A Letter to All Students and Alumni

Dear Students and Alumni Everywhere,

Some of you might have heard of me but may wonder if I am nothing more than a sentimental construct of the past. Some of you know me by name only. Some, I fear, know me not at all.

I am unmistakably present at fewer institutions than I would like but part of me can be found in many. I represent the part of a learning institution that cares for you, that delights in your presence, that thrills at glimmers of your potential and imagines with great hope what you might someday be, that smiles at but sees beyond the excesses of your youth, that senses your struggles, and seeks to comfort and correct in equal measure.

I can be found in the affirming academic standards of professors and the attentiveness of food service workers, and in the diligence of administrators and administrative assistants, librarians and campus safety officers. You will see me in the long hours they devote to doing well by you, in the way they not only grade your papers but seek to strengthen your powers of reasoning, in their intuiting of, and attendance to, your emotional state, and in their encouragement of your efforts and individual aspirations.

Perhaps you do not always see them or what they are trying to do for you. If not, you do not see me in them. Perhaps you are more sensitive to those who are gruff or distracted by their own ambitions or disappointments. But if you look for me, you will find me in the simple actions and quiet dedications of some people at most institutions. If you seek and discover these traits, you will carry them in grateful memory throughout your life and you will see the institution in a kinder light.

When you graduate, you will find me in those who hope to hear from you, to learn of your trials and triumphs, both personal and professional. And, yes, they will always appreciate it when you reflect on the gift you were given when you first set foot on campus; the gift from everyone past and present who built equity in the institution, who believed in giving more to the next generation than the previous generation had given them. And they will be grateful when you decide to the same for the coming generations, in any way you can.

But you will know where I reside in truest form when you see the greatest pride taken in the way you live your life, in the way you seek to serve others, in the manifestations of any obligation you may feel to “give back,” to society, to use anything you’ve learned or earned to ease the way for those with less. Then, my daughter, my son, ah, then your mother’s unabashed pride will burn bright.

And as we get older, I hope your memories will be sufficiently fond to keep an eye on me. Just because I have been of one generation does not meet I will be of the next. The hearts of those in whom you saw me will grow old and die. I can only hope that they will have inspired others to bring me to life again in their own way and time. But if you are not attentive, I can slip away. If you do not reflect on who or what made a difference as time goes by, and do not let them know how your success relates to their actions or encouragements, they will be left wondering if they made much of a difference, or at all.

So, you see, a part of me resides in and depends on you, too. If I was not a present in your life as I should, if I was crowded out by the pretentions of prestige or incessant calls for financial support, you can choose to hold that against me, to be indifferent, or aloof, or you can be for others what you hoped I would be for you. I am as mythic or as real as each generation makes me. All it takes is a few who understand the difference I can make in the lives of so many for so long.

Fondly yours,

Alma Mater*

(*Latin for “Nourishing Mother)

The Long and Short of It

As I work with clients to help them see the greater philanthropic return that can be enjoyed from engaging in values-based, long-term strategies, some become gripped by anxiety.

“This sounds good,” they say, “but what about now?” “What about our results for this year?”

I realize that some see long-term strategies as coming at the expense of short-term results. But it isn’t an either-or proposition. Taking a long-term approach can have an immediate beneficial effect on the bottom line because it offers the philanthropic investor a stronger value proposition. On the other hand, if you don’t take a long-term approach, all the prospective donor sees is urgency, expediency, opaque objectives and, in some cases, desperation. That will only diminish their enthusiasm and curb their willingness to consider significant investment. Put yourself in the donor’s position: Which is more attractive? The request for more money now for unspecified or broadly-defined purposes or for a strategic investment in a project or initiative that will advance the institution’s mission in concrete and compelling terms in a finite period of time?

In their book, “Great By Choice,” Jim Collins and Morten Hansen limn the uncommon characteristics of CEOs who have led companies to remarkable achievements despite significant challenge and adversity. All of these ultra-high achievers,” they say, “started with values, purpose, long-term goals, and severe performance standards.” Yet, when you read the case studies, each of their companies also made considerable and consistent progress year-in, year-out.

You see, if you commit yourself to enduring values, by definition you commit yourself to a long-term course. But, because the end point is true, because it has and will stand the test of time, any progress you make, on even the most difficult day, puts you closer to great and lasting achievement. If, on the other hand, you have no value-driven objectives, how do you know if you have made progress from day to day, month to month, or year to year? If your objective is only to achieve certain short-term, fund-raising measurements you may indeed reach them only to discover that you have wandered well off the course to long-term philanthropic sustainability. And that is exactly where many philanthropy-seeking organizations now find themselves.

Collins and Hansen illustrate, with one vivid example after the other, how those who commit themselves to regimens of steady progress toward long-term goals invariably outpace those who sprint to immediate gains. The key, they say, is discipline.

