At age 11, Mustafa Nuur became a refugee. For more than 10 years, forces beyond his control buffeted him from Somalia to Kenya to the United States. He arrived in Lancaster on Halloween of 2014, adding a bizarre twist to an already unsettling experience.
“There is uncertainty, but you don’t have a choice when your country is a war zone,” he says. “You hopefully find an opportunity to start over and find safety. That’s what kept a lot of people going, the idea that things will get better.”
Nuur’s proposal for Bridge, a business building cross-cultural experiences with refugees, won Lancaster County Community Foundation’s 2017 Great Social Enterprise Pitch. He believes Lancaster’s reputation as Refugee Capital of America stems from the religious persecution and refugee journeys experienced by Lancastrians’ ancestors. “That history has been in people’s past,” he says, “and that’s why this part of the country remains so welcoming.”
In Somalia, he and his siblings were enjoying a nice life and going to school—until the day they witnessed their father’s murder. Suddenly, they were uprooted amid civil war.
The word “refugee,” he wants people to know, is a legal term applied to those with “a founded fear for your life of going back to your country. We all went through some extreme, unfathomable experiences that led to us being forced out of our country.”
Bridge (experiencebridge.com) offers an internet platform allowing individuals, families, and businesses to book cultural experiences with refugees, who often use skills gone dormant since their arrival in the U.S. The host receives 80 percent of the revenue, earning supplemental income. Experiences center around meals and more—comedy nights, Skype calls to refugee camps, foreign-language karaoke. One man who was a cheese maker in his home country now teaches cheese making three days a week using local milk.
In October, Bridge expands into York, and it could be in Pittsburgh by the end of 2018.
Nuur taught himself computer coding and works part-time as a marketing company’s web developer. He is studying at Harrisburg Area Community College toward a bachelor’s degree in computer programming.
He serves on the Lancaster City Human Relations Commission and as vice president of the Somali community, supporting refugees. He hopes to continue fostering conversations. He has seen Bridge events that convene “a Republican, a Democrat, a Jew, and a Christian all sitting at the same table.”
“We are at a critical moment, where people understanding people has not been happening. There’s a lot of fear. There’s a lot of confusion. What we are trying to create is just listening and talking to other human beings. That can change a lot of things in the world.”
At age 11, Mustafa Nuur became a refugee. For more than 10 years, forces beyond his control buffeted him from Somalia to Kenya to the United States. He arrived in Lancaster on Halloween of 2014, adding a bizarre twist to an already unsettling experience.
“There is uncertainty, but you don’t have a choice when your country is a war zone,” he says. “You hopefully find an opportunity to start over and find safety. That’s what kept a lot of people going, the idea that things will get better.”
Nuur’s proposal for Bridge, a business building cross-cultural experiences with refugees, won Lancaster County Community Foundation’s 2017 Great Social Enterprise Pitch. He believes Lancaster’s reputation as Refugee Capital of America stems from the religious persecution and refugee journeys experienced by Lancastrians’ ancestors. “That history has been in people’s past,” he says, “and that’s why this part of the country remains so welcoming.”
In Somalia, he and his siblings were enjoying a nice life and going to school—until the day they witnessed their father’s murder. Suddenly, they were uprooted amid civil war.
The word “refugee,” he wants people to know, is a legal term applied to those with “a founded fear for your life of going back to your country. We all went through some extreme, unfathomable experiences that led to us being forced out of our country.”
Bridge (experiencebridge.com) offers an internet platform allowing individuals, families, and businesses to book cultural experiences with refugees, who often use skills gone dormant since their arrival in the U.S. The host receives 80 percent of the revenue, earning supplemental income. Experiences center around meals and more—comedy nights, Skype calls to refugee camps, foreign-language karaoke. One man who was a cheese maker in his home country now teaches cheese making three days a week using local milk.
In October, Bridge expands into York, and it could be in Pittsburgh by the end of 2018.
Nuur taught himself computer coding and works part-time as a marketing company’s web developer. He is studying at Harrisburg Area Community College toward a bachelor’s degree in computer programming.
He serves on the Lancaster City Human Relations Commission and as vice president of the Somali community, supporting refugees. He hopes to continue fostering conversations. He has seen Bridge events that convene “a Republican, a Democrat, a Jew, and a Christian all sitting at the same table.”
