A Yuletide Gift of Kindness

Seventy-five years later, Ted Gup learns the astonishing family secret about his grandfather's generosity during the Great Depression

  • By Ted Gup
  • Photographs by Bradley E. Clift
  • Smithsonian magazine, December 2010, Subscribe
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B Virdot letters
In 2008, Ted Gup was handed a battered suitcase by his mother; it contained conceled checks and old letters addressed to "B. Virdot". Thus began a search for the stories behind the letters. (Bradley E. Clift)

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George Monnot

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Related Books

A Secret Gift: How One Man's Kindness--And a Trove of Letters--Revealed the Hidden History of the Great Depression

by Ted Gup
Penguin Group (USA)

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The year was 1933 and christmas was just a week away. Deep in the trough of the Great Depression, the people of Canton, Ohio, were down on their luck and hungry. Nearly half the town was out of work. Along the railroad tracks, children in patched coats scavenged for coal spilled from passing trains. The prison and orphanage swelled with the casualties of hard times.

It was then that a mysterious "B. Virdot" took out a tiny ad in the Canton Repository, offering to help the needy before Christmas. All he asked was that they write to him and tell him of their hardships. B. Virdot, he said, was not his real name, and no one would ever know his true identity. He pledged that those who wrote to him would also remain anonymous.

Letters poured into the post office by the hundreds. From every corner of the beleaguered town they came—from the baker, the bellhop, the steeplejack, the millworker, the blacksmith, the janitor, the pipe fitter, the salesman, the fallen executive. All of them told their stories in the hope of receiving a hand. And in the days thereafter, $5 checks went out to 150 families across the town. Today, $5 doesn't sound like much, but back then it was more like $100. For many, it was more money than they had seen in months. So stunning was the offer that it was featured in a front-page story in the newspaper, and word of it spread a hundred miles.

For many of those who received a check signed by B. Virdot, the Christmas of 1933 would be among their most memorable. And despite endless speculation about his identity, B. Virdot remained unknown, as did the names of those he helped. Years passed. The forges and shops of Canton came back to life, and memories of the Great Depression gradually faded. B. Virdot went to his grave along with many of those he had helped. But his secret was intact. And so it seemed destined to remain.

Then in 2008—75 years later—and 600 miles away, in an attic in Kennebunk, Maine, my 80-year-old mother handed me a battered old suitcase. "Some old papers," she said. At first I didn't know what to make of them—so many handwritten letters, many difficult to read, and all dated December 1933 and addressed to a stranger named B. Virdot. The same name appeared on a stack of 150 canceled checks. It was only after I found the yellowed newspaper article that carried the story of the gift that I came to realize what my mother had given me.

B. Virdot was my grandfather.

His real name was Sam Stone. "B. Virdot" was a combination of his daughters' names—Barbara, Virginia (my mother) and Dorothy. My grandmother had mentioned something about his largesse to my mother when she was a young adult, but it had remained a family secret. Now, 30 years after her father's death, she was comfortable letting the secret out.

Collectively, the letters offer a wrenching vision of the Great Depression and of the struggle within the souls of individuals, many too proud to speak of their anguish even to their loved ones. Some sought B. Virdot's generosity not for themselves, but for their neighbors, friends or relatives. Stirred by their words, I set out to find what became of them, tracking down their descendants, wondering if the $5 gifts had made any difference. From each family, I received permission to use the letter. All of this I did against the backdrop of our own deepening recession, one more devastating than any since the Great Depression itself. I also set out to find why my grandfather made the gifts. I knew his early years had been marked by poverty—as a child he had rolled cigars, worked in a coal mine and washed soda bottles until the acidic cleansing agent ate at his fingertips. (Years later, as the owner of Stone's Clothes, a men's clothier, he finally achieved a measure of success.) But in the course of my research I discovered that his birth certificate was bogus. Instead of being born in Pittsburgh, as he had long claimed, he was a refugee from Romania who came to this land in his early teens and simply erased his past. Born an orthodox Jew and raised to keep kosher and speak Yiddish, he had chosen to make his gift on a gentile holiday, perhaps as a way of acknowledging his debt to a land that had accepted him.


