Soup Night (2 page)

• A strong sense of community replaces social isolation.
  
• People no longer feel like strangers.
  
• Children thrive in a safe environment, watched over by many loving adults.
  
• Any emergency, small or large, is met with instant assistance.
  
• Seniors and people living alone have a new sense of security and belonging.
  
• Life seems richer, kinder, sweeter, and more fun.
  
• And it is healthier, in all dimensions: physical, psychological, and emotional.
  

On Stanton Street, when people talk about building community (which they do, a lot), they mean something very precise: creating and nurturing a way for every single person on the block to feel connected to every other person. Not just the people who already know each other, but everyone, without exception.

That connection shows itself in many different and wonderful ways. Reading their stories, we are reminded what good-neighborliness really means. But let’s also take note of what it does
not
mean. It doesn’t mean poking into other people’s lives unwelcomed. It doesn’t mean gossip. It doesn’t mean comparing A to B in any manner that might diminish either one. It doesn’t mean intruding, making judgments, or taking without giving.

The mechanics of Soup Night are very simple. In fact, that’s part of its genius. Once a year, usually at the annual block party in September, someone puts out a sign-up sheet, and people sign up to host each month. It isn’t hard to get volunteers; the event has become so popular that people fight for the privilege. Sometimes two households go together as co-hosts, thus neatly avoiding duels at dawn.

By tradition, Soup Night happens on the last Sunday of the month, but each host has the option to change the date if need be. The host sends a reminder, usually in the form of a hand-delivered invitation or flyer, a week or so in advance. On the night itself, the host makes two huge pots of soup, one of which is vegetarian. And that’s all; that is the complete limit of the host’s responsibility.

One of the rules of Soup Night is that the host doesn’t have to feel obligated to clean the house beforehand (although, human nature being what it is, many do). The other critical rule is that the host should not be burdened with cleanup afterward, which is why everyone brings their own bowl and spoon. It is often the case that neighbors contribute other things to the meal — a bottle of wine, a big bowl of strawberries from that day’s U-Pick outing, homemade bread or cookies — but that doesn’t qualify as a rule; people do that when they feel moved to do so.

It’s really good support for Debbie, as a single mom, to know that her son is safe in the hands of people who adore him.

— Marty

There are a few other unwritten rules: It is quietly understood that some of those on the block are simply not in a position to host, and no umbrage falls to them. No one keeps score about who has hosted how often, and the idea that it’s someone’s “turn” would not occur to anyone. People over 70 are not expected to sit on the floor; seats at the table are reserved for them. No formal RSVP is expected, and even though the event is for a specific time period (usually 6 to 8
pm
), it’s okay to drop in late or leave early.

There is something very special about this block. You can’t quite put a name to it, but it is unmistakable. All you have to do is stand still on the sidewalk for five minutes, and you feel it.

The fundamental sense beneath all the interactions is a spirit of generosity, fostered by Soup Night and made tangible in countless acts of kindness. It is a powerful thing, beautifully expressed by two of the neighbors:

“Soup Night,” one man says quite simply, “has created a place rich in grace and kindness.”

“It’s impossible to overstate how valuable it is,” another says. “It fills your soul.”

Any law enforcement officer will tell you that the single best safeguard against trouble is knowing your neighbors, living in an area where everyone keeps a friendly eye out. On Stanton Street, they do this as a matter of course. Every adult knows every child, and every child knows every adult, and that automatically sustains a sense of safety and security. And that can be traced directly to Soup Night.

“Because of Soup Night,” explains Jessie, mother of two, “Earl knows my kids and they know him. Now, ordinarily they would have no reason for any kind of interaction. Earl is much older than most of the adults in their life, and lives a very different kind of life. But because they see him at Soup Night every month, they are comfortable with him whenever their paths cross, and vice versa. Nobody’s afraid of anybody.”

On this block, all the adults watch over all the kids. In a sense, the children seem to belong to everyone. It is one of the most important ways that Soup Night has enriched everyone’s quality of life. And the benefits are wide-reaching.

