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Vitality. As DeBlois talks, he throws his arms back over his head to stretch, an oft repeated gesture. It's about all he can do with his body. Having broken his C-5 vertebrae, he has limited control of his neck and shoulder muscles but not much more. He can turn on a phone (usually with his nose) and tap out the numbers with a stick inserted in a brace strapped to his hand. He can scoop food off a plate with a specially shaped spoon. But most actions in his life—getting out of bed, showering, dressing, for instance—require two people from the moment he wakes to the moment he nods off each night. Everything takes time and cooperation. It's tough going and there is little privacy. By day, he has a full-time attendant. At night and on weekends, he relies on his wife and their three children, or anyone else who happens to be around.

DeBlois, now 45, was a whirlwind of physical energy in his youth. While studying literature and education at UNH, he spent much of his free time hiking in the White Mountains with a sort of bird-dog delight about everything outdoors. In high school, he played football, hockey and lacrosse. While all that is gone now, DeBlois has managed to convert that physical energy into mental energy and resolve. As Al Lemos, the Urban Collaborative's counselor, says, "The first year I more or less tried to keep up with Rob. And it was as if I were trying to commit suicide. I couldn't do it. This guy's amazing. He's got endless amounts of energy. No one can keep up with him."

Individualized instruction allows Rob Deblois' students to take charge of their own education.

Well, one person can: his wife, Bonnie Hunt DeBlois '75. She was his girlfriend at the time of the accident, and after DeBlois returned to UNH to finish his degree, Bonnie spent many weekends driving to Durham from Rhode Island, where she lived and worked, to be with him. It took them five years to decide to get married but, as Bonnie puts it, "It was not a difficult decision. It's not like I worried about being stuck with a crippled guy. We were very close before his accident, and afterward I didn't think the essential attraction had changed. We had so much in common. We still do."

Their bond may be stronger than the average marriage because of DeBlois' condition. It's not just the unusual intimacy of Bonnie taking care of DeBlois most of the time. It's partly the way DeBlois' lack of mobility has simplified their options. Bonnie has been very involved with DeBlois' post-graduate work and his professional progress over the years. She says she's proud of his accomplishments and is happy to travel with him to his education conferences. They also greatly enjoy their family life, their three children, their visits with friends and their vacations, especially trips to the White Mountains every year.

In the early years of their marriage, DeBlois had a job teaching high school English at a Catholic girls' school, while Bonnie earned a degree in library science and began working as a school librarian (she still does). A few years later, DeBlois enrolled at Brown. He also earned a master's in education from Rhode Island College.

During these years, DeBlois' interest in education sharpened, and he began taking a hard look at the shortcomings of our educational system in the inner city. In the 1980s, drop-out rates in many American cities had climbed to 35 percent and higher. In Providence, this translated into thousands of kids leaving school every year, never to return. DeBlois' response to this in the mid-'80s was to establish a summer school program for urban kids in Providence based on cutting-edge thinking about interdisciplinary learning. This program—SPIRIT—is still in operation.

A few years later, DeBlois started working to establish a year-round program that served at-risk kids, and in 1989 he opened the doors to the Urban Collaborative Accelerated Program. The program is designed for middle schoolers, rather than high schoolers, because it's an age when kids, despite their struggles, are still kids and generally willing to listen to the guidance of adults. In short, they still have a chance.

"Growing up, I never realized the advantages I had," DeBlois says. "When I finally understood how tough life is for these kids and how our society is not doing much to correct the disparities, I was astounded. I couldn't believe it. And, as an educator, I felt I couldn't ignore it. It's just one of those things—you go where you are needed."

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