The year was 1933 and christmas was just a week away. Deep in the trough of the Great Depression, the people of Canton, Ohio, were down on their luck and hungry. Nearly half the town was out of work. Along the railroad tracks, children in patched coats scavenged for coal spilled from passing trains. The prison and orphanage swelled with the casualties of hard times.

It was then that a mysterious "B. Virdot" took out a tiny ad in the Canton Repository, offering to help the needy before Christmas. All he asked was that they write to him and tell him of their hardships. B. Virdot, he said, was not his real name, and no one would ever know his true identity. He pledged that those who wrote to him would also remain anonymous.

Letters poured into the post office by the hundreds. From every corner of the beleaguered town they came—from the baker, the bellhop, the steeplejack, the millworker, the blacksmith, the janitor, the pipe fitter, the salesman, the fallen executive. All of them told their stories in the hope of receiving a hand. And in the days thereafter, $5 checks went out to 150 families across the town. Today, $5 doesn't sound like much, but back then it was more like $100. For many, it was more money than they had seen in months. So stunning was the offer that it was featured in a front-page story in the newspaper, and word of it spread a hundred miles.

For many of those who received a check signed by B. Virdot, the Christmas of 1933 would be among their most memorable. And despite endless speculation about his identity, B. Virdot remained unknown, as did the names of those he helped. Years passed. The forges and shops of Canton came back to life, and memories of the Great Depression gradually faded. B. Virdot went to his grave along with many of those he had helped. But his secret was intact. And so it seemed destined to remain.

Then in 2008—75 years later—and 600 miles away, in an attic in Kennebunk, Maine, my 80-year-old mother handed me a battered old suitcase. "Some old papers," she said. At first I didn't know what to make of them—so many handwritten letters, many difficult to read, and all dated December 1933 and addressed to a stranger named B. Virdot. The same name appeared on a stack of 150 canceled checks. It was only after I found the yellowed newspaper article that carried the story of the gift that I came to realize what my mother had given me.

B. Virdot was my grandfather.

His real name was Sam Stone. "B. Virdot" was a combination of his daughters' names—Barbara, Virginia (my mother) and Dorothy. My grandmother had mentioned something about his largesse to my mother when she was a young adult, but it had remained a family secret. Now, 30 years after her father's death, she was comfortable letting the secret out.

Collectively, the letters offer a wrenching vision of the Great Depression and of the struggle within the souls of individuals, many too proud to speak of their anguish even to their loved ones. Some sought B. Virdot's generosity not for themselves, but for their neighbors, friends or relatives. Stirred by their words, I set out to find what became of them, tracking down their descendants, wondering if the $5 gifts had made any difference. From each family, I received permission to use the letter. All of this I did against the backdrop of our own deepening recession, one more devastating than any since the Great Depression itself. I also set out to find why my grandfather made the gifts. I knew his early years had been marked by poverty—as a child he had rolled cigars, worked in a coal mine and washed soda bottles until the acidic cleansing agent ate at his fingertips. (Years later, as the owner of Stone's Clothes, a men's clothier, he finally achieved a measure of success.) But in the course of my research I discovered that his birth certificate was bogus. Instead of being born in Pittsburgh, as he had long claimed, he was a refugee from Romania who came to this land in his early teens and simply erased his past. Born an orthodox Jew and raised to keep kosher and speak Yiddish, he had chosen to make his gift on a gentile holiday, perhaps as a way of acknowledging his debt to a land that had accepted him.

