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There just ain’t no party like a Dining for Friends party. Guests arrive to cheers and rounds of applause. There’s a live band and a cash bar.
And the desserts. Oh, the desserts.
There’s enough pastry to satisfy even the most insatiable sweet tooth.
Cakes, pies, cake pops, cheesecakes, cupcakes, cookies and bars from more than 50 area restaurants, bakeries and bakers.
Welcome to the annual Dining for Friends dessert finale.
The Triad Health Project’s annual fundraiser celebrates its silver anniversary on Saturday.
The organization, which provides services for people living with HIV/AIDS, relies heavily on federal and state grants and individual, foundation and corporate contributions.
For 25 years, people throughout the Triad have hosted parties or events where their guests bring donations for THP. Everyone gathers at the end of the evening for the dessert finale at the Greensboro Coliseum.
Dining for Friends raises about $120,000 annually and is THP’s largest fundraiser besides the Winter Walk each December.
THP’s executive director, Addison Ore, says the dessert finale is one of her favorite nights of the year.
“I stand at the front door and just welcome people,” she says. “It’s such a unique situation where we’ll have a bunch of board members and staff cheering people coming in. It’s unique to shake the hand of the person supporting your organization. It’s a very intimate evening in a lot of ways.”
To mark the anniversary, this year’s event will be more elegant.
Its theme, “Unforgettable,” means many things, Ore says: “We hope it will be an unforgettable evening, but it’s also dedicated to the folks who are no longer here and their family and friends because they’re unforgettable.”
A remembrance wall will mark the occasion. People can write someone’s name or a few sentences about what they’re feeling that evening.
“This is the 25th Dining for Friends. Those milestones are marked by those who are present, and those who aren’t here,” Ore says.
Although the dessert finale has always been the conclusion of Dining for Friends, party hosts don’t have to hold their parties that day.
Ore calls it the Dining for Friends party season. It’s not unusual for people to go to several parties. She will have attended about 10 functions from late April through the end of June. Her church, All Saints Episcopal Church, raised about $7,000 during its fifth annual THP barbecue at the end of April.
No one ever complains about the number of events they attend, she says: “I’ll see a lot of the same people with a smile on their face and a check in their hand.”
It’s unusual in the nonprofit fundraising world for a single event to continue for so long, Ore says.
“It’s remarkable. It’s not just that we still have it, but that it’s still vital,” she says. “The community takes real ownership of this event. We’ve had people who’ve had parties a good portion of the 25 years.”
The concept also has been replicated to raise money for AIDS organizations elsewhere, mostly in smaller urban or rural areas. It goes back to the grass-roots way that the agency was founded, Ore says.
It was “people taking care of people. We’ve certainly grown as an agency, but we’ve never ventured very far away from how it was founded,” Ore says. “That’s the core of it, and it hasn’t changed.”
From bars to barbecues
Megan Evans is one of those THP supporters who make it an annual tradition to host a Dining for Friends party.
She and her husband, Greg, have hosted backyard barbecues at their northwest Greensboro home for all but three of the event’s 25 years. They aren’t able to host one this year because of scheduling conflicts and a large sinkhole in their backyard. Instead, they will contribute what they would have spent to host the party, plus more. They usually raise between $1,200 to $1,500 each year.
Evans, a business officer for UNCG, first heard about Dining for Friends through a graduate student. She thought it sounded like fun.
“I’m not much of a party person, I tell you,” she says. “I’m quite culinarily challenged, but my husband likes to barbecue. So we invited some friends and had our first party, and it went pretty well. It feels pretty good to be a part of something larger than yourself.”
Their event now draws about 60 people. Regulars know two things: It will be kid-friendly, and Greg Evans will throw plenty of meat on the grill. Ribs marinated for days, chicken, shrimp, hot dogs for the kids — their friends call it “Meatfest.”
They began hosting the event when their sons were youngsters, so there always have been a lot of children around. Now that they are grandparents, the children still come. They watch movies, make chalk art or blow bubbles. But the highlight is what’s known as the “nonviolent water wars.” Participants of all ages arm themselves with squirt guns, super soakers and sometimes a hose.
