Art Millions

Wednesday, 24 June 2009 20:00

How to rise half a billion

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Museum of Fine Arts director Malcolm Rogers and deputy director Patricia Jacoby

It never feels like pressure. That would be so impolite. No, the Museum of Fine Arts reaches into your wallet by starting with something as inoffensive as a party invite. How about dinner at the director's house? Any interest in a sneak peek at the "El Greco" show? Why not, you think. Your friends will be there. The art is fabulous, plus you'll have a chance to get up close and personal with the paintings. Museum curators will offer expert tours. Before you can say "Monet," you're going for your checkbook.

Penny Vinik knows this drill. The wife of Jeff Vinik, who is known to many as a former manager of the Fidelity Magellan mutual fund, she has a background in finance, international studies, and art history but dedicated herself to raising their four kids. Even her volunteer work had centered on her children, particularly their schools. Then, in 2000, the MFA invited her to be an overseer, part of an advisory board. She didn't think twice. "I love the museum and adore art," says Vinik, 45. "As a stay-at-home mom, my day and time is devoted to the kids. It was wonderful to be able to say, 'Mommy has a meeting at the museum.' " These days, Vinik isn't just an art lover. She's been a trustee -- an even higher level of commitment -- since 2004 and is one of the key new donors who helped the MFA raise $504 million for a dramatic expansion and renovation that's aimed to be finished late in 2010. That sum is three times more than the previous highest total raised by a cultural institution in Boston.

Penny and Jeff Vinik are what the MFA calls "eminent benefactors," a designation describing those who have given between $5 million and $10 million over a lifetime. A gallery featuring American artists in the new American Wing will be named after the couple (a birthday present from Jeff to his wife). And to think that when the MFA launched its campaign, in 2001, the Viniks hadn't contributed a penny to the museum. "They didn't say, 'Will you be a trustee and here's the price tag,' " Penny Vinik says of her increased involvement with the MFA. "But when they asked, I understood there was a capital campaign going on and I'd be asked to contribute. I knew that was part of my responsibility."

Thanks to Vinik and more than 25,000 other donors -- some who gave a little as $100, others who provided millions -- the museum, despite a worsening economy, hit its target this year, on time. How those donors were found, and how they came to contribute, was the result of a carefully conceived and executed plan by the MFA that combined endless networking, skillful research, deft public relations, and genteel persuasion.

These days, with potential donors everywhere holding onto their dollars a little tighter, duplicating the MFA's accomplishment might seem near impossible. But as ambitious fund-raising campaigns continue at the Boston Symphony Orchestra (potentially $400 million) and Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum (at least $100 million), not to mention Boston College's recently announced goal of $1.5 billion, the MFA's success serves as an intriguing case study of how to build -- and expand -- a foundation of generosity.

"It really sets an example," says Paul Bessire, deputy director for external relations at the Institute of Contemporary Art, which raised $75 million to build its new home on the South Boston waterfront. Other campaigns, he says, "may take longer -- given what's happened in the economy -- but it can be done."

It all starts with keeping a secret handful of museum trustees and officials disseminate and guard all its information. By the time it reaches the media, that material has been shaped and crafted to create maximum buzz -- and minimal doubt. No fund-raising goal is spoken of unless it can clearly be met.

"People forget how important psychology is in anything involving life, but money, in particular," says Mark Volpe, managing director of the Boston Symphony Orchestra. "Hypothetically, if they had announced [the goal was] $425 million and they reached 475, it's still a huge success. If they announced 500 but raised 475, then they hadn't quite hit their goal."

To the public, the MFA's campaign began in 2004, when museum leaders announced the drive to raise $425 million. In truth, the campaign kicked off three years earlier, when the MFA received the results of a study it had commissioned in 2000. That 36-page document, opened recently to me by deputy director Patricia Jacoby, gave Jacoby a chance to ask the biggest potential givers whether they might contribute without putting these wealthy supporters on the spot. Forty-two people -- board members, influential staff members -- were interviewed under the cloak of anonymity.

The comments revealed considerable excitement about the idea of expanding the MFA. Interviewees suggested that board members (who had been criticized as stingy in the past) would expect to give money and time. They talked of the need to expand the board's reach by bringing in fresh blood. Then they were asked, flat out, whether the MFA could raise $500 million to $600 million.

