He’s checking staff numbers, weather forecasts, medical reports, and dollars and cents.
That’s Major Rick Starkey’s job, to monitor the success (or disappointment) of the Salvation Army’s annual Red Kettle campaign, and these last few days before Christmas are supposed to be the most fruitful for the program.
It’s still early, but not looking good to meet their financial goals for the season, which are used to assist the needy all year round. Representatives from organizations like the Kiwanis and Rotary Clubs, as well as the Army’s seasonal paid staff, have been doing their best to raise money and keep bell ringers at every kettle.
As for donations through the Kettle season, which began the day after Thanksgiving, the Army has raised about $32,000 this year. That’s down, and Starkey is concerned, balancing love for the local program and people that make it run, with the mature, disciplined philosophy needed to sleep nights.
A number of factors suggest that the Army’s bottom line will drop once again this year. Starkey is ready.
“I try not to get too emotional,” said Starkey, who’s been the director and pastor at the Concord Salvation Army for four years. “I’ve been doing this type of work for 30 years and I’ve learned a lot, so you can not get too frustrated over things you can’t control.
He can’t control the perfect storm – in this case, both figuratively and literally – that’s threatening this weekend’s turnout by keeping people are home and away from the kettles when every day before Christmas counts.
He can’t control the shallow pool of workers that we see today. In this case, that would mean bell ringers. He’s helpless against the lingering effects of COVID, which recently knocked out half of his four-person staff.
And the forecast? Snow and rain through Saturday. The Concord area might only get a few inches. Or maybe more than half a foot.
Either way, Starkey has no idea how big his workforce will be, especially on Friday, when the storm is due to build. Representatives from the Rotary Club and other volunteers representing altruistic agencies raise a lot of money as the Christmas Eve deadline approaches.
They often put cash in themselves, and there’s a chance that many in the Kettle force will get out on Saturday rather than Friday.
But without help, the Army may take yet another cut.
“Last year was our worst year for a number of reasons,” Starkey said.
“This year is worse.”
Starkey and his wife have given a huge piece of themselves to the cause. Starkey signed on 26 years ago. They emphasize that it’s a church, first and foremost, with the goal of helping others.
The tradition started 130 years ago in San Francisco. Free Christmas meals were handed out to the poor, and within five years, 30 Salvation Army posts had opened on the west coast.
Later, Starkey attended Bible studies at the Army while growing up in Pittsburgh, Pa. He attended the organization’s summer camp as a teen, working there for nine summers.
These days, he’s enduring the residual pain, caused mainly by the financial hit from COVID. Not too long ago, the Army’s Kettle campaign raised $95,000. That shrank to $55,000 two years ago.
The organization rebounded somewhat last year, setting a goal of $65,000 and raising $71,000. This year, though, they are halfway to the same goal with less than 10 days left before Christmas.
“Normally, we’d be closer by now,” Starkey said. “We’re about $6,000 behind where they were last year at this time. I don’t see (reaching the goal.)”
The numbers reflect the times. Two of Starkey’s key soldiers contracted COVID and are out of action. There are seven stores that stage 10 kettles around the city, but Starkey said he’s lucky to get six ringers during the week and sometimes fewer on weekends.
When things were good, not too long ago, Starkey said the outlook nearing the big day was different.
“We could have met our goal with six or seven (bell ringers) each day since Thanksgiving,” Starkey said.
This is an important weekend for the Army. Check the website, drop by the Clinton Street headquarters, or drop a donation in the mail.
Meanwhile, Starkey continues to pull coins from kettles like an excavator at a job site. It sounded like a high-speed blender in the background, drowning out some of Starkey’s words.
One thing was clear, though:
“We’re not going to make it,” Starkey said, “unless a miracle happens.”