The Big Green Box

In my first years at the Georgia Lung Association, GLA, conducting the annual Christmas Seal campaign was a daunting task as everything was literally handled out of our small office with three staff, including myself. We had ancient typesetting equipment that was used to put our donor’s information on metal plates, which was then used to stamp out the names and addresses onto envelopes.

This machine made the most horrific and loud clanking sound, as you pounded out each character onto the metal. Thankfully, we were only making metal plates for new donors and updating the information on existing ones. I hated it when someone moved and we had to change an address.

After everything was updated, we began stuffing envelopes with the donor cards, that year’s Christmas Seal sheets and a return envelope for the donations. This was all begun each year in the early fall as it was time consuming, but we made the most of it all with lively conversation at our “stuffing” table… when the machine wasn’t being used, that is.

Here was where we discussed our personal lives, what books we were reading, and where we brainstormed about potential educational programs. The later is where we spent most of our time in planning and development what new programs we wanted to introduce or what we could do to keep the existing ones exciting.

Our porter, Robert, was an absolutely dear old black man who had been working at the GLA for most of his adult life. Besides keeping the place clean and in order, his job was also to take the stuffed envelopes to the post office as we completed them each day, and of course, to pick up the mail.

During campaign time, I always kept at least two cardboard boxes beside the work table, a couple for the new mail (read donations) and one for the processed envelopes. Each morning, Robert would dump the campaign mail in a box and each afternoon, he would take a deposit to the bank.

One morning Robert wasn’t there when we arrived, but one of his sons was. He told us that Robert was ill and he would be working for us in the afternoons to help out after his regular night shift job. This was so like Robert, to think of his job as a real responsibility and to provide in his absence.

The next morning, Betty and I arrived before my secretary, Susan. One glimpse told us something was amiss and it took just seconds to know that it was the boxes containing the contributions; they was missing. In a panic, we rushed around the office searching before realization dawned that they had been thrown out with the garbage.

We dashed around the corner to the location where the Dempsey Dumpsters were kept for our block of offices and, once climbing up on a projection at the bottom, I could see the boxes inside, envelopes spilling out amongst the coffee grounds, orange peels and sandwich remnants. I told Betty to go borrow a chair from the nearest office and by the time she was back, my high heels were off and I was ready to dumpster dive. But, never one to miss out on a PR opportunity, I told Betty to go call all the media.

When she returned, I was entirely in the dumpster, madly picking out stained envelopes, shaking the grime from them and tossing them out to her. A few seconds later, I realized the envelopes were landing on the street as Betty was in the throes of pure hilarity. When Betty laughed, her face got all squished up to the point that her eyes were only slits, and not a sound came out of her.

There I was, up to my elbows in other people’s trash and Betty was laughing at me. Of course, it only took me seconds to join her with my boisterous laughter and that was how the media found us. Me, hanging over the dirty edges of the dumpster bellowing away and Betty doubled over, holding herself while she squinted and laughed soundlessly.

It must have been a slow news day, because all 3 TV stations and a reporter from the Savannah NewsPress showed up almost simultaneously. The situation was a bit hilarious so soon the men and women of the press that I knew so well joined us… in the laughter not the dumpster.

That night, we sat around with our families and laughed again as we watched ourselves on TV, and of course they caught me in all my dirty glory. The next morning, several photos made the front page of the local news section and once again, the GLA was in the spotlight. Hey, when you're working for a nonprofit, you have to get publicity when you can.

Actually, the following year at our annual meeting, I won the State Award for Most Innovative PR for the Savannah office so I guess the ruining of the business suit I had on that day was worth it.

I'll be gone until after Christmas blogging friends, visiting my daughter and grandchildren in Atlanta, so I won't be visiting this week and early next week. But I do want to wish each and every one of you a safe and happy holiday.
Merry Christmas!
Jane
Gaston Studio

Christmas Seals and the Lorraine Cross

This year, the American Lung Association  (then known as the National Association for the Prevention and Study of Tuberculosis, NAPST) celebrates its 106th birthday and it all began in 1904 when tuberculosis was rampant in America and existing clinics were closing due to lack of funds. One such clinic, the Brandywine Sanatorium near Wilmington, Delaware was run by Dr .Joseph Wales who asked his cousin, Emily Bissell, for help. Ms. Bissell was an active member of the American Red Cross and had considerable experience in fundraising. Her mission from Dr. Wales was to raise $300 to keep Brandywine’s doors open for the winter.

Ms Bissell had recently read an article by a Danish-American journalist and social worker who wrote about the successful sale of Christmas seals in Denmark in 1904 that raised thousands of dollars for the TB association. Ms. Bissell borrowed money from friends, printed the first 50,000 Seals, got permission from the Wilmington postmaster to sell them in the post office lobby and sold the first Christmas Seal on December 7, 1907.

The first Seals were in an envelope on which was printed:

“Put this stamp with message bright
On every Christmas letter,
Help the tuberculosis fight,
And make the New Year better.
These stamps do not carry any kind of mail
But any kind of mail will carry them.”

She only raised $25 on her first day in the post office, but there began Ms. Bissell’s quest to succeed as she contacted the newspaper in Philadelphia. That newspaper campaign later came to the attention of President Theodore Roosevelt who endorsed the Seals and by the end of Christmas that year, Emily had raised $3,000.