At the time, it was a staggering sum, four times what the museum had raised in its last campaign, which ended in 1998. The previous high for a Boston cultural institution was the $150 million drive completed in 2001 by the BSO. No matter. Sixty-six percent of the respondents said "yes, but it's a real stretch." Twenty-four percent said "not sure -- but maybe." Only 10 percent of those interviewed said "probably not."

"This is what gave us the confidence that we could do the campaign," Jacoby says, "and we could then build the blueprint from that." Looking at the report, it can be easy to forget how far the museum has come in just a few years. In the 1990s, the cash-strapped MFA had cut staff and shut down its Huntington Avenue entrance. In an infamous 1992 meeting, overseer John Axelrod called out the trustees. "I have no confidence in the board, because they have been fiddling while the museum has been burning," he said.

Two years later, Malcolm Rogers took over as director. A British expert in portraiture, he arrived with a chip on his shoulder, having been passed over for the top job at London's National Portrait Galley, where he had served as deputy director. Willing to take chances, he made the MFA the first major museum to host an exhibit featuring celebrity photographer Herb Ritts; reorganized the museum by casting out a pair of longstanding curators; and, perhaps less sexily, balanced the budget. Suddenly, former supporters who had either left the museum (William Koch) or been frustrated with the MFA's approach (Axelrod) were back in the fold.

"In my eyes, he can do no wrong," trustee Frederic A. Sharf says. "From the beginning, I fell in love with his vision. . . . He's a genius."

As Rogers charmed the board, the Internet and real estate booms took hold. "A staggering amount of wealth was created in this community," says Paul Grogan, president and CEO of the Boston Foundation, a leading funder of nonprofit organizations in the state. "Then you had this reach and ambition by one of our premier institutions. That was a very powerful combination."

To tap into the wealth, the MFA expanded its research department, which combed property records and searched for candidates online to create a database of potential affluent givers. The museum also used traditional methods, with parties, dinners, and visits to potential donors all over the country. Some were wealthy philanthropists known for collecting art. Some were onetime Bostonians who had moved away but retained some connection to the area. Others were simply friends of trustees.

With names in hand, the MFA's fund-raising machine went to work. The soft sell, as it can best be described, is driven by Jacoby's understated approach. Get to the potential giver and make it clear how much you appreciate his or her passion for the museum or for art. But never make the pressure uncomfortable. The wealthy know what they can give and what they want to give. They don't decide to change their priorities when you ratchet up the nag-o-meter.

The strategy matches her personal style. Jacoby, 65, has never been a yeller, not at her staff, not at her children growing up. And she's never been one for flashy jewelry or a head-turning wardrobe, opting instead for classic, sophisticated, and functional. "I can go from 6 a.m. until 10 o'clock at night and always feel I look decent," she says.

She would need to be comfortable. Over the course of the campaign, Jacoby often found herself on the road, flying to Palm Beach and San Francisco, New York and Nantucket. And staying home could prove just as exhausting. On Sunday nights, she would struggle to sleep, her mind turning over the endless list of tasks planned for the week. She usually was the first to arrive in the MFA's offices, turning on the teapot and waiting for a 7 a.m. call from Sharf. If she wasn't at her desk when he phoned, Sharf would call back at 7:15. "You're late," he'd say with a laugh.

Jacoby took a methodical approach to the campaign. Instead of getting overwhelmed -- we have to raise a half billion dollars! -- she split the fund-raising into digestible goals. With the initial report in hand, she began by noting the roughly $8 million the MFA routinely raised annually. Calculated over seven years, that $55 million could be applied to the overall goal. Next, Jacoby launched a "quiet" phase, a part of the campaign that would not include any public pronouncements about the effort. One of the rules of fund-raising is never announce publicly until you already have a percentage of the goal in hand. This first wave of donors would be individuals and groups who were expected to start the campaign with a splash.

During this phase, the museum raised a cool $245 million, including 51 pledges of $1 million or more from MFA trustees, overseers, and other contributors, as well as corporations and foundations. That might sound like a lot of money, but the museum knew, from the initial report, that this first chunk of fund-raising would be relatively easy.