“We are at a critical moment, where people understanding people has not been happening. There’s a lot of fear. There’s a lot of confusion. What we are trying to create is just listening and talking to other human beings. That can change a lot of things in the world.”
In 1975, Brian Hudson thought he was taking on a five-year gig as staff accountant for a little housing startup. Forty-three years later, people ask how he’s done it. He knows how when he saves a home from foreclosure, when he attends a project groundbreaking and meets someone with autism moving into a new home, or when he helps young people transferring out of foster care or a veteran of the famed Buffalo Soldiers.
He likes “the ability to make change—not only change in how we do business, but the lives we serve.”
He makes sure PHFA stays nimble, not boxed in by bureaucracy, “so we cannot help someone.” The organization builds strategic partnerships with builders, realtors, and financial institutions.
That flexibility and some intense listening positioned Pennsylvania to avoid the devastation of the housing crisis that crushed other states. Pre-crisis, PHFA staff learned that many homeowners didn’t understand the home-finance documents they signed. From that effort came a counseling network, created by legislation, that positioned Pennsylvania to weather the storm when crisis hit.
PHFA is also often “first in” with redevelopment capital that jumpstarts neighborhood stabilization, and “there’s never a better feeling than that.” Hudson learned from visionaries such as Al Boscov, the department-store magnate who got PHFA support for his dream of creating Reading’s GoggleWorks Center for the Arts.
Back in the 1970s, Hudson stayed with PHFA when he realized he was part of a “group of young people trying to give back to communities all over PA. I looked at that small group of architects, engineers, [and] developers trying to make projects work. As we grew, our reach stretched further and further across the Commonwealth, and impact started to sink in.”
He and his wife, Gena Hudson, have five boys and four grandchildren.
He was born and raised in Harrisburg until the family moved to Susquehanna Township. From his father, who was owner of the only barber school on the East Coast owned by an African American, he learned entrepreneurism and risk-taking. From his mother, he learned compassion and “the skills to listen.”
As a member of the Impact Harrisburg board, he helps distribute economic development funds for strategic impact in veterans housing, job training, business relocation, and infrastructure, plus grants for such vital organizations as the East Shore YMCA and Gamut Theatre Group.
“I do these kinds of projects all over the state,” he says. “It gives me even greater pleasure when I can do [them] in my own backyard.”
In 1975, Brian Hudson thought he was taking on a five-year gig as staff accountant for a little housing startup. Forty-three years later, people ask how he’s done it. He knows how when he saves a home from foreclosure, when he attends a project groundbreaking and meets someone with autism moving into a new home, or when he helps young people transferring out of foster care or a veteran of the famed Buffalo Soldiers.
He likes “the ability to make change—not only change in how we do business, but the lives we serve.”
He makes sure PHFA stays nimble, not boxed in by bureaucracy, “so we cannot help someone.” The organization builds strategic partnerships with builders, realtors, and financial institutions.
That flexibility and some intense listening positioned Pennsylvania to avoid the devastation of the housing crisis that crushed other states. Pre-crisis, PHFA staff learned that many homeowners didn’t understand the home-finance documents they signed. From that effort came a counseling network, created by legislation, that positioned Pennsylvania to weather the storm when crisis hit.
PHFA is also often “first in” with redevelopment capital that jumpstarts neighborhood stabilization, and “there’s never a better feeling than that.” Hudson learned from visionaries such as Al Boscov, the department-store magnate who got PHFA support for his dream of creating Reading’s GoggleWorks Center for the Arts.
Back in the 1970s, Hudson stayed with PHFA when he realized he was part of a “group of young people trying to give back to communities all over PA. I looked at that small group of architects, engineers, [and] developers trying to make projects work. As we grew, our reach stretched further and further across the Commonwealth, and impact started to sink in.”
He and his wife, Gena Hudson, have five boys and four grandchildren.
He was born and raised in Harrisburg until the family moved to Susquehanna Township. From his father, who was owner of the only barber school on the East Coast owned by an African American, he learned entrepreneurism and risk-taking. From his mother, he learned compassion and “the skills to listen.”
As a member of the Impact Harrisburg board, he helps distribute economic development funds for strategic impact in veterans housing, job training, business relocation, and infrastructure, plus grants for such vital organizations as the East Shore YMCA and Gamut Theatre Group.
“I do these kinds of projects all over the state,” he says. “It gives me even greater pleasure when I can do [them] in my own backyard.”
