I ain't Scrooge - or Bill Gates


You are not likely in the near future to read about any charitable foundations in my name: When you celebrate your 83rd birthday, you have to save for your old age. On the other hand, I’m no Scrooge either. I give and I give to a wide variety of causes, in amounts of around $20 to $25 per supplicant. But my, how it adds up.

So what am I ranting about this week? I’m not complaining that I answer the call of the starving, the homeless and the indigent.

My complaint is simple: Time was recipients of appeals for dough were happy to put it to good use (I hope and trust) and then leave me alone until the next year rolled around. Not anymore. Just as soon as some nice agency gets my check, I get a thank-you note and an appeal for another donation. And that’s before January has given way to February. It’s the way the fundraisers operate these days. But now they have new gimmicks that would break your heart — unless you were hardhearted like me. (Did I say that?)


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For openers, of course, is the annual fund drive; now there are the seasonal drives. In winter, the poor Indians are freezing (I support nearly every Indian in the West when, by all rights, Foxwoods and Mohegan Sun should step to the plate). Then there’s the education fund. Unemployment is shamefully high amongst our Indian tribes (in good part because the Bureau of Indian Affairs has been stealing them blind all these years instead of helping them get educated so they could get decent jobs.)

So I am solicited to help send some worthy Indians to college. Then comes spring and it’s graduation time at the Indian college and wouldn’t it be nice to send out a graduation present? And while I’m writing a check to the graduate, his mom and younger brothers and sisters haven’t got anything to eat and it’s too hot on the reservation to grow anything.

The Indians are not alone in this "gimme" game. It seems every time I look at a calendar there’s another holiday to jumpstart the telemarketers again: Labor Day, Thanksgiving, Halloween, Christmas, Hanukkah and now St. Patrick’s Day has started three weeks early. There are birthdays galore. When I was a kid, only kids got birthday presents. Now adult birthdays send us scurrying to the malls (or downtown stores, if there are any) and the cash registers start whirring again.


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But I digress, a little. Back to the really needy: It’s not just the poor, neglected, benighted American Indians who are in desperate straits. Millions of undernourished African children with HIV-infected mothers need food and medicine. Get out the checkbook.

One group of people who are always on the top of my Gotta Give list are disabled American military. This could get me started on the frightful way our wounded warriors have been treated at Walter Reed Hospital and at under-funded VA Hospitals around the country. But I’m not going to go there. With luck, the Congress will pick up the ball for our war wounded that was dropped by their commander in chief.

It would be nice if I could sign off now and take a much-needed nap, but there’s more.

It’s not just people who are in dire need of help from us generous-hearted individual Americans. The land needs us, the rivers need us, the birds need us and the animals need us.

The Nature Conservancy and other land conservation groups are doing their best to save this great country from becoming a gigantic housing development. Land that should be preserved by the government as national treasures are in desperate need of money. The Audubon Society needs my money to save birds from becoming extinct and the caretaker of mountain gorillas need money to ward off poachers, as do the defenders of the magnificent elephant. Can you believe that 23,000 elephants were slaughtered last year just for their ivory tusks?


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Had enough? Just put your donation in the return stamped envelope (it would help if you put a stamp on and saved them 39 cents) and drop it in the nearest mailbox.

If only that were the end of it. But no, the solicitors that really drive me bananas are the ones who call at dinnertime and want me to stop in the middle of stirring my world-famous bolognese ragu and send a donation using my credit card. Or, why don’t I just give them my Social Security number and make the donation online!

Yeah, sure. You’ll get my Social Security number when Tyler Pond in Goshen thaws. You know, of course, that we have a saying in Goshen that we don’t use our snow until it’s two years old!

 

Freelance writer Barnett Laschever, Mr. Generosity of Goshen, is the co-author with Andi Marie Cantele of "Connecticut, An Explorer’s Guide."

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