Among those who wrote to B. Virdot was George Monnot, once one of Canton's most prosperous businessmen. Monnot had co-owned a Ford dealership that sometimes featured an 11-person band in tuxedos. His good fortune had also brought him a lakeside summer home, a yacht and membership in the country club. But by 1931, it was all gone. He and his family were living in an alley apartment among displaced workers, many of them unsure of their next meal. In his letter, he wrote:

For 26 years was in the Automobile business prosperous at one time and have done more than my share in giving at Christmas and at all times. Have a family of six and struggle is the word for me now for a living.

Xmas will not mean much to our family this year as my business, bank, real estate, Insurance policies are all swept away.

Our resources are nil at present perhaps my situation is no different than hundreds of others. However a man who knows what it is to be up and down can fully appreciate the spirit of one who has gone through the same ordeal.

You are to be congratulated for your benevolence and kind offer to those who have experienced this trouble and such as the writer is going through.

No doubt you will have a Happy Christmas as there is more real happiness in giving and making someone else happy than receiving. May I extend to you a very Happy Christmas.

Nine days later, Monnot wrote again:

My Dear Mr. B. Virdot,

Permit me to offer my sincere thanks for your kind remembrance for a Happy Christmas.

Indeed this came in very handy and was much appreciated by myself & family.

It was put to good use paying for 2 pairs of shoes for my girls and other little necessities. I hope some day I have the pleasure of knowing to whom we are indebted for this very generous gift.

At present I am not of employment and it is very hard going. However I hope to make some connection soon.

I again thank you on behalf of the family and an earnest wish is that you have a most Happy New Year.

But George Monnot would never again attain economic or social prominence. He spent his final days as a clerk in a factory and his evenings in the basement among his tools, hoping to invent something that might lift him up once more. His tool chest is now in the hands of one of his eight grandsons, Jeffrey Haas, a retired vice president of Procter & Gamble.

In some ways, Monnot was one of the lucky ones. He at least had a place to call home. Many of those who reached out to B. Virdot had been reduced to living as nomads. Worse, many parents gave up their children rather than see them starve. A woman named Ida Bailey wrote:

This Xmas is not going to be a Merry one for us, but we are trying to make the best we can of it. We want to do all we can to make the Children happy but can't do much. About 7 years ago Mr. Bailey lost his health and it has been nick & tuck ever since but we thank God he is able to work again. We all work whenever we can make a nickel honest. Three years ago this Depression hit us and we lost all our furniture and had to separate with our Children. We have 4 of them [out of 12] with us again. There are three girls working for their Cloaths & Board. I do wish I could have my children all with me once again. I work by the day any place I can get work...you know the wages they get don't go very far when there is 6 to buy eats for...I think if there were some more people in Canton like you and open up their Hearts and share up with us poor people that does their hard work for them for almost nothing (a dollar a day) when the time comes for them to leave this world I would think they would feel better satisfied for they can't take any of it with them....

One of the children the Baileys placed with another family was their son Denzell, who was 14 in 1933. His daughter, Deloris Keogh, told me he had moved more than two dozen times before he reached the sixth grade. He attended nearly every school in Canton at least once. He never had a chance to make friends, he said, or get settled or focus on his studies. He dropped out of the sixth grade and later worked as a bricklayer and janitor. But he vowed that his children would not endure the same rootlessness—that they would know but one home. So with his own hands he began to build a house of stone, gathering blocks from quarries, abandoned barns and a burned-down schoolhouse. Everyone knew of his determination, and friends and neighbors contributed stones to the house. A minister brought back a rock from the Holy Land. Others brought back stones from their vacations. Denzell Bailey found a place for each one. It took him 30 years to complete his house, a monument to his resolve. He died in it on November 23, 1997, at age 78, surrounded by his four children. It was the only home they had known. Denzell's house of stone remains in the Bailey family to this day.

When Edith May wrote to B. Virdot, she was living on a hardscrabble farm at the edge of town.

Maybe I shouldn't write to you not living right in Canton, but for some time I have been wanting to know somebody who could give me some help.

