I hate telemarketers. They must detest me, too, judging by the way I hang up on them. I just don't do telephone solicitations, especially when the call comes at dinnertime.
It's even worse around 9 p.m. when I'm into a good movie. Once, I was awakened from a sound sleep around 10 when a voice at the other end wondered if I wanted a great deal on life insurance.
Had the caller been within arm's length, he would have been the one who needed it. When I was asked by my favorite charity to participate in a telethon, I first responded that I would have preferred a root canal.
But since this was a special cause looking to help kids with camperships, how could I refuse?
"Your support will make a big difference," they told me.
No introduction was necessary. I understood the cause. With money tight, fewer and fewer children will have the opportunity to attend camp this summer. I knew little help could go a long way.
I felt awkward calling people whom I knew. And who knew me. A better alternative was to approach total strangers.
I showed up the first night and was handed a special list of names. These were people in the $100,000 income range. "What a bonanza!" I thought. Before I even began, out came a pen and a contribution from myself. How could I logistically approach others if I didn't comply?
One call led to another and I was getting nowhere fast. The fact it was supper hour might have been an obstacle. Maybe they were screening their calls rather than answering during their meal.
The 5-minute spiel they handed me was exactly 4 minutes, 30 seconds too long. It started out with a history of the organization, followed by the impact made over the past year, and so forth.
If the person was still on the line, the lecture then turned to record-keeping, how payment should be recorded, pledge or lump-sum contribution and how the money would be distributed.
After five quick rejections, it was I who got the message. I tried using a little psychology in my approach by simply identifying the organization and asking for a small contribution toward a campership.
Truth of the matter was, some of these residents could have used some financial help. As the evening wore on, so did my nerves. I couldn't believe how many were unemployed, crying poverty or just in a complacent state.
Finally, I hit pay dirt. A woman took pity and volunteered a $10 donation. The first list was finally exhausted. Of the 20 names, I reached 10 and landed one. Was I getting a taste of my own medicine when it came to telephone solicitations?
I wasn't done. A second list was handed over with residents in the $75,000 range. Maybe I would have better luck with this category. I've heard it said that people with less give more. The weekend before, the Armenian National Committee of America conducted its annual telethon and collected $2.5 million on TV from coast-to-coast over a six-hour period.
Granted, one individual donated $1 million and he did it anonymously, but for the most part, contributions were triple digits with the names revealed.
Back to my list. One more call led to another. Of the 22 names, again only half responded and one other nibble came forth — another $10 gift. I had the feeling that the donor was one of these individuals who couldn't say no.
After two hours of persistent calls, I received two contributions totaling $20 from some of the wealthiest people in my community.
It led me to believe that when it comes to giving charity over the phone, most people stop at nothing.
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Tom Vartabedian is a retired Haverhill Gazette reporter and photographer who contributes this weekly column.SFlb
