NEWARK — The woman pulls her little red hybrid up to the curb, across the street from a gutted house with gang graffiti over the boarded-up windows. A man with a cane ambles off the sidewalk, opens the door and gets in. He rolls up his sleeves and warms his cold hands on the car’s heating vent.

Anita Foster starts the routine, taking Willie Gibson’s blood pressure, measuring his oxygen levels, and listening with a stethoscope to his lungs, riddled with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, over the sound of loud banter from young men sauntering back and forth on Ellis Avenue in Irvington on an October morning.

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