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- <text id=89TT0111>
- <title>
- Jan. 09, 1989: Open Heart, Open Hand
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
- Jan. 09, 1989 Mississippi Burning
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- NATION, Page 21
- Open Heart, Open Hand
- </hdr><body>
- <p>"I really believe that people with AIDS are dying of
- malnutrition, not AIDS"
- </p>
- <p> Ruth Brinker is grandmother incarnate, a balm of memories
- and sympathies. As she sits at the edge of his messy bed, the
- young blond man pries the lid off his dinner. An Italian omelet,
- roast potatoes, broccoli. The cramped hotel room actually smells
- of home. "Ruth," he says, "I love you."
- </p>
- <p> At that very moment, several dozen volunteers are playing
- out the same scene in several hundred rooms and apartments all
- across San Francisco, feeding and cheering men and women with
- AIDS. These volunteers are the soldiers of Project Open Hand,
- which Brinker, 66, started in 1985. She and her workers now
- provide 1,100 meals a day.
- </p>
- <p> Brinker did not set out to become a savior. In 1984 a young
- architect she knew fell ill. "I'd never had any experience with
- AIDS," she recalls. "I was appalled at how quickly he became
- too sick to take care of himself." She and other friends formed
- a rotating caretaker group. But, occasionally, one would forget
- about his or her shift, and the dying architect went hungry
- until the next shift arrived. "I realized then," Brinker
- recalls, "that there were people throughout the city who didn't
- have my friend's support."
- </p>
- <p> She founded Project Open Hand with seven "clients." Each
- day by 5 a.m., she would prowl the produce markets for
- "distressed" vegetables. She cooked in a church basement and
- delivered the meals in her battered Volkswagen van. "Some of the
- people were so emaciated," she remembers, "they would have to
- crawl to where the buzzer was."
- </p>
- <p> Today the client list grows by almost 100 people every
- month. In 1986 Open Hand's budget was $70,000. By the end of
- that year, Brinker realized her next budget would have to be a
- quarter of a million dollars. "I almost had a heart attack." The
- 1988 budget was a million dollars -- a figure that demanded
- constant fund raising. Says Brinker in her oddly tough
- half-whisper, "You have to go out and beg."
- </p>
- <p> Brinker no longer makes regular deliveries herself. Too
- many people have died, and it is agony to make new friends and
- lose them so inevitably. Still, if a client calls late to say
- he did not get his meal, Brinker will go into the kitchen, cook
- it and deliver it. When money runs short she uses her own.
- Sometime this year Open Hand will move to a new kitchen capable
- of producing 8,000 meals a day. "The money is really, really
- tight," confides chef Chris Medina. "In the past couple of
- months, we've been on the verge of going under."
- </p>
- <p> If that happened, more than lives would be lost. On New
- Year's Eve a year ago, two men, both with AIDS, were sitting in
- front of the TV set, feeling gloomy and hoping they'd have the
- strength to stay awake until midnight. Then the doorbell rang.
- An Open Hand volunteer walked in with a box decorated with
- streamers and balloons. It contained champagne, pate, cheese,
- truffles, a hat and a noisemaker. The men broke down and cried.
- This New Year's Eve Open Hand brought the same treat to
- everybody on its list.
- </p>
-
- </body></article>
- </text>
-
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