We have known better days. Four years ago we were getting 135 dollars a month for milk. Now Saturday we got 12.... Imagine 5 of us for a month. If I only had five dollars, I would think I am in heaven. I would buy a pair of shoes for my oldest boy in school. His toes are all out & no way to give him a pair.

He was just 6 in October. Then I have a little girl will be 4 two days before Xmas & a boy of 18 months.

I could give them all something for Xmas & I would be very happy. Up to now I haven't a thing for them. I made a dolly for each to look like Santa & that's as much as I could go. Won't you please help me to be happy?

Have you got any ladies in your family could give me some old clothes.

We all took a cold by not having anything warm to wear—it is the children's first cold & my first in ten years. So you can imagine our circumstances.

My husband is a good farmer but we have always rented & that keeps us poor. When we were making good money he bought his machinery & paid for them, so we never wasted anything. He is only 32 & never had anyone to give him a help in starting....

& oh my I know what it is to be hungry & cold. We suffered so last winter & this one is worst.

Please do help me! My husband don't know I am writing & I haven't even a stamp, but I am going to beg the mailman to post this for me.

No wonder Edith May complained of the cold: she was Jamaican. She had fallen in love with an African-American man with whom she had been a pen pal. They had gotten married and moved to a farm outside Canton. Edith May's "little girl" was named Felice. Today she well remembers her fourth birthday, two days before Christmas. When the chores were done, she and her family went into town. She remembers the Christmas lights. Her mother took her to a five-and-dime store and told her she could have either a doll or a wooden pony you pulled with a string. She chose the pony. It was the only present she remembers from those hard times, and only during our conversation last year did it occur to her that B. Virdot's check allowed her mother to buy such a gift. Today, Felice May Dunn lives in Carroll County, Ohio, and raises Welsh ponies—a love of hers since childhood.

Helen Palm was one of the youngest to appeal to B. Virdot. She wrote in pencil on a slip of paper.

When we went over at the neighbors to borrow the [news]paper I read your article. I am a girl of fourteen. I am writing this because I need clothing. And sometimes we run out of food.

My father does not want to ask for charity. But us children would like to have some clothing for Christmas. When he had a job us children used to have nice things.

I also have brothers and sisters.

If you should send me Ten Dollars I would buy clothing and buy the Christmas dinner and supper.

I thank you.

Finding Helen Palm's descendants was difficult. Her daughter, Janet Rogers, now 72, answered my questions about her mother—when she had been born, when she got married. Just as I was about to ask when her mother had died, Janet asked, "Would you like to speak with my mother?"

It took me a moment to collect myself. I had discovered the last living person to write to B. Virdot.

Even at age 91, Helen Palm, a housewife and great-grandmother, remembers the check she received in 1933. She used the money to buy clothes for her brothers and sisters, just as she had said she would do in her letter, and to take her parents to a nickel show and to buy food. But first, she bought herself a pair of shoes to replace those she had worn through and patched with a cardboard insert cut from a Shredded Wheat box. "I did wonder for a long time who this Mr. B. Virdot was," she told me. Now she is the only one among all those who sought help that Christmas 77 years ago to live long enough to learn his true identity.

"Well," she said to me, "God love him."

Ted Gup is the author of three books, including the new A Secret Gift, which documents his grandfather's largesse. Photojournalist Bradley E. Clift has worked in 45 states and 44 countries.


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Comments (34)

This story touched my heart. Many are moved to give during this season. However, we need to remember that many, especially now, approaching 2011; are in need. Never in my lifetime have I known of such turmoil, everywhere and everything seems affected. Maybe at some time since 1957, my birth year, there have been struggles but not like we see today. My great or great-great grandfather was like the subject of this book. He was a landowner, farmer, store owner in the up-state of SC during the 20-30's. Things got so bad during the depression that he extended credit for food and goods to folks in the community and was mostly never repaid. He gave all the wealth he had, holding only the farm land at the time of his death. What a heartfelt legacy to our family.

