Debra Pickett

Berg, a University of Illinois-educated expert on social policy who spent much of her career working for state governments in Illinois, Kentucky and Minnesota, has, for almost 10 years, been researching small, local charities that were founded by one or two people and that operate primarily on private donations. From her home base in Champaign, she's traveled the country to meet with the people who run these groups and launched a campaign to build awareness and support for them.

'I knew there was more'

Her mission began with a casual conversation. She met a Romanian couple who had been active in that country's democratic resistance, and they mentioned that a recent article, written by a Harvard professor, had them worried about the state of democracy in America. The article, by Robert Putnam, later grew into a book -- Bowling Alone (Simon and Shuster, 544 pages, $16) -- and captured public attention with its argument that American "social capital" is on the decline. Citing statistics that show that citizens "sign fewer petitions, belong to fewer organizations that meet, know our neighbors less, meet with friends less frequently, and even socialize with our families less often," Putnam's research seemed to depict American communities as merely geographic collections of isolated individuals who were so consumed with work, commuting and solitary pursuits like watching television and surfing the Internet that they had almost no connection with each other.

"That just felt wrong to me," Berg says, as McGrath and Carron nod in agreement. "I knew there was more going on out there. Maybe not with people joining traditional civic groups, but in forming their own small groups. I wanted to refute this idea that there was no engagement going on, but without real data, I couldn't. So I just started asking colleagues and collecting referrals and searching the Web to see what I could find."

She soon uncovered Carron's Web site, teenpilot.org, and began learning more about his efforts to fund pilot training for low-income kids.

Carron, dapperly dressed in a sport coat and slacks, does not look like a stereotypical do-gooder. A pharmaceutical salesman and private pilot, he laughingly describes himself as almost accidentally starting his organization. Like many kids, he had done some volunteer work as a college student, serving as a "big brother" to a couple of young boys. That was his first real exposure to poverty and it stuck with him, even as he launched his business career.

Years later, after going to see the movie "Hoop Dreams," he decided he should at least try to find the time to help out one kid who could use a break.

"I think flying, for certain kids, it's like football or baseball," says Carron, who himself has been passionate about flying since he was a teen. "There's just a certain segment of kids who want to fly. I figured I'd try to find one kid who was into it and I'd hook him up with flying lessons."

Carron's boss thought it was a great idea, but advised him that if he was actually going to do it, he should create an official charity so the money would be tax-deductible.

Now, Carron has a small but generous base of donors who contribute the $5,000 to $6,000 needed, per kid, to offer pilot training. Eight kids have seen the program all the way through and actually earned their licenses, some of them becoming pilots before they managed to get their driver's licenses. The process has opened new educational and professional opportunities for them, Carron says, and has boosted their self-confidence immeasurably.

'That's the secret'

McGrath, a petite blond with a sweet, quiet voice, has been busily setting out lunch on her dining room table as Carron's been speaking. She offered to host the lunch and said she'd pick up carry-out food, but the spread she lays out features the kind of lovingly homemade dishes that no caterer can reproduce. In addition to an assortment of sandwiches, fruits, vegetables and chips, there are two kinds of fresh-baked cookies. She couldn't help herself, she says.

It was 15 years ago that McGrath, who seems to have an irrepressibly upbeat manner, found herself feeling depressed. A mother of three who has taught nursery school and run a home day-care center, she felt herself "becoming a sad lady," she says.

She decided she might feel better if she could help someone, so she went to the office of a Lisle Township social worker to try to find a family to help. Her offer was initially viewed with some suspicion, but when she kept returning, each time with food for the township's food pantry, she eventually won the woman over. The social worker put her in touch with a family of recent immigrants.

"They didn't speak English," McGrath recalls, but "one lady, very pregnant, seemed open to trusting me and, with hand gestures and a few words she communicated her needs: baby clothes, crib, car seat -- the things that we sometimes take for granted."

McGrath wasn't sure how she'd secure all those things, but she managed to find her way to the first garage sale she'd ever visited and found a crib for only $35.

The charity she eventually founded, Sharing Connections, has now distributed nearly 1,900 cribs to low-income families in DuPage county and the Chicago area.

This is typical, Berg says, of the kind of growth many of these very small charities have seen in the last 20 years. "There's a combination of available wealth, a certain mind-set and the technology for mass communication that makes us aware of needs. There's just a lot of things coming together to make it the perfect time for these groups."

"I'm always thinking of ways to somehow give that invitation," McGrath says.

"Yes," Berg agrees, "to tell people you get back so much more than you give."

"Oh yeah," adds Carron, "that's the secret."