To Market, to Market

Her rural county was a food desert, so she spoke up.

AT LAST! So read a headline in The Athens Messenger in Ohio late last year. Why the fuss? Well, for four years, neighboring Vinton County had been without a grocery store, and soon the wait would be over—thanks in no small measure to the lobbying efforts of Rhoda Toon Price.

Rhoda, who studied social work at Southern State Community College, is the longtime executive director of Vinton County Senior Citizens, Inc., an organization that assists seniors and veterans with transportation and meal delivery, among other services.

“Vinton County has 412 square miles and one traffic light,” Rhoda says, noting that it’s also among the poorest counties in the state. According to the 2016 U.S. census, more than 20 percent of Vinton County’s 13,000 residents live in poverty. So when the SuperValu grocery store in McArthur closed

after nearly 30 years in business, folks found themselves about a half-hour from the nearest fullservice food source. The area’s demographics (poor and sparse; not exactly an entrepreneur’s dream market) all but ensured the problem would persist.

Losing their only grocer didn’t sit right with Rhoda, who is well aware of the mobility obstacles Vinton County’s seniors face. Though many can get around town independently, driving to the next county over posed a real challenge. The remaining option was to visit a convenience store where, Rhoda says, “you could get one banana for a dollar.”

The banana, in fact, became something of a rallying cry after Rhoda addressed the statehouse on behalf of senior citizens in her community. In a truly small-step, giant-leap moment, she asked legislators, “How would you like to travel 10 miles one-way to buy one of these?” and then produced

a solitary banana. The audience was tickled; more importantly, Rhoda had made her point.

Finally, with financial backing from Healthy Food for Ohio and a significant investment of its own, family-owned Campbell’s Market answered the call. Rhoda brought one of her organization’s vans—its logo on the side—to the store’s groundbreaking to remind the crowd of those who stood to benefit most.

Someone asked whether she had also brought the now-famous banana. “It’s right here in my hot little pocket,” she replied.

At the event, she gave a version of “the banana speech,” as she calls it, and took the opportunity to thank others who’d worked to ensure the day would arrive. It was a group effort, Rhoda insists, involving local officials, state representatives and U.S. lawmakers. Not to mention one very determined woman with a banana.