“Discipline, in essence, is consistency of action – consistency with values, consistency with long-term goals, consistency with performance standards, consistency over time… Discipline is not the same as measurement. Discipline is not the same as hierarchical obedience or adherence to bureaucratic rules. True discipline requires the independence of mind to reject pressures to conform in ways incompatible with values, performance standards, and long-term aspirations.”

If you assume your institution is going to be around a long-time, your best fund-raising strategy is to show donors how each and every gift adds up to something lasting and larger than all of us. They will most certainly notice the difference, and you will see an immediate impact.

Mattering Matters to Philanthropy

I interviewed a young alumnus of Georgia Gwinnett College (GGC), who had graduated at the very top of his class after having dropped out of a community college years earlier, so I could understand what had turned his life around. He – let’s call him Brad -- explained that he started GGC with good intentions but soon lapsed into an old pathology – he skipped a class. But at GGC, it was only a few minutes into that first skipped class that Brad received a call from the professor in the classroom.

“Where are you?” asked the professor.

Brad stammered out something lame and largely incoherent.

“I’d like you to come back,” said the professor.

“Now?” asked Brad.

“That would be great.”

Brad made his way to the classroom and opened the door with sheepish apprehension fearing he might be subjected to ridicule or shame. But the professor greeted him warmly and as if nothing were out of place, as did his classmates. That moment, he said, turned his life around.

“Why ?” I asked.

“In the past, I didn’t care because I didn’t think anyone else cared,” said Brad. “But at GGC, I realized my being there mattered. After that, I never again wanted to let down my professor. It went from there to not wanting to let down my classmates, and then to not wanting to let down my school.”

Note the progression of thought. Because one person told Brad that his presence mattered, he came to see himself as having a responsibility to his classmates and to his school.

Georgia Gwinnett is a new public, open-admission college, the first established in Georgia since Reconstruction. The new president, a Vietnam war hero and graduate of West Point, was given a mandate to innovate. He stipulated that all professors share their cell phone numbers with all students, and vice versa, and that all calls were to be returned in 24 hours. That policy engendered a feeling of close connection and mutual obligation between teacher and student. It ensured that students couldn’t skip class or drop out unnoticed. Their being there mattered.

So what’s the applicability of this to advancement and fund raising? Well, what happens when our donors “skips” giving? If they have given for one or more years, then cease, do we let them walk away unnoticed? Do we let them know that we noted their absence, that we wish them to come back, that their presence in our organization matters? If we do contact them, does the call or letter come from someone who represents the heart of the enterprise or just the fundraising arm? And if it is the latter, what does that say about why they matter to us? Do we miss the person or the contribution? Do we stress the importance of what we can achieve together in the years to come or just what our institution wants to accomplish now?

In higher education, we have witnessed a 20-year decline in annual alumni participation. Because we were able to raise larger amounts of money from fewer and fewer donors, some argued that alumni participation didn’t matter that much. Then the economy shrank, and the feds and state governments cut back funding to higher education. The leaders of some of some institutions of higher learning then announced they would have to turn to their alumni to make up the difference. That’s hard to do when you’ve left them feeling that their leaving a long time ago didn’t matter. Now, alumni say, (according to research done by Engagement Strategies Group), the major obstacles to their future giving include the lack of a “strong emotional connection” and the widespread belief that their alma maters “haven’t done enough to connect with me beyond asking for money.”

Institutions that enjoy the highest levels of participation, and therefore the highest rates of long-term support through major, principal and estate giving, have created a sense of community, of personal connection. If you asked their donors why they give, you would receive a variety of reasons and motivations. And while none of them may say it, the real reason, at the end of the day, might be a strong sense that they matter to that organization.

Distance learning is not the key to a greater achievement in education; closing the distance between teacher and learner is. And the key to more productive models of philanthropy is making donors feel as if they matter to the mission and to those most responsible for advancing it.

Where Credit Is Due

I’ve been fortunate enough to be in positions where I was able to help a number of organizations secure a large number of private gifts. Some of those gifts were remarkably large. Some were awe-inspiringly generous when contrasted to the donors’ means. All of them were a privilege to witness.

And, yes, I fell into the trap of saying, “I raised” those gifts. When others congratulated me for doing so, I was all too eager and happy to take credit for them. It was a trap because the more we, as fundraisers, take sole credit for private gifts, the more apt others are to assign us sole responsibility for securing them. The more that happens, the less effective we will become because the organizations we represent will fail to attend to the conditions that truly inspire, sustain and grow philanthropic support over time.

If, on the other hand, we think of ourselves not as fundraisers but as agents of philanthropy, we can help create a virtuous cycle that will promote the growth of a culture of gratitude and accountability, which will make our work more productive and rewarding.