Posted by Cindy Miller on December 28,2010 | 01:47 PM

For probably the 30th time last night I watched "It's a Wonderful Life". Images of the last Great Depression are once again fresh in my mind, bringing back the stories of grandparents and parents.

What a wonderful gift Mr Gup gave his family and all of ours by researching the wonderful Gift his grandfather gave so many. And the gift is all the more wonderful because his mother fished out that suitcase just in time for probably the last recipient, Helen Palm, to find out the name of her Santa Claus.

While Mr Gup terms this period "our own deepening recession", I feel he is being kind. We are living through the 4th Great Depression in 114 years ('93, '07, '29 and now '08). Each brought on us by the excesses of the Big Banks and Brokerages. The main difference this time is that FDR got us the Gift of Unemployment Benefit Insurance and Social Security and LBJ got our elders Medicare, and Bush43 got them "Part B". And Obama got the extension of Unemployment Benefits for many.

Otherwise, the "bread lines" and "soup kitchens" would be back in force instead of still swelling. But, they could surge yet, as thousands each week become "99 Weekers".

Posted by Whittier on December 25,2010 | 08:53 PM

I would think that if I were in that situation and was lucky to receive $5 - which was alot back then - I would have used it more wisely. I would have thought about the essentials first, and bought food for my family. I was sad to hear that material things were bought with the money B. Virdot gave them. Hopefully, some spent it more wisely.

Posted by Andrew on December 16,2010 | 03:55 PM

I grew up in the outskirts of Chicago. My father and mother both worked. My mother saved and rolled rubber bands and the foil from gum wrappers and other things. I remember men and even a family once knocking on the back door and Mom giving them food and some hand me down clothes. She would say by the grace of God we could be those people. The story brought tears to my eyes. Thank you so much for this story it helped me remember all the good things from the past.

Posted by B.E. King on December 12,2010 | 01:09 PM

One of the best articles that I have read in long time. I can remember my mother telling me about the Great Depression years. It make my heart feel good to read that there were individuals like Mr. Monnot "B. Virdot" in those trying times. I am sure that Mr. Ted Gup has a warm feeling in his heart and soul after finding out what his Grandfather had accomplished. I will not be on this planet to find out if there are individuals like him in today's trying times.

Posted by George C Morhack on December 12,2010 | 10:16 AM

My mother, was second & last child born in 1929 to her family. It was not a MOST happy occasion considering her last- generation- ancestors already immigrated to KY and later Canton, Ohio from Scotland to avoid poverty there. Well, I am sending this article to my children to read and will access the book, as well. Thanks for a wake up call to always help others who indeed are less fortunate than we are. Nothing beats the warm feeling of food in a child's hungry tummy unless it is some adequate clothing.

Posted by Lis Stewart on December 11,2010 | 01:50 PM

Touching, very touching. Each generation needs to be aware of the challenges faced by their predecessors and relatives. In this age of selfish consumerism (trust me, I am among the most selfish) and recession, all people must reach out to one another to lend help and support. How many of us can imagine not having food in the house, scratching out a meal from nothing? We worry about flat screen TVs, laptops, vacations, etc. Enough said. Moral to this story: help those in need now, right now--- someone may read of your generosity 75 years later and do the same to provide joy, restore dignity and demonstrate care.
Thanks for this story, it made my 2010 Christmas!

Posted by Alan Roberts on December 9,2010 | 10:47 PM

I remember reading this when I was a boy in the 50s.

A boy came home from school, and asked his grandmother for a cookie. She told him to wit 'til dinner. He protested that he was hungry! She offered him a piece of bread.

"Naw, I don't want a piece of bread!" he protested loudly.

She looked at him sadly, and said, "If you don't want a piece of bread, you are not hungry."

I don't know about him, but that sure made an impression on me, Thank God.

