Penn students can afford to chuck toast onto a field. Others in Philadelphia aren't as lucky.
Like 54-year-old Roy Washington. According to an article in last week's Philadelphia City Paper, Washington, who's blind, recently trekked 30 blocks to a Southwest Philly church to pick up donated canned goods. He can't afford to buy food.
But Washington isn't alone. About 25 percent of Philadelphia's 1.41 million residents lived below the poverty line in 2004, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. That made Philly the ninth-poorest U.S. city. Meanwhile, 254,000 people in the Delaware Valley have cut back on meals because they can't afford them, the Philadelphia Health Management Corporation has said.
So it's clear that every Saturday, when cascades of toast fall from the sky over Franklin Field like God-given manna, there are probably thousands of Philadelphians nearby praying for food. Sadly, though, even the bread we throw would do little to lessen their hunger.
"Fresh bread is possibly the single and only commodity that is available to the poor in ample quantities," said Bill Clark, a Wharton graduate and CEO of Philabundance, the main distributor to local food kitchens.
"The fundamental reason is the underlying economics of making bread," Clark added. "The costs of goods going into bread are very small, and it's almost always cheaper for a commercial bakery to be open 24 hours and have surplus bread."
That surplus often goes to an organization like Philabundance, which combined operations with the Philadelphia Food Bank in January. Clark said his organization now distributes one half-loaf of bread per week to each person it services through the food kitchens.
Still, bread is the exception -- not the rule. Philabundance always needs more "ready-to-eat meals and dinner replacements, like chili and chunky soups," Clark said. And there seem to be more hungry people waiting in line for Philabundance's food services every week.
So this is a call to action.
Let's take back the toast-throwing tradition from those who have co-opted it. Let's take it back from those who hurl loaves and frozen bagels, hoping to give a cheerleader a concussion. And let's establish it anew as both a charming tradition and a noble civic outreach program.
It wouldn't be too hard. After all, if you can bring a slice of toast in one hand to a game, you can bring a can of food in the other. And Philabundance has already offered to set up bins at Franklin Field entrances for donations.
"We still have some fiberglass drums that we could use for that," Clark said. "It's definitely feasible." Actually, Penn has already proven it's feasible, helping to host the Big 5's "Slam Dunk Hunger" food drive at several basketball games in the Palestra since 2002.
"I think it definitely is doable," said Alicia Marini, a College senior and executive board member of the Civic House Associates Coalition. The group is an umbrella organization that helps to oversee and provide resources to all civic-minded events on campus.
"To turn a Penn tradition into something positive to benefit the community would be a great thing," she added.
In the past, several groups have occasionally sold toast -- perhaps painted red and blue -- for $1 on Locust Walk to raise money for charity. But sometimes, a single can of food can do more than several dollars.
Just crunch the numbers. According to the Athletic Department, about 33,000 fans attended the first two football games at Franklin Field this season. If only a quarter of those fans had brought a can of food each, Penn would have collected 8,250 cans.
Though he's no math professor, Penn Band Director Greer Cheeseman understands how much good 8,250 cans could do. Cheeseman has lived in this community longer than most, having worked at Penn since graduating from the School of Engineering and Applied Sciences in 1977.
That year, Cheeseman, who was the band's drum major, threw the very first toast slices after being inspired by a scene in The Rocky Horror Picture Show in which a few characters throw toast at a screen.
"The official Penn version about the ban on 'alcoholic toasts' is wrong," Cheeseman said. "I was there."
Yet Cheeseman never anticipated that students would subvert the tradition by hurling other objects onto the field -- like the soda bottle that once hit him in the head.
"It would be nice to see the tradition made into a vehicle for better things," Cheeseman said, after hearing the food drive proposal.
Here's our chance. Gabriel Oppenheim is a College freshman from Scarsdale, N.Y. Opp-Ed appears on Fridays.
