Jim Crescenzo has been making boys’ dreams come true for 40 years
Athletes, entertainers, business moguls all behind Crescenzo’s 40-year effort to make a difference
Jim Crescenzo’s first theatre class at Templeton Secondary School featured, among others, Tony Pep and Michael Olajide Jr., two kids from East Van who would both become world-class prize fighters.
But that isn’t what Crescenzo remembers about that first year and his first attempt to stage a live play. Templeton, as it happened, had just suspended its football program, depriving several young men of a muchneeded physical outlet. Theatre, it seems, wasn’t their first choice to replace football, but the new teacher, who wasn’t a lot older than his students, saw an opportunity.
He hired a set designer, then enlisted the jocks as the stage crew for a one-act play festival Templeton had entered. Their production won two awards that year: best actor and best stage crew.
“I said, ‘Come out for theatre,’ ” Crescenzo says, laughing at the memory. “They said, ‘I don’t think so.’
“So we sold it as a challenge. This guy designed a massive set and they had 10 minutes to put it up and five minutes to take it down. We bought them muscle shirts and they got into it. The audience gave them a huge round of applause after they set up.”
Funny story, right? But like most stories connected to Crescenzo’s work, there’s a serious message not far behind.
“We set a goal,” he says. “We broke a stereotype and kids started showing up for theatre.
“You’ve got to set goals, you have to achieve them and you have to do it together. Unless you apply goals to your dreams, they’re just dreams.”
That was 40 years ago. The teacher has since helped two generations of kids set goals and reach their dreams. The stories all don’t have Hallmark endings but Templeton, the East End Boys Club and the Girls Group has always been there, supplying a structure around which those kids can build something more lasting than a theatre set.
There are resources. There is an incredible roster of mentors. There are financial backers including Vancouver Canucks owner Francesco Aquilini and Frank Giustra, the founder of the Lionsgate, the entertainment giant.
But mostly, there are people who, to paraphrase a line from The Wire, care when it isn’t their turn to care, which has created a sustainable energy source.
In the late 1990s, Templeton established a film and TV department and a lot of grads found work in the industry.
Invariably, they return to help kids who need help.
Crescenzo has always been in the middle of it.
“He’s that guy who’ll believe in you and help you believe in yourself,” says Stuart Poyntz, Simon Fraser’s associate dean in the faculty of communication, art and technology and one of the EEBC’s mentors. “Jimmy gives them a platform. He’s telling them they’re important and kids begin to think they’re important. A lot of them don’t hear that.
“Jimmy is a magnet who kept a lot of those kids engaged.”
Then again, you would expect nothing less from the guy who played Shooter McGavin’s caddy in Happy Gilmore.
“I was getting a lot of work (as a film actor), but it started to get in the way of teaching,” Crescenzo says. “That was my passion and it still is.
“I want to change kids’ hearts the way I was changed.”
IT TAKES A VILLAGE
The list of mentors at the EEBC includes engineers, money managers, actors, directors, production people, teachers, cops, professors, realtors, an Indigenous carver, Crescenzo’s wife Tina, and one former world super welterweight champ in Manny Sobral.
Sobral was a couple of years behind Pep and Olajide at Templeton, but he also went through Crescenzo’s theatre class before embarking on his own career as a prize fighter.
In 1996 he beat Aaron McLaurine for the IBO title and defended it against Chris Weston before losing it to Tony Badea.
By that time, he already had a degree in kinesiology from UBC and a master’s degree in education. He finished his postgrad degree while training in Las Vegas.
Sobral quit the ring in 2002 and started teaching in Burnaby. In the late aughts he promoted fight cards at the River Rock, where Crescenzo’s son Joe was working, leading to a reconnection with his former teacher.
That was 12 years ago and Sobral has been a constant presence at the EEBC since. During the COVID-19 lockdown, he arranged a Zoom session with former world heavyweight champ Lennox Lewis, his teammate on the 1988 Canadian Olympic boxing team. Lewis said he could give Sobral 15 minutes. He talked for almost an hour.
Still, the more lasting impression was supplied by another 1988 Olympian, Scotty Olson. The Bulldog opened up to the kids about his career, about the obstacles he faced, about a near-fatal heart attack that almost claimed his life five years ago. He touched a lot of young lives that day.
