Gayle in Jail; Send Bail

Spending more than a year with papers and photographs belonging to Max and Minnie Alma Tomerlin Voelcker encircling my desk has left me deeply attached to the pair of dairy farmers I never knew.  Among the things I learned about Minnie was that she cared deeply about children.  Stan Graff told me, “She adored Jerry Lewis and always watched his telethon.”  She then would pick up the phone and make her pledge to help “Jerry’s Kids.”  (Click here to donate now and be spared the rest of this blog.)

The Muscular Dystrophy Association called while I was proofreading the chapter mentioning the telethon in the final manuscript of Last Farm Standing on Buttermilk Hill.  That eerie coincidence made it rather hard to say no.  As I prepare to go to jail for Jerry’s Kids, I dedicate my efforts to the memory of Minnie.  (Click here to donate now and be spared the rest of this blog.)

So…. MDA is throwing me in jail on August 12 and not letting me out until I make bail.  My birthday is August 13; so I really would like to be out in time to celebrate.   (Click here to donate now and be spared the rest of this blog.)

My birthday falls on a Friday this year; so I am not sure that is a good omen.  Bad things have been known to happen on August 13:  the Aztecs fell at Tenochtitlan, and Man o’ War lost for the first and only time during his racing career.  On the day of my birth, the heavens were so angry with my parents for bringing me into this world, a hurricane struck my hometown.  And in case you think that a mere coincidence, hurricanes returned for my first and second birthdays as well.  I just do not think I was part of God’s divine plan.  (Are you still reading?  Click here to donate now and be spared the rest of this blog.)

I spent a lot of time in confession when I was young, but, up to now, the worst sentence I ever received was to say three “Hail Marys” and one “Our Father.”  I have never been thrown in jail (the old bank Vault behind Zinc Wine. Champagne. Spirits.), and I am not looking forward to it.  Hey, I’m claustrophobic.  (Come on.  It’s tax-deductible.  Click here to donate now and be spared the rest of this blog.)

I thought my sisters would help me.  They are generous souls.  But they each only coughed up a measly dollar (I know every dollar counts in fundraising, but they are my own flesh and blood.).  Maybe it had something to do with the message I sent them noting that NPR had recommended contacting elderly relatives to be sure they were surviving the heat wave.  They were unimpressed by the pledge on my MDA website:  “…I promise to be nicer to you in the future.  No, this time I mean it.  Really.  Truly, I will.”  (Click here to donate now and be spared the rest of this blog.)  

Do they think I know another 1,998 people ready to chip in a dollar to save me?  No-o-o-o.  At this rate, I’ll die in jail.   (You must be as tight as my sisters.  Click here now.)   

So I am turning to you, my good friend.  After all, “A friend in need is a friend indeed.”  Remember: 

A good friend will always help you make bail.  A really good friend will be sitting beside you asking, “But we had a blast, didn’t we?”

P.S.  My Campaign Theme Song is The Jeff Healey Band’s It’s only money.  (Of course, it will cost you another dollar to hear the whole song.)

Please donate now to ensure my timely release, and kindly contribute more than a dollar or donate often.  It’s not about me.  It’s for Jerry’s kids.