Lending a hand in hard times
By TED GUP
GUEST COLUMNIST
CANTON, Ohio – In the weeks just before Christmas of 1933 – 75 years ago – a mysterious offer appeared in The Repository, the daily newspaper here. It was addressed to all who were suffering in that other winter of discontent, known as the Great Depression. The bleakest of holiday seasons was upon them, and the offer promised modest relief to those willing to write in and speak of their struggles. In return, the donor, a “Mr. B. Virdot,” pledged to provide a check to the neediest to tide them over the holidays.
Not surprisingly, hundreds of letters for Mr. B. Virdot poured into general delivery in Canton – even though there was no person of that name in the city of 105,000. A week later, checks, most for as little as $5, started to arrive at homes around Canton. They were signed by “B. Virdot.”
The gift made The Repository’s front page on Dec. 18, 1933. The headline read: “Man Who Felt Depression’s Sting to Help 75 Unfortunate Families: Anonymous Giver, Known Only as ‘B. Virdot,’ Posts $750 to Spread Christmas Cheer.” The story said the faceless donor was “a Canton man who was toppled from a large fortune to practically nothing” but who had returned to prosperity and now wanted to give a Christmas present to “75 deserving fellow townsmen.” The gifts were to go to men and women who might otherwise “hesitate to knock at charity’s door for aid.”
Whether the paper spoke to B. Virdot directly or through an intermediary or whether it received something in writing from him is not known.
Down through the decades, the identity of the benefactor remained a mystery. Three prosperous generations later, the whole affair was consigned to a footnote in Canton’s history. But to me, the story had always served as an example of how selfless Americans reach out to one another in hard times. I can’t even remember the first time I heard about B. Virdot, but I knew the tale well.
Then, this past summer, my mother handed me a battered old black suitcase that had been gathering dust in her attic. I flipped open the twin latches and found a mass of letters, all dated December 1933. There were also 150 canceled checks signed by “B. Virdot,” and a tiny black bank book with $760 in deposits.
My mother, Virginia, had always known the secret: The donor was her father, Samuel J. Stone. The fictitious moniker was a blend of his daughters’ names – Barbara, Virginia and Dorothy. But Mother had never told me, and when she handed me the suitcase she had no idea what was in it – “some old papers,” she said. The suitcase had passed into her possession shortly after the death of my grandmother Minna in 2005.
I took the suitcase with me to our log cabin in the woods of Maine, and there, one night, began to read letter after letter. They had come from all over Canton, from out-of-work upholsterers, painters, bricklayers, day laborers, insurance salesmen and, yes, former executives – some of whom, I later learned, my grandfather had known personally.
One, written Dec. 19, 1933, begins, “I hate to write this letter … it seems too much like begging. Anyway, here goes. I will be honest, my husband doesn’t know I’m writing this letter. … He is working but not making enough to hardly feed his family. We are going to do everything in our power to hold on to our house.” Three years behind in taxes and out of credit at the grocery store, the writer closed with, “Even if you don’t think we’re worthy of help, I hope you receive a great blessing for your kindness.”
Read the rest here . It is very moving account of selfless love for humanity.