I remember year after year following those trucks, watching the oversized ice coolers bounce around in the back of them and thinking we had lost our minds. We needed lots of coolers and lots of ice; it was a lot of shrimp. We usually hassled over the price and number of pounds right up until the day before. Actually we often had to go to two or three different places to get the total we needed. Finally all loaded up, water streaming out of the chests, we all bounced back into town. Then we sat on the tailgates of those trucks and started de-heading the little suckers, all 600 pounds of ‘em. Yes, it was July in Houston, hotter than Hades, but hey, the price was right!
But we weren’t through yet. Next we’d round up another group of volunteers and haul more food stuff inside the SPJST Lodge’s grand ballroom so we could tackle shucking 600 pounds of fresh corn, cleaning 300 pounds of potatoes, and making up 2000 little containers of cocktail sauce. It took the entire day.
Actually, we would have probably had a barbeque or something equally sane if Alan, my husband (at that time), hadn’t won this bass boat. He’d aced a hole in one at the Mickey Gilley Charity Golf Tournament. His prize was a brand new micro 15 ft. bass boat, compliments of Gilley’s brother who owned a marine business. His photo accepting the boat from Mickey made all the local papers and warranted a blurb on the evening news.
As usual I was oblivious to his latest golfing excursion. I didn’t even realize he’d taken the day off for the tournament, so I was pretty surprised when he came home all excited about winning the boat and how it would be a great fundraiser for the Rose. Actually, I didn’t follow his logic, it made more sense to me to just sell it and donate the money. But he kept on, outlining elaborate schemes on ways to turn it into a fabulous fundraiser. He talked about involving local celebrities, getting lots of publicity, a dinner, a gala, the ideas were endless.
By now I’d made the jump from corporate America, leaving behind the customary things like benefits, retirement, and regular paychecks. I had my hands full trying to run the business, write the grants, and manage the mobile unit and other programs we were offering in 1990. Pulling together a fundraising event wasn’t high on my list.
About a month passed and I still hadn’t a clue what to do with that boat, and the spouse was getting more and more huffy over my apparent lack of interest. That was when I had this dream. It had been one of those fitful nights spent staring at the ceiling worrying over the unit, hoping we’d make payroll and wondering how to find funding. Finally sleep came and with it a magical dream.
I was in house on the mezzanine level, looking down at women gathered on the first floor. A man entered. By his dress, he was a fisherman. He was a big attractive man with a white beard that covered his face. He went up to one of the women -- the prettiest woman there. She wore her beauty well with every fashion choice serving to enhance her attributes. Her laughter floated through the air as they started up the stairs.
I woke up knowing that somehow everything would be alright.
That evening during support group, a couple came. They’d attended one or two times before but I didn’t know them well. During the announcements, I explained that Alan had donated this boat to The Rose but I couldn’t figure out how to make it work.
Jim Anderson jumped right in, “What you need is a shrimp boil to go along with the boat theme. I know some folks who could do the cooking,” he offered. His wife Marsha caught his excitement and said, “Raffle the boat off, sell tickets for $5 each.”
$5? A piece? That amount caused a big debate within the group.
Marsha finally stopped the debate by saying, “We won’t have a bit of trouble selling tickets at that price … just give them to me and Jim.” The two of them exchanged knowing glances. She reached over and patted his beard.
I remember looking at her and thinking then that she looked like a dream. She had long, dark hair, and was a curvaceous woman who knew how to wear her clothes well. Her treatment had just started.
Marsha and Jim knew exactly what they were doing. We tried to deem them chairs of our first fundraiser, but they just wanted to handle the raffle. Handle it they did, selling over $5,000 worth of tickets. The entire raffle raised $6,600.
The Shrimp Boil became a community affair.
Anna Belle convinced the folks at the SPJST Lodge to donate their grand ballroom that seated 1,000 people and had this huge dance floor. She and Dixie found three country western bands to donate an hour apiece of their time. So we had the place, the raffle, and the entertainment lined up for a Sunday afternoon in July.
From the beginning there was always some wonderful benefactor or two who helped cover the cost of the shrimp and somehow we managed to get everything else donated. We spent the best part of a month gathering auction items and getting commitments for food. The first year, Marsha convinced a truck farmer friend to deliver his gift of 400 hundred pounds of potatoes straight to the hall. Usually we weren’t that lucky.
Daily folks would drop by our little Center bringing more stuff, until there wasn’t an open spot left anywhere. Volunteers canvassed local grocery stores securing butter and cooking oil, onions and spices, tea and coffee.
Since the beginning Ola Mae provided the hush puppies, the bags filled up half of her freezer and Shirley Middleton brought all the paper goods, bags and bags of plastic ware, one thousand each of dinner plates, dessert plates, paper cups and glasses, hundreds of napkins.
Jim and his friend Neil drove this huge cooking trailer over to the Lodge and took up over four parking spots. Neil would pay some of his workers to come help move the huge pots and burners and they all stayed outside cooking up the shrimp, potatoes and corn on the cob. The SPJST Ballroom would reek for weeks from the smell of all that shrimp. There’d be a lot of fussing going on about it among the Lodge members, but somehow they’d forgive us and rent the hall to us again the next year.
When that first Sunday finally arrived, people were lined up around the block waiting for us to open. At $8 bucks a piece it was a great deal.
To be continued …
This memory is one of 25 short stories written by Dorothy Gibbons, the Co-founder and CEO of The Rose, a nonprofit breast cancer organization. She and Dr. Dixie Melillo received the 501C3 documents for The Rose in 1986. A memory will be shared daily, culminating with number 25 on the day The Rose celebrates its 25th anniversary November 10.
© 2011 Dorothy Gibbons. All rights reserved.
What exciting and interesting stories! I'm enjoying every one! Thank you Dorothy!
ReplyDeleteKen L.
The days of shucking corn and washing potatoes in a shopping cart!
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