Crossing guards see a lot of kids who could use some new duds. But for the second year, the "Seats and Feets" Albuquerque clothing drive is collecting what you can't see - socks and underwear.

The City's Crossing Guard program is behind the clothing drive - aware that undergarments must be brand-new when donated - which means they're often in short supply.

City of Albuquerque Crossing Guard Division Manager Richard Deichsel said while the job of a crossing guard is getting kids safely to and from the school grounds, they want to give back when they see kids and families could use a little help.

"They see kids at all levels, and in the winter they see them in flip flops, with no jackets," said Deichsel. "Some of them are at the same school for 10 years - so they've gone through generations of kids moving on to middle school, and younger ones coming in."

Crossing guards are collecting new packages of socks and underwear at the school crossings at 40 different Albuquerque elementary schools, through tomorrow.

Donations will be delivered to Locker Number 505 Student Clothing Bank - a downtown nonprofit that provides items to K-12 students in need.

Because crossing guards build close relationships with the children and families they see, Deichsel said they recognize that appropriate school clothing allows kids to concentrate on their schoolwork, not what they're wearing.

"Everything we do, we're in the people business," said Deichsel, "and so, I look at our guards as internal customers and then, the parents and the kids as our external customers - and we're public servants."

Deischel said he's retired three times, but returned to work with the crossing guard program 10 years ago.

He supervises 160 employees where the median age is 62 - but the oldest crossing guard is 95, and she's been getting kids safely to and from school for 27 years.




get more stories like this via email

Donations to charities are down this year, including to the Salvation Army. The longstanding organization acknowledges people are not giving their time or dollars this holiday season.

Many nonprofits depend on the generosity of donors to operate. But inflation is hampering those efforts as people are putting their money towards groceries and housing.

Samantha Hyde - Director of Communications for the Salvation Army Indiana Division - said money collected from November and December's red kettle donations funds programs and services for the full year, but they are feeling the pinch.

"Those people who would normally put money in the kettle, who would normally write a check, they might be holding their dollars a little bit closer than they normally would," said Hyde. "What we've seen are just not as many donations in the kettle, not as much money coming in through the mail."

The Salvation Army Indiana Division has 28 worship and service centers and thrift stores throughout the state. Salvationarmyindiana.org lists locations and different ways to help the organization.

Another issue the organization faces is the lack of volunteers, to ring a bell and greet people as they drop their dollars and coins in the signature bright red bucket.

Like many other nonprofits, the Salvation Army was affected during and after the pandemic. Some of their regular bellringers are generally older or retired and standing in the cold puts their health at risk.

Hyde said there is another urgent need.

"We still haven't seen those younger volunteers step up in the way that we really need them to," said Hyde. "People are willing to donate online or are willing to help out virtually. We're seeing fewer and fewer people willing to put a coat on and bundle up and go out there and stand in the cold and smile and say Merry Christmas to people."

A couple of hours are needed to stand at the entranceway of a local grocery or general merchandise store, and say hi to your neighbors as they come and go - and help raise a little money, said Hyde.

About 82% of donations to the Salvation Army go directly to program funding, to help people in need of housing, are facing food insecurity, or are combatting addiction.

A new Texas organization hopes to increase civic engagement among business leaders.

The Texas Business Leader Alliance officially launches today.

Anjanette Wyatt, CEO of Clinical Care Pharmacies in Houston and immediate past president of the American Pharmacists Association Foundation, said the group will focus on several key issues to increase work in the community.

"Economic development, health care, civic participation, cross-sector collaborations, business community partnerships," Wyatt outlined. "All this can really take us a long, long way. We're hoping to impact the communities and private sector by conducting research."

A recent survey of 500 Texas business leaders showed 97% agreed civic engagement is important, and 64% believe businesses should do more.

Twelve business leaders from across Texas make up the advisory board for the Alliance. Wyatt noted she assisted the community following Hurricane Harvey in 2017 and during the COVID-19 outbreak in 2020. She emphasized members will work together to reach business owners across the state who need help.

"Businesses can make a huge difference in what happens in the community," Wyatt contended. "I think this is a great opportunity for us to prove as business owners that our visibility, our purpose of what's going on in America is very vital."

The survey also addressed the state of democracy in Texas. Among those surveyed, 90% of business leaders expressed concern about the spread of misinformation and 91% said a strong democracy where everyone can participate is crucial to a vibrant economy.


get more stories like this via email

By Judith Graham for KFF Health News.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Minnesota News Connection reporting for the KFF Health News-Public News Service Collaboration

Donald Hammen, 80, and his longtime next-door neighbor in south Minneapolis, Julie McMahon, have an understanding. Every morning, she checks to see whether he's raised the blinds in his dining room window. If not, she'll call Hammen or let herself into his house to see what's going on.

Should McMahon find Hammen in a bad way, she plans to contact his sister-in-law, who lives in a suburb of Des Moines. That's his closest relative. Hammen never married or had children, and his younger brother died in 2022.

Although Hammen lives alone, a web of relationships binds him to his city and his community - neighbors, friends, former co-workers, fellow volunteers with an advocacy group for seniors, and fellow members of a group of solo agers. McMahon is an emergency contact, as is a former co-worker. When Hammen was hit by a car in February 2019, another neighbor did his laundry. A friend came over to keep him company. Other people went on walks with Hammen as he got back on his feet.

