Neither Icy Breeze Nor Aching Knees Stay the Tolling of His Bell

Jim Andrew, 79, purred a Scottish Christmas greeting to the stylish young woman sashaying up to I Magnin’s department store at South Coast Plaza.

She paused, inhaled deeply on her needle-thin cigarette and smiled. Tossing the cigarette butt at Andrew’s Salvation Army kettle, she reached into her Gucci bag and removed a dollar: “Here you are.”

Warm, witty and gregarious, Andrew takes it all in stride as he marches on, spreading God’s word and collecting more dough at his kettle than any other Salvation Army soldier in Orange County.

“Every mickle maks a muckle,” Andrew said, translating his native Glasgow phrase into “every wee bit makes a big bit.” Wispy strands of brittle white hair peek out beneath the regulation army cap and its “Blood and Fire” insignia. A cold breeze slices through his dark navy blue tunic.

“The wind comes up that alley like a gale,” Andrew said, drawing a raincoat close and pointing toward Bullock’s. “In fact, I lost a dollar bill once, if you can imagine a Scotsman losing money.”

Still, as every good business person knows, location is everything, Andrew said. And it doesn’t get much better in this temporal life than staking out turf smack between two tony department stores at the country’s highest-grossing shopping center.

A reindeer leap away from the Salvation Army kettle, shopping center valets step gracefully from the curb to slide behind the wheels of the Corvettes, Audis, Mercedes-Benzes and occasional Rolls-Royces that motor up to park, spilling out well-heeled shoppers.

“The clientele foot traffic there makes it a very lucrative spot for us,” said Warren Johnson, business manager for the Salvation Army’s Santa Ana division. Part of Johnson’s job every year is to deploy his soldiers and their ringing bells. Andrew, among his best, earned a coveted location.

“He fills the kettle every day, collecting $250 to $300,” Johnson said. “For us, that’s doing terribly well.”

Money is a pressing problem for the army, Johnson said. Retail red tape and difficulties in drafting holiday season help have taken their toll on the century-old tradition of bright red pots and bell-ringing soldiers.

(Seasonal help, bell ringers who wear Salvation Army jackets but are not church members, are paid the minimum wage. Army soldiers, who wear the regulation uniforms, are paid up to $5.50 an hour.)

In Orange County and nationwide, donations to the kettles at Christmas time have declined steadily over the past 20 years, Johnson said. His division raised only about $40,000 last year from the holiday pots, of a total $1.2-million budget, Johnson said.

“We’re really losing our footing,” Johnson said. “But tradition keeps us there. People expect to see the kettle. And we’re a ministry. It’s more than fund raising.”

So the army banks on Andrew’s performance, both in soliciting money and ministering the word of Gen. William Booth, who founded the organization in 1865 in the slums of London’s East End. Andrew’s parents themselves were in the Salvation Army.

Andrew’s closest competitor in the army’s yuletide fund raising this year is colleague Ed Freeman, 74, who plays the coronet at Santa Ana’s MainPlace shopping center, Johnson said.

But Andrew relies on no other prop than his charm, the ubiquitous bell and neoprene knee braces he wears under his pants.

Standing around all day on his feet is the worst part of the job, Andrew said, pulling up his trouser legs to show the braces.

“My knees get a little stiff, an old soccer injury,” Andrew said. “I groan occasionally when I sit down and stand up. The wet days are kind of hard.”

Andrew came to America with his wife, Agnes, in 1951 to escape the food rationing and hard times of post-war Scotland, he said. They now share a mobile home in Westminster.

“On Friday, we celebrate our 51st anniversary,” Andrew said, starting to chuckle. “Me and my Agnes. But she’s no relation to the Loch Ness monster. In Scotland, you know, it’s known as Nessie.”

Andrew continues to sing in the Salvation Army choir, although he gave up his coronet post in the marching band three years ago, “to let the young fellows come up.”

Speaking of music, Andrew enjoys singing a carol of his own now and then but employs the brass bell with some discretion.

“If there’s people around, I’ll ring it,” he said. “But you don’t go banging away all day if nobody’s there.”

Which leads to some tricks of the trade that may account for Andrew’s success.

“I like to stand where you’re obvious,” he said, squaring his shoulders to face the stream of shoppers. “That says you mean business. Not just sitting down reading a book and ringing a bell.”

Next he tries to catch people’s eyes. Sunglasses, the facial accessory of choice at South Coast Plaza that blustery afternoon, pose special problems, Andrew allowed. But if there are children about, that’s where he concentrates his charm, Andrew said.

“They wonder about the bell,” he said, his pale blue eyes almost smiling. “Then they wonder about the kettle. You explain. And of course the mother has to give.”

Herbert J. Vida is on vacation.