There are designated safe areas — the deck, hammock and swing set — for grown-ups wishing to stay dry. At the end of the evening, Evans throws their wet clothes into the dryer.
“We’re now in the second generation of nonviolent water wars. It’s a good time, and it’s a good cause, and that’s pretty important to me,” she says.
Evans was an AIDS advocate before her involvement with THP. She was part of a group of women who called themselves the Mother’s Bar Brigade. They formed in the early 1990s, when an AIDS diagnosis was a death sentence. Most of those dying were young, Evans recalls.
For three or four years, about two dozen mothers and grandmothers gathered the Saturday night before Mother’s Day and hit the bars. They wore Mother’s Bar Brigade T-shirts and carried wicker baskets filled with condoms. The condoms were attached to notes with HIV facts and prevention tips.
“It got people talking,” Evans says, laughing. “It also got people to stop talking. Most of the time, it was a positive response. Often a surprised response.”
She didn’t care if people thought she was crazy. She did it for her good friend Robby Harris, whom she met in college. They had many frank discussions about what it was like for him to be a gay man, she says. After college, he worked as a CPA and lived in San Francisco and Hawaii.
Evans stopped hearing from him after her sons were born. While viewing a portion of the AIDS quilt on display in South Carolina about 1989, she found herself looking for his name. She eventually found his parents. His mother confirmed that he had died. He was 39.
“I thought that was what happened,” Evans says. “But emotionally, I wasn’t ready for it. It just kind of broke my heart. I was looking at my kids and thought, ‘No, you can’t lose your kids, that’s not right.’ It made me angry. It made me so angry.”
Although the disease no longer carries a death sentence, Evans believes strongly in educating people on how to prevent it.
She said she thinks of her friend often, particularly during Dining for Friends. “You remember those friends as you’re having this crazy fun night,” she says. “Rob would have had a ball. He would have loved it. I’m sure he would be in the corner talking tax with somebody.”
He would have been 63 this year.
“Sometimes you feel like you can’t do enough, but you think, at least I can do this,” Evans says.
Tina Firesheets is a columnist and freelance writer who lives in Jamestown. Contact her at tinafiresheets@yahoo.com.
And the desserts. Oh, the desserts.
There’s enough pastry to satisfy even the most insatiable sweet tooth.
Cakes, pies, cake pops, cheesecakes, cupcakes, cookies and bars from more than 50 area restaurants, bakeries and bakers.
Welcome to the annual Dining for Friends dessert finale.
The Triad Health Project’s annual fundraiser celebrates its silver anniversary on Saturday.
The organization, which provides services for people living with HIV/AIDS, relies heavily on federal and state grants and individual, foundation and corporate contributions.
For 25 years, people throughout the Triad have hosted parties or events where their guests bring donations for THP. Everyone gathers at the end of the evening for the dessert finale at the Greensboro Coliseum.
Dining for Friends raises about $120,000 annually and is THP’s largest fundraiser besides the Winter Walk each December.
THP’s executive director, Addison Ore, says the dessert finale is one of her favorite nights of the year.
“I stand at the front door and just welcome people,” she says. “It’s such a unique situation where we’ll have a bunch of board members and staff cheering people coming in. It’s unique to shake the hand of the person supporting your organization. It’s a very intimate evening in a lot of ways.”
To mark the anniversary, this year’s event will be more elegant.
Its theme, “Unforgettable,” means many things, Ore says: “We hope it will be an unforgettable evening, but it’s also dedicated to the folks who are no longer here and their family and friends because they’re unforgettable.”
A remembrance wall will mark the occasion. People can write someone’s name or a few sentences about what they’re feeling that evening.
“This is the 25th Dining for Friends. Those milestones are marked by those who are present, and those who aren’t here,” Ore says.
Although the dessert finale has always been the conclusion of Dining for Friends, party hosts don’t have to hold their parties that day.
Ore calls it the Dining for Friends party season. It’s not unusual for people to go to several parties. She will have attended about 10 functions from late April through the end of June. Her church, All Saints Episcopal Church, raised about $7,000 during its fifth annual THP barbecue at the end of April.
No one ever complains about the number of events they attend, she says: “I’ll see a lot of the same people with a smile on their face and a check in their hand.”
