look at a younger brother who doesn’t know as much as an older brother, it doesn’t bring the older sibling down, it brings the younger sibling up,” she said. “It’s exactly the same in the classroom. A peer who is cognitively less strong does not bring high-achieving students down. The special needs student is brought up.”

Beautiful thing
Angela Bergeson on the beauty of an inclusive education

Mutiya Vision, an author and educational workshop facilitator, witnesses daily the positive ways that inclusion has affected her typically developing children. Born with one hand, Vision refers to herself as handi-capable rather than handicapped.

Having grown up with a physical difference, she now works to expand awareness and break down negative perception barriers that affected her throughout life.

“In school, I used to get taunted and teased about my little arm,” Vision said. “I was one of the smartest kids in school, but I was moved to a special education classroom. The easy fix has always been removing the problem instead of facing it head on.”

Vision has written books and moderated classroom workshops that help students of all ability levels to accept themselves, and the person sitting next to them, no matter who that may be. Vision’s able-bodied children have had incredible success at P.S. 10 in Brooklyn, an inclusive public school.

“Inclusion helps the heart and mind of a child and allows them to expand awareness,” Vision said. “I see my kids as part of a paradigm shift, where children are understanding tough cultural issues and working through them together.”

Vision, Guidotti and everyone at The Ideal School understand that, like any movement working toward change in social perceptions, it’s a slow process. But the resounding success of each of their efforts has provided a unique optimism.

“Sometimes, it feels like you’re pushing a rock up a hill,” Harquail admits. “But when you hear about the successes of others, and when I look at our own personal accomplishments, you just know that all these little bits will make the difference.”

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Susan Klein and Sarah Gardner are ninth grade teachers at Marta Valle Secondary School. Photo By Alexandra DiPalma

At Marta Valle Secondary School in the Lower East Side, more than 30 students and three aides are squeezed into mismatched tables and chairs during Sarah Gardner and Susan Klein’s ninth grade English class. Some students are facing the back of the room because their desks don’t fit any other way.

Despite the discomfort, every student listens attentively as Klein reads aloud from “Swallowing Stones,” giggling as two of the book’s characters share a kiss by the pool. Klein has an easy rapport with her kids; she cracks jokes and exchanges personal stories but does not compromise her authoritative position. When she yells “One mic!” in her booming voice, everyone immediately sits up straight and listens.

Although they work to engage students and create a positive learning environment, Klein, Gardner and the other teachers at Marta Valle appear to be fighting a losing battle.

Not one student in Klein’s class is reading on the appropriate grade level. Fewer than half of the students at Marta Valle will graduate. Klein, along with many other educators, attribute the continuing deterioration of New York City public education to misguided reform efforts put forth by Mayor Michael Bloomberg and the Department of Education, particularly in the areas of performance assessment and spending.

“I compare Bloomberg’s reforms to selling golf balls to people stranded in the desert. It just doesn’t work,” Klein said. “You need to be selling bottled water.”

In his Nov. 3 victory speech, Bloomberg vowed to “keep improving what is far and away the best public school system of any big city in the country,” citing “amazing progress” over the past eight years. But critics of the mayor’s agenda have seen little progress. Leonie Haimson, executive director of Class Size Matters, a non-profit clearinghouse for information on class size, believes that reform efforts thus far have been wholly ineffective.

“We know that there are a few education reforms that have been proven to work to improve educational outcomes,” Haimson said. “The problem is that none of these have been implemented.”

Instead, reform strategies have included a new report-card system for city schools, in which the DOE grades schools from A to F, and an effort to increase the education budget, in which it allocates money directly to schools.

Marta Valle is only one example of a school in which the strategies have severely backfired. Gardner, Klein and a number of education experts place heavy blame on the DOE’s school report card system, designed to promote accountability and transparency.

In 2009, 84 percent of New York City public schools received an A — an incredulous jump from 23 percent in 2007. These numbers indicate a trend that Klein considers one of the main problems at Marta Valle, and a major flaw in new reforms. She believes that interest in improving students’ academic abilities is superseded by the need to meet bogus department standards.

“Students whom I fail, who cannot read and should be held back, are moved to the next grade to keep the numbers up and make the school look good,” Klein said. “This is the root of the reading problem. It perpetuates the cycle and ruins kids’ chances at literacy.”

DOE Deputy Press Secretary Danny Kanner, however, says the reports are necessary and effective.

“The report-card system is a mechanism by which parents, teachers and the DOE can hold schools accountable for student progress,” Kanner said. “Then, schools can be dealt with accordingly.”

Still, the initiative has been met with harsh criticism. Jennifer Jennings, a sociologist at Columbia University, compares the progress reports to a flawed medical check-up. Just as doctors are accused of medical malpractice, she views the system as educational malpractice.

“The progress reports create an illusion of improved progress where none actually exists,” Jennings said. “It doesn’t do anyone any favors to pretend that things are better than they are.”

Schools that receive an A or B on the DOE progress report are eligible for cash rewards, while those getting a D or F are threatened with closure. As educators face unrealistic pressures that threaten job security, instances of falsifying school records, wrongful promotion of students and cases of grade tampering have become more common.

“The reports have lead, or forced, teachers into skewing data to improve results artificially without ever getting to the actual problem, which is providing students with a proper education,” Haimson said. “It’s a travesty.”

