Bells Toll, Ringers Toil for Holiday Charity

"That's a good spot," someone murmured. "I made 250 there last week."

"You guys want to go out and make bonuses today?" Rojas wheedled his crew as they began donning scarves, hoods and Santa hats following a closing prayer. Anyone who breaks the $200 mark gets an extra $5; $300 earns $10. "Tell you what, if you make a bonus today, I'll double it."

The ringers filed out, kettles in hand, to the small bus that would shuttle them to their stations.

Mitchell's Giant was the second stop. He shouted a hello to the shopping cart attendants as the bus driver retrieved the tripod kettle stand from just inside the store (most businesses let the organization store the stands on the premises). While the driver padlocked the kettle to the tripod, Mitchell fetched the small bin of candy and gum that he maintains, at his own expense, as a friendly incentive.

"I never give it to the kids without asking mom first," he said, a grin on his friendly round face, which is beneath a snappy tweed hat. "But they love it. And lots of times mom will drop some money in when she comes back by."

Mitchell zipped up the fleece jacket under his red Salvation Army apron and began rhythmically jingling his bell. Within minutes, the first handful of coins rattled into the empty kettle. It would be slow and steady, he said, until the evening rush began between 4 and 6 p.m. Most shoppers are friendly, telling him that his ringing is a welcome sign of the season (but he does remember the woman who recently offered him a $10 donation if he would stop ringing the bell).

There is no predicting who will stop and donate, Mitchell said, although he found that "working class" shoppers seemed to be the most reliable givers. Older people were some of his best regulars, including many who linger for a chat. Mitchell, an Air Force veteran, has swapped many a war story while ringing his bell.

"I had a gentleman tell me the other day that he always gives to the Salvation Army because they didn't charge for their coffee during World War II," Mitchell said. "The Red Cross charged a dime for theirs."

He greets most of the store employees by name. The managers will let him move his kettle just inside the front door on the coldest days. And the parking lot guys keep an eye on his kettle during his half-hour lunch break or trips to the restroom.

The organization has never had a kettle of money stolen in Montgomery County, Rojas said.

Once, through a staffing mix-up, a kettle was left unattended all day outside a department store. At day's end, the bell-less pot had $16 worth of change in it. Rojas uses that incident to motivate his team.

"That's the difference an enthusiastic ringer can make," he said. "Sixteen dollars a day versus $150."

Or more. The most productive ringer Rojas can remember was a young woman who routinely gathered $500 to $700 a day.

"She was from Africa and spoke very little English, but she had this bright smile you could see from across the parking lot," he said. "She found full-time employment and didn't come back this year. But we could sure use her."