It’s unusual in the nonprofit fundraising world for a single event to continue for so long, Ore says.
“It’s remarkable. It’s not just that we still have it, but that it’s still vital,” she says. “The community takes real ownership of this event. We’ve had people who’ve had parties a good portion of the 25 years.”
The concept also has been replicated to raise money for AIDS organizations elsewhere, mostly in smaller urban or rural areas. It goes back to the grass-roots way that the agency was founded, Ore says.
It was “people taking care of people. We’ve certainly grown as an agency, but we’ve never ventured very far away from how it was founded,” Ore says. “That’s the core of it, and it hasn’t changed.”
From bars to barbecues
Megan Evans is one of those THP supporters who make it an annual tradition to host a Dining for Friends party.
She and her husband, Greg, have hosted backyard barbecues at their northwest Greensboro home for all but three of the event’s 25 years. They aren’t able to host one this year because of scheduling conflicts and a large sinkhole in their backyard. Instead, they will contribute what they would have spent to host the party, plus more. They usually raise between $1,200 to $1,500 each year.
Evans, a business officer for UNCG, first heard about Dining for Friends through a graduate student. She thought it sounded like fun.
“I’m not much of a party person, I tell you,” she says. “I’m quite culinarily challenged, but my husband likes to barbecue. So we invited some friends and had our first party, and it went pretty well. It feels pretty good to be a part of something larger than yourself.”
Their event now draws about 60 people. Regulars know two things: It will be kid-friendly, and Greg Evans will throw plenty of meat on the grill. Ribs marinated for days, chicken, shrimp, hot dogs for the kids — their friends call it “Meatfest.”
They began hosting the event when their sons were youngsters, so there always have been a lot of children around. Now that they are grandparents, the children still come. They watch movies, make chalk art or blow bubbles. But the highlight is what’s known as the “nonviolent water wars.” Participants of all ages arm themselves with squirt guns, super soakers and sometimes a hose.
There are designated safe areas — the deck, hammock and swing set — for grown-ups wishing to stay dry. At the end of the evening, Evans throws their wet clothes into the dryer.
“We’re now in the second generation of nonviolent water wars. It’s a good time, and it’s a good cause, and that’s pretty important to me,” she says.
Evans was an AIDS advocate before her involvement with THP. She was part of a group of women who called themselves the Mother’s Bar Brigade. They formed in the early 1990s, when an AIDS diagnosis was a death sentence. Most of those dying were young, Evans recalls.
For three or four years, about two dozen mothers and grandmothers gathered the Saturday night before Mother’s Day and hit the bars. They wore Mother’s Bar Brigade T-shirts and carried wicker baskets filled with condoms. The condoms were attached to notes with HIV facts and prevention tips.
“It got people talking,” Evans says, laughing. “It also got people to stop talking. Most of the time, it was a positive response. Often a surprised response.”
She didn’t care if people thought she was crazy. She did it for her good friend Robby Harris, whom she met in college. They had many frank discussions about what it was like for him to be a gay man, she says. After college, he worked as a CPA and lived in San Francisco and Hawaii.
Evans stopped hearing from him after her sons were born. While viewing a portion of the AIDS quilt on display in South Carolina about 1989, she found herself looking for his name. She eventually found his parents. His mother confirmed that he had died. He was 39.
“I thought that was what happened,” Evans says. “But emotionally, I wasn’t ready for it. It just kind of broke my heart. I was looking at my kids and thought, ‘No, you can’t lose your kids, that’s not right.’ It made me angry. It made me so angry.”
Although the disease no longer carries a death sentence, Evans believes strongly in educating people on how to prevent it.
She said she thinks of her friend often, particularly during Dining for Friends. “You remember those friends as you’re having this crazy fun night,” she says. “Rob would have had a ball. He would have loved it. I’m sure he would be in the corner talking tax with somebody.”
He would have been 63 this year.
“Sometimes you feel like you can’t do enough, but you think, at least I can do this,” Evans says.
Tina Firesheets is a columnist and freelance writer who lives in Jamestown. Contact her at tinafiresheets@yahoo.com.
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