Dumpster diving for charity: "Sickening" waste inspires hobby

ST. LOUIS — Well past dinnertime on a chilly, moonless night, Barb Kruse climbed into her Toyota minivan and began her weekly quest.

Armed with flashlights, rubber gloves and hand sanitizer, Kruse zipped down St. Louis County, Mo., streets until she neared the first of her 10 or so destinations for the evening.

As other drivers veered to the right in a steady stream of headlights, Kruse took a sharp left to the road — if you could call it that — less traveled.

While others opt for well-lit parking spaces and entryways bathed in neon, Kruse eschews such places for the murky, unnerving quiet behind the super stores and bargain shops. Her target: Dumpsters.

"You just never know what you're going to find," Kruse explained. "Anything you can imagine. It's overwhelming."

A 44-year-old Florissant, Mo., mother of two teenagers and a part-time church secretary, Kruse isn't at all the sort you'd expect to see clambering into a rust-rimmed container of broken glass, disconnected parts, torn packages and disgusting goo that looks to be part antifreeze, part chicken noodle soup.

Only 5-foot-3 and with fashionable wire-rimmed glasses and a stylish brunette bob, Kruse doesn't even appear capable of hoisting herself over the side of the mammoth steel containers.

But her finds — and what she does with them — have proved well worth the workout, well worth the goo.

Kruse and a friend who didn't want to be identified as a "Dumpster diver" — the moniker for such explorers — decided to delve into trash bins after hearing a story from a man who worked at an office supply store.

He'd been told one day to destroy and dump unsold laptop computers. The reasoning: If they were beaten up, no one would be able to return them for a refund. He also told of scads of items in good condition that got the heave-ho.

"He was disgusted," Kruse said. "So we decided, 'Well, we'll just go look and see what we find.' "

On one of their first scavenger hunts, they found 14 new chairs worth an average price of $150. Two had minor damage — a small gouge on one, two screws missing from another — but nothing that would require they be thrown out, Kruse thought.

She and her friend took the chairs they wanted, then touched up the others and gave them to teachers and nurses at Kruse's school and to ministers at Kruse's church.

In the year since, their discoveries have included the following:

Bookshelves, blankets and "the bird condo of the century." Filing cabinets, picture frames and a 50-cup coffee machine. Computer desks, candles and a canopy swing. Compact discs, desk lamps and a 4-by-8 dry erase board.

Drinking glasses, reading glasses, sunglasses. Poker tables, Pergo flooring, printers. Software, silverware and a Singer sewing machine. Storage tubs, a trampoline and a trampoline safety net. A wheelbarrow, a wicker loveseat and wire racks.

"The list just goes on and on and on," Kruse said. "You just can't believe that people get rid of this stuff. And I never knew that Big Lots sold thong underwear."

On one of her recent outings, her biggest score was a packaged but slightly ripped futon and a mission-style futon frame. In terms of finds, she ranks it close to the legless new pool table she dragged out of a Dumpster a few months back.

She's fixing the futon for her son. Her husband, an engineer who is not entirely supportive of her nighttime crawls, nonetheless has built legs for the pool table and has taken to playing pool in the family's increasingly crowded basement.

Kruse is blown away by the waste she sees, especially the massive quantities of unused school supplies she finds. Needy people or organizations would be overjoyed to have many of the things she uncovers.

It also bothers Kruse that these items are chucked into already overwhelmed landfills. She's convinced there has to be a simple way for businesses to donate such products.

"It's just sickening," she said. "Why not donate all of it? Why not donate to a school or to a government organization?"

Kruse is intrigued by a Web site, throwplace.com, on which businesses and individuals list excess inventory or goods for donation. Charities and other groups registered with the Web site can run searches and request what they want. The goods are not to be sold, only given away.

Kruse would like to see a local version of the Web site. She'd also like to arrange for trailers to be placed at businesses so they would have somewhere to place salvageable goods for pickup.

"We would make it easy for them to donate this stuff," she said.

With Kruse's idea still in the dream stage, she plans to keep doing what she's been doing.

Since her family already has plenty, she gives most of her finds away. The Children's Home Society came by this month for a slew of cards, pencils, toys and Christmas knickknacks she had reclaimed.

And after learning through Freecycle-St. Louis, a group that helps arrange donations, about a single mother in need of a Christmas tree, Kruse brought her one — and then some.

"I was able to take a tree, stuffed animals, decorations ... three large boxes of stuff," Kruse said.

Kruse also sells her discoveries in garage and other sales and donates the money to North County Christian School, which her children attend. So far, the sales have netted the school more than $1,000, she said.

Kruse's hobby has taught her which Dumpsters are sure bets. And for Dumpster divers, prizes are rarely found on the top. "I call it detailing," she said. "We look at everything."

Sometimes all that looking prompts other looks. Security guards aren't always happy to see Dumpster divers. As for police, Kruse said her only experience was positive. An officer who came upon her and her friend aimed a spotlight at them, asked if they were OK and then moved on.