As my college prepares to conduct its largest fund-raising campaign ever, we continue to debate how much money to spend on campaign-related administrative expenses.
Our consultants told us we can expect to allocate 8 percent to 10 percent of our campaign goal, so that's a seven-figure dilemma. In last month's column, I focused on the question of "How much do we spend on consultants?" and concluded, after a few seconds of cerebral gymnastics, that the simple answer is "Not as much as they want us to."
I would rather spend some bucks on building and training our in-house staff. We are already short one professional in alumni relations, and are busy recruiting someone to fill that slot. I recommended to my president that we hire one additional person, at least for now, to help us with the campaign. He agreed. Now I just have to figure out what that person will do.
That's the $64,000 (including benefits) question. What do we need that we don't have? My initial response is "a lot," given that we are, like many other state colleges, short staffed even when fully staffed.
Yet we have to be choosy. We have to -- buzzword alert! -- prioritize. I remember browsing the newsstand's rack of comic books as a kid, sporting the lone quarter my mother allowed me to spend on them. So many choices, so few resources. It's all about opportunity cost. Thirty years later I'm making the same decision; resources are more plentiful, but I'm still looking for a superhero.
My colleagues and I have bounced around various options ranging from extra support staff to director-level folks. Our budget won't accommodate the latter and we don't need more clerical help, so we're really talking about a mid-level administrator with some fund-raising duties. Sort of a me lite.
The question of what we need, though, can be phrased in two ways. First, what does the organization need to succeed? Alternately, what do we need to complement our array of talent? In other words, do we draw an organizational chart and find suitable people to fill prescribed positions, or do we craft positions based on the talent already in place?
Which is the better strategy?
I'll cite an example to illustrate. Let's say we're discussing the prospect of hiring a development writer. We'll eventually want someone in this office to generate promotional materials, grant proposals, case statements, newsletters and similar items. As we approach the campaign's public phase (a couple of years away, mind you), it will become as much a marketing effort as a fund-raising one. Somebody has to churn out copy regularly.
Well, it turns out we already have such a person on staff. Me. I've done it for years and would be clam-happy doing it here. Yet two red flags pop up at the mere thought of such folly. One flag says my job involves much more than copywriting. I need to be on the road visiting donors and around campus meeting with faculty members to determine fund-raising priorities. I could write copy as well, but I would have to work the third shift.
The second flag nixes the idea because the next person in my slot may not be able to, or want to, write copy. I know the last guy in this job couldn't. If the office needs copywriting and I'm not the one to do it, then we should think about hiring someone for that task. Or perhaps outsourcing it to freelancers. Because I can't imagine recruiting the next chief development officer and telling candidates they have to write brochures.
Similarly, my second in command has demonstrated considerable skills in some areas, and has admitted shortcomings in others. Were we to hire an assistant director under him, would we search for someone whose talents offset his? Of course not. Much as he thinks I'm the cat's pajamas, he might just pack his bags some day. I would be left with a yin and no yang.
And that's the essential problem with designing jobs around existing talent. It's a short-term solution. People have been known, from time to time, to actually leave jobs, especially in the fund-raising business. Good luck finding suitable replacements when office duties are gerrymandered to fit today's talent pool. Crafting new job descriptions whenever there's turnover is a recipe for madness.
I know because I worked for an institution that was forever reshuffling the deck, forever moving pawns around the board, forever reinventing employees, recasting responsibilities and posting job ads that read like green-card smoke screens. As a result, morale crumbled and people deserted, perpetuating the cycle. What's more, the place gained a reputation in advancement circles as rather wacky and not exactly the most desirable shore upon which to dock your ship. I set sail when my job changed for the third time in as many years.
That's why I'm choosing organizational structure over current casting, titles over talents -- so the inevitable turnover won't create havoc for future souls.
How do we determine what's needed? Simple. Read job descriptions and figure out what's missing. Read them for what they are, not for what they have become under the incumbents. If the organization needs someone to manage foundation relations and the corporate relations guy has been doing it because nature and bosses abhor vacuums and he's stepped in to fill the void, then it's probably time to hire a foundation-relations manager. If your utility infielder is also your backup catcher, you may want another backup catcher.
I go about this task fully aware that I'm trying to create and fill one measly position. Development offices around the country are busy staffing up to wage campaigns; one office is adding another 100 people to its roster. I can't imagine attempting such a feat. But if I did, I would approach it the same way -- hire based on needs, not people. Just do it 100 times over.
Beyond all that, I'm grappling with another decision: Do we make this new job permanent, or do we offer it as a term position with the same life expectancy as the campaign's? It's certainly a puzzling dilemma, so much so that I think -- teaser alert! -- I'll save it for another column. Meanwhile, I have a job description to write.