“He was one of the most open people I’ve ever met,” says Cameron Deacon, a member of the EEBC. “It what was one of the most meaningful things I’ve ever been a part of.”
Deacon was speaking this day during another Zoom session that featured Sobral. Now 51, the old fighter ran through his career, talking about meeting the legendary Beau Jack, who was a janitor at the Fifth Street Gym in Miami; about training with Ali’s trainer Angelo Dundee in Vegas and Freddie Roach in Los Angeles; about sparring with Roberto Duran, Floyd Mayweather and James Toney.
There are 25 kids listening to his virtual talk. Usually, there are 60. When Sobral finished, Jerry Trimble, a former kick boxing world champ and another mentor, was asked if he can relate to Sobral’s story.
“There are a lot of similarities,” says Trimble, who’s now an actor. “Especially the nose. I wanted to get mine fixed but my agent said it gives my face character.”
Another funny story. This one, not so much. When the EEBC was still meeting at Templeton, about 20 angry kids showed up at the school in search of one of the club members. Sobral, the ultimate peace maker, happened to be there with others and the situation was defused.
But he knows danger is always lurking with these kids. He got out with the help of others. Now, he’s trying to open up a gym in the Downtown Eastside where he can offer others the same chance.
“He’s got this calm about him,” Crescenzo says of Sobral. “But every now and then, I’ll have one of the kids hold the heavy bag for Manny. That opens up some eyes.”
A CHANGE OF HEART
Francesco Aquilini was a couple of years behind Crescenzo at Templeton. His brother Paolo played on the school soccer team coached by Crescenzo. His other brother Roberto ran the box office for one the school’s productions.
Did we mention Crescenzo was also the soccer coach and the star of his first team was Dominic Mobilio?
The former drama teacher knew Francesco had a deeprooted loyalty to his former school and his former neighbourhood. He said his initial attempts to enlist the Canucks owner to the cause weren’t successful, but like so many of the kids who went through the EEBC, his heart changed.
The turning point, the teacher says, came when Aquilini was feted for his civic contributions by the Lions Club, an honour that awakened his philanthropic spirit. He began speaking at his former school. He threw open suites for Canucks’ games and concerts, which Crescenzo uses to motivate his students. He took the kids to Cin Cin, an upscale Italian restaurant on Robson, and talked to each one about their lives.
“He saw that he could make a difference,” says Crescenzo. “He connects with these kids and he really cares about them. He’s starting to open up more.”
A visit to the Canucks’ locker-room has also become an annual rite. Some 70 kids cram into the space and a senior member of the Canucks’ organization speaks to them, followed by one of the players.
Jake Virtanen was one of those players. He told the East End kids about his childhood friend from Abbotsford, Ryan Donaldson, who committed suicide. He broke down.
Tyler Motte talked about his challenges with mental health. He broke down.
Dominic Roussel talked about his life, coming to Canada from France to play hockey and leaving behind everything that was familiar to him. He broke down.
Aquilini also brought in Giustra and the mogul has embraced the cause. Crescenzo relates a story in which Giustra talked to a kid whose life could have gone a couple of ways. He said, I feel for you. You’ve had it tough.
But you’re out of high school and, “No one gives a (hoot) anymore. Now it’s up to you.”
But some of them do give a hoot.
HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS
Crescenzo, who lost his father when he was eight, was born in East Van. He went to Templeton, graduated from UBC, and returned to his old school to teach. Most of his life has centred around an area the size of a shopping centre.
He retired from teaching after 37 years but the EEBC still runs out of Templeton. Over the years he’s raised about $3 million for his various endeavours. He used to help run a fight night at the
Italian Cultural Centre. Judge Wally Oppal would attend along with promoter Bruce Allen and star music producer Bob Rock.
One year, Richie Sambora, the lead guitarist for Bon Jovi, showed up.
Crescenzo, in fact, is never sure who will show up. But he’s always there, always present. caring when it isn’t his turn to care and changing hearts.
“Boys feels if they show vulnerability they show weakness,” he says. “We try to give them a place to tell their story.”
Forty years later, it’s become quite a story.