New name, same focus
As name changes go, it's not exactly up there with Esso becoming Exxon. But the Colonel Daniel Marr Boys and Girls Club in Dorchester has outgrown its name.
From now on, it will be known as the Boys and Girls Clubs of Dorchester. Note the plural. There are three clubhouses now, and the rebranding is aimed at being in a position to grow even more, into neighborhoods where there's lots of yellow police tape but nothing much for kids to do.
The Marr opened 34 years ago, the vision of the Marr family. The Marrs are still there. Four of the colonel's grandsons sit on the board, and they graciously agreed to the name change.
Bob Scannell, the clubs' president and CEO, said The Marr was almost all white at first. Now its 4,000 club members hail from 40 countries, reflecting the racial and ethnic mosaic that is Dorchester. The only group underrepresented are Asians, especially Vietnamese, and the staff is trying to attract more. Word of mouth is everything.
The club has a lot of what sociologists call at-risk kids.
"Some of these kids, they've already seen more in their lives than you and I ever will," says Scannell. "But a lot of them are well grounded. They just need some guidance."
Kids play basketball, floor hockey, they go swimming. They become artists and musicians. They learn tolerance by osmosis.
"We've got more than 40 racial and ethnic groups," Scannell says. "If you want to stay here, you can't be a wiseguy."
Dave Bonnell, who was the 130th member of the club when it opened in 1974, has worked there half his life. The first kid he threw out of the club was named Mark Wahlberg, who before becoming a Hollywood star was, by his own admission, a punk.
"He was mouthing off," Bonnell recalls, "and I just said, 'You're outta here.' "
Wahlberg was barred for life and started hanging on the streets. A couple of years later, he was in jail. Today, Wahlberg sits on the club board of directors and, along with Don Rodman, the car dealer, is one of its most generous benefactors. He doesn't just write checks. Little kids at the club haven't seen Wahlberg's movies, but they light up at mention of his name. He sends 150 kids to Maine every summer.
After a successful career in the NBA, Bruce Seals knew he wanted to work with kids. He grew up in the South when it was still segregated. He hadn't heard great things about Boston, but he answered the ad for the job at The Marr, figuring he'd spend a couple of years there, get some experience, and head back to his native New Orleans. Twenty years later, he's still here.
"Everybody wants to make a difference," he says, sitting in his office as his charges quietly line up outside for the start of gym. "I think we make a difference in kids' lives."
The senior staff members have worked there for an average of 15 years. Something's working.
Seals said the secret to their success is discipline. Cursing is not allowed. Neither is disrespect. When the kids come in, the hats come off. The gum goes in the wastebasket.
"Kids need parameters," Seals says. "We give them that. And most of them blossom in that situation."
Not everybody does. Some kids who kept their noses clean while in the club are seduced by the streets once they leave. Others become victims outside its safe haven.
"We only have these kids until they're 18," says Scannell.
At 19, Mike Tavares left the club a confident, polite young man. He was working as a salesman when someone shot him in Roxbury. They killed him for his gold chain.
Tavares's photo hangs above the desk of Mike Joyce, the club vice president, beneath the report cards.
"Mike was a good kid, from a good family," Joyce said. "He was always here. He grew up here."
Kevin Cullen is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at cullen@globe.com
