Dear Foundation Program Officer:
Greetings from the New Hampshire hinterlands. Several years ago we met to discuss my former employer's proposal to your foundation. Despite the time that's passed, I remember our conversation clearly. How could I forget?
If you recall, my university sought money to develop a particular aspect of its curriculum. As the institution's corporate and foundation-relations officer, I was in town to "pitch" our idea. You were a receptive audience -- at least initially.
As I entered your well-appointed office and scrunched into your overstuffed leather chair, I glanced toward your faux fireplace and thought, "What a cozy space." I admit I was a bit nervous, as I normally am when confronting major foundation officials. I'm sure you realize that you wield all the power in such relationships; we all know it's much easier to give money away than it is to raise it.
Anyway, I began discussing my university's plans, how novel our approach was, how foundation dollars would provide the critical difference and impetus to revitalize our curriculum. My thoughts flowed freely. I was on a roll.
A few minutes in, though, you interrupted, jabbing me with an evidently calculated question -- rhetorical, no doubt.
"Are you a faculty member?" you asked.
"Well ... no."
"Then what gives you the right to speak for the faculty?"
Suddenly I was Dustin Hoffman, trembling, staring into Laurence Olivier's steely eyes.
What could I say? The best retort I could muster was that, as a doctoral student, I would -- in theory, anyway -- be a faculty member someday. I think I also muttered something about having been a student and therefore knowing what faculty members do.
You smiled and continued: How could I possibly appreciate what it's like to bear the responsibility of teaching students, of forming lesson plans, of shaping minds and passing judgment on academic performance? What did I know about developing curricula based on years of classroom experience and learning what does and doesn't work? Why should the faculty at my institution entrust me with this reconnaissance mission on their behalf?
I must say, you certainly did wonders for my self-confidence.
After slinking away with whatever shred of ego remained, I began to think you were onto something. Would my perspective change were I to land in a college classroom? Would I better understand faculty challenges and travails? Would I better represent them and their interests to the likes of you?
I'm pleased to report I finally made that leap. In addition to my work as a fund raiser, I teach writing as an adjunct faculty member. The experience has proven invaluable.
I've learned, for example, that teaching and fund raising are similar in several respects. They both involve good communication skills, clarity of thought and presentation, thinking on your feet, loads of preparation, and the ability to listen, to interpret, and to ask good questions.
Yet they have their differences. When teaching, I'm the expert -- I'm not representing someone else's knowledge, another faculty member's expertise. And teaching is infinitely more subtle. Fund raising is, at base, a transaction: Donors approve of my institution's ideas and plans, and they write a check or authorize a grant. Or they don't. One way or another, there's a clear outcome. The results of teaching are less obvious, as evidenced by students' often quizzical papers and redundant questions.
All that said, I do not pretend to be an expert on faculty life. I teach one course a semester on one subject. I don't participate on faculty committees, don't attend faculty senate discussions, and don't worry about journal submissions, conference talks, and the steady march toward tenure. I'm a marginal member of the faculty, and that's OK. Fund raising is still job one.
But I'm so much more in tune with what faculty members do. I now comprehend what you were trying to convey. Teaching is a far greater responsibility than I'd imagined, and so much more work. Perhaps your admonition was the result of having grown tired of development officers visiting you to discuss academic programs of which they had only superficial knowledge. As they say, a little of that can be a dangerous thing.
I do, however, take some umbrage at your remarks. I think perhaps you should give fund raisers more credit. We do not, after all, pretend to be proficient in the many academic fields we represent; we instead are ambassadors for professors and students and fellow administrators. We do not claim to comprehend entirely what faculty members do, but we can promote their work at a basic level. We simply advocate for programs and projects, scholarships and research, buildings and technology. And we gladly step aside whenever possible and let the experts speak for themselves. So kindly cut us some slack.
At the same time, here's what I'll tell my fellow fund raisers: If you can, try your hand at teaching. Teach at your institution or a neighboring one, or in adult- and continuing-education programs. The subject matter doesn't have to relate to your career -- it can be an avocation or a hobby you've mastered. Sample the art of imparting knowledge and learn what it's like to take intellectual leadership of a group. You'll gain a deeper appreciation for the sine qua non of the academic enterprise and a better perspective on the people and institutions you represent.
As development professionals, we've progressed from being knowledge consumers (as students) to knowledge advocates. Teaching makes us knowledge providers. Of course, a relatively small percentage of faculty members -- primarily at research universities -- are knowledge creators. Most of us will never fall into that category, at least in this strictest sense.
Let me conclude, Mr. Program Officer, by pointing out two ironies. First, despite your apparent misgivings, we did receive the grant. And second, I later learned that you've never been a faculty member. There you were shelling out money for curriculum development and you had never taught a single course. Gee, I wish I'd known that at the time. Funny thing, those double standards.
But I do thank you for your unsolicited remonstrance. I'm not sure you meant well, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. In retrospect, I realize you're right -- teaching is a wonderful, elucidating experience. I certainly hope more of my development colleagues attempt it. You should try it yourself sometime.
Yours in gratitude ...
