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'Kettle bells ring, are you listening?'

While some walk by, and others suffer "kettle guilt," most people put something in the Salvation Army bell ringers' kettles.

By RICK GERSHMAN
Published December 23, 2005

SUN BAY SOUTH - Got milk?

Not if you're Yolanda Rivera.

She needs milk. Her kids need milk, her cats need milk, and - most importantly, Rivera says - her Frosted Mini-Wheats need milk.

On a sunny afternoon outside Publix at Gandy Boulevard and Himes Avenue, Rivera, 30, has arrived on her milk mission. But achieving her goal will take the planning, stealth and timing of a jewel thief.

See, the entrance is guarded, in a sense, by Rivera's nemesis: the Salvation Army bell ringer.

Rivera's not coldhearted. She dropped cash in the kettle earlier this holiday season - several times, in fact. She donated money to help Hurricane Katrina victims. She bought presents for her kids and sisters and cousins and nephews and nieces.

She just can't give any more.

Over the past week, the Times spoke with several shoppers about how they deal with bell ringers, who work outside most Publix stores, Sam's Clubs and Wal-Marts through Christmas Eve.

Outside Publix, Rivera watches a couple walk right past the bell ringer, seemingly lost in conversation, with nary a kettleward glance. She can't do it: "I can't look them in the eye and not give."

So she waits until the bell ringer is distracted, talking to a gentleman, and darts into the supermarket.

She's halfway home. Now she just has to get her milk - and get out undetected.

While Rivera's inside, Vincent Wade has no such concerns. He exits Publix, walking past the bell ringer, even giving her a wave. She waves back. Did he donate on the way in?

"Nope, but I gave sometime last week," he says, putting groceries in his car. "I don't feel guilty about it. I'm sure they understand you give what you can."

No one should feel uncomfortable about shopping where a bell ringer is stationed, said Moira Hinson, a Salvation Army spokeswoman. Most bell ringers, she said, find their interactions with shoppers even more pleasant than they expected.

"We don't want to be intrusive," Hinson said. "Our bell ringers are usually very surprised at the positive response. They think they'll get some stares from people, but the vast majority of shoppers are very friendly to them."

Most bell ringers volunteer, Hinson said, though with 60 locations throughout Hillsborough County, the organization does have to hire some bell ringers for $6.15 per hour.

On her way into the Publix with her 6-year-old daughter Lori, Barbara Schneider drops a quarter into the kettle. When she exits a few minutes later, she gives Lori some more change to donate.

Schneider says she almost always drops money in the kettles, even if it's only a few cents. She doesn't do it because she feels guilty, but just to help: "It adds up. I can't believe anyone can't spare a quarter here and there."

Still, "kettle guilt" does seem to be a factor for some shoppers. Several people acknowledged trying to sneak past bell ringers for exactly that reason.

Beginning last year, Target department stores decided to ban bell ringers at its stores, citing its no-solicitation policy. However, the company does allow for Salvation Army donations through a "virtual kettle" linked through its Web site.

The Target ban does not appear to have hurt donations, at least in and around Tampa. And while the organization expected a certain level of "donor fatigue" following Katrina and other disasters, that hasn't been the case.

"We always hope to do at least as well as we did the previous year, and better if at all possible," Hinson said. "Last year, after the four hurricanes, we thought we'd be in big trouble, but we were way up."

The same has proved true this year, she said, even post-Katrina: "We thought this year we'd be in real trouble, but we are ahead of where we were last year. So we are very surprised."

The organization prefers not to discuss how much a given kettle might receive each day, said Salvation Army spokesman Steve Dick, for fear it might "alert prospective Grinches." In fact, bell ringers got pulled into local headlines recently on a wave of kettle robberies in Pinellas County.

But even such unwelcome attention had an upside, Hinson said. A donor was so impressed with Carliemar White, 69, who refused to let a thief take his kettle in St. Petersburg, that he called Hinson to make a donation in White's name.

Dick, who works for the Salvation Army's Florida headquarters in north Tampa, said donations statewide are up 18 percent.

Meanwhile, the kettle at the Gandy Publix is doing brisk business. Over a five-minute stretch, a reporter counts 27 donations, most of them a bill or two, some of them change.

Rivera finally emerges about 25 minutes after entering. Her cart includes milk, of course, and more Mini-Wheats.

But she doesn't duck the bell ringer; she says hi and tosses some change into the kettle, getting a thanks in response. Did she feel pressured?

"No, I just thought it was the right thing to do," she said, then smiled. "And it's a lot easier than sneaking out."

- Rick Gershman can be reached at rgershman@sptimes.com or 813 226-3431.

[Last modified December 22, 2005, 09:27:09]