The following year, Ms. Bissell’s Christmas Seal campaign went national under the sponsorship of the American Red Cross. In successive years, the campaign eventually came under control of the then National Tuberculosis Association (later, the American Lung Association), and the double barred cross first appeared on a Christmas Seal in 1920.

This cross was a modification of the Cross of Lorraine, used by Godfrey, Duke of Lorraine and a leader of the First Crusade in 1099. It was later adapted by the American Red Cross into the thick barred red cross you see today. In 1920, the National Tuberculosis Association registered the cross as their new emblem and official trademark with its adaptation of using a single upstanding bar with two evenly space horizontal bars.

Over the years, the NAPST became the American Lung Association, ALA, as it expanded its fight to include all threats to the lungs. The ALA was the first organization to tackle smoking as the nation’s greatest preventable health risk and to make the connection between air pollution and lung disease.

Landmark victories include the Clean Air Act and the passage of a bill to give the FDA authority over the marketing, sales and manufacturing of tobacco products. The main aim in the later was to stop the tobacco companies from preying on children and deceiving the American public.

The Lorraine Cross was in my life daily from 1969 when I became Executive Director of the Georgia Lung Association, Savannah branch, and the next year, my son was born. But it came as a complete surprise to me when, a few years later and young Billy was 3 years old, he showed me his Oreo cookie and made the comment;

“Look mom, it’s the same as where you work.”

Lo and behold, there was the Lorraine Cross embedded in the design on top of each Oreo. It took my 3 year old son to show me to keep your eyes open all the time because you never know what you’ll discover.

So people, when those Christmas Seals come in the mail at your house, think about the air you breathe and the American Lung Association who works constantly to make it purer for you and your children. Oh, and don’t forget to leave Oreo cookies and milk for Santa this year.

Jane
Gaston Studio

Undulating through life

As a 15 year old sophomore at Richmond Hill high school, my English teacher decided she wanted to put on Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window for the annual school play for which she was the director. I don’t remember her name, but I can describe her to a tee: she was about 55ish, rotund, only stood about 5’2”, wore black horn rimmed eyeglasses and wore her dyed black hair in a horrendous topknot where she also kept an extra pencil or two. And she rarely smiled.

I was to play Grace Kelly’s role of the wealthy girlfriend, Lisa and James Stewart’s role of Jeff was being played by a basketball player that I had a crush on named Carlton who, of course, spent the entire play in a wheelchair with his leg in a pseudo cast. I, on the other hand, had to walk across the stage several times as I was trying to convince Jeff that he shouldn’t be spying on people through their windows.

One afternoon at a dress rehearsal -- I was wearing this fabulous sweater dress that fit my 5’5”, 118 lb frame like a glove -- I was climbing up the “fire escape” when suddenly my English teacher yelled out “Cut!” and called me down to the auditorium seats where she was. I had no idea what I had done wrong because I knew my lines and thought I had also performed admirably up to that point. This is what happened:

Me: “Yes mam, what did I do wrong?”

She: “It’s not that you did anything wrong, it’s that you jiggled.”

Me: “Mam?”

She: “Your derriere Jane, it jiggled, especially when you were going up the fire escape.” She kind of snorted, then added, “You’ll have to wear a girdle or you can‘t play Lisa.”

Me: “Yes mam.”

I didn’t even own a girdle! Later, I told some girlfriends what had been said and was surprised to find out they wore girdles when they got all dressed up. I was aghast and when I got home and told my parents who both laughed. Mom said since we were about the same size, I could borrow one of her girdles. Dad didn’t say anything specifically because he didn’t discuss ladies underwear, but he smiled… a lot.

So, I wore mom’s girdle for the remaining dress rehearsals and my teacher was appeased. But I still felt as if something wasn’t quite right. When I tried to view the problem in the mirror, I didn’t see anything amiss; only a 15 year old butt that looked tighter than usual.

On the day of the play, I woke up, got dressed for school, gathered my dress, heels, girdle, etc. and went into the kitchen… where I promptly threw up in the sink. Dad was right there and when he told me it was just butterflies, I told him I was afraid I was going to jiggle across the stage and everyone would laugh at me.

At times, my dad could be cool. He patted me on the back and told me that, for sure, I would not be jiggling anywhere, not in that girdle. “And while we’re talking about it,” he continued, “You don’t jiggle; you just have the natural movement of a teenage girl.” I washed my face and took my butterflies to school.

After school that afternoon, we had another rehearsal and then we all ate some dinner that our teacher had sent over for us. We were all excited and a bit nervous waiting for 6 pm to roll around, but I didn’t tell anyone about the butterflies that were playing volleyball in my stomach. Fortunately, the butterflies took a holiday once I stepped onto the stage and the play went off without a hitch.

A few years later while a senior in high school, I was working as a weekend hostess at Antoiine's restaurant in downtown Savannah. One regular customer, an older man who owned a Savannah-famous jewelry store, stopped me one evening and said he always loved to watch me walking by because I undulated. I smiled sweetly and thanked him because although I didn’t know what the word meant, he was always a perfect gentleman.

When I got home, I discovered that undulate means “to cause to move in a smooth, wavelike motion.” right then I knew that this was really what had concerned my English teacher; she just didn’t want a teenage girl undulating across her stage, distracting the audience.

And just for the record, I never wore a girdle again.

Jane

P.S. Thanks to Google and the author of Undulation for the unauthorized image I've stolen.