Junior League evolves into a hands-on community service group
by Adrienne Martini
On my office door, there is a black and white bumper sticker, which reads "People are more violently opposed to fur than leather because it is easier to harass rich women than motorcycle gangs."
The sticker, quite frankly, is not going to win any awards for eye-catching design. The typography is uninteresting; the layout uncomplicated. Yet the sentiment never fails to draw comment from visitors to the plush Pulse offices—as if the idea that this commie pinko rag would ever have a kind thought toward rich white women is somehow laughable.
Perceptions are reality, newspaper people are so fond of saying. I'll be the first to admit that we harangue West Knox a bit too much and aging smart alecks like ourselves a bit too infrequently, which is why I agreed to spend some time with the Junior League as they prepared for their annual fund-raiser, Bag-a-Bargain.
The Junior League, a roving band of rich white women who give cash to charity while maintaining a full social calendar, seems like it would be too easy a target for this cynical, bitter, and ungrateful publication—or so the assumption cuts. But our ambitions are not as far apart as one might think. The Junior League was started in 1901 as an organization of women who were more financially fortunate who wanted to help those who were less so. The League's focus has always been on women and family issues; in those early days their programs were designed to improve children's health, nutrition and literacy—all good things in the mind of any Pulse reader or writer. Also, a little research dredges up that Eleanor Roosevelt was a member of New York's Junior League—and it's hard to not think twice about a group that boasted Ms. E. as a member.
Admittedly, when I pulled into the parking lot of the defunct Winn-Dixie that is currently being used as the staging area for this year's Bag-a-Bargain, despair set in as I realized that most of the cars in the lot were probably worth more than I make in a year. Classism cuts both ways, I muttered to myself, parked my "vintage" vehicle next to a lust-inducing Audi and wandered in.
Inside, women were carting armloads of donated goods—from furniture to clothing to toys—and depositing them with like items neatly arranged in clusters in the shell of this unheated, unkempt former grocery store. It's not a glamorous job, made even less so by the buzz of the fluorescent lights and grimy tile. Most of the women are white.
Amanda Armstrong, the League's publicity chair, responds to the stereotype of the League's members being mostly ladies around for the Barbara Aston-Wash-type social aspects, such as might be found at charity balls and bridge competitions.
"Well, number one, I'm not well-off," Armstrong says with a laugh. "The league has that sort of stereotype. It's been there for a long time. I think you will find people who are well-off in the League and I think you will find people who do play bridge and tennis, and they are in the league more for social reasons. When you have a membership of over 900 people, you're going to have a mix of everybody. But I think the majority of the group is very active in having the ability to make a difference in the community or in somebody's life."
In the past 80-odd years of the Knoxville League's existence—it was founded in 1917 and is the third oldest in the South—the motivations of its members seems to have changed, much in the same way that roles of women in general have changed. The focus of the group is firmly on helping organizations that improve the quality of life in Knoxville—Knox Heritage, the Helen Ross McNabb Healthy Families program and Leadership Knoxville—all projects that the league sponsors. Over the years, the group has been instrumental in getting the Interfaith Health Clinic, UT's Speech and Hearing Center and the Dogwood Arts Festival on its feet.
"We have a great T-shirt: it says on the front of it 'I don't play bridge' then on the back of it 'but I can build one,'" Armstrong explains.
"I think the Junior League has really evolved into more of a hands-on organization. We want to be seen as not the white-gloves, 'oh that's such a sweet little baby. I'll give him $25 and he'll go away' type. We're not like that. We'd rather say, 'your family has a need. Let's meet that need.' If that means we build them a house, if that means we change diapers for six weeks—whatever it takes to get that family on their feet. It's more of that mentality."
But the League's help is more than just monetary, even though that is still a component. JLK members spend thousands of hours in the community as volunteers.
"We look at the projects. We look at the man hours that they're asking for, we look at the financial commitment. Some of them would prefer just to have money instead of the man hours and that's not what the League is about. The League is about making sure that the League would actually be involved and not just be there to be there."
League membership, while it used to be more restricted before the 1980s, is now pretty straightforward. A woman must be between the ages of 23 and 45, a resident of Knoxville for at least one year, and have a commitment to community service. There are three levels of membership: Provisional (first-year), Active (can hold offices and vote), and Sustaining (former Active members who have fulfilled their membership). Dues for active Leaguers is $100 and wannabe Junior Leaguers have to be proposed by an active member.
It's the League's commitment to volunteerism that draws in new members, like Hope Warfel, a woman in her early 20s who hopes to be a Provisional member soon.
"I do a lot of volunteer work right now, about 7-10 hours per week. Community work is just really important to me. It's part of my life—and it's just fun. But I find that places I go to volunteer are always so unstructured. Nobody knows what's going on. I'm on my own to make what I can of it. I just really like structure and organization. I feel like the Junior League knows what's going on—they know where their money's going, they know what they're doing."
Volunteer opportunities aside, there are other intangibles that draw Warfel to the League.
"I have friends in the League," she says. "They've told me it's a great way to make friends but it's also a great way to learn about Knoxville. The provisional members are just there to be trained as volunteers. They're taken to the Museum of Art and do a mini-Leadership Knoxville—things that someone my age probably wouldn't get anywhere else. A person my age ordinarily isn't going to be exposed to that. They're not going to know who the leaders of Knoxville are and how to be an effective volunteer."
Out of the thousands of volunteer hours that members of the JLK put in, 5,500 of them go towards the Bag-a-Bargain, a giant, one-day flea market that should raise upwards of $60,000 this year and draw 4,500 shoppers. In years past, the Bag-a-Bargain was held in October, but it's been moved to the spring so that a second fund-raiser can be added. "Tinsel and Treasures" will be held closer to the holidays starting this year.
The roots of the current event grow back to 1952, when the League's Bargain Box, a storefront thrift shop that sold donated items from League members, opened on South Gay Street, later moving to 35 Market Square. The Bargain Box was ultimately closed in 1985, but the project seems to have been a profitable one for local non-profits, raising $39,000 in its last year alone. In 1986, the one-day sale was launched and has become a Knoxville tradition. As proof of the event's popularity, the minutes immediately following the opening of the Jacob Building's doors are filled with a chaos that would rival any sale at NYC's Filene's Basement.
But before any of that retail madness can occur, the women in the abandoned Winn-Dixie must finish sorting and pricing all of the goods that have been donated from JLK and other community members. And, given the amount of laughing and, as cliché as it sounds, smiles, they seem to be having a pretty good time.
"There are no more white gloves. Now, they're dirty gloves," sums up current League president Margaret Ritchie. "I'm sure there was a day when it was more social, but the people I've talked to in Knoxville's Junior League, the focus has always been giving back, with the attitude, let's serve our community and not ourselves.
"I would volunteer anyway. It just gave me a group of people to volunteer with. I moved to Knoxville [10 years ago], didn't know anybody, and that was my way of getting to know some people. I'll probably stay in until they kick me out," Ritchie concludes.
While the knee-jerk cynic in me is the first to admit that there seems to be something Stepford Wife-ish about this many women interested only in serving their community and making some new friends, it's hard to argue that they do seem to be having a pretty good time and donating time and money to some great projects. Sure, there's a social component as well as an mid-to-upper class suburban air (not to mention the de rigeur Junior League accouterments like three self-published cookbooks and a charity ball or 20) but the $1.9 million bucks they've raised between 1921 and 1995 speaks for itself. While perceptions may be reality, they can also evolve, much like the League has in its 80-plus years.
February 28, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 9
© 2002 Metro Pulse
| 
