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Project Success

October 1, 2003 Comments off
Seeking to expand their medical school lessons, future physicians create innovative initiatives to help heal their communities.Published in The New Physician, October 2003

The building that broke ground in July at 54th and Prairie in downtown Chicago, which will house the long-awaited and first-ever headquarters for Chicago Youth Programs (CYP), is as much a monument to a former Northwestern University medical student’s ingenuity as it is functional office space. For nearly 20 years, CYP has gotten by on borrowed rooms and borrowed time to help pull the children of Chicago’s Cabrini Green, Washington Park and Uptown housing projects out of poverty, using parks and deserted college classrooms to further its cause.

“Gotten by”—that’s quite a misnomer. Through the years, the staff that has grown to 650 volunteers has helped 90 percent of the children it serves to reach age 18, having avoided gangs, criminal convictions and premature parenthood. Right now, with $50,000 in donations from former CYP volunteers, it’s helping fund the college educations of more than 40 at-risk youth, and 70 percent to 80 percent of them will graduate in the coming years. The going rate for minority college graduates overall is just 33 percent.

It seems that what Dr. Joe DiCara—just “Dr. Joe” to most—has done with the organization he and a handful of other medical students started in 1984 is nothing short of superhuman.

Or is it?

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Oh, the Places You’ll Go

September 1, 2001 Comments off

 You may have been wondering what to do after medical school–or perhaps you haven’t had the time to even think about it. In any case, the possibilities are endless. Let these five physicians’ tales inspire you to explore your unique career opportunities. Your future awaits you.

The New Physician, September 2001

So there he was. The Jerk, in person.

Alice Brandfonbrener had no idea when she decided to go to medical school that she would one day wind up here, rustled from her office at Northwestern University in the comfy northern suburbs and called down to Chicago’s Van Buren “L” station, to treat a case of ordinary bronchitis. Of course, this case didn’t belong to just any ordinary throat. It was Steve Martin’s, and he was filming “Planes, Trains and Automobiles,” and if she didn’t get down there right away, well … ladies and gentlemen, I bid you to consider the cinematic disaster that might have unfolded. Did you laugh at “Planes, Trains … ”? Yes? Go tell Alice: “Thank you.”

The truth is, though, that the comedian’s cough was far less interesting than what comprises the rest of Brandfonbrener’s world as a physician in performing arts medicine. No, the Columbia University medical school graduate and Northwestern University professor doesn’t serenade her patients in the examination room; in fact, she’s not very musical at all. But what she does do is ensure that actors, musicians, vocalists, dancers and the like can perform their jobs without injury.

To the untrained, it might seem like a medical catering service for prima donnas with hangnails on their pinkies. But Brandfonbrener’s expertise–which she began to develop when she became the first staff doctor for the Aspen Music Festival in 1983–is widely sought after and highly technical. She learned, she says, “to combine traditional medicine techniques with knowledge of the instruments [the musicians] were playing, the way they were being taught, the way they were trained.”

And voila–a specialization was born. One that, despite managed care’s song and dance, is thriving among performers because it’s the only medicine that understands the real demands of their professions.

“We can speak their lingo,” says Brandfonbrener, who founded the Performing Arts Medicine Association. “We can ask about the medical symptoms they have, the aches and pains, in artistic terms. We can talk to them about what they can do–and avoid doing–in terms of their talents.”

Piano players, for instance, suffer from too much finger motion. They frequently don’t know how to use the full weight of their arms on the keys, and particularly in a classical musician who practices for hours, the physical effects can be devastating.

“We’ll see a lot of students right before exams or juries, because those are the times when they’re practicing the most and at the same time dealing with a lot of the emotional tension that goes along with it,” she says.

Many of the injuries she treats come as a result of poor teaching methods or just plain inhumane training hours. She spends a great deal of time educating performers and their instructors about healthy practicing.

And the field, she says, is growing, despite those within the industry who still believe her patients are “just neurotic musicians who were making it all up. This is life to these performers; their talents are what drive them.”

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Educating Michie

May 1, 2001 Comments off

On the South Side of Chicago, hope and identity are as difficult to hold onto as innocence. But a teacher and his students aren’t giving up.

Published in Carolina Alumni Review, May/June 2001

Tuesday night might not happen. It should just fold silently into Wednesday, no questions asked, like all the other days in South Side Chicago. The clock drones on the wall, challenging the otherwise quiet room with doubt, and Greg Michie ‘85 sits on a cheap piece of furniture and waits. The flannel shirt on his back, the hiking boots on his feet, the pale of his complexion, the slightness of his build-what do you need to see to understand that he is not the sort of man one expects to find in this room? Do you need to see the men for whom he waits? The men who bring the dark circles under his eyes, the failure of sleep?

Joey is one. He is 16. He was sitting in his living room one evening, falling asleep while watching television. Next thing he knew, his sister was wrapping his arm with a T-shirt as the blood soaked through, as his leg stung and swelled, as police gathered around him, arguing among each other. There were four bullets in all, and it didn’t matter that Joey isn’t really in the Saints. You live in Saints territory, you’re at the mercy of their enemies.

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The Women of Chicago Blues

February 1, 1999 Comments off

Published in Urban Explorer, Winter 1999

She kept the framed posters, the wedding album, the CDs, the videotaped performances, hidden in her closet for two-and-a-half years. Now it all lies tumbling about Dawn O’Keefe Williams’ cluttered apartment, memories unfolding on the stereo, the television and the coffee table, and her future wrapped like guitar string around it all.

“I thought it would be okay to see all of this again if someone else was here,” she says, as a videotape of her husband, Emery Williams Jr. singing – emaciated, two months before his death from lung cancer in 1996 – plays on before her.

Even before she met Emery, who shared the stage with greats from Eddy Clearwater to Koko Taylor, Dawn dreamed of making a living singing the blues. Emery gave the dream focus.

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