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Sunday, December 15, 2002

By Kim Crow, Post-Gazette Staff Writer

It can be hard to walk into a room where everyone is different from you. It's harder when you don't know a soul.

	Ricky Johnson, top, boogies to the Village People's "YMCA" during the Thanksgiving dance for students in the CCAC Special Needs program. (Annie O'Neill, Post-Gazette)

But here, in this room, at this dance, it doesn't seem to matter. Here, in this room, where everyone looks different from you and even from each other, all it takes is a simple "Hi" to be swept up into the fun. In this room filled with music and laughter and camaraderie, where hundreds of people talk and sing and dance, dance, dance, it's not about how you look or how you're dressed or who your friends are.

It's about simply being who you are. And dancing, lots and lots of dancing.

For the past two decades, the Community College of Allegheny County has offered a Special Needs program to nearly 5,000 people in the region.

This is the first and only post-secondary program in the state to offer continuing education to students with mild to severe disabilities. Students can take custom-designed classes, including such topics as anti-victimization and budget training, health and fitness, and dozens of leisure activities, such as bowling, crafts classes and computer programming.

"The community at large needs to know that these people are just like them," said Peggy Mannella, coordinator for the Special Needs departments. "They have the same needs for social and recreational opportunities that we all have."

And while many of the most popular classes are social in nature, the monthly dances seem to have caught on with the most fire and enthusiasm.

These are not dances held in mildewy church basements with stale cookies and warm punch for a few shuffling dancers while someone's teenage son spins Yanni CDs on a household boom box. No, these dances are gala events for hundreds of people, held at different hotel ballrooms across the region.

"If we were going to do it, we were going to do it with style and we were going to do it with grace," said Mannella. And she and her colleague, Arlene Bair, have done just that.

Dance fever

These dances resemble the best wedding reception you've ever attended. The dance floor is jammed all night, arms wave high in the air, hips swivel left and right, a crowd of eager guys surround a gorgeous young blonde, shoes are kicked off, ladies dance in their stocking feet. The music is loud, nearly deafening, but louder yet are the voices that rise above the giant speakers, all singing along with the most popular tunes from the past 50 years ... "This kind of music just soooooooothes the soul!"

Volunteers Christine Stark, left, and Kristin Palaniuk, both of Shaler, share a laugh with Jim Dipiero of Mt. Lebanon at the CCAC Special Needs program's Sparkle Dance. (Annie O'Neill, Post-Gazette)

There's a line at the soda pop bar that stretches 10 hot, perspiring dancers deep, all eager to return to the floor. Hors d'oeuvres are available, too, and there's time for a breather as everyone settles down to large, linen-covered table for some nibbles and conversation.

But the quiet doesn't last long. It's door prize time.

Some of the tables are less noisy than others, and there's the inevitable "popular" table, with a young couple in love and all their friends, and they talk loud and laugh louder than anyone else. There's a table of friends who sign to each other, and while it may be quieter, the conversation is as spirited. But every table wants to know when the dancing will start again. And some people want to know, when will they have the door prizes?

Applause greets the theme to "Chariots of Fire." Boooom. As the music swells and dips, Big Ed the DJ calls out to the crowd, "Who feels lucky tonight?"

Wooohoooo! The crowd calls back.

"How many people here think they are winners?" asks Big Ed.

WOHHHOOOOOHOOOO!

"How many people want to get up here and dance again?"

The glasses on the tables rattle with the din.

After the door prizes are handed out amid whoops and fist-pumping, the dance floor is packed right up until it's time to go. Parents and caretakers filter in, and any irritation that their charges are not ready to go is quickly replaced by wonder and affection. It's something to see, this crowd of people who, despite their personal challenges, are simply letting loose and shaking their groove thing.

"Socialization is a big chunk of what they miss out on," said Betty Hane, whose 16-year-old daughter, Beth, attends Pathfinder School in Bethel Park. "This program has been a godsend for her."

Beth, who has a rare genetic disorder called Trisomy 15, had the learning levels of an 18-month-old child before she started CCAC classes about a year ago. Her mother says recent tests conclude that Beth now learns at the level of a 4-year-old. Betty Hane attributes much of that enormous leap in ability to the social skills Beth's been acquiring.

"She's on the bowling team. She has friends. Nobody in our neighborhood wants to play with her, but now she has people who are excited to see her. I can't tell you what a difference that's made in her life."

Jim Dee, whose son Matthew attends as many dances as he can, agrees. "Here, they're treated like adults. It's a classy night, the DJ is fantastic, this is a big affair by anyone's standards. It's all just amazingly successful."

But compliments just roll off the shoulders of the two women who make this all happen. They praise the DJ and the teen volunteers from local highs schools such as Seton-LaSalle and Shaler who do whatever it takes to make the night golden. They praise the Holiday Inns that host the dances around the city and CCAC's part-time staff members who do such a fine job with the students.