A Veggie Fest? In downtown Harrisburg? Why not? Harrisburg Veggie Fest’s 2017 maiden voyage attracted about 400 people, so a 2018 repeat was a natural. Brad Jones is open to anything that gets blood pumping through Harrisburg’s arteries and the complex meant to be the city’s beating heart, Strawberry Square.
“We’re just trying to do our part and be a catalyst for investment, a catalyst for progress, and bring new projects and do our little part downtown to show people that the city is a great place to showcase new investment and new, unique projects.”
Jones has served Harristown Enterprises, the nonprofit developer dating to 1970s urban renewal, for 18 years. In recent years, he and his board have overseen the revitalization of Strawberry Square, the signature property that once teetered on white-elephant status. An intricate deal lured hundreds of state workers to the nearly vacant space, and in and around Strawberry Square, Harristown is redeveloping languishing properties into trendy residences—“You’ve got to create some sizzle for these products,” Jones says—as quickly as the units rent out.
With bodies livening up downtown, Harristown attracts businesses to follow—child care, health care, eateries, a heralded downtown grocery store. You can’t build apartments with nothing nearby, Jones notes, because “that’s called the suburbs,” and it’s not what his target audience craves. “It’s starting to build a community,” says Jones. “Friends live downtown. They want friends close by.”
As the son of legendary state cabinet secretary and Pennsylvania Chamber of Business and Industry president Cliff Jones, Brad grew up steeped in policy and development. “If you can make someone’s day every day,” his dad preached, “you’ll make your own day.” To Jones, people—not projects—are the motivating factor.
In 1979, national media descending on Harrisburg were shocked to learn that it wasn’t the TMI accident that cleared the streets. They were always that way. Now, Jones is striving toward a 16-hour city, or even 18 hours. “We are,” he says, “continuing to make progress. These things are incremental.”
While construction projects worth hundreds of millions of dollars—courthouse, archives, Harrisburg University tower—power forward, Harristown churns away, a few million dollars at a time. Jones is having a blast.
“I’m fortunate to be surrounded by a varsity team of professionals. We’ve got a great group of partners, both public and private. Everybody’s pulling together for the betterment of the city. The city continues to get better every year. We’re very optimistic about where things are headed. We’re just trying to do our part.”
A Veggie Fest? In downtown Harrisburg? Why not? Harrisburg Veggie Fest’s 2017 maiden voyage attracted about 400 people, so a 2018 repeat was a natural. Brad Jones is open to anything that gets blood pumping through Harrisburg’s arteries and the complex meant to be the city’s beating heart, Strawberry Square.
“We’re just trying to do our part and be a catalyst for investment, a catalyst for progress, and bring new projects and do our little part downtown to show people that the city is a great place to showcase new investment and new, unique projects.”
Jones has served Harristown Enterprises, the nonprofit developer dating to 1970s urban renewal, for 18 years. In recent years, he and his board have overseen the revitalization of Strawberry Square, the signature property that once teetered on white-elephant status. An intricate deal lured hundreds of state workers to the nearly vacant space, and in and around Strawberry Square, Harristown is redeveloping languishing properties into trendy residences—“You’ve got to create some sizzle for these products,” Jones says—as quickly as the units rent out.
With bodies livening up downtown, Harristown attracts businesses to follow—child care, health care, eateries, a heralded downtown grocery store. You can’t build apartments with nothing nearby, Jones notes, because “that’s called the suburbs,” and it’s not what his target audience craves. “It’s starting to build a community,” says Jones. “Friends live downtown. They want friends close by.”
As the son of legendary state cabinet secretary and Pennsylvania Chamber of Business and Industry president Cliff Jones, Brad grew up steeped in policy and development. “If you can make someone’s day every day,” his dad preached, “you’ll make your own day.” To Jones, people—not projects—are the motivating factor.
In 1979, national media descending on Harrisburg were shocked to learn that it wasn’t the TMI accident that cleared the streets. They were always that way. Now, Jones is striving toward a 16-hour city, or even 18 hours. “We are,” he says, “continuing to make progress. These things are incremental.”
While construction projects worth hundreds of millions of dollars—courthouse, archives, Harrisburg University tower—power forward, Harristown churns away, a few million dollars at a time. Jones is having a blast.
