I'm sorry for the little ones; but their parents need to take them home! Another SOB story from the liberal MSM:

Mass evictions
Are we willing to ship out immigrant children en masse?

January 21, 2008
BY NEIL STEINBERG Sun-Times Columnist
Opening shot...
It is a very cold morning, and the children shepherded into Erie Neighborhood House, 1701 W. Superior, are bundled under coats, hats, scarves and, in one instance, a Batman mask.

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Ages 3 and 4, they are here for childhood development with Irene Marquez. Almost all are Hispanic -- the latest wave of immigration to wash over Erie House, now often called La Escuela Erie. Go back in time to 1870, when Erie House was founded, and there would still be children needing breakfast, though those children were largely Dutch.

Since then, Erie has helped waves of immigrants -- Irish, Italians, Poles -- adjust to a city that didn't particularly want them. A city whose longtime residents trod the wooden sidewalks secure in the knowledge that they had been resourceful enough to be born to parents who had arrived in an earlier migration, smug as they eyed those bundled children of newcomers, made jokes about garlic, and worried that the Chicago of 1910 was filled to capacity.

I followed los ninos inside, where they hung up their lilac-colored coats, heard a story about a teddy bear, ate French toast cut up into triangles, then brushed their teeth using toothbrushes with their names on the handles.

This must be the belly of the beast, I realized. This must be the outrage my angry readers have in mind when they talk about how immigrants are soaking up vital social services. These are exactly the people the Mike Huckabees of the world would force, with their parents, at bayonet-point into sealed cattle cars heading south. (Because, honestly, when you talk about deporting 12 million people, how else could you possibly do it?)

Would it matter if they could stand here with me, watching the kids' eager faces as they listen to Teddy's Snowy Day? Would it soften their hearts to learn that this one is Cesar and that one is Antonio? That Brianna is outgoing and Ariana is shy?

Or would they snap shut the book, roughly return their lilac jackets, their little mittens, and send them back out into the very cold Friday morning, as punishment for some misdemeanor their parents may or may not have committed years ago? Would they? Would you?

CEO, chairman, lunch lady
Inspired by Lake Michigan filling their windows, La Rabida Children's Hospital designed its ward to look like a ship, with life-preservers on the walls and red-trimmed portholes peeking in on rooms that are called "cabins."
The effect is so well done, it's possible to imagine the hand rails lining the corridors -- safety features found in any hospital -- are here to grab onto in rough waters.

In Cabin 19, Christian Barber, 9, decked out in tiger pajamas, relaxes in bed, watching "Scooby Doo" on television. He barely glances over as a trim, buoyant woman enters his room bearing a tray.

"I brought you some lunch!" she exclaims, brightly. "Let's see what we've got here. Oh, chicken! Do you like chicken?"

But Christian, who has sickle cell anemia, an exhausting chronic genetic condition, isn't interested in food at the moment, or company. And one of the most influential women on Earth immediately understands and withdraws, just as cheerily as she entered.

She is Irene Rosenfeld, chairman and CEO of Kraft Foods, the $34 billion food behemoth based in suburban Northfield. Last year, Forbes Magazine ranked Rosenfeld ninth on its list of the world's "100 Most Powerful Women" -- a full dozen places ahead of Oprah Winfrey, with Queen Elizabeth II and Sen. Hillary Clinton trailing even further.

She is taking part in "Kraft Cares Day," where some 1,800 Kraft employees nationwide -- 1,400 around Chicago -- skip work and go out into the world, helping.

"I'm happy to be here today," says Rosenfeld, who earlier read at Erie House before visiting La Rabida. "It beats most of the things I'd be doing otherwise."

As much as I try to be cynical -- a Kraft photographer must have snapped 300 photos, and Rosenfeld feeding little Hayley Edwards with her pink bows will look great in the company's annual report -- it's hard to be. The truth is that Kraft not only gives away $83 million a year, but does so in a smart fashion. Rather than following the herd with a pro forma Christmastime effort to prod employees into donating to the trouble-wracked United Way, Kraft gives its employees a voice in deciding where their money should go. They picked Erie House, which has received $215,000 from Kraft since 2000.

And Rosenfeld is impressive -- her focus, the way she takes command of 17 preschoolers at Erie House, learning their names, even the shy girl at the back, and reading a story while peppering them with questions and listening to their sometimes protracted replies, all without a flicker of inattention.

"You've done this before," I say later, and she admits to having been, once upon a time, a counselor at Tyler Hill Camp in the Poconos.

Rosenfeld also has learned the secret of those who actually volunteer -- that doing so helps them more than it does their supposed beneficiaries.

"I can't make a dent today, but we can better understand who we're serving," Rosenfeld says. "Coming out to places like this motivates employees. It reminds us of some of the challenges out there, and puts things in perspective. It reinforces our mission: We have an obligation to give back."

She doesn't check a BlackBerry in the three hours I'm with her. What if there were a crisis?

"I have a very, very talented group of employees," Rosenfeld says. "There are still a few more to spare back at the ranch."

http://www.suntimes.com/news/steinberg/ ... 21.article