People often ask me, I suppose just to make conversation and appear curious, if fund raising has a "busy season." The question implies there are cycles in the development calendar, with some "seasons" involving heightened activity and others offering rest, relaxation, and spa treatments.
The answer, of course, is yes. We do have our busy seasons, at least in my experience. Two, to be exact. One is December, when folks scurry to make year-end gifts in order to realize tax benefits the following April. Christmas has concluded, and the credit-card bills haven't yet come home to roost. I call that sudden realization of tax strategy "emergency philanthropy."
Our second busy time occurs at the end of the fiscal year. At most colleges, that is June 30. I don't know exactly why the higher-ed gods chose that date when drawing up the master plan, but someone got the bright idea that it made eminent sense to kick off fiscal festivities on July 1, and it stuck. So June 30 signifies our year end. Naturally, that confuses folks whose calendars conclude with December. I can instantly recognize the quizzical look when I remind someone in September that he's yet to make a gift "this year," even though he wrote his last check in April.
Come May, my fund-raising staff kicks into overdrive with an 11th-hour direct-mail and phone blitz. I call board members who haven't given since July and encourage them to accommodate our fiscal time frame instead of theirs. Most comply. By the time late June rolls around, we get rather frantic.
A few alumni and friends have grown accustomed to our June stampede and routinely drop in on the 30th or thereabouts. Others ask us to drive across town and pick up checks or to rendezvous in some convenient location. I'm always happy to oblige, even when the donation will hardly cover lunch, let alone a hot-oil pedicure.
That task became infinitely more complex this year because the city fathers decided that June 29, the last business day of the month, was the perfect date to hold the annual bike race through the campus. The event actually spanned the entire region, but this particular leg brought racers right by our front door. Most of the streets around the campus were closed, and parking was essentially impossible. We were on our last fund-raising lap, with the finish line clearly in view, and we couldn't even cross the street for fear of getting flattened by a blur of spandex.
Not that it mattered much, to be candid. We had already surpassed our annual goal by a considerable margin. With that measure of comfort firmly established, we thought we would sit on our porch, relive scenes from Breaking Away, and wait for the mail to come in.
It did -- right on time, somehow -- and with it came a five-figure check from an unknown source. Manna from heaven, we thought. Happens every so often. Somebody dies and the estate settles just before your fiscal deadline. Great good fortune. We didn't think much of it until our database manager announced we were three grand shy of a million dollars. Technically, we were $3,059 shy.
All that stood between a college raising a record sum in cash gifts was about $3,000.
Now I fully understand that $1-million doesn't sound like a princely sum to many of my development colleagues around the country. I can hear some of them snickering and mumbling that they raise that much before finishing their morning coffee. Bully. But for us, it's a bunch of cash. And I mean cash. We had raised a good bit more in pledges, but our cash line -- essentially our unrestricted annual fund -- stood at $996,941.
We were tantalizingly close to a magic threshold, one we had not eclipsed before. What a great story to tell our campus community, our boards, and our volunteers. Problem was, we needed to get $3,059, and we had about two hours to get it.
Reality check, first. Many readers are thinking, "Well, just keep the books open another few days, pal, and close when you get to a million." Good thinking. Except that we toe the line on this fiscal-year business, so anything booked beyond 5 p.m. on June 30 gives us a head start on next year.
Two hours left and three grand short. "Tell you what," my database manager said. "I'll give you the $59 if you get us the three grand."
Sounded like a challenge.
Off I went to my office, board lists in hand, intending to call those who hadn't given. Nice strategy but for two problems. One, most had given, so the list was short. Two, it's rather problematic to ask for a gift and give the donor two hours to deliver. Basically, I would have to request a credit-card number; not everyone is comfortable donating money that way. Quash that idea. So now what?
Well, what about people across the campus? Surely they would rise to the occasion! Who among the senior staff hadn't given during the year? I imagined they would want their names in the annual report, lest they be conspicuous by their absence.
My first stop netted me $1,500, so I was halfway home. I skipped back to my office, dodging the whizzing Tour de Fitchburg riders as I went, and announced my achievement. My staff whooped it up while I ran back out to solicit my next target. Another $250. More offices, more money -- $100 here, $50 there, a few $25 gifts tossed in. With each handful, I would race back so we could be certain to process the gifts in time, all along maneuvering through bikers like a human Frogger.
Half an hour left, and we were $250 short. Surely we couldn't come that close and not make it.
"We'll all pitch in," said a development colleague. "We just have to reach a million."
"Let me give it a final shot," I countered.
One more name.
"Has she given this year?" I asked our data diva.
"Nope."
"Last year?"
"Yup."
"How much?"
"Two fifty."
I was off.
Not to be pushy or anything, I told my co-worker, but if you want to participate in this year's annual fund, you have about 20 minutes to do so. Oh, and by the way, it would be just darned fantastic if you could match last year's gift. You know, right now.
She handed me a check for $250. Mission accomplished. True to her word, our data diva gave us the remaining $59, then ran the new report. One million smackeroos. On the nose.
We wanted to toast our victory with champagne, but a few hundred cycling dervishes stood between us and the nearest packie. We settled for ice cream, which was being served on the quad in a year-end celebration. Fitting, because my staff and I had about a million reasons to celebrate.