When a gift commitment is made, we must give great credit to the donor. But we must also acknowledge and be grateful to live in a culture where so many donors feel an obligation to “give back” to society. Nowhere is that obligation felt more, or expressed more generously, than in North America. We must understand how that came to be and make sure that fundraising practice or institutional smugness do not chip away at an unparalleled human phenomenon.

Second, we must give public credit to all those who built value into our organization through their dedication and hard work over many years, if not generations. Their efforts greatly strengthened our organization’s relative societal worth and, in so doing, convinced others that it is worthy of significant and sustained philanthropic support.

Third, we must honor and acknowledge all those in our organization who contributed to the building and deepening the relationship with the donor. The giving of significant support is not an impulsive act; it evolves as a result of numerous positive impression and interactions with our institution’s representatives and beneficiaries. The alumnus who gives a million dollars to his or her alma mater, for instance, has been giving and interacting with various college representatives, on average, for 15 years previously. If we take credit for a big gift because we asked for it or cultivated that donor for months or years, we cause others to believe that the key to securing such gifts is to have a fundraiser ask for them, not commit themselves to building mutually productive and satisfying relationships over time.

If we choose to be agents of philanthropy, not just fundraisers, we take the least credit for the gifts we help secure, no matter how long or hard we work on them. We do so not to be falsely humble or self-sacrificing, but to educate our organization about the anatomy of private support. We do so to encourage others to continue to add value in the organization and to work with us to develop productive, multi-faceted relationships with those who have and might support us. We do so that we create a richer, deeper culture of accountability and gratitude so that our efforts might be more productive and our lives might be more full of joy and meaning.

Of Collections and Congregations

I am called in by organizations to answer what seems to be one question: “How can we raise a lot more money – and very soon.” It is, in fact, two different if not competing questions. The secret to raising a lot more money is to not let the need for the “soon” be the enemy of “a lot more.”

It is not what leaders of many organizations want to hear but the role of a consultant is to tell the truth as politely as possible. Rather than say, “that won’t work,” I look for a metaphor that will help a client understand why it won’t work and how it can be fixed. For instance, I might say, “If you want the collection basket to be fuller, you have to build a bigger, more fervent congregation.” The metaphor is an apt one for evaluating the health of any philanthropy-seeking organization.

In many cases, the cause of meager collections goes to the very core of the institution. They haven’t defined or articulated their deepest beliefs. They talk about what they do, but not why. They tell you about the functions they perform, not the higher purposes they serve. They fret about what needs to be done now, not the difference that can be made years and years from now. What kind of congregation can you expect to assemble and sustain, if you preach only about the management of the church, not the living of the faith?

In other cases, I find there is an inspiring faith but it is too rarely expressed or reduced to a form of conversational shorthand. The faith is alluded to as if everyone understands it and a word or two will suffice to remind us of its importance. Vibrant congregations remind themselves weekly of why they exist and why their faith matters.

In still other instances, I find a compelling calling to higher purposes and the faith convincingly articulated by the ministers but the congregation building has been left to those who pass the collection basket. Of the powers-that-be, I ask, “If you moved to a new town and were considering which church to attend, would you be most likely to join the one that sent the basket-passer to recruit you? Might not you be more inclined to join the one whose pastor first approached you or that you were introduced to by a neighbor? If you went to a church only to find the preacher asking for money and the basket passed incessantly, and each time shaken more assertively in front of you, would you be eager to go back? Would it matter if the basket passers were particularly nice looking, well-dressed, affable or well-spoken?” By this time, my points are taken or they’re looking for another consultant.

Whether you’re in the business of faith, education, science, technology, medicine or a host of other worthy causes, the success of your collections will be in direct proportion to your willingness to work assiduously at building a congregation of passion, purpose and determination to live out your faith in meaningful ways day after day, year after year.

Making This a Truly New Year

“To regret deeply,” said Thoreau, “is to live afresh.”

There is as much meaning and wisdom in those few words as there is energy compressed into the nucleus of an atom. One could commission books of essays explicating the fuller meaning of those seven words and happily engage our greatest minds in the task to great literary, spiritual and psychological effect. Doing justice to them in short form is impossible but, for philanthropy’s sake at the cusp of a new year, I will try.

Erring, to paraphrase a poet, is innately human. In fact, it is essential to learning. The value of experience is derived largely from what we learn from the accumulation of mistakes, punctuated with the occasional failure. It’s much like quantitative analysis, a field of study born in World War II when some brainy types sought ways to increase the survival rate of Allied bombers conducting raids over Germany. When the bombers returned, they analyzed where enemy flak had done the greatest damage so they could advise the aircraft manufacturers where to increase the armor plating. That was until some particularly bright soul said, “Wait a minute. It doesn’t matter how much damage was done; these bombers made it back. We won’t learn where the fatal weaknesses are unless or until we dredge the failures out of the sea.” We learn a lot more from the gaping holes of our failures than from the inevitable flak that we catch, and survive, in the day-to-day pursuit of our ambitions.