“I’m fortunate to be surrounded by a varsity team of professionals. We’ve got a great group of partners, both public and private. Everybody’s pulling together for the betterment of the city. The city continues to get better every year. We’re very optimistic about where things are headed. We’re just trying to do our part.”
Peter Bottros launched his music career with a packed concert at the 1,016-seat Penn State York Pullo Center. The Ambassador of Burundi’s representatives presented him with an honorary doctorate in music. In the audience, his parents—who had dreamed of his becoming a medical doctor—realized that their son really could have a career in music.
“They were very happy,” Bottros says. “That was the day they appreciated what I did.” The overwhelming support he received gave him “the best feeling ever.” Self-taught pianist Bottros is making waves with his original compositions, uplifting message, and founding of the Shine Music Foundation, providing music education and development to students in need (shinemusicfoundation.org).
“My goal is to inspire, uplift, and motivate people, especially the youth,” he says. “Music has a huge impact on everybody. I know what it did for me.”
His life started in Egypt, where he “remembers always having fun. I loved soccer.” As Coptic Christians, his family faced persecution, and they came to the U.S. when Bottros was 10 years old. His parents, Sozan and Mamdouh Bottros, brought Peter and his younger brother to pursue “the American dream, and to give us a better life and better education. They worked hard. Things were very tough on us.”
The Central York High School graduate enrolled in Penn State York, where a grand piano in a lounge changed his life. He had played drums at church, but then he sat down at that piano and thought, “This is what I want to do for the rest of my life.” He studied the keys, learned chords, and began playing popular songs. He skipped classes, but faculty members were among those who stopped to hear him play.
In 2018, Cynthia Dotson gifted the Shine Music Foundation with the use of an old school building in York. There, students will learn piano, drums, guitar, and harmonica. Bottros reminds youth that opportunities happen anywhere.
“People tend to go to Chicago, New York, or Los Angeles,” he says. “I like to show kids they have the opportunity to do something great in their own city.” This message of hope is integral to his concerts being planned worldwide for 2019. Before he leaves, Bottros is staging a free thank-you concert at the Pullo Center (7:30 p.m. Nov 16, tickets required, available at the Pullo box office beginning Oct. 15). His parents remain among his fans, and his brother, businessman Ramy Bottros, has been a “huge, huge support.”
“It comes down to faith,” he says. “You’re willing to put in all that time, all that work, and all these investments, knowing that something good is going to happen. God has blessed me with so much.”
Peter Bottros launched his music career with a packed concert at the 1,016-seat Penn State York Pullo Center. The Ambassador of Burundi’s representatives presented him with an honorary doctorate in music. In the audience, his parents—who had dreamed of his becoming a medical doctor—realized that their son really could have a career in music.
“They were very happy,” Bottros says. “That was the day they appreciated what I did.” The overwhelming support he received gave him “the best feeling ever.” Self-taught pianist Bottros is making waves with his original compositions, uplifting message, and founding of the Shine Music Foundation, providing music education and development to students in need (shinemusicfoundation.org).
“My goal is to inspire, uplift, and motivate people, especially the youth,” he says. “Music has a huge impact on everybody. I know what it did for me.”
His life started in Egypt, where he “remembers always having fun. I loved soccer.” As Coptic Christians, his family faced persecution, and they came to the U.S. when Bottros was 10 years old. His parents, Sozan and Mamdouh Bottros, brought Peter and his younger brother to pursue “the American dream, and to give us a better life and better education. They worked hard. Things were very tough on us.”
The Central York High School graduate enrolled in Penn State York, where a grand piano in a lounge changed his life. He had played drums at church, but then he sat down at that piano and thought, “This is what I want to do for the rest of my life.” He studied the keys, learned chords, and began playing popular songs. He skipped classes, but faculty members were among those who stopped to hear him play.
In 2018, Cynthia Dotson gifted the Shine Music Foundation with the use of an old school building in York. There, students will learn piano, drums, guitar, and harmonica. Bottros reminds youth that opportunities happen anywhere.
“People tend to go to Chicago, New York, or Los Angeles,” he says. “I like to show kids they have the opportunity to do something great in their own city.” This message of hope is integral to his concerts being planned worldwide for 2019. Before he leaves, Bottros is staging a free thank-you concert at the Pullo Center (7:30 p.m. Nov 16, tickets required, available at the Pullo box office beginning Oct. 15). His parents remain among his fans, and his brother, businessman Ramy Bottros, has been a “huge, huge support.”
