Prejudice Isn't Always Worn on the Sleeve

I am uncomfortable looking through someone else’s checkbook, but the task of sorting a year’s worth of cancelled checks was more than she was willing to do herself, even if it meant potential tax savings. 

This was no ordinary check writer. A typical month might include fifty or more checks ranging from $5 to $100. While many persons of her advanced age were content to read books and watch television, her greatest joy was receiving and sending mail. 

Never mind that you and I know this mail for what it was: junk mail of the sleaziest variety. There were personalized letters from leaders of government and from political hacks, computerized proclamations of membership in exclusive societies, and solemn promises that her next check would be the one that wiped out world indifference. 

Fortunately, she also favored many mainline charities that do make the world a better place. Those were the checks that needed to be separated and listed so that her accountant could seek full income tax advantage for her generosity. 

She would tell you that I was one of the most important people in her life since her husband passed away. I was the guy who made things happen for her. We had known each other for more than twenty-five years. But did we? 

There it was. #6563. April 26, 1993. $20.00 to American Security Council, Culpepper, VA. On the Memo line: Ban Homosexuals.