Monica Yant Kinney: A helping for Lunch Ladies

Something amazing happened last week in South Jersey, where school elections often attract the irritated and outraged to vote "no."

For the first time anyone can remember, Washington Township voters cheerfully endured lines at the polls. But instead of shooting down the budget, they approved a tax increase averaging $19 to save the district's beloved Lunch Ladies.

Amid a presidential campaign focused on a dismal economy, outsourcing, and the plight of the uninsured, already stretched suburbanites dug deeper to help 73 women in hairnets whose futures were on the cutting board.

"These are our neighbors, our friends, the people who hug our children," noted Debbie Cherella, copresident of Thomas Jefferson Elementary's PTO. She helped lead the effort after the Corzine administration eliminated the district's food-service department.

Cherella's 10-year-old daughter, Lauren, considers "Miss Lois" and "Miss Jeaneane" family. When Cherella told the youngster that the Lunch Ladies would be either fired or kept on by a company that paid less and offered no benefits or pension, she was upset.

"How will they pay their bills?" Lauren asked. "How will they live?"

It's a sign of trying times that the Lunch Ladies even needed rescue.

By running a catering and baking business on the side, the unionized Lunch Ladies pay for their own salaries ($20,000, on average) and supplies. They sell enough spaghetti and scones to give $200,000 a year to the district to defray the cost of their benefits.

"We do weddings, showers, birthday parties," banquet cook Sue McCullough told me Thursday as she chopped carrots.

Celebrities like Kenny Rogers and B.B. King who play the Commerce Bank Arts Center have their culinary desires fulfilled by the Lunch Ladies. Sometimes, the stars eat in the high school cafeteria.

"Willie Nelson wanted $16 water," cook Bernadette Miller recalled. "It seemed strange, but we got it."

Since 2000, the food-service department had been mostly self-sustaining. But this year, rising food prices and pension costs caught up with the Lunch Ladies.

"A dozen bagels used to be $2.70. Now it's $5," food-service director Ginny Bowden said. "This month, we're spending $18,000 just for milk. Last year, it was $14,000."

When the district budgeted $767,000 to fund the Lunch Ladies' pensions, state officials responded by cutting the department. The logic? Any expense that isn't educational isn't necessary.

The school board preferred to let voters decide whether the Lunch Ladies should be canned. Under state law, the ballot question required 60 percent approval.

"What we needed," Bowden said, "was a miracle."

To get it, the Lunch Ladies did what they do best. At a rally in a park, they fed the masses.

"We went through 750 donated hot dogs," Bowden marveled, "and 40 pounds of chicken."

Voters learned about the Lunch Ladies' entrepreneurial spirit and the all-female crew's more than 800 combined years of service. The kitchen queens put 98 of their own children through township schools, since 70 percent of the Lunch Ladies live there.

"See that cashier?" sophomore Taylor Turner told me when I sat down at her table for lunch last week. "She's my neighbor."

While Taylor and her friends might not rave about every meal - grilled cheese day is "the best," sophomore Sam Milligan declared, but pork sandwiches are

ew!

- they helped convince grownups about the value of knowing the women behind the counter who gently remind students to eat fruit.

It didn't hurt that many voters knew of the Lunch Ladies from attending student-of-the-month breakfasts and sports banquets.

"Parents," McCullough said, "always tell us they can't believe this is school food."

When the votes were counted, the Lunch Ladies had triumphed by a ratio of 2-1. The lovefest even helped get the entire budget passed - never an easy feat in this state.

"We're really grateful," kitchen veteran Lynn Cianci said, crediting voters who respect the Lunch Ladies' pluck and fear the human costs of privatization.

"I'll be at the mall and kids will shout, 'There's the Lunch Lady!' " she said. "That's a great feeling."