“It comes down to faith,” he says. “You’re willing to put in all that time, all that work, and all these investments, knowing that something good is going to happen. God has blessed me with so much.”
A piece of the old Pomeroy’s, which once stood on the site of the 16-story Harrisburg University, sits in Eric Darr’s office. The artifact reminds him of his grandmother and their excursions to the classic department store.
“They had a café on the mezzanine level,” he says. “It would look out over the people shopping. I remember thinking the whole world had gray hair because of my grandmother and all her friends.”
Today, the aerial view in downtown Harrisburg is decidedly less gray, thanks in part to Darr’s tenure at the helm of Harrisburg University of Science and Technology. He’s a local, raised in Mechanicsburg, who pursued an eclectic career in engineering, consulting, training, organizational theory, and academia, working in cities around the U.S. and worldwide. When it was time to raise a family, he returned to central Pennsylvania.
He was helping start a tech company when former Harrisburg Mayor Steve Reed and business leaders were “casting about for who could help with the crazy idea” of starting a university from scratch, one devoted to priming the regional economic pump with people trained in in-demand skills.
Darr stepped in as consultant and never left. In 2013, he took the helm of the financially troubled institution. Coming from a family of teachers, his stints in education hooked him on “seeing the light come on in someone’s eyes.”
“It all goes back to the roots of education and the power of education and the ability to change lives,” he says. “You can’t just throw money at changing something like poverty. Education is one of the only things that can change the embedded cycle of poverty.”
Today, HU is soaring. Students living in revitalized buildings patronize stores and restaurants. A new tower devoted to health professions will fill an empty lot just up the street from partner UPMC Pinnacle. HU’s first varsity team, the Harrisburg University Storm, brings scholarships, academics, and tournaments in the rapidly growing eSports field to Harrisburg.
A Philadelphia campus, plus possibilities of expanding to Baltimore and Washington, D.C., propel HU along its path of opening doors to tech careers among traditionally underrepresented students, “giving kids a chance in science and technology that they otherwise wouldn’t have.”
Each year’s graduation ceremony reminds him “why we do what we do.”
“When you look out over graduates, you can reflect and say that we’re changing people’s lives through education, and we’re doing it right here in my hometown, Harrisburg.”
A piece of the old Pomeroy’s, which once stood on the site of the 16-story Harrisburg University, sits in Eric Darr’s office. The artifact reminds him of his grandmother and their excursions to the classic department store.
“They had a café on the mezzanine level,” he says. “It would look out over the people shopping. I remember thinking the whole world had gray hair because of my grandmother and all her friends.”
Today, the aerial view in downtown Harrisburg is decidedly less gray, thanks in part to Darr’s tenure at the helm of Harrisburg University of Science and Technology. He’s a local, raised in Mechanicsburg, who pursued an eclectic career in engineering, consulting, training, organizational theory, and academia, working in cities around the U.S. and worldwide. When it was time to raise a family, he returned to central Pennsylvania.
He was helping start a tech company when former Harrisburg Mayor Steve Reed and business leaders were “casting about for who could help with the crazy idea” of starting a university from scratch, one devoted to priming the regional economic pump with people trained in in-demand skills.
Darr stepped in as consultant and never left. In 2013, he took the helm of the financially troubled institution. Coming from a family of teachers, his stints in education hooked him on “seeing the light come on in someone’s eyes.”
“It all goes back to the roots of education and the power of education and the ability to change lives,” he says. “You can’t just throw money at changing something like poverty. Education is one of the only things that can change the embedded cycle of poverty.”
Today, HU is soaring. Students living in revitalized buildings patronize stores and restaurants. A new tower devoted to health professions will fill an empty lot just up the street from partner UPMC Pinnacle. HU’s first varsity team, the Harrisburg University Storm, brings scholarships, academics, and tournaments in the rapidly growing eSports field to Harrisburg.
A Philadelphia campus, plus possibilities of expanding to Baltimore and Washington, D.C., propel HU along its path of opening doors to tech careers among traditionally underrepresented students, “giving kids a chance in science and technology that they otherwise wouldn’t have.”
Each year’s graduation ceremony reminds him “why we do what we do.”
“When you look out over graduates, you can reflect and say that we’re changing people’s lives through education, and we’re doing it right here in my hometown, Harrisburg.”