Posted by Bill Smith on December 9,2010 | 05:57 PM

What an outstanding article on giving at this time of year. The GIFT brought back memories of the hard times in our family in the mid 50's when my Dad was out of work with a family of 7 to feed.
It's so touching that this man felt a need to give and help others during the Great Depression. This kindness brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes while reading what he did to help others during their time of need. What an outstanding AMERICAN. We need more like him today more than ever.

Posted by S. M. Novotny on December 9,2010 | 02:58 PM

I grew up in Canton and was very touched by this article. It is also a bit ironic as on the same table where I sit and read this is a box of gifts and clothes bound for Canton for a family that is struggling. A friend and also former Buckeye sent out a request to help this family. Through her efforts, several people are contributing to make the holiday season brighter for those in need. Mr. Monnot was correct in saying "there is more real happiness in giving and making someone else happy than recieving".

Posted by T. HowardMcAtee on December 4,2010 | 03:07 PM

I well remember the depression years, I am 87 now. My grandmother always had a crust of bread and some left over coffee for the men who would come to the door hungry. I can still see them sitting on a bench in yard thanking her for their meager meals. I can remember the long lines in the "soup kitchens" We grew our own vegetables and canned many of them.
It was interesting to see how my grandmother used old socks and worn out clothing-they were never thrown out but were cut into strips and made into braided rugs. A saying frequently heard up in my New England country was "Eat it up, wear it out,use it up or do without." Old clothing was also cut into squares and made into "crazy quilts"

Posted by Marjorie Mead on December 4,2010 | 08:35 AM

Ted what a wonderful thing for him to do. I was not born at that time. My parents raised 5 girls with the sweat of there brow too. My dad was a welder by trade and when the company would have a shut down he would find jobs as a freezer salesman, work in a meat locker, sell shoes, etc. My mother worked as a cook at a school. We all had jobs since the age of 12. Mowing grass, detassiling corn, work in a drug store, (3 of us worked in the drug store) and so on. My father-in-law saved everything during the depression and I still have balls of twine and balls of foil I can't part with in the attic.

Posted by Deborah Friedrich on December 3,2010 | 06:07 AM

Brought me to tears.....God bless 'im!

Posted by K Krewer on December 2,2010 | 05:52 PM

I was a child of the depression, being born October 1929. My earliest memories was to save everything, even a piece of string. If I didn't eat my "meal", it was saved for later. Santa Clause didn't like me as he passed by our house! But I was lucky that an apple and orange appeared in my oatmeal box left outside by the front door. My family left Kentucky and went to California in 1937. It took us 8 days to travel, nights beside the road sleeping under the stars and my mom cooked on a 2-burner stove of some kind for our meals of biscuits or whatever. We finally got to Calif. and settled in a small community of people from Okla., Arkansas, Tenn., Texas and Colorado. I remember Calif. referred to as the land of milk and honey. Actually, it was the oilfields and orchards that beckoned. Life was certainly much better than before. I remember much more of course, but enough for here.

Posted by Pauline Pelly on December 2,2010 | 03:11 PM

What a wonderful story, I enjoyed reading it. I forwarded it to my mother and grandmother. The following is my grandmother's response to the story:

Well, Laurie, your story made me cry. I read the whole thing with tears rolling down my face. But let me tell you something just as heart-rending. You knew someone personally who could have used that $5 way back then. Memere. Her husband died in 1932, right in the middle of the Depression. It was touch and go for many years . She did all kinds of labor to make enough money to feed my brother and me (we were 8 and 9). She washed rich people's clothes, scrubbed out bakery display cases for a couple dollars and some broken pastries. She took in sewing, rented rooms to strangers, made over hand-me-downs for me, and yes, patched our shoes with cardboard inserts. I wore WPA clothes and got used toys from a Salvation Army Santa Claus fund for Christmas. But you know what? I got through it . And I got through it because of her. She was gutsy and fearless in going after whatever she needed to keep us alive and sheltered.