They're not looking for praise. They're looking for answers and solutions and ideas.

Two of a kind

Peggy and Arlene, Ar and Peg.

	Donald Lewis, who has cerebral palsy, sits out "The Locomotion" at the Sparkle Dance. (Annie O'Neill, Post-Gazette)

In this room, everyone knows these women, and they know everybody in return. A hug here, a quick squeeze on the arm there, a smile everywhere. These are women who make things happen.

More people at the dance than they expected? Peggy Mannella springs into action. Tables roll out, more chairs are put out, extra food appears out of nowhere. Late arrivals are accounted for with a smile and quick understanding. "We see and we do," says Arlene Bair.

Whether at dances or classes, promoting self-determination is a key ingredient at CCAC. Students must fill out their own enrollment forms, and sometimes confusion can ensue. Peggy and Arlene clear up every problem themselves, with the help of a complicated network of families, staff members and paid companions. Missing Social Security numbers, incorrect course numbers, unsigned checks -- every problem works its way to Ar and Peg.

These women, a remarkable blend of sugar and grit, have built this program piece by piece, class by class, year by year. They work part time, ostensibly, without paid vacation time or sick days. They both come from a background in special education, and they have a warm, "That's-just-what-I-was-going-to-say" sort of relationship that comes from sharing a tiny office for the past 22 years.

"Peggy and Arlene are this program," said Jill Simmons, music director for the program's chorus. "You can count on them for everything, and it's all done with such skill, such enthusiasm and such style."

The women started small, with a handful of day programs, one in the North Hills, two in the South Hills. Demand grew, classes grew and swelled, and other programs were added to the mix, in different sites all over the county. Initially, Peg and Arlene were instructors, but their mutual "can-do" attitude went into full swing, and now they handle it all, developing curriculum, event planning, leasing and securing facilities, hiring staff, rounding up the teen volunteers who help make the dances so successful.

They check in with the day programs in the North Hills, South Hills, Coraopolis and Wilkinsburg several times a week. They pop up at a ceramics class here and there. They've changed diapers, scrubbed toilets and floors.

There's a lot to be proud of. The Special Needs program prides itself most, though, on customization.

Every student who enters the day program sits down with a staff member and his or her caretaker -- a mother, father, legal guardian or hired helper. The group sets a goal for each student, with the student having his or her own say in the goals. At the end of every term, these goals are evaluated, as is the program itself. Are the students' needs being met? Or, perhaps more important, are their particular desires being met?

Students may want to learn how to use a computer, how to cook, how to balance a checkbook. They may want to learn to read, to know more about current events. Or they may want to learn French.

A great Day Program

"Sharon McMahon?"

"Ici," replies Sharon McMahon.

"Joanne Vitali?"

"Oui,ici," Joanne Vitali says.

Melanie Olzewski, 36, of Harmarville says goodnight to Bob Vogel, 31, of Blawnox at a Thanksgiving dance for CCAC Special Needs students. (Annie O'Neill, Post-Gazette)

The Regent Square Day Program is a comfy sort of place. Lodged into several nooks and crannies in the Mifflin Avenue United Methodist Church in Wilkinsburg, the classroom bursts with energy and color. Every square inch of the place is used, and countless projects adorn the walls, hang from the ceiling -- birdhouses and ornaments, paintings and pictures, lesson plans and Terrible Towels.

French lessons continue with a vocabulary quiz. Everyone uses a cheat sheet full of words, but they have to know what they're looking for. Bonjour, Monsieur flies across the room, and Bonjour, Mademoiselle is swatted right back. Please is a sticky one, but Charlie Roberts shouts out "S'il vous plait," and the class applauds. Mary Jean Kirby, director of this program, prompts reserved Joannie Patricca to get out her cheat sheet and guess some words.

"I know it. I don't need to take it out," she sniffs, and she proves it with a quick "Comment allez-vous?"

This is a close-knit bunch of instructors and students. Among the latter are Leeann Rudel, who's excited about her upcoming trip to Florida, and Trina Villiotti, whose family is moving in to a new house and who loves to talk about her dog, Brutus.

Trina brings out a big scrapbook, filled with pictures of family and friends, babies and brides, and yes, Brutus. There also are pictures of Trina with LeAnn Rimes, Garth Brooks and several other country stars. Now, what's the secret to getting to mix in those superstar circles?

"Oh, they like me," she says with a shy smile and a matter-of-fact shrug.

Young volunteers

Trina's mom, Cissy Villiotti, has the same large, expressive brown eyes as her daughter. At the Sparkle Dance, as those lovely eyes gleam, a soft, loving look flits across her face and lands as a smile on her mouth. She has come too early to pick up Trina from the annual Christmas ball, so the secretary and mother of two leans on a wall and watches and waits. Trina bops across the dance floor with her friends, Jenny Grossman and Bobby Scott, a smile just like her mom's on her face.