By the time the MFA announced the campaign publicly in September 2004, it was well on its way to its target. Even so, Jacoby still told the public the goal was $425 million. There was nothing dishonest about the couching, she says today. The museum simply had to be conservative. In 2005, it would announce the revised goal of $500 million.

Each summer, Jacoby and a half-dozen staffers went to the Nelson, New Hampshire, farm of John Brown, the head of the consulting company that produced the initial report. There, they'd come up with the road map for the year ahead, specifically the list of people to hit up. They called it a "wealth screening."

Some of these names came from other donors who had been asked about potential targets they knew, either as neighbors or work colleagues. Some names came from the MFA's research department. The lists yielded results. In the final year of the MFA's campaign, for example, the staff left Brown's farm with 380 prospects. Of those, 169 gave, 90 didn't, and 121 either couldn't be reached or offered to consider a later request. The rejections, Jacoby could deal with. Her worry, as the campaign began to roll, was the plateau the MFA had reached in 2003 after the initial donor excitement of the first "quiet" phase. She needed to jump-start the campaign to make sure it didn't grow stale.

ome people play poker. Others, bridge. The rich like to play a game called "Cornerstone Challenge": A party pledges an amount contingent on the MFA raising a matching amount. After a group of patrons agreed to give $70 million, the museum had six months to match that. It did, and suddenly its campaign had jumped $140 million.

In these circles, setting an example for other givers is ingrained in the culture. Axelrod, the overseer, not only donated more than $1 million in cash to the campaign, he has given about 700 pieces of his own art collection to the MFA over the years. To help fill gaps in the MFA's new American Wing, part of the expansion effort, he essentially told museum curator Elliot Bostwick Davis to take anything in his house that wasn't European.

"If you're not good enough to give to the museum," Axelrod says, "how can you ask other people?"

Fred Sharf could have become a college professor. He graduated from Harvard with a master's in American history and has written essays and books about art -- he loves everything from oil paintings to architectural drawings to models of automobiles. Now retired and living in Chestnut Hill, Sharf has given millions of dollars to the MFA, and his donations have been crucial -- the MFA's new visitor center, which opened this summer, was named after the collector and his wife, Jean. But he also takes pride in the smaller contributions.

Last year, Sharf attended a meeting in the MFA's conference room. He was disgusted by the run-down furniture. "This is a disgrace," he said. "We should do something." Just like that, he gave $25,000 to have the space redone.

"The big million-dollar gifts are what get all the attention," he says. "And I've been there, done that. But on a day-to-day basis, there's a lot you can do to add value to the museum."

Like many other donors, Sharf has also helped the museum with his influence and outreach. He has hosted dinners at his house. He went with other trustees to visit Koch, the eccentric art collector who had lost interest in the MFA during the '90s but would be brought back into the fold by Rogers -- and have his sailboats planted on the museum's front lawn as part of an exhibit.

But, like Jacoby, Sharf does not believe in the hard sell. "Any time you have to sell hard, you're not going to win," he says.

Earlier this year, victory in the campaign was within sight, but with the summer deadline approaching, Jacoby still found herself looking for the final millions. And coming up with candidates wasn't easy. Even the Viniks, who had given more than $5 million, had reached their limit. "I said, 'I'm going to save my firepower,' " Penny Vinik told Jacoby, adding that she had interest in a future project to renovate a nearby MFA-owned building, the Forsythe Institute.

Jacoby says she always believed she would meet the goal on time. But back then, when people asked her what would happen if she didn't, she says told them the museum would extend the campaign, which would have been a symbolic failure. It never came to that. In late June, just one week before the deadline, an anonymous donor agreed to give $10 million, putting the MFA over the top.

Looking back, Jacoby remembers a huge sense of relief washing over. She walked down to the director's office to tell Rogers. She called a trio of trustees who had helped lead the fund-raising. But there were no hugs, no bottles of champagne. When she was done telling her boss, Jacoby headed to her office. She went back to work.

A few weeks later, Sharf received an e-mail from deputy director Katie Getchell. The MFA had plans for National Breast Care Awareness Month. The museum would be bathed in a pink light, with model Elizabeth Hurley coming to Boston to flick the switch. Could Sharf help by picking up half of the $10,000 cost? Certainly, he wrote back.

After all, there is always another campaign.

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