They call my generation The Greatest Generation because of the hard times and WWII, etc. But I 'll tell you something. The Greatest Generation is not my generation. It was my mother, and all those men and women who struggled through those nightmarish years. As I remember, I didn't lose much sleep during those years. But she did.

Love, Gran

Posted by Lauren Goode on December 2,2010 | 02:37 PM

Mark asked why didn't mr Verdot lose everything like everyone else in the depression?
Three things...good fortune, no debt and frugality.
My father was 27 in 1933 (the year I was born). His 5th grade education left him with few options, but he realised that anyone with even a low paying job could do well if they had no debt, a small family and lived frugaly. He also belived that self employment was the only way to get ahead, so he made himself jobs. Repairing awnings, hauling coal on an old flat bed truck. (shoveled it on and off)and working on a slaugter house, in construction doing piece work and as a plumbers helper. Eventualy as a skilled construction supervisor and finaly self employed.
Mr Verlot was probably out of debt, had a business that was able to generate at least some income and lived frugaly.

that same phiosophy works in the present economy. Pity our leaders haven't followed it.

Posted by Dave Mckee on December 2,2010 | 02:19 PM

Great Depression story! My family's goes like this:
During the Depression, my grandfather was a school administrator / principal. His family were wealthy dairy farmers from Germany. When funds ran out to pay the school teachers, he paid them out of his own pocket. After about a year, his funds were dwindling. He started to hear about how the economy was recovering, but the small towns in western Pennsylvania had not seen any of this recovery. My grandfather traveled to Washington, DC to speak with his congressman and ask when his school district could expect to receive some federal assistance. The folks in DC were surprised to learn that these small Pennsylvania towns had been overlooked. Because of his tenacity, my grandfather was offered a job as a special auditor for the US Government to travel around the US to see how many other small towns were in the same plight and report back to the government so they could take corrective action. He was a bit of a hero for his day.

Posted by Nancy on December 2,2010 | 02:01 PM

Marvelous reading. I suggest that your readers try to find a relative or friend who has his/her own story of poverty in that sad time. My own parents were fortunate in that both of their fathers had jobs. And there was plenty of food on Uncle's farm. My mother tried to get a job while in college. A school administrator thought she was too well off, judging by her nice suit. She told him she had turned the entire suit inside out and remade it on the "good" side.

Posted by Ann Whitney Carey on December 2,2010 | 01:26 PM

I am nearly 80, so lived through those depression years. My parents were teachers who had to return half their salaries for two years, never heard a complaint, they were glad to do it. My grandmother used to put out food, entire meals, in her backyard every night for hobos who crossed the country looking for odd jobs - by foot or mostly by rail. In the mornings every scrap of it was gone. There must have been a network -- an early form of Facebook? -- letting each other know it was there.

Posted by joanne montague on December 2,2010 | 01:06 PM

Reading this holiday story makes me even more thankful for my Jewish friends. It also makes me want to pass on this hopeful message to those younger people in the U.S. who are experiencing financial devastation as jobs are drying up and non exsistant.

There will be light at the end of the tunnel. We are Americans and will pull together. I can see it in the new younger faces in the Congress and I am betting that they can and will see us through this recession/depression.

This story is a message to us all.

Sincerely, Judith Savage

Posted by Judith Savage on December 2,2010 | 07:48 AM

I teach US History at the high school level. Love to come across stories like this which help my students relate history to everyday life. Thank you for sharing at such an appropriate time. We are finishing WWI and will role into the Great Depression before Christmas. Bless this man for touching so many lives. What a great story of human kindness.

