On a crisp-as-an-apple-slice autumn afternoon in Chicago, a man named Tylus Allen looked around a softly lighted chapel and said, â??When I first came here, it was because I heard this was where people were willing to help you.â?
He is 24 now, a clerk at a downtown hospital. When he began evening visits to the Fourth Presbyterian Church, he was a fifth-grader who lived many grim miles away. His father was in prison. He was a boy who yearned to learn, to better himself, but wasnâ??t sure how. â??I was hoping to find people who wouldnâ??t give up on me,â? he said.
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