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Even though she died when I was only 12 years old, one of the most important and influential people in my life was my Grandma, my mom's mother. I was the youngest son of a youngest daughter, so she was pretty old when I came along, and not in very good health, but she spent a lot of time with me when I was little. I had a moderate form of cerebral palsy, and I suspect she spent extra time taking care of me because of it, taking me for short walks to strengthen my legs. She spent long hours playing card games with me, reading to me, and listening to me prattle on about every subject under the sun.
After she died, my mom told me a story about her that has remained with me as one of those touchstone stories about how people should treat each other. In 1933, at the height of the great depression, my Grandfather, who was a Methodist minister in Rosalie, NE, died of pneumonia. 4 months later, a drunk driver killed my mom's 10 year old brother John. Faced with that kind of grief and loss, and having nothing except a $3,000 life insurance policy from the Methodist conference, my Grandma decided to move to northeast Lincoln so that her 5 remaining children would have a chance to go to college at the Nebraska Wesleyan, a Methodist school where minister's kids go for a much reduced tuition. Grandma found jobs, was able to keep the family together, but remained very poor her entire life.
The story that moved me so much, though, was this: in the great depression, there were a lot of homeless men that rode the rails from town to town. They had their own society and network, providing each other information about who the people were in every town along the railroad line that were kind of enough to provide meals to the hungry. In Lincoln, word spread very quickly that my Grandma was one of those people. As poor as she was, she never turned down a hungry man down for a meal in her kitchen, and my mom remembers that pretty often, these men would knock on their door and ask for a meal.
Feeding the poor when you are poor yourself has become a metaphor for me. No matter what, good people can and will look out for each other.
I tell this story today because of how moved I am by the support of so many good folks who don't have a lot themselves for Openleft. John Amato of Crooks and Liars helped us even though he was doing a fundraiser himself this same week. Digby, who ain't exactly rolling in the dough, was kind enough to send some love our way. I know that most of our readers aren't exactly corporate mogul types, but your generosity continues. Most moving of all to me, Americans for Financial Reform, a poorly funded group running on fumes while going up against the several tens of millions being spent by the financial industry, voted to give us a remarkable $1,000 contribution to support our work.
While there are a few organizations in progressive politics who have some dough, mostly we don't. Our groups are almost always out-spent. Our blogs are way underfunded. Great young activists go too long without a job, or get underpaid when they are lucky enough to get one. But we help each other make it through, just like my Grandma feeding the poor when she was poor herself. That's what good people do, and that's what our movement has to do. Thanks to all of you who have helped.
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