Want to clear a room faster than a skunk in a pup tent?
Just ask for money.
And fundraising isn’t the sexiest topic for a story, either.
But before you walk away, as I almost did, meet a man who has raised millions for nonprofits. He gets pissed at missed opportunities, calls philanthropy “a contact sport,” and sees “the ask” not as a burden, but an obligation, even a pastoral calling.
WM sat down with Wabash trustee and Johnson, Grossnickle, and Associates co-founder Ted Grossnickle ’73—counsel for the College’s $132.5 million Campaign for Leadership, co-chair of the Challenge of Excellence campaign that raised more than $68 million during the Great Recession—to find the “fun” in fundraising.
WM: Why are people so uncomfortable talking about giving money?
Grossnickle: First, I think it’s mysterious and something most people aren’t used to doing. I’ve noticed that people who give away money frequently are much more at ease with the topic.
I also think that, deep down, many people worry that the amount of money they can give is not going to be enough. Or it’s going to be smaller than what was requested.
So, how do you put people at ease?
We talk to people about their gift not so much in terms of its size or how they’re going to pay it, but rather what their gift will help to make happen. What will happen that, without that gift, would not?
When people realize what their gift in concert with others will cause to occur, then they can be caught up in the joy of giving.
A shift in thinking?
Something almost mystical happens when you become a donor. When you decide to make a gift to any cause, you’re deciding to invest in that place with some of your values.
You make a choice. You can decide, I’m just going to leave that asset or that money in an investment account or a bank account or in a checking account, or you can decide, I’ll bet if I took that $1,000 and I gave it to Wabash that they could do something even better with it and it’ll get a higher rate of return. It’ll never show up on my 401K, but it will probably pay a better dividend, a better return for me.
I think that’s magical.
I’ve never been a professor, but it has to be a little bit what professors feel like they’re doing. They’re pouring themselves out into these students. They’re making long-term investments. It’s never going to show up on an investment report.
When I first came to work at Wabash 18 years ago, I told an older faculty member that I worked in the Advancement Office, and he said, “Ah—the money-grubbers.”
And I’m sure he was glad to have someone do it for him. But I think that’s a cynical way of thinking.
During the 1990s and the Campaign for Leadership at Wabash, we made a very deliberate decision. Under President Andy Ford’s leadership we said, “We’re going to invest in this place, and we’re going to create a group of people in alumni development work, enough to go out and call on all kinds of people.”
So the school found ways to communicate with many more alums than it had in the 1970s and 80s.
At the same time, Dean for Advancement Paul Pribbenow said these conversations were not just the work of Advancement, but of all of us who believe in this place. Our common work.
Institutions are better—more vibrant, more alive—when they have these conversations underway with their alums. That causes faculty, staff, and students to be involved. You begin to have really rich, robust conversations about matters of importance to the institution.
And you’re reaching people where they live. The perspective donor is thinking about how to make a difference. An advancement officer is thinking about what’s going to cause that person to be a fully informed donor, to know what’s honestly going on at the place, and also thinking about how to get that individual engaged in the life of it.
Then you’re going to find all kinds of ways to get them involved in this place—many which have nothing to do with money—in a way that is as rewarding for them as it is for the College.
If some people want to call that “money-grubbing,” okay, but they’re not thinking very deeply about it.
The truth is, the more people you get involved in a rich, deep conversation, the more you’re doing the work of philanthropy. You know the literal meaning of the word?
Not really.
The love of humanity. The love of mankind. Schools that do philanthropy well—it’s not just the money that causes them to be better at educating. It’s not just the size of their endowment. To do philanthropy well, you also have to be an institution that knows how to have a good, authentic, and, at times, tough conversation.
Most grads in the 1970s weren’t leaving Wabash thinking, I want to be a fundraiser for non-profits. What drew you to the work?
There were a couple of things that were markers that make me realize that what I’m doing now is something I had an interest in then. I just didn’t know it.
One, I was a fraternity president. When you’re 19 and you’re supposed to provide leadership, you start thinking about the entire organism, the entire fraternity. It was an experience at Wabash that was astoundingly important to me.
Second, I turned in a paper on Achilles in
classics my junior year, and I got comments back on it from [Professor] John Fischer—comments like, “That’s a very good insight.” “That is an important point,” and “good for you for seeing that, Ted.”
Fischer was our faculty advisor at Lambda Chi—he knew me not only as a student, but as this feckless leader over there. His comments—well, they suggested to me, “Okay, I can at least hold my own.”
But you didn’t go into philanthropy or even
nonprofit work after you graduated.
I went off to Procter & Gamble and Company, but I came back to work at Wabash in admissions. Allen Anderson ’65 was director of development. I didn’t work in the development office, but I was intrigued by the way Wabash was able to elevate a discussion about itself through philanthropy.
That was the first time I saw that something that starts off purely as an idea—just a thought in somebody’s head—can turn into the most amazing things. Eli Lilly and folks at Wabash were saying, “Let’s think about a Lilly Scholars’ program,” and the impact that has had on the school for several generations has been stunning.
It was really fascinating to watch. Within a year or two at Wabash, I knew I wanted to go into advancement work.
What do you believe is your calling,
your vocation?
I think I’m a strategist with clients, with nonprofits.
And I am a passionate volunteer. I’m sure my colleagues at times have wondered if I am more volunteer than consulting practice colleague! But the causes that I’ve worked on—Wabash, the Center on Philanthropy, and Lambda Chi International Fraternity—I’ve found really fulfilling and rewarding. For me, vocation is what fulfills you, not just what causes the paycheck to happen.
And there’s something very pastoral about fundraising. Sometimes we end up talking with our clients about all kinds of things beyond fundraising.
As a consultant, I’m not walking around wearing robes and listening to everything people say. There are times we have to be very direct—authentic and affirming. You have to say, “Hey, sorry. I think you’re wrong, and here’s why.”
What’s not pastoral about that?
Many people think of pastoral as only gentle and affirming. If we’re doing it right, the essence of good consulting is being lovingly critical.