“I am very Lancastrian,” says Kevin Ressler. If that means living most of a life in Lancaster while retaining ties to the global community and pursuing justice for all, then Ressler is thoroughly Lancastrian.
The executive director who has turned Meals on Wheels into a service powerhouse is also founder of the Lancaster Action Now Coalition, organizer of community justice rallies, itinerant preacher, member of Mennonite Church and credit union boards, and onetime mayoral candidate focused on neighborhood revitalization.
Ressler’s parents met in Tanzania. His father was a missionary from Harrisonburg, Virginia. His mother was the youngest daughter of the Tanzanian Mennonite Church’s first indigenous bishop. Ressler followed in his dad’s footsteps to Eastern Mennonite University, studying justice, peace, and conflict studies.
He has facilitated trainings in nonviolent principles and spent a year with AmeriCorps Vista helping Lancaster’s Community First Fund develop loans for underserved small businesses. With a talent for restructuring, Ressler focuses on the root causes of societal problems.
“How do I use my power not just to change individual circumstances but the rules that indicate winners and losers?” he says. “What power and access do I have, and how do I make sure someone has it on a long-term, systemic level?”
Since he took the helm in 2014, Meals on Wheels has increased services, thanks to dedicated staff and volunteers. A unique catering service teaches food-service skills to refugees and those out of incarceration, leading toward jobs promising self-sufficiency.
Meals on Wheels’ new headquarters will include community space and a stage for other events, instilling the “value of communications and storytelling.” “The way we learn to be better amongst one another is when we begin to see the humanity of someone else, to hear their story, to hear their struggle and to identify with it.”
His wife, Melissa Ressler, is executive director of Lancaster Downtowners, and has worked with adults with intellectual disabilities. Together, they expose their two young daughters to the wide world accessible in their own city.
“The most important thing I can do for my children is make sure they don’t grow up in a silo believing there’s only one way of being or one way of thinking,” Ressler says.
His responsibility, he believes, is identifying community needs, raising awareness, and finding others eager to “alleviate those sufferings and right those wrongs.”
“I fail all the time. I fail consistently and continuously. You wake up anew and say, ‘Today, I try again.’”
“I am very Lancastrian,” says Kevin Ressler. If that means living most of a life in Lancaster while retaining ties to the global community and pursuing justice for all, then Ressler is thoroughly Lancastrian.
The executive director who has turned Meals on Wheels into a service powerhouse is also founder of the Lancaster Action Now Coalition, organizer of community justice rallies, itinerant preacher, member of Mennonite Church and credit union boards, and onetime mayoral candidate focused on neighborhood revitalization.
Ressler’s parents met in Tanzania. His father was a missionary from Harrisonburg, Virginia. His mother was the youngest daughter of the Tanzanian Mennonite Church’s first indigenous bishop. Ressler followed in his dad’s footsteps to Eastern Mennonite University, studying justice, peace, and conflict studies.
He has facilitated trainings in nonviolent principles and spent a year with AmeriCorps Vista helping Lancaster’s Community First Fund develop loans for underserved small businesses. With a talent for restructuring, Ressler focuses on the root causes of societal problems.
“How do I use my power not just to change individual circumstances but the rules that indicate winners and losers?” he says. “What power and access do I have, and how do I make sure someone has it on a long-term, systemic level?”
Since he took the helm in 2014, Meals on Wheels has increased services, thanks to dedicated staff and volunteers. A unique catering service teaches food-service skills to refugees and those out of incarceration, leading toward jobs promising self-sufficiency.
Meals on Wheels’ new headquarters will include community space and a stage for other events, instilling the “value of communications and storytelling.” “The way we learn to be better amongst one another is when we begin to see the humanity of someone else, to hear their story, to hear their struggle and to identify with it.”
His wife, Melissa Ressler, is executive director of Lancaster Downtowners, and has worked with adults with intellectual disabilities. Together, they expose their two young daughters to the wide world accessible in their own city.
“The most important thing I can do for my children is make sure they don’t grow up in a silo believing there’s only one way of being or one way of thinking,” Ressler says.
His responsibility, he believes, is identifying community needs, raising awareness, and finding others eager to “alleviate those sufferings and right those wrongs.”
“I fail all the time. I fail consistently and continuously. You wake up anew and say, ‘Today, I try again.’”