Those connections are certainly sustaining. Yet Hammen has no idea who might care for him should he become unable to care for himself.

"I'll cross that bridge when I come to it," he told me.

These are fundamental questions for older adults who live alone: Who will be there for them, for matters large and small? Who will help them navigate the ever more complex health care system and advocate on their behalf? Who will take out the garbage if it becomes too difficult to carry? Who will shovel the snow if a winter storm blows through?

American society rests on an assumption that families take care of their own. But 15 million Americans 50 and older didn't have any close family - spouses, partners, or children - in 2015, the latest year for which reliable estimates are available. Most lived alone. By 2060, that number is expected to swell to 21 million.

Beyond that, millions of seniors living on their own aren't geographically close to adult children or other family members. Or they have difficult, strained relationships that keep them from asking for support.

These older adults must seek assistance from other quarters when they need it. Often they turn to neighbors, friends, church members, or community groups - or paid help, if they can afford it.

And often, they simply go without, leaving them vulnerable to isolation, depression, and deteriorating health.

When seniors living alone have no close family, can nonfamily helpers be an adequate substitute? This hasn't been well studied.

"We're just beginning to do a better job of understanding that people have a multiplicity of connections outside their families that are essential to their well-being," said Sarah Patterson, a demographer and sociologist at the Institute for Social Research at the University of Michigan.

The takeaway from a noteworthy study published by researchers at Emory University, Johns Hopkins University, and the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai was this: Many seniors adapt to living solo by weaving together local social networks of friends, neighbors, nieces and nephews, and siblings (if they're available) to support their independence.

Still, finding reliable local connections isn't always easy. And nonfamily helpers may not be willing or able to provide consistent, intense hands-on care if that becomes necessary.

When AARP surveyed people it calls "solo agers" in 2022, only 25% said they could count on someone to help them cook, clean, get groceries, or perform other household tasks if needed. Just 38% said they knew someone who could help manage ongoing care needs. (AARP defined solo agers as people 50 and older who aren't married, don't have living children, and live alone.)

Linda Camp, 73, a former administrator with the city of St. Paul, Minnesota, who never married or had children, has written several reports for the Citizens League in St. Paul about growing old alone. Yet she was still surprised by how much help she required this summer when she had cataract surgery on both eyes.

A former co-worker accompanied Camp to the surgery center twice and waited there until the procedures were finished. A relatively new friend took her to a follow-up appointment. An 81-year-old downstairs neighbor agreed to come up if Camp needed something. Other friends and neighbors also chipped in.

Camp was fortunate - she has a sizable network of former co-workers, neighbors, and friends. "What I tell people when I talk about solos is all kinds of connections have value," she said.

Michelle Wallace, 75, a former technology project manager, lives alone in a single-family home in Broomfield, Colorado. She has worked hard to assemble a local network of support. Wallace has been divorced for nearly three decades and doesn't have children. Though she has two sisters and a brother, they live far away.

Wallace describes herself as happily unpartnered. "Coupling isn't for me," she told me when we first talked. "I need my space and my privacy too much."

Instead, she's cultivated relationships with several people she met through local groups for solo agers. Many have become her close friends. Two of them, both in their 70s, are "like sisters," Wallace said. Another, who lives just a few blocks away, has agreed to become a "we'll help each other out when needed" partner.

"In our 70s, solo agers are looking for support systems. And the scariest thing is not having friends close by," Wallace told me. "It's the local network that's really important."

Gardner Stern, 96, who lives alone on the 24th floor of the Carl Sandburg Village condominium complex just north of downtown Chicago, has been far less deliberate. He never planned for his care needs in older age. He just figured things would work out.

They have, but not as Stern predicted.

The person who helps him the most is his third wife, Jobie Stern, 75. The couple went through an acrimonious divorce in 1985, but now she goes to all his doctor appointments, takes him grocery shopping, drives him to physical therapy twice a week and stops in every afternoon to chat for about an hour.

She's also Gardner's neighbor - she lives 10 floors above him in the same building.

Why does she do it? "I guess because I moved into the building and he's very old and he's a really good guy and we have a child together," she told me. "I get happiness knowing he's doing as well as possible."

Over many years, she said, she and Gardner have put their differences aside.

"Never would I have expected this of Jobie," Gardner told me. "I guess time heals all wounds."

Gardner's other main local connections are Joy Loverde, 72, an author of elder-care books, and her 79-year-old husband, who live on the 28th floor. Gardner calls Loverde his "tell it like it is" friend - the one who helped him decide it was time to stop driving, the one who persuaded him to have a walk-in shower with a bench installed in his bathroom, the one who plays Scrabble with him every week and offers practical advice whenever he has a problem.

"I think I would be in an assisted living facility without her," Gardner said.

There's also family: four children, all based in Los Angeles, eight grandchildren, mostly in L.A., and nine great-grandchildren. Gardner sees most of this extended clan about once a year and speaks to them often, but he can't depend on them for his day-to-day needs.

For that, Loverde and Jobie are an elevator ride away. "I've got these wonderful people who are monitoring my existence, and a big-screen TV, and a freezer full of good frozen dinners," Gardner said. "It's all that I need."


Judith Graham wrote this story for KFF Health News.