If we take honest stock of ourselves and regret those times we let others down, when we fell well short of what we could be, or when our petty emotions overruled what Lincoln called “the angels of our better nature,” we can begin to convert failure into wisdom and growth. The more deeply we regret our shortcomings, the firmer we are in our resolve to learn from them and to make amends.

According to custom, we reserve this time of year, when old earth comes into the last bend of another lap around the sun, to review and reflect. At the moment when one year turns into the next, we sing of “auld lang syne” or “times gone by,” then formulate our resolutions for the new year. In so doing, we try to ensure that the next revolution around the sun will have more meaning than the last.

The strongest leaders of philanthropy-seeking organizations will use this time to reflect on and regret those times they allowed themselves or their charges to lose sight of their founding mission and those who were to be served by it. They will ask themselves if they might have fallen prey to vanity and become caught up in the trappings of their office or the pursuit of status. They will reflect on where they might have missed the chance to make a bigger difference or failed to make a modest sacrifice that would have inched their cause closer to its ideals. Yes, in every human organization, the initial resolve to prove its societal worth and to justly earn the support of others can gradually erode into complacent expectation or even righteous entitlement. Few can see it happen. Fewer still can acknowledge when it has and begin to turn it around. It is easier to claim to be a victim of circumstance than to own up to a pride-induced fall.

The strongest of us will use this time to ask how much of the past year we lived for ourselves and how much for others. We will ask how often we used our God-given advantages, both personal and cultural, for our aggrandizement or to ease the load for the least of us. If we take the time to reflect, we will realize how much we have been given and regret that we did not do more. We will resolve to do more in the new year, to use our unique talents to make difference where a difference most needs to be made.

The tougher the questions we ask ourselves, the more honest our answers, the deeper our regret for our failings, the more firmly we will fix our resolve on making this a truly new year afresh with purpose, possibility and meaning.

Rethinking "Naming Opportunities"

What’s in a name? Well, when it comes to fundraising, it all depends on how it’s offered and to whom.

What doesn’t work well is the wholesale offering of “naming opportunities.” Distributing a list of buildings or programs that you are willing to name at a particular price is, quite simply, counter-philanthropic. In other words, the practice is not only inept and ineffective, it undercuts institutional dignity and, as a result, diminishes its perceived philanthropic stature. Let’s consider why this is so.

Throughout time, what do human societies assign the most value to? That which is most rare. The rarer the element, the commodity, the privilege, or the access to a social group, the more we prize it. I’m not arguing this is the way life should be, only the way it is. If institutions of higher learning seek to distinguish themselves through highly selective admissions, awarding precious slots to only the most accomplished and qualified students, why wouldn’t they apply the same logic to their naming policies?

If a thoughtfully chosen group of donors is carefully and quietly approached, and told, quite genuinely, the institution would prefer their names on important buildings and programs because they embody the institution’s highest values, a true compliment is paid in the process of soliciting gifts. And, when an institution announces and confers a donor’s name on one of its structures or programs, explaining how that donor is exemplary of what the institution stands for, the institution and donor are viewed with higher esteem. Yes, most people understand that money was a part of the consideration but the also know the institution didn’t just shop around the honor either.

Imagine, for instance, if you were trying to raise money for a new business school building. You could disseminate a list of naming opportunities to try to attract a set of donors who might like to see their names prominently displayed or you could ask which business leaders possess the personal and professional qualities you would most like to see manifest in your graduates. You could then approach these exemplary business leaders saying that you would like this new structure, and next phase of your business school programming, “to built on the example of the most ethical and effective business leaders in the community, like you.” You might do that by creating a “business hall of fame” in the atrium of the building with busts and personal histories of no more than five remarkable leaders (the fewer the honorees, the greater the distinction). You might also add the business school would also like to be the repository for the oral histories and professional papers of these five critical figures so that business school students of the future could continue to learn from their successes. You could approach the business leaders themselves, or the chairs of their boards, or their closest associates, or their widows and children with confidence and an easy conscience knowing you were trying to do the right thing in the right way. That’s the difference between expedient, short-term fundraising and practicing true philanthropy.

But even when taking this thoughtful and genuine approach, please remember that no one makes a considerable donation just to see his or her name on a structure or program. They want their name associated with something of lasting value. You must, therefore, make a compelling case for the how the requested funds are to used. You must make it clear that its not just about a building itself but about the people and programs it will empower, the higher level of service it will make possible, and the enduring impact these new initiatives will have. You can’t just say it; you, and the institution you represent, must be prepared and determined to live to your word.

No it’s not about “naming opportunities,” a phrase and concept that’s too cute and by half, but about what your name and reputation stand for in selecting the names of those you can stand by and with over a long time.