Ron Johnson reached football’s pinnacle, playing in the NFL for his favorite team, but he has one regret. In high school, the avid athlete slumped in his schoolwork, and the Division I schools, “the big schools you see on TV every Saturday,” started fading away.
Today, he shares that lesson with the high school football players he coaches, “to inspire not just athletes but more specifically younger students about doing the right things and working hard so they don’t limit their options.”
Students listen because Johnson bucked the odds. He played defensive end for Shippensburg University, under a mentor-coach who lit the fire of learning in him, and then for the Philadelphia Eagles. He played for the Birds for one season, until a back injury sidelined him in the second season.
The moment was “crushing,” he says, and he endured depression, but he used his education and degree “to move on in life.” He and his fellow coaches teach student-athletes in challenging circumstances that it’s okay to seek help, because “first and foremost, you’re a human being.”
Lessons learned anchor all aspects of Johnson’s life—Red Lion Area High School varsity defensive line coach, operator of a summer youth football camp at Shippensburg University, motivational speaker, and director of client relations for Stages Planning Group, where he provides financial advising for professional athletes.
Johnson grew up in York, graduating from York Catholic High School. From his parents, he and his two sisters learned “that hard work pays off.” Today, his family of a 17-year-old son and two stepdaughters, ages 14 and 18, keeps him busy. From his wife, Doralisa Cruz-Johnson, he “couldn’t ask for any more support and understanding.”
He remembers as a child watching Randall Cunningham and Reggie White play football, saying that he wanted to play for the NFL someday. He got that chance and remains loyal to his team. On a flight to Las Vegas just before Super Bowl LII, he joined in as a flight attendant led the passengers, comprised of a lone New England Patriots fan amid a sea of Eagles fans, in the E-A-G-L-E-S chant.
Now, he has a story to tell, a story about staying motivated amid obstacles, about outworking and outhustling. He has seen students with hazy futures who managed to “turn their lives around.”
“I’ve come across young athletes of all ages, all races, all backgrounds,” he says. “I’ve seen them going to college. I’ve seen them be successful with their careers. The biggest thing is seeing the kids graduate, go on to college, start a family, and do the right things.”
Ron Johnson reached football’s pinnacle, playing in the NFL for his favorite team, but he has one regret. In high school, the avid athlete slumped in his schoolwork, and the Division I schools, “the big schools you see on TV every Saturday,” started fading away.
Today, he shares that lesson with the high school football players he coaches, “to inspire not just athletes but more specifically younger students about doing the right things and working hard so they don’t limit their options.”
Students listen because Johnson bucked the odds. He played defensive end for Shippensburg University, under a mentor-coach who lit the fire of learning in him, and then for the Philadelphia Eagles. He played for the Birds for one season, until a back injury sidelined him in the second season.
The moment was “crushing,” he says, and he endured depression, but he used his education and degree “to move on in life.” He and his fellow coaches teach student-athletes in challenging circumstances that it’s okay to seek help, because “first and foremost, you’re a human being.”
Lessons learned anchor all aspects of Johnson’s life—Red Lion Area High School varsity defensive line coach, operator of a summer youth football camp at Shippensburg University, motivational speaker, and director of client relations for Stages Planning Group, where he provides financial advising for professional athletes.
Johnson grew up in York, graduating from York Catholic High School. From his parents, he and his two sisters learned “that hard work pays off.” Today, his family of a 17-year-old son and two stepdaughters, ages 14 and 18, keeps him busy. From his wife, Doralisa Cruz-Johnson, he “couldn’t ask for any more support and understanding.”
He remembers as a child watching Randall Cunningham and Reggie White play football, saying that he wanted to play for the NFL someday. He got that chance and remains loyal to his team. On a flight to Las Vegas just before Super Bowl LII, he joined in as a flight attendant led the passengers, comprised of a lone New England Patriots fan amid a sea of Eagles fans, in the E-A-G-L-E-S chant.
Now, he has a story to tell, a story about staying motivated amid obstacles, about outworking and outhustling. He has seen students with hazy futures who managed to “turn their lives around.”
“I’ve come across young athletes of all ages, all races, all backgrounds,” he says. “I’ve seen them going to college. I’ve seen them be successful with their careers. The biggest thing is seeing the kids graduate, go on to college, start a family, and do the right things.”