"I couldn't live without this program," said Cissy. "It's a lifesaver. The day program gives her something to look forward to, and she just lives for these dances. And the volunteers are something special."

At first, these volunteers might have showed up to earn community service points and credits or to hang out with other friends, or because a mom might have made them come -- at first, anyway.

Such is the case of Sam Bair, a senior at Shaler High School, track star and Arlene's son. He admits that he came at first just to help his mother. Now that Mom has recruited a large chunk of the track team to help, he comes for his friends' sake, too.

"The best part of coming here is seeing how happy everyone is and what a good time they're having," he said.

The volunteers work the soda pop bar, help set up tables and chairs and later put them away and dance with the CCAC students. They help with other programs, too, at the bowling alley or ceramics class, and some even may find their life's calling because of their experiences with this program.

Emily Marier, a freshman at California University of Pennsylvania, is planning a career in special education. She volunteered with the Special Needs program all four years in high school and comes back on dance weekends now that she's in college. "Everyone is always so appreciative of every little thing you do," she said. "Everyone wants to hug and kiss you. You can come here in a bad mood, and by the end of the night it's gone. It all just makes you feel so good and so needed."

"These teenagers are so reliable, so sweet to the other kids," said Ann McHugh, whose daughter, Marla, attends the dances. "They don't treat anybody any differently. They epitomize the goodness in teenagers that no one ever hears about. And the DJ's great, too."

Big Ed

DJ Ed Buettner is a popular guy at these dances. If he has a cold, everyone wants to know how he's feeling. If his girlfriend, Kelly, isn't around, they want to know where she is.

"I don't do anything special; we just have fun," he says.

Which is not exactly the truth. Big Ed, of Rockin' Bob's DJs, is a DJ in demand. He handles countless weddings, bar mitzvahs and parties every year for fees many hundreds of dollars more than what he charges CCAC. He and his company install sound systems around the area, sell sound supplies and equipment and educate other DJs with classes in self-promotion and job training, such as "How to Be a Master of Ceremonies" and "Matching Music to the Mood."

This is a 24-year-old guy with big dreams, a big voice and a really big heart.

He knows the CCAC students want what he calls "traditional wedding music." That means lots of oldies and disco, a few newer top 40 hits, no rap or hip-hop. He knows it's important to keep the "kids" moving, and deliberately chooses music that will help develop motor skills, such as "YMCA," the Chicken Dance, the Hokey-Pokey. He gets out on the floor to demonstrate dance moves, and the crowd eats it up as they twist and shout.

He knows that while the students like colored lights and the mirror ball, sharply flashing lights sometimes trigger seizures in people prone to them. He knows, too, that the music must be very soft during the dinner hour, or else "everyone will be up and dancing again."

He didn't know any of this a few years ago, and says quite frankly that the first time he did a dance for CCAC, "it was a little bit of a shock. I even kind of avoided people like that before. But it was so much fun, the kids were so lovable, that it just whirled me. Now, I don't care about the money, I don't care about the jobs I'm giving up to be there every month. I just want to give them a good time."

Big Ed, indeed.

Last dance

Donald Lewis, 28, is looking for a roommate. He'd prefer a nonsmoker who is "a good cleaner," he jokes, but finds it a bit sad to live alone in his Bethel Park apartment. His mother, Jewel Appleby, lives nearby, but Donald misses his roommate who moved out a few months ago. He'd also prefer a roommate who didn't like late nights, as Donald gets up very early to get to his job at the YMCA. He takes a bus to the T, the T to Downtown, and then rolls his wheelchair the rest of the way.

Donald has cerebral palsy and some mild cognitive disabilities, but those don't seem to be issues to the soccer team he helps coach, or in his part-time work with CCAC as an assistant instructor for government education, or for the friends and classmates whom he helps register to vote.

"Anything his brothers can do, so can Donald," his mother says. She drops him off at the dances each month, and then disappears so that he can socialize on his own. She's pushed him toward independence from a young age, she says, and loves the opportunities that CCAC has provided for her son.

"It's an ideal situation. He can learn necessary skills, have fun and have opportunities to meet other people in the classes," she says.

As the Sparkle Dance winds down, shouted goodbyes and thank-yous fill the air. There are hugs and kisses, handshakes, searches for missing scarves. Mary Jane Lattimore, dressed in a silky purple skirt and blouse, rushes back to thank her teachers one more time. "See you tomorrow!" she shouts. "Can't wait to see you tomorrow!"

"If I had to ask God for a job, this is what he would have given me," says Maxine Shehan, one of Mary Jane's instructors at the day program in Coraopolis.

"I wake up in the morning eager to go to work. It's just so rewarding. I'm not going to quit until they throw me out or I die."