With the distractions created by the pressures of report-card data, attention has been drawn away from the students. And at Marta Valle, they need all the help they can get.

“It’s a fight to the death just to get my kids to class, let alone take an interest in their own academic improvement,” said Gardner.

One way to encourage students to take an interest in academic improvement, educators agree, is to decrease class sizes. But despite campaign promises and a 72-percent increase in the city’s education budget since 2002, class sizes have not gotten any smaller.

According to the most recent data released in late November by the DOE, all class size averages have gone up in the past year. High school English classrooms such as Klein and Gardner’s now have an average of 26.4 students compared to 25.6 in 2008.

Small classes are especially important at Marta Valle, where 75 percent of students are disadvantaged.

“It is well understood that poorer, disadvantaged kids inhabit environments that are incredibly adverse to educational opportunities,” Jennings said. “From the minute they walk into the classroom, they are behind.”

These students require more attention from teachers in order to compensate for lack of access to out-of-school opportunities and resources, which families are unable to provide. Having fewer students per teacher allows for more individual attention.

“At a place like Marta Valle, students become disengaged in large classrooms without individualized instruction,” Haimson said. “They feel like no one cares.”

Marta Valle Secondary School in the Lower East Side.

In addition to special attention from teachers, Jennings says that access to school resources and improved facilities help to narrow the achievement gap.

“Educational resources, because they’re not always available at home, need to be equalized for poorer students,” Jennings said. “So far, New York has done a good job at this equalization in many schools.”

According to Susan Klein, the facilities and resources at Marta Valle are still not up to par. When students were required to gather research for an essay, it had to be done during class time because many students do not have computers at home.

“We arrange trips to the school library so that students can get necessary information, but equipment problems delay progress,” Klein said.

During one trip to the computer lab, only one printer erratically worked, and all of the computer paper ran out. Klein and Gardner’s 30 students managed to print out only a few pages of information, and some left with nothing.

Doing research for a paper, a task that can typically be completed for homework in one night, occupies days of valuable class time at Marta Valle and are further delayed by facility issues. This lagging productivity, exacerbated by misguided funding, causes students in schools like Marta Valle to fall behind in academic skills across the board.

Despite the criticisms of Bloomberg’s reform efforts, Kanner is optimistic about the future of New York City public education, especially with President Obama in office. Bloomberg plans to take advantage of Obama’s Race to the Top competition, which rewards states for successful reform advances.

“Over the next four years, we will sustain and build on progress that has already been made,” Kanner said. “Significant funding opportunities made possible by the Obama administration will help to further the mayor’s vision.“

So far, Bloomberg’s vision hasn’t alleviated the challenges faced by public school teachers like Gardner and Klein. They said they struggle each day to stay optimistic and to remind themselves they are making a difference. The key, Gardner says, is to remember that each child has the ability to improve, regardless of the faults in the city’s education system.

“The big idea, that I find myself repeating in my head each day,” Gardner said, “is that every student is capable of being successful, no matter what.”

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Queens-based band Dared the Knot performs for marathon runners on Bedford Avenue in Williamsburg. Photo by Alexandra DiPalma

While most of the streets on the New York City Marathon route were lined with cheering spectators during the race yesterday, the route through Hasidic Williamsburg was empty.

Except for one corner. Jose Toro, with the help of an industrial metal band, kept Bedford and Division avenues lively for the runners.

Even as the wave of runners thinned out later in the afternoon, Toro stood on a crate with microphone in hand, flanked by two massive speakers. He shouted encouragements and personalized messages as runners passed. Calling out competitors by name, he yelled, “Come on Katie, don’t stop in Williamsburg, next stop Central Park!” and, “Get those bikes off the road; we still have runners out here!”

Nearly every passing runner showed appreciation for Toro’s support. As a former marathoner, Toro knows all about the power of a little encouragement.

“I ran this race two times, and I saw how great it was to have people rooting for you along the way,” Toro said, adding that he has been cheering on marathon racers for more than 15 years.

Instead of running, Toro now participates in the annual 39-mile Walk for Breast Cancer and has a soft spot for runners who participate in the marathon on behalf of a charity. According to the Associated Press, about 6,800 of the marathon’s 42,000 participants ran in support of more than 80 official charities.

Assembled near Toro was a raucous group called Dared the Knot, a five-member band based out of Queens. Amid groups of men, women and children in traditional dress and speaking in Yiddish, the band’s harsh sound was in stark contrast to the quiet neighborhood.

Todd Bowes, 31, lead singer and spokesman for Dared the Knot, acknowledged the group’s unlikely venue.

“It’s kind of weird to be playing industrial metal in this area because everything about it is so traditional,” Bowes said, “but we’ve been playing at this same spot for the past four marathons, and we’re always received well. It’s a great way to connect with the neighborhood.”

Erica Lee and two friends, who traveled from Queens to support a friend and the other runners, joined the mini cheer squad.

“Not many people are clappy and cheery around here,” Lee said.

Holding signs and Tupperware containers of Swedish fish, Lee received smiles and thanks as the runners passed.

“There are long bouts where no one takes any candy, but when one person sees someone else grab a fish, everyone follows.”

In the end, the enthusiasm of the spectators proved less contagious than the grad for Swedish fish. Toro urged community members to join in supporting the runners.

“All you Hasidics out there can clap your hands, I promise you won’t feel any pain!” Toro said over the loudspeakers.

He didn’t get much of a reaction.

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