News from Bird Bottom Farm My Experience with the Red Cross

News from Bird Bottom Farm
My Experience with the Red Cross

By Ursula B.G. Kilner, Salisbury

At long last I will say my piece and share some of the experiences I have had concerning the Red Cross. Before I proceed I would like to note that the Red Cross on a white ground is the international symbol—except in Muslim countries, where they use the Red Crescent on white, while Iran uses the Red Lion and Sun on a white ground. These latter aberrations are significant at present because of international conflicts.

For many years my husband told me to never give to the Red Cross. He served two and a half years in the South Pacific during WWII, and three years relieving a teacher who was a West Pointer and anxious to get into "action" in Korea, where the promotions and medals were available—important if one is regular army. One of my husband’s unpleasant experiences with this highly touted organization was on coming out of a nasty engagement with the Japanese on a Pacific island. On getting back to camp, my husband (at that time a captain) and his men—dirty, some wounded, some sick—were greeted by crisp Red Cross women who wanted to sell coffee and donuts for 50¢. It would have been logical to think that fighting men in this area and in their condition had no money. My husband explained this to no avail. He had similar experiences with the Red Cross, but this was the worst.

I, being considerably younger than my husband and remaining at home in America, had my own experiences. I was, like many teenagers, eager to help in the war effort. The Red Cross had us rolling bandages. One of my father's friends, who was in the business of hospital supplies, pointed out to me that any bandages we rolled would be destroyed as contaminated. The steel-equipped factories did a much better and faster job; our rolling of bandages went back to the Civil War days and was just a way to keep our eager hands busy and our minds occupied thinking we were doing something worthwhile. Then we who could knit were given directions for making socks, mittens, "helmets" and scarves. We were given yarn that was as rough as barbed wire. All the things I knitted were of yarn I bought myself. The yarn that the Red Cross bought in those years was a waste of money that had been donated by people who, like me, thought the Red Cross was an upright organization.

Across the road from my family lived the woman who ran our area's Red Cross. She had a Red Cross station wagon with an "X" gas card. That meant she could get any amount of gasoline she wanted. Most people had "A" cards—actually stickers on the windshield—or "B," which allowed a little more gasoline. The "X" cards went to trucks and other vital transportation. We were too young to drive (even if a car were available to us), but we all knew what to tell anyone who wanted to know where to get gasoline. If a truck pulled in with an "X" card and bought 25 gallons, the station owner could put down that the truck had taken 40 gallons, and thus he could have 15 gallons "to play with." Anyhow, our neighbor Red Cross woman gaily went off to Vermont and New Hampshire—in the Red Cross station wagon, of course—to go antiquing. I don't think anyone ever ratted on her, but the temptation was great. I can tell this now, as she and many like her (who were much older than I at the time) have all gone to their rewards.

There were other Red Cross uses of power that soured many persons like my friends and me. The one organization I have given to with delight is The Salvation Army. They are thrifty and take used clothes, furniture and books. Just visit their store in Torrington. The Salvation Army has about a 5% overhead.

In just the United States organization, the Red Cross pays its president at least $150,000 a year—and that comes out of the pockets of contributions. Recent revelations of the money the Red Cross collected for the September 11 disaster going to other projects and the blood collected being discarded because they had too much—well, if you weren't turned off before, you probably have been turned off now.

My husband was absolutely right: "Don't give a dime to the Red Cross." After all, that dime wouldn't have bought their coffee and donuts out in the Pacific in 1943—and goodness knows what inflation has done to Red Cross prices by now!