“Thank you for calling the Capital Consortium,” the familiar automated male voice greets me. I push 1 for English and, from a series of options, choose 2 for “elderly, blind, disabled, or in a nursing home.” In my early 70s, I qualify as “elderly.” Finally, I wait on hold while scratchy-sounding music is repeatedly interrupted by recorded messages reminding me to remain on the line to be helped by the next available representative.
The Capital Consortium is the group of county support agencies that oversees the FoodShare program (aka food stamps). Administered by the Wisconsin Department of Health Services, FoodShare is Wisconsin’s version of the federal Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP). Its stated goal “is to stop hunger.”
As a seasoned FoodShare recipient, I know what to expect from my phone call. But the application is complicated, and I worry that some people might throw up their hands at some point in the process and give up. In my own case, I initially applied for FoodShare at a local branch library, where I met with a Second Harvest FoodShare outreach specialist. Without her help, I’d probably never have applied.
Eventually, a live human being answers the phone and conducts my annual renewal interview. The person is friendly, and so am I, despite the tedium of familiar, repeated questions. A few days later I receive further instructions in the mail. Based on experience, I know to quickly provide copies of documents pertaining to my income and mail them to the Central Document Processing Unit in Janesville. (At the neighborhood post office once, the young, bearded and tattooed clerk read this address aloud and chuckled. “How’s that for dystopian?”)
Despite my speedy response, the mail is slow, and my documents do not arrive by the due date. Consequently, I get a letter stating that my benefits have been canceled. The first few times I received such a letter, I went into a tizzy. Now, I simply call again, and am unsurprised to learn that my benefits will continue — at the rate of $23 a month. That’s not much for all the effort, and I might not even bother if not for two significant added benefits.
The first is an unexpected silver lining of the pandemic. For months now, I have received “one-time” additional monthly benefits of around $200 due to the health emergency of COVID. This money comes from the federal government and must be requested by the state. The benefit will end whenever either the federal or state health emergency officially ends.
The second benefit is Double Dollars, a program funded by the federal government, Dane County, and the city of Madison (plus private sources) and administered by Community Action Coalition for South Central Wisconsin. I use Double Dollars at both the Willy Street Co-op and the Dane County Farmers’ Market. At the Co-op, between mid-October and mid-March, by following certain procedures, I can access an extra $20 a week in FoodShare coupons to buy fresh produce. (FoodShare recipients also receive a 10 percent discount on all eligible food purchases at the Co-op — a substantial savings if, like me, you buy most of your groceries there.)
The farmers’ markets offer the best deal of all. On farmers’ market Saturdays from June through October, the electronic benefits transfer, or EBT, table at the top of State Street opens at 7 a.m. By 7:15, I am there handing my QUEST card to a friendly young woman volunteer I recognize from previous weeks. She deducts $25 from my account and gives me 25 green cardboard Market Dollars plus 25 additional green plastic market coins. Market money in hand, I circle the Square like a kid in a candy shop, filling my backpack with broccoli, cherry tomatoes, eggplants, mixed greens, butternut squash, carrots, apples, and raspberries, plus artisan bread and cheese, all the while chatting with the farmers and praising their bounty. No one looks askance at my funny green money, since Double Dollars helps farmers too, bringing them more customers and sales. One vendor even offers me a price break, and reminds me that I can use Double Dollars at other Dane County market locations as well.
After completing one wind-nipped stroll around the Square, I’ve filled my backpack with fresh, colorful, healthy food. It’s not quite 8 a.m. The sun is up, the air still chilly, and I head toward my car, silently singing the praises of FoodShare.
One thing I’m not worrying about — though you, the reader, might be — is the question of how a white, middle-class-born, educated male like me could reach retirement age without a nest egg (and without apparent shame for receiving handouts). The answer is that all my adult life I’ve experienced symptoms not unlike those of long COVID: lingering fatigue and aches and pains that persisted after I had hepatitis and mononucleosis at age 19. By my early 20s, I had learned to lower expectations, set aside big dreams, and prioritize friendships and creativity. I was already a hippie who scorned status and material achievement, so I felt okay working half-time, usually at low-paying, low-status jobs, and managed to stay afloat in the counterculture, despite having very little money.
Nonetheless, for decades, I felt ashamed, inadequate and unmanly. And I got tired of always being poor.
Then I grew old, and all my friends retired and began living as I do — enjoying the freedom of not working so much. By then, I had already undergone inner changes. I’d begun to credit myself for the gifts I do have to offer, through writing and art and relationships. I also learned how to receive gifts gracefully, with gladness and without guilt.
At the same time, the stigma around government assistance somewhat eased, and by 2013, when I first applied for FoodShare, I no longer felt ashamed. Now, nearly a decade later, with inflation, the rising cost of living and the well-documented struggles of middle-class people to make ends meet, especially during the pandemic, I hope most people now appreciate the value and necessity of programs like FoodShare. I only wish the benefits were more available to more people, with fewer constraints (such as the work requirements for adults under 60) and less bureaucracy.
But all in all, I’m thankful to the governmental powers that be, imperfect as they are. We all deserve to eat — all of us — including the unemployed, illiterate and imprisoned; the people trapped in food deserts; and anyone else excluded from our nation’s bounty. If the goal is to end hunger, let’s feed everyone, and feed them well.
For more information on Double Dollars see www.cacscw.org/services/food-security/double-dollars.
To donate to Double Dollars, see www.cacscw.org/donate.
