The Fund Raiser

One Small Step

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By Mark J. Drozdowski

I am six months into my new job as fund-raising chief at a state college. You may recall that our hero left a private liberal-arts college in New Hampshire last summer to seek fame and fortune back in Massachusetts, from whence he came.

Differences between the two colleges, I've discovered, abound. In the new job, I encounter fewer claims of "we don't have money for that." We're not exactly flush with cash, but for some development activities we have more money than we can spend in a given year. We also enjoy a decent measure of state aid to help us support students, advance programs, and build buildings. We have that cushion so envied by small, underendowed private colleges.

Unfortunately, everything moves more slowly here, largely because each fiscal maneuver requires us to wade through five feet of red tape. It took me three weeks to get a stapler. But we're gradually untangling ourselves and trimming some of our bureaucratic trappings.

At the same time, some aspects of my former situation seem to have carried over. There we had about 30,000 addressable alumni, as we do here. We were raising between $500,000 and $1-million a year from private donors, as we are here.

And when I left the private college, we were in the throes of planning a capital campaign with a goal of between $10-million and $20-million. At the public college, I've spent the last six months putting together plans for a campaign set to begin later this year. Soon we'll conduct our feasibility study, which will test a goal of somewhere in the range of -- any guesses? -- $10-million to $20-million.

For my current institution as well as my last one, that's a lot of money. Raising it requires our donors to stretch well beyond what they've normally given. It also demands that we uncover dozens of new major-gift prospects. The campaign will be ambitious, and, to be honest, we're a bit anxious about our chances for success.

Still, $20-million isn't a lot of money. It certainly seems like a paltry sum compared to the billions that many institutions are raising. My colleagues and I don't say we're comparing apples to oranges with respect to those universities; we talk about comparing apples to zebras. Recently a candidate for a job opening in my office told us that her current college employs roughly 140 advancement professionals, including 50 fund raisers. Collectively they're trying to complete a $1.5-billion campaign.

Fifty fund raisers? We have two. At least for now. Like I said, apples and zebras.

So we can forget about billions, unless we get really lucky. We are, like many public colleges, late to the fund-raising game. We've cultivated donors, but mostly for blood drives. Fewer than 10 percent of our alumni give annually, and we don't have legions of prospects in the six-figure pipeline. Traditionally we've graduated teachers and nurses, few of whom have become wealthy, unless they married up.

Fortunately we have a handful of generous graduates and friends who regularly support us, but we won't reach our goal counting only their contributions. We have to mine deeper and canvass the country looking for hidden wealth among scattered alumni. You know who you are, and you've been forewarned.

Yet beyond the challenge of raising the money, we face the formidable task of making our modest campaign seem meaningful to people across the campus, to visitors, and to our many constituencies around the region. A campaign of $10-million to $20-million isn't enough to build spectacular facilities, satisfy our technology needs, or raise the academic profile of our departments. It's not enough to elevate our endowment to a respectable level, nor is it enough to propel us into a higher tier in the U.S. News & World Report rankings.

So, why do it?

Silly question. We'll do it for two reasons. First, we'll be able to make targeted, strategic investments that will pay manifold dividends. We won't erect showcase buildings with what we raise, but we can beautify the campus, renovate commons spaces, and refurbish a lecture hall or two. We won't endow multiple professorships, but we will invest in a few signature academic programs, and create a couple of interdisciplinary centers that can draw on the talents and interests of various faculty members. We won't buy everyone a new computer, but we'll outfit a few "smart" classrooms and purchase technology, such as an e-portfolio system, that all professors and students can use. We won't solve all of our problems, but we'll solve some, and those we solve will, we hope, affect everyone in some small way.

People coming to the campus -- prospective students and their parents, returning alumni, potential faculty and staff members, trustees, visiting royal- -- I mean, legislators -- will see hints of progress at every turn. The local paper will run stories about people giving to the college and the resulting improvements. Guidance counselors will tell kids that this place is making strides, however incremental, and that we're worth a closer look. Enrollment might rise, and more students might stay.

Reason number two, however, trumps all of those benefits: We need to pursue the campaign so that our alumni and friends will fully understand the potential of philanthropy. They'll see that others do give to our college, even though we're public and we receive taxpayer dollars. They'll see what we mean by the corny phrase "measure of excellence." We can sustain what we're doing with state money, but we can't elevate our profile absent an infusion of private support. As a result of the campaign, more people will give to us, at higher levels, and they'll continue to give once they realize all the good we can do with their money.

In some sense, this campaign is a campaign for the next campaign. We'll plant the seeds of philanthropy, and instill habits of giving among alumni and friends.

We hope people eventually won't snicker at the thought of giving us six-figure gifts or putting us in their wills. We'll show city fathers that although we're first and foremost a regional engine of economic progress, we can and do draw financial support from graduates who live in faraway places and don't care a whit about the welfare of north-central Massachusetts. They care about the health of their alma mater and want to ensure that future generations have the same opportunities they did. We'll find more of them, and when those folks become fully engaged and grow accustomed to giving, they'll react to our requests with "thanks for reminding me" instead of "go stomp in a puddle."

So we'll consider this campaign a $10-million to $20-million down payment on a future undertaking five times larger. We'll take one small step before making a giant leap. After all, nothing breeds success like success.