A few days ago I sat down at my office conference table to eat my usual quick lunch of yogurt and Grape Nuts. As I rifled through the mail I discovered a fund-raising newsletter offering advice on best practices. Casually flipping through it, I came across a Q&A that momentarily halted my crunching.
The question asked about advancement researchers -- analysts in the development office whose job it is to determine the relative wealth of potential donors -- and the role they should play in a visit to a major gift donor. Two people from the development field offered answers. One suggested that, during the visit, the researcher should attempt to build a relationship with the donor and not try to gather information. Researchers shouldn't say much, the respondent offered, but should instead simply observe and search for hints indicating wealth. The other response suggested that the researcher should take a more active stance, asking open-ended questions whose answers might reveal clues about the donor's giving capacity.
I blanched. Take a prospect researcher on a donor visit? Is that a good idea?
I began imagining how this scenario would play out. I picture calling Bill Fold, a six-figure prospect, telling him I'm in town visiting alumni and spreading news about the college's imminent plans. A faithful graduate, Bill agrees to meet me at his home. I mention I'll be bringing along a colleague.
We arrive after dinner and begin with introductions. My colleague, Eva Dents, says she works in "advancement services." Puzzled, Bill inquires further about her specific role. She proceeds to explain that her job is to uncover asset information and determine an individual's capacity for philanthropic giving. "Uh-huh," Bill replies, eyebrow raised, suddenly realizing he's being evaluated. Of course, following the advice of the first Q&A suggestion, Eva adds, "Oh, but don't mind me. Just carry on with Mark. You won't even know I'm here."
As Bill and I talk, he looks over at Eva now and then to see if she's scribbling notes. She's not, but she's carefully canvassing the joint, soaking in all the indications of wealth she can find. Their eyes meet and Eva smiles as if to say, "Go on ... I'm just listening." I tell him about our proposed campaign, how enrollment has soared, what new buildings are planned. I continue to blab; he remains reticent while stealing furtive glances at Eva, our resident fly on the wall.
If Eva decides instead to chime in, she might ask leading questions. But Bill is careful about what he divulges. When she probes him about work, he says things are fine. "How about that market?" she says. "Sure is unpredictable." He nods, refusing to reveal how his portfolio is doing.
What's wrong with this picture? Obviously, Bill is uncomfortable about Eva's presence and probably wonders why she's there. To him, she's a spy on a reconnaissance trip, a stealthy snoop sent to search for monetary clues. But, you may ask, wouldn't Bill suspect that I, as a fund raiser, was also sizing up his gift potential? Perhaps, although the fundamental distinction between Eva's mission and mine causes donors to view us differently.
That distinction involves determining capacity to give versus determining inclination to give. Eva's job is to assess Bill's financial ability. She'll make educated assumptions about Bill's assets -- income, stock holdings, real estate and other purchases -- and examine whatever philanthropic history he might have with our college or other nonprofit institutions. Once she provides me Bill's profile, it's up to me to cultivate a relationship and, over time, discover the extent to which Bill might support our institution, and for what purpose. Put another way, Bill might be financially able to give $500,000, but he might be willing to give us only $250,000. That's the essential difference between capacity and inclination.
Why, then, might Bill react differently to Eva than to me? Because people don't want to discuss how much they have; they want to discuss how much they'll give.
Many donors I've known are leery about the extent to which we'll dig for information. Trustees tell me they're suspicious of what transpires in the research room. What kinds of sources do we use? Is everything a matter of public record? Why do we try to learn every last detail about someone's personal business? Some have asked to read profiles of themselves to see how close our estimates really are, and have remarked that our methods and the kinds of information we present border on the unethical. I tend to disagree, but I can't argue with their perceptions. At the same time, I've encountered much less resistance during conversations about philanthropic predilections. So with me, Bill thinks, "He's trying to figure out if, and how much, I'll give," but with Eva, he thinks, "She's trying to figure out what I'm worth."
This fundamental difference -- our implicit purposes -- suggests why I'd be disinclined to invite Eva to a donor meeting. At that point, what can Eva accomplish that I can't? Assuming we have good research, the rest is up to me. It's my job to build a relationship on a bedrock of trust and persuade a prospect to invest in us. I can ask key questions, take mental notes, and verify Eva's estimates. If I know roughly what Bill is worth, I don't have to steer the discussion in that direction. Instead, I'll focus on how he might wish to support our college. Eva doesn't need to be in the room during our conversation. I'll fill her in when I get back to the office.
To be sure, certain occasions may warrant a researcher's presence. For example, during rating and screening sessions, when groups of people gather to discuss possible prospects, a researcher can help to collect relevant information. Likewise, Eva might be welcome at a special event, where she might pick up useful tidbits in a non-threatening way.
After finishing lunch, I asked my research colleague about my assessment. She agreed, as had her former boss, a development vice president. She also mentioned that this issue -- whether an advancement researcher should visit a donor -- is not commonly discussed at conferences or in professional publications; to wit, I noted no trace of this issue on the Web site of the Association of Professional Researchers for Advancement.
We speculated that researchers who favor attending donor meetings are those who view their job as a stepping stone to front-line fund raising. They figure they'll get to know prospects, the art of the cultivation dance, the language of moves management. Then they'll slide into a major-gifts position.
And who could blame them? As development officers, they could certainly make more money. Salaries for researchers rank toward the bottom of the advancement ladder, according to a 2002 study by the Council for Advancement and Support of Education and a 2001 APRA report, both of which indicated that the majority of researchers earned $25,000 to $45,000. Gender might account for the low pay: While the CASE study discovered that "women in advancement are more likely than men to earn low salaries and less likely to earn high salaries," the APRA survey revealed that 84 percent of advancement researchers are women. By contrast, pay for major-gifts officers, depending on the institution, can easily surpass $50,000 and possibly reach six figures.
My colleague tends to believe that those who support the idea of researchers' sitting in on donor visits don't represent the majority opinion. Research has become a highly specialized field and has gained acceptance as a bona fide career path. Many people in this profession, she's discovered, enjoy development work but prefer not to become directly involved with fund raising. They'd rather stay behind the scenes in a supporting role.
So let's appreciate researchers for playing a critical part in the development drama. Yet we shouldn't blur the lines and allow them to morph into quasi fund raisers. A donor might know we're calculating his or her net worth, but let's not make it so obvious.