Sometimes, people seem surprised that John Gerdy reinvented himself by switching from sports to music. It’s about education, he tells them. He has played on a five-man sports team. He has played in a five-person band.
“I view both of them, sports and music, as simply tools to enhance the educational experience and teach discipline, communications skills, and teamwork,” he says.
New Jersey native Gerdy spent his “prior life” in basketball. He played professionally with the Continental Basketball Association. He held the career points record at Davidson College.
Coming from a family of teachers, Gerdy saw sports as a “wonderful tool to supplement the educational process.” He stayed in sports, an official with the NCAA and SEC, even as he pursued a master’s degree and Ph.D. Then he was a stay-at-home dad, but when the kids got older, he ruled out returning to sports. “Been there, done that,” he thought.
The lifelong musician—catch his alter ego around town with the Willie Marble Xperience—discovered the depth of cuts to music programs, even as research revealed the value of music in schools.
In 2006, Gerdy convened friends to raise money for instruments in Lancaster County schools. Then they realized that students with instruments in hand needed highly qualified teachers, so scholarships were created.
Today, Music for Everyone is devoted to strengthening the role of music in schools and communities, with impressive numbers to its credit: 5,898 instruments given to schools. 31 MFE scholars. 5,542 students mentored. $1.5 million awarded in grants, scholarships, and direct program supports. 120 pianos making Lancaster the self-proclaimed “Street Piano Capital of the World.”
In this “increasingly complex” world, “music is the most effective tool to teach creativity and the skills of the 21st century.” And as people become, ironically, less connected, communities must invest in activities “that bring people together. Because music is a universal language, its ability to bring people together, to bring communities together, is unparalleled.”
Gerdy is a motivational speaker and author (find his latest book, Balls or Bands: Football vs. Music as an Educational and Community Investment, through johngerdy.com). He keeps up with his daughter, 23, and son, 21. He swims and does yoga. He plans to take drawing lessons.”
“You never want to get complacent,” he says. “Once you stop wanting to learn or once you stop challenging yourself to do new things, stuff that scares you, what’s the point anymore? Life is about moving forward and learning new things and experiencing new things. You think about them, and once you start talking about them, it sort of forces you to do them. That’s what makes life interesting.”
Sometimes, people seem surprised that John Gerdy reinvented himself by switching from sports to music. It’s about education, he tells them. He has played on a five-man sports team. He has played in a five-person band.
“I view both of them, sports and music, as simply tools to enhance the educational experience and teach discipline, communications skills, and teamwork,” he says.
New Jersey native Gerdy spent his “prior life” in basketball. He played professionally with the Continental Basketball Association. He held the career points record at Davidson College.
Coming from a family of teachers, Gerdy saw sports as a “wonderful tool to supplement the educational process.” He stayed in sports, an official with the NCAA and SEC, even as he pursued a master’s degree and Ph.D. Then he was a stay-at-home dad, but when the kids got older, he ruled out returning to sports. “Been there, done that,” he thought.
The lifelong musician—catch his alter ego around town with the Willie Marble Xperience—discovered the depth of cuts to music programs, even as research revealed the value of music in schools.
In 2006, Gerdy convened friends to raise money for instruments in Lancaster County schools. Then they realized that students with instruments in hand needed highly qualified teachers, so scholarships were created.
Today, Music for Everyone is devoted to strengthening the role of music in schools and communities, with impressive numbers to its credit: 5,898 instruments given to schools. 31 MFE scholars. 5,542 students mentored. $1.5 million awarded in grants, scholarships, and direct program supports. 120 pianos making Lancaster the self-proclaimed “Street Piano Capital of the World.”
In this “increasingly complex” world, “music is the most effective tool to teach creativity and the skills of the 21st century.” And as people become, ironically, less connected, communities must invest in activities “that bring people together. Because music is a universal language, its ability to bring people together, to bring communities together, is unparalleled.”
Gerdy is a motivational speaker and author (find his latest book, Balls or Bands: Football vs. Music as an Educational and Community Investment, through johngerdy.com). He keeps up with his daughter, 23, and son, 21. He swims and does yoga. He plans to take drawing lessons.”
“You never want to get complacent,” he says. “Once you stop wanting to learn or once you stop challenging yourself to do new things, stuff that scares you, what’s the point anymore? Life is about moving forward and learning new things and experiencing new things. You think about them, and once you start talking about them, it sort of forces you to do them. That’s what makes life interesting.”