Walking through the thrift shop at Groveland's First Congregational Church, there isn't much room to maneuver. So many trash bags stuffed with clothes have been stored under the clothing racks, they are bulging out into the aisles. Without a separate room for sorting through donations -- they had one, but it is being used for Sunday School -- there's only one way to make room: have a sale. For the month of May, clothes are $3 a bag.
Ruth Hogg has been volunteering here for 27 years, every Wednesday and Saturday from 8 a.m. to noon. That's only two years less than the shop has been in existence. She recently had knee surgery, and while the therapy is coming along nicely, it's better that she stay put at the front desk. Customers give her $3 first, and Hogg gives them a supermarket bag to fill, but marks it to show they've paid. She had to work out this method after several people walked out with full bags they hadn't paid for.
There are also a pair of signs above her desk bearing the same message | one in Spanish, "No Negociar," one in English, "No Bartering." As hard as it might be to imagine, some people cannot resist the temptation to squeeze even more of a bargain out of items they want. In a shop where, for example, the price range on baseball caps is "between 15 and 25 cents," some people feel compelled to look for even more of a bargain. But Hogg says, "All prices are final." It is unseemly to haggle over charity items and, "I politely remind them the money is for missions projects."
Besides, the generosity that begins with donating her time every week for close to 30 years constantly spills over into the transactions. "Regular customers sometimes get a freebie," Hogg admits with a grin. More importantly, the shop serves as a kind of mission for customers who aren't just thrifty shoppers, but are simply penniless. "If they're burnt out, and they have a note from their minister, we'll give people what they need," Hogg says.
"People have a problem and they want to chat, they just need a little help, a little support, and they go out feeling much better," she adds.
Hogg says she has no idea how much money the shop raises; they just give it all to the church's Missions Committee for distribution. She says that while volunteering is "not a money job, it's very rewarding because you make nice friends, and when you're out at the market or wherever, they remember you."
Kim Mosley, a member of the Missions Committee, says the shop raises $12,000 a year, giving the Groveland Council on Aging $500 a month for fuel assistance for seniors during the critical cold months. Funds go to Emmaus House and the Joyful Ladle in Haverhill to end hunger and homelessness. Several other local charities also benefit, and contributions were made to help victims of Hurricane Katrina, and of the tsunami that hit Indonesia in December 2004. More important than these monetary contributions, Mosley says, the people who work at the thrift shop "are like beacons of light to the people who come in."
It is worth considering that the thrift shop raises $12,000 during one day of operation per week, in a store where the most expensive piece of clothing is $5. It is a brisk business, with regular customers coming in all morning, one or two at a time. One lady has come to take advantage of the sale to buy summer clothes for her grandkids, before going into Boston for an appointment. She says she sometimes buys sewing patterns -- there's a box of those on a shelf -- but for crafts rather than clothes. She'll buy items, like a pillow, and use its material in something she is sewing. But "you can't be looking for anything specific," she advises.
If the main aisles are stuffed with clothes, the walls are lined with that assortment of figurines, glassware, beads and lost game pieces without which no thrift shop would be complete. The thrift shop's other Ruth, Ruth Guilford, who has been volunteering here for 21 years, is about to shelve an item, and asks Hogg if she thinks a particular customer would like them. "They're ugly," Hogg says twice, decisively.
Ugly? They're bizarre. Candles the size of your hand molded to resemble great white sharks. Except they're candles. To give them some body -- so they'll burn for a while -- the middles are rounded out into wax cakes. Therefore they look like sharks that have swallowed a big truck tire, and have a wick sticking out behind the dorsal fin. There are three of them nestled in plastic packaging, and a thrift shop price tag says 25 cents. Apiece? "For all three," Guilford says, laughing.
There is a constant activity of sorting and hanging clothes in the shop. This doubles as low-pressure sales, as pieces are offered to customers before being hung up. At 9:30 a bell rings, the kind that summons a hotel clerk to the front desk, and Hogg announces, "It's coffee time." Everyone clusters around the pot. In addition to the two Ruths, there is Barbara Herrick, Barbara Danforth, Connie Millie, Brenda Blinn, and Dave Abbott. Marion Ruby isn't feeling well, and didn't come in today. As if on cue, Elizabeth Megler, a regular customer, comes in from East Hampstead, N.H., with a box of tollhouse cookies she has baked.
According to Hogg, "at Christmas time she makes all kinds of cookies, they're attractive as well as tasty." Hogg selects a cookie, takes a bite and celebrates: "The benefits of volunteering!"