Posted by kim on December 1,2010 | 11:22 PM

hi-i loved your piece on the gift-i can relate-my mom was brought up in an orphanage,because her mom and dad could not afford to keep their two youngest children, my mom and her brother, my uncle.--i knew nothing of my moms family. on her birth certificate, it reads 9 brothers and sisters. my mom never knew that i knew about her background-i would of loved to know some of them. her name was mary avolio, or avelio, born in 1916, april 16th. in brooklyn ny .many times i look in obituraries and phone books and look up her name. i had breast cancer and i think its heritary. i wonder if any of my moms family had the same cancer? i want to thank you for this story-i read it over and over again- i cries and cries-so thanks again for this gift-the story of 'THE GIFT'

Posted by joan mahoney on December 1,2010 | 07:24 PM

I am 80 and lived during those days. It is a wonderful story. Recent generations need to read the story and think on it, so that we all can count our blessings.

Posted by Bob Hartman on November 30,2010 | 07:24 PM

Found this on Facebook..What a wonderful story about a man who essentially embodies the true meaning of Christmas. I know there are many generous souls out there who contribute, but the need is for so many more, and so much more. I have wished, and do wish, that I were in a position to do something like this, so I do what I can. I hope this story has inspired others to give to the less fortunate.

Posted by mary e. dray on November 30,2010 | 10:08 AM

And so with each telling, the gift is given anew and the blessings continue...

Posted by Laurel A Davis on November 29,2010 | 12:47 AM

What a heartwarming and inspiring story, especailly in these times. Thank you.

Posted by Little Moments of Awwws on November 29,2010 | 09:44 PM

I read this story this morning while I was having my coffee. It really made me stop and think how fortunate I am. It also warmed my heart to know of one kind man's generosity. I want to keep Mr. B. Virdot in my heart this Christmas, remember to be kind, and give to those in need. Thank you so much for a wonderful story.

Posted by Kim DuPree on November 27,2010 | 11:05 AM

Sometimes I sit and wonder about myself. I am a single mother in a poor town with little to my name, but I read stories like this and begin to feel blessed. When I start to feel sorry for myself, I feel ashamed. I am very fortunate. My daughter and I are in good health, we have a roof over our heads and good food to eat. There are many people out there who do not even have the simplicities of life available to us at the moment. Thank you for helping me realized that poverty is in some sense defined by your attitude. To everyone out there...count your blessings. You never realize just how good you have it till it's no longer in your grasp.

Posted by LynnD on November 26,2010 | 12:59 PM

Thanks for sharing this story. My parents told many stories about the Great Depression. Even those on farms did not always do so well. My parents were from Utah. The Federal government had seized all the assets of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints so that they were not able to administer relief to the suffering as they do today. People did the best they could. Most were able to raise their own food. My grandfather hunted every fall to put a deer or two in the freezer for his 6 children, and everybody had to work. My mother was the oldest able bodied girl, and worked as a dish washer and waitress to help support her family. Times were hard, but they produced the generation that saved freedom and democracy for the world, the Greatest Generation. I can only hope that this recession will cause people to repent and change their hearts and turn to God and remember where our blessings come from. And God bless B. Virdot!

Posted by Maytha Smith on November 26,2010 | 06:36 AM

I am puzzled. How did Sam Stone (B. Virdot) have the money to give to the needy? Why did he not lose everything in the depression?

Posted by Marc on November 24,2010 | 01:23 PM

The depression was hardest on those that lived in the city. Many families who were able moved to the farm where they could raise food but even in that environment things were tough. I know because that was my lot as a teen ager in 1933

Posted by Robert Meek on November 23,2010 | 05:09 PM

What a great story. I wish everyone could realize that what some view as a handout can really be a helping hand that impacts a family for generations.

Posted by Mark Rutkowski on November 22,2010 | 05:36 PM

What a lovely story, Ted. In these times (and in 1933), the kind efforts of your grandfather are something to admire and aspire.

Posted by Gwyn Dekker on November 22,2010 | 11:19 AM

I think we All should have to live though those times and we would be so much more thankful for what we have. Instead we are spoiled and have lost sight of the really important things in life, which is things are not important life is what is important. So lets all try to be like "Mr B Virdot this Christmas and help those that need it, and share what we have. signed "Santa"

Posted by Dale Rhinehart on November 21,2010 | 07:44 PM



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