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BY KEN NIGROPHOTOGRAPHS BY KATHRYN QUIRK

R E D S O X M A G A Z I N E

53R E D S O X . C O M / M A G A Z I N E

When you picture the Dominican Republic, you quickly see magnificentbeaches, clear blue waters and grand luxury hotels. But, now try to picture this place in your mind. It is a rundown, small, dilapidatedvillage in the Dominican Republic, 10 miles east of Santo Domingo and only a short walkfrom the Red Sox Baseball Academy. To the casual American observer, the streets don’tlook like streets at all, but rather a series of mangled, muddy paths, with no street signsnor lights to guide the way. This is a village in the truest sense of the word. The community has only 2,000 res-idents and 70 percent of them are unemployed. Of the other 30 percent, a large numberare employed in low paying jobs at an Air Force base in nearby San Isidro. The illiteracyrate is alarmingly high. Most people from this village simply wander around, waiting for something goodto happen. Most live in incredibly cramped, small two-room houses and many walkaround without shoes. “They keep waiting for their time to come,” said Jay Alou, the former Major Leaguerand Director of the Red Sox Dominican Academy. “But it never does.” The village is El Mamon, and it is where 20 teens spent a portion of their summervacation as part of the Red Sox Lindos Sueños program—presented by JetBlue. LindosSueños (“Beautiful Dreams”) was started back in 2004, thanks to a large donation froma baseball-loving mom and philanthropist. David Ortiz and others have also contributedto the program’s funding. Each year, the Red Sox select 10 American and 10 Dominican youths (ages 15-18) toparticipate in the program. The American youths are flown down to Santo Domingo andthey fly for free, thanks to the generosity of program sponsor, JetBlue Airlines. Upon ar-rival in the Dominican, the 10 American teens meet their 10 Dominican teammates. The20 youths spend the next 10 days playing baseball together, and conducting communityservice in an impoverished Dominican community. In past years, the American and Dominican participants have worked at an orphan-age in San Pedro de Macoris, a school in Guerra, and at baseball fields in Haina and ElMamon. But, this summer was different and probably the most satisfying of all the LindosSueños programs. The participants were once again in El Mamon, but not to refurbish abaseball field. Instead, they spent their time fixing up rundown houses. And, it was oneamazing sight. First, you watched the American and Dominican youths pry the nails offthese very old houses. Then, you watched as they sawed off new pieces of wood andcalmly nailed the wood back on each house. Presto, they rebuilt not one, nor two, nor three houses. Make it four in just sevenmornings. And for much of the time this summer, the teens had to deal with heavy rainsin El Mamon. Every participant no doubt had to buy a pair of sneakers uponreturning home. One has to actually see a house up close in El Mamon to comprehend the scene. Manyof the houses consist of only two small rooms, with no bathrooms, no refrigerators andno television sets. And, even when these luxuries did exist in some of the houses, therewas a catch...neither the bathroom, nor the refrigerator nor the TV actually worked.

LINDOS SUEÑOS 2011:

WHERE THESTREETS HAVENO NAME

R E D S O X M A G A Z I N E54

The biggest house the youthsworked on was 15' by 25'. And, thereason it was that big was because itwas used as both a schoolhouse and ahome. Another house was owned by awidow who lived there with her fourchildren. Three of the children arementally challenged and a fifth childdied at an early age. “That was it for me,” said ConnorRoth, one of the American youthsfrom Washington DC. “When we weredone, the widow came out and sung ahymn. It was so moving. Before weworked on her house, she would haveto stay up all night, praying that itwould not fall down. That we changedeverything around for her was some-thing else.” The more the Lindos Sueñosyouths worked on the houses, themore they wanted to continue work-ing. Suddenly, playing baseball wasnot that important. Fixing the housesbecame No. 1, and baseball could beplayed some other time. “We were supposed to play ball atthe Academy every afternoon,” saidConnor. “We wound up playing onlythree games, but that was okay. It didn't put a damper on my trip at all.” Seamus Vahey, a 16-year-old fromConcord, MA, had similar thoughts. “Community service became sorewarding for us,” Vahey said. “Wewanted to get the job done in El

Mamon. We were all dedicated to theproject.” Both Connor and Seamus, alongwith their 18 teammates, soon beganto realize something about the peoplewho lived in El Mamon. Everyone wasvery content and seemed perfectly athome in this land of extreme poverty.The little children who watched thework on the houses never begged forwater, nor food, nor gifts. And, in theend, these little ones were doing som-ersaults all over the dirt roads as theyreceived T-shirts, sports bags andother gifts from Connor and Seamusand the other American and Domini-can workers. Rebuilding the houses alsobrought the Lindos Sueños team to-gether. Both the American and Do-minican youths saw enormous goodin what they were doing and they

bonded. The American kids evenstarted speaking more Spanish. Yes, itwas muy despacio (very slowly) and itwas muy pocito (very little). But, it wasstill Spanish. Yes, El Mamon is a tiny, impover-ished village. But, it is truly a sight tobehold. And, there is little doubt that the10 American and 10 Dominicanyouths who participated in the LindosSueños program this summer aresharing the same feelings over andover and over again. “I had the trip of a lifetime,” Con-nor said. “It was awesome. When arewe going back?” �

To learn more about Lindos Sueños andwatch a video from this year’s trip, pleasevisit www.redsox.com/lindossuenos

BEFORE AFTER

Above: Widowed, unable to pay for her children’s medicine and fearful thather house would crumble on top of her family, Sonaida prayed for a miracle.After three days of work, the teen participants had restored her home andher spirits.

WHERE THE STREETS HAVE NO NAME