(2 of 3)
Since Hope's launch in 1994, 45 difficult-to-place kids have been adopted; six are expected to be; 19 have returned to a family member; and just seven have returned to state care. Hope's adoption rate from 1994 to '99 was more than three times the average rate of adoption and guardianship for foster kids in the state as a whole. Its initial success has inspired an Excellence in Adoption award from President Clinton, backing from TV-talk-show host Rosie O'Donnell, a book (Hope Meadows, by journalist Wes Smith) and grass-roots support from community leaders across the country eager to set up their own models.
Part of Generations of Hope, a nonprofit organization, Hope Meadows is the brainchild of University of Illinois sociologist Brenda Krause Eheart, who got the idea after five years of research into the adoptions of older children, which she discovered often failed. The key problem, she found, was that even the best foster families felt isolated. Without constant, accessible support, they found the task overwhelming. Eheart also fondly recalled having older neighbors who were devoted to her family when her children were young. In the early '90s, when some politicians were promoting a return to orphanages and group homes, Eheart says, "It sent me over the edge. It became urgent to come up with a better way to do this."
To do that required convincing the Department of Defense to sell 84 housing "units" (later transformed into 42 apartments and 12 spacious family homes) on the Chanute base, which had just closed--no small task. But after two years of inconclusive weekly calls to the Pentagon, Eheart sent a fax to President Clinton. Nine days later, a cadre of federal officials visited Rantoul to negotiate a price for the property--$215,000 for 22 acres.
For Hope's 12 families--whose foster kids are referred by the state Department of Children and Family Services--support is key. There are weekly educational sessions for parents, a therapist on call 24 hours a day and a staff of intimately involved caseworkers and administrators. There are Hope barbecues and adoption parties. On average seniors double their required volunteer hours as crossing guards, tutors, day-care aides, baby sitters and grandparents. "And the families help each other," says resident Debbie Calhoun, a married mother of nine (only one of whom is biological). "We're all doing the same thing."
Most striking, though, are the relationships that emerge. Hope single mom Jeanette Laws and her family took to senior Irene Bohn, 77, a former nun and schoolteacher, after Bohn began to tutor Laws' son Brandon, now 12. When Brandon first arrived at Hope at age six, he "couldn't hold a pencil, didn't know colors," recalls Laws, who suspects he had been involved in a cult. But Bohn persisted, encouraging him. In the fall Brandon--until now in special ed--will start school in a regular class for the first time. On those rare nights Bohn doesn't come over for dinner, Brandon calls on her to see if she's O.K. Bohn has requested that Brandon be one of her pallbearers. "I would do anything for that boy," she admits.