One of the most obvious of those benefits accrues immediately to parents: they can relax. They know their kids are safe as long as they’re in sight of anyone who lives on the block. They are freed from that edginess that infects so many urban families, who feel they have to watch the children every single minute lest something awful befall them.

Will, father of a young boy, describes it this way. “It’s like going back to the way we grew up. When I was a child, it was nothing for kids to race out the front door and head down the street and play with their pals all day long. Nowadays we have to be so careful, watch them every minute. But here we don’t have to. It’s like the old ways again. What a special thing that is.

“It [participating in Soup Night] is more for our son than for us,” Will continues. “We want to give him a sense that he’s safe, protected by other adults, that people wish him well and will take care of him.” And I can tell you, as an occasional visitor to the block, that this attitude of caring, of loving watchfulness, is unmissable. It fills the very air.

Throughout history, the sharing of food has been accorded significance far beyond simple sustenance. It is a way for enemies to acknowledge detente, for acquaintances to deepen their friendship, and for those in the uncertain middle to demonstrate the possibility of peace.

In all cultures and all religions, noteworthy moments are celebrated with food. In our country, we use food to symbolize celebration, or caring. When a friend is sick or home with a brand-new baby, we bring food so she doesn’t have to cook. When a family is gathered for a funeral, we bring food to console the grieving. When a new neighbor moves in, or a new colleague starts work, we bring food to break the ice. Food honors achievements, soothes hurt feelings, and welcomes newcomers.

I feel strongly that with our changing society, some things get lost. Soup Night brings back the positive points of small-town living. It feels really good.

— Mary

It is surely no accident, then, that the event that transformed a modern city block into a cohesive, caring community is built around food. Of course it’s not the food per se — although the food is darned good — but the implicit message that comes with sharing it. Everyone at Soup Night feels it, and when they talk about it they often echo each other’s words. Marty says, “The idea that people would openly share their food, their home with anyone who comes . . . it’s such a precious gift.” Joy adds, “There’s something about sitting down and sharing a meal that moves the whole thing to another level.”

It also has a very important practical benefit. As Lisa succinctly puts it, “The simple act of eating soup together makes it easier to handle small problems.”

The need for community, for feeling connected to our fellow human beings, is universal and timeless. But in the modern hurry-scurry world, it’s becoming harder and harder to achieve. It’s a nasty kind of catch-22: the more fractured our lives become, the more we yearn for that sense of connectedness — and the more elusive it seems.

In troubled times, such as we now find ourselves in, the need is particularly acute. When people are fearful for their jobs and their homes, anxious about their family budgets, the emotional support of a strong social network means everything. Knowing you are surrounded by people who care about you goes a long way toward keeping despair at bay.

Living in a close community brings many important benefits. There is, for instance, solid evidence that cohesive neighborhoods have less crime and fewer traffic accidents, that children with a secure home environment do better in school, and that people with a strong social network have higher levels of mental and physical health. Not to mention ready access to borrowing really good lawn mowers.

All across the country thoughtful, caring, engaged people are searching for a way to build that kind of supportive community. And here’s a remarkable thing: unbeknownst to each other, many of them have hit on the same solution, of hosting a Soup Night.

For, as I quickly learned, the Stanton Street Soup Night is not unique. In New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Pittsburgh, Milwaukee, Cleveland, Boston, Houston, and many other places, neighbors are getting together regularly for their version of Soup Night. You will meet many of them in the pages ahead.

And the concept extends beyond the limits of neighborhood geography too. As I began to dig into this idea, I found many other groups all around the country that host some special event to bring people together and fulfill their goals, all while enjoying a great meal of homemade soup. (See Soup for a Good Cause,
page 293
.) There are countless reasons that people gather: to raise funds for a local nonprofit, to sponsor youth programs at a church, to introduce all the members of a community garden, to support cutting-edge artists with small grants, or to help a local program that’s focused on alleviating hunger. What we once called a “soup kitchen” is alive and well in America, but today it takes many innovative and dynamic forms.