My condo is my home and the home to several hundred others. The hallway on my floor is filled with boxes of clothing and other gently used items, bound for Meta House in Riverwest. It’s where abused women recovering from various addictions live in far less luxurious digs than mine. Downstairs in our Community Room several boxes with similar contributions are headed for the Salvation Army. Tis the season of giving in the Third Ward, a Boutique Resale store run by Goodwill helps fill the stockings of people lacking fat wallets. It’s neat and clean with imaginative displays and a friendly attitude.
Here and there and everywhere Bell Ringers stand at the ready waiting for the generous to kick in a few dollars. I hesitate to say that one such Ringer was downright nasty when I passed his pot and didn’t contribute. He actually sneered and in a voice laden with sarcasm, snarled, “have a nice day anyway.” Fortunately, he is an exception to the valiant who brave the winter winds.
My brother Dennis is a peace activist who lives in Kansas City and for years was the Salvation Army’s top Bell Ringer. He quit a few years ago when it was revealed that one of the power people in charge, admitted to skimming off monies for personal needs. That said, along the way, Dennis was presented with an award for bringing in monies over the Holidays. Carved from crystal, until it was stolen (along with his television) from the living room of his low-income apartment, the award was his pride and joy. He was often assigned to the Country Club Plaza area, an extremely upscale luxe shopping area built in the 1920s by the J.C. Nichols Company, but I heard him complain frequently about folks being downright stingy as they paraded by in full-length minks and cashmere coats.
Near where I live is a big white house, a “club” for recovering drunks and addicts. Ironically, it was donated by a man who made a fortune providing hops for the beer industry. Inside is a little café where the stressed can meet and eat and drink coffee and smoke. Summertime finds them outside on the front porch gathered in a common cause. I often see persons of local note making their daily trek to the house, in a continued effort to stay clean and sober. Once a year they hold a huge rummage sale in their parking area south of the club. Don’t laugh, but folks from my condo have been spotted shopping for stuff. At heart, I guess we are all bargain hunters.
Speaking of which, there are now and then some real deals to be found on or near our trash bins, castoffs of perfectly usable items: chairs, televisions, desks, left-behind exotic potted plants. As the economy worsens the number of items seems to be growing ever larger. When I lived at the Shorecrest Hotel north of here, I hauled a great chair (made in Sheboygan) out of the trash bin. A gem from the 70s, it is sturdy and chic with a cherry-red fake leather covering the seat. Who cares if there was a wad of someone’s gum on the underside, I cleaned it off and it’s one of my fave furnishings.
Happy Holidays all you thirty-some readers who read Condomania.
