Need some "magic" Harry Potter rings, a used axe, a wooden desk, an electric wok, two rolls of 35mm film? How about some props from the "X Files" TV show? Been looking for empty toilet paper rolls? Here's someone who has 20, "great for crafts," says the ad.
Since Deron Beal started Freecycle in 2003, the network has grown to 4,000 local groups in 75 countries.
Whether you see these things as trash or treasure, the good news is you can have them for nothing more than the time it takes to send an email — but first you have to join Freecycle.
Freecycle is a website that helps connect people in their own neighborhoods with folks who want stuff and folks who want to give stuff away. And that simple concept has had some surprising side effects, like strengthening community relationships while reducing the amount of waste that goes into landfills.
Freecycle began in 2003 when Tucson resident Deron Beal got married and needed to get rid of an extra bed. The former Procter and Gamble executive and self-proclaimed "tree hugger" says Goodwill wouldn't take it. So instead Beal sent emails to 30 other people asking if they or anyone they knew wanted it.
No one did, but then something funny happened.
When those 30 people collectively replied to Beal, they also mentioned they had things they wanted to give away themselves, or things they needed. Everyone cc'd on the note began talking to each other. Givers and receivers began swapping stuff online for free.
That's when Beal realized there was a need much bigger than just his bed. He created a website to help organize the participants and it caught fire. Today FreeCycle has more than 3 million members in 75 countries.
Part of Freecycle's success comes from its simplicity. Users are organized into 4,000 local community groups; subscribe to your local group, post a message asking or offering something, then wait for the replies. Givers get to choose who gets the item, so some people write notes explaining why they need it, creating a rich tapestry of stories and characters.
"And that's really what Freecycle is about — you know, getting people together in the local community," says Beal.
Take the case of 97-year-old Weldon Irby and his 68-year-old wife Jackye in Tucson. Weldon, a former master mechanic, would rather fix things than just sit around the house.
His backyard is full of old refrigerators and washing machines that he tinkers with until they run again. But fixing broken bicycles is what he enjoys best, so Jackye places messages on Freecycle asking for bike frames, wheels, chains and other parts, which Weldon turns into working bikes. When they're done, she lists them on Freecycle for anyone in need.
Even at the age of 97, Weldon Irby fixes broken bicycles; his wife then uses Freecycle to give them to people in need.
Today a ten-year old boy named Tommy can't stop eyeballing the dozens of bikes in Weldon and Jackye's backyard, while his parents sit with them and drink iced tea. Tommy's bike was stolen when he left it in the front yard. Now he's about to meet its replacement, courtesy of Weldon and Jackye — and if it doesn't happen soon he looks like he might explode.
Finally, he gets the go-ahead and picks out a red one designed to look like a motorcycle. He pedals it in circles around the driveway while Weldon watches.
"It's a good feeling. That's my pay, to see the kids happy about it. That makes me feel young, makes me want to ride a bicycle too," he says, while seated in the electric mobility chair he also rebuilt by hand.
Jackye smiles at him while sipping tea with Tommy's mother, with whom she's become friends through the Freecycle connection.
She says they've given away 104 bicycles so far.
The one she remembers most was a 13-year-old girl who said, "I want the ugliest bike you've got — because then they won't steal it again."
Jackye recalls: "And she got the ugliest bike there was — one that [Weldon] had put together and not bothered to paint so it was different colors."
Freecycle encourages givers to wait 24 hours before choosing a recipient, which gives non-profits a chance to make a bid.
That feature came in handy for Patty Vallance, the social action chair for the Tucson Jewish Community Relations Council, which was asked to furnish 167 apartments for Hurricane Katrina evacuees that moved to the area. Freecycle was one of her primary resources.
Patty Vallance used Freecycle to help furnish 167 apartments for Hurricane Katrina evacuees.
Vallance, an Energizer bunny of a woman, shows me an example. In a large apartment complex on the edge of town she knocks on the door of Charlene Floyd and her eleven year-old son Shaan. They hug like old friends.
Charlene's apartment is one Patty helped to furnish through Freecycle. It's filled with things that look like they were purchased rather than tossed together from a garage sale. There are even African themed frames and art objects to reflect Charlene and Shaan's African heritage.
"This is, in essence, my home," says Charlene. "In Katrina we lost everything, except for what we had in our car and what we had on our backs."
"The best thing we got out of it though, is we all became friends," says Vallance.
Making friends is good, but saving the earth may be even better. Freecycle founder Beal cites a University of Iowa study done on behalf of Freecycle that shows the network also helps to keep 300 tons of trash out of landfills every single day.
It's an issue close to Beal's heart. His home is filled with examples of reuse, like a system that waters his outdoor plants from the gray water of his washing machine and giant, rain-collecting cisterns in his yard.
Beal doesn't just run Freecycle — which is now his full-time job — he lives it. He says you can post almost anything on Freecycle and you'll find someone who can find a use for it. When he jack hammered the concrete out of his driveway he offered the rubble on Freecycle. Sure enough, some local neighbors picked it up.
Beal takes me down the street and sits down on a beautiful park bench with a ceramic tile gecko design covering the front.
"When they picked up the concrete I didn't really have a concept of what they were thinking," he says, reclining back and putting his feet up. "But I think you can see they did all right."
