When I first talked to David Ansell back in the summer of 2023, he said something that stuck with me for a long time: “When we show up at somebody’s house, and we’re asking about health-related social needs, we also want to ask: ‘Does anyone in your house need a job?’”

The vision Ansell rolled out was not just about improving healthcare in Chicago’s West Side by measuring and collecting health data and aiding patients, but also about creating jobs through incubators such as West Side United and filling Rush’s own staff needs. 

Quintonele Allen, whom I met a year later in Chicago, was one of those people. Although she did not receive her job in the way Ansell envisioned, she belonged to the group of people he wanted to reach to create an equitable healthcare system that is based on a fair economy. 

Q herself had struggled for a long time before she received a job as a community health. When she was accepted by Rush, it was time for her to give back.

Giving back

“I feel that the work I do is important,” she said. “This is because I was going through so many trials and tribulations myself. There were moments when I felt like I didn’t have the resources I needed. And then, there were those moments when I received help, which changed so much.”

It is these moments of gratitude that imbue her with extra motivation to do her work, which for her feels more like a vocation than a job. When we met her in front of her new home – a freshly renovated social housing project close to the old Sears Tower – she was ready for a packed day.

First, we followed her to Lula Jordan*, an 85-year-old patient suffering from a variety of diseases, including cardiovascular problems and diabetes, who lives in a small managed apartment not too far away from the United Center, home of the Chicago Bulls and Blackhawks.

Jordan, who has been confined to her bed for many years and rarely has anyone visiting her, cherishes the moments with Q, not only for the medical care but also for the social interactions and other help she receives.

Ending isolation

In one instance, Q was able to support her after Jordan’s Social Security number was stolen. Jordan was unable to access her bank account and would have been evicted from her apartment had it not been for Q’s efforts to pursue the complex administrative steps to regain her papers. 

For Q, this kind of support is what makes the community health workers valuable. “I like connecting the dots, to really help these people who otherwise often have no one to turn to. Their problems are not just confined to healthcare but to all sorts of other issues,” Q said.

Lula Jordan is not the only one. Many live in similar situations. “One of the most challenging parts of my job,” Q said, “is seeing how isolated some of our elderly patients are. Many don’t have family, and they’ve lost trust in the system. I myself have had to build that trust from scratch."

Q’s own life experience has changed markedly since she joined Rush three years ago, allowing her to move to a new apartment with her three children and her dog and giving her the stamina and patience to pursue her work with added rigor.

"When I first applied to Rush, I was turned down. That rejection made me hesitant to try again, but I did. Now, three years later, I know I belong here. This is the most meaningful work I’ve ever done, because it’s not just a job. It’s personal. I get to help people in my community, and that’s something I’m truly proud of.

Frozen turkeys

In the afternoon of the same day, after she had also visited gunshot victim Marcus Kelley and discussed his case at Rush with the care team, Q headed for Moore Park in the center of West Side Chicago, where she and other Rush employees distributed food packages.

Even though the summer afternoon had turned grey with rainfall in the offing, hundreds of children with their families flocked to the park to get hold of fresh produce and bitterly needed proteins.

One of Q’s colleagues, Ebony Henderson, said that during peak times hundreds of families tap into the service, which is also supported by retailer Amazon. “During Thanksgiving, we had 400 families coming as we gave away frozen turkeys and fresh vegetables.”

Like Q, Henderson is extremely motivated, saying that she is volunteering for the food distribution work. “This is outside of what I do as a community health worker. But not only that, I also bring my daughter, so she understands the importance of not just being here and seeing the problem, but trying to be a solution to the problem,” Henderson emphasized.

Safe spaces

On this day, Moore Park is also packed because the community police has organized a Little League baseball game. By chance, we learn that former Ciba-Geigy employee Stephanie Marquardt co-launched this venture a few years back. 

Together with Sergeant Jermaine Harris and Pastor Steve Epting, Marquardt created the group not only to allow the police to better bond with the children and youths of the neighborhood, but also to make them feel seen and engage in meaningful activity. 

To illustrate her point, Marquardt told us about an incident that happened just moments before the event had started when a group of youths got into a mad row. But after Marquardt asked one of the boys to help, things calmed down quickly. 

“Many of them live with their grandparents, who may often get frustrated with them,” she said. “What we do is try to create safe spaces for them where they can be their best selves. And usually when they get a taste of that, they would like more and then more.”

As Q and her colleagues distribute the food packages and the boys are focused on their baseball game, we enjoy the peaceful afternoon that could have easily turned into a tragedy had it not been for the opportunity to give some boys a meaningful activity.

Escaping poverty

Cherishing the sight, I was reminded of another observation that David Ansell made when he talked about West Side Chicago, with its poor Black majority and its neighboring city parts, which are struggling just as much economically as socially.

“There are also a lot of poor white people in Chicago, but there’s not one poor white neighborhood,” Ansell said. “A poor white child in Chicago is likely to be in a neighborhood where there’s more social advantage, a teacher, a library, more opportunities for that child. Here, the next one you bump into is as poor as you are.” 

Creating islands of wealth and safe spaces to get out of this concentrated economic disadvantage is what Ansell has started in Chicago’s West Side and what people like Stephanie Marquardt, Ebony Henderson, and Q are working towards.

Many of the community workers are intimately aware of this and remain cheerful and light-hearted even if the situation is difficult and sometimes dangerous. After all, crime remains high in West Side Chicago with sirens at times forming an eerie backdrop to the city.

“When I help people,” Q concluded, “it comes from a place of knowing what they are going through. I understand the mental frustrations of choosing between buying food and paying bills. Being able to help people navigate these issues means so much to me – especially because I am them.’

* Lula Jordan passed away in May 2025 before the publication of this article.