December 3, 2007--The Reverend Ike School of Business
When I worked at NYU everything was for sale. True, at that time, the university was on the verge of bankruptcy and there was daily pressure to cut expenses and increase income. I thought I had joined an institution of higher learning but quickly found that the place was more like a business. And a failing one at that.
One of my first meetings was to meet with our school’s development person. I.e., the staffer who’s job it was to raise money and to engage deans, people like me, in the process.
He informed me that I was expected to host a series of fundraising breakfasts, already scheduled, for leaders in the New York real estate community. Guys (and they were all guys) such as Larry Silverstein and Leonard Stern and the Rudin brothers had agreed to attend these and they knew in advance that we would be hitting them up for money.
I was told that it was my job to sit at the head of the table, not say very much while the food was served so as not to interfere with their talking among themselves, gossiping and cutting their various deals; but when the dishes were being cleared I should stand up, tap my coffee spoon on a water glass, and say a few words about my school, how well it was doing (being sure not to talk about the deficits we were running), and how we needed their help to expand and enhance our offerings.
Then, I was to sit down and shut up. The chair of NYU’s Real Estate Institute, my co-host, would do the rest. He would say, I was told, “Leonard, we were all pleased to learn that Hartz did very well last year.” Everyone would applaud and Leonard would nod and smile. “Thus, how much can I count on you for this year?” Leonard would say, “Thank you Larry. It’s true and so I pledge $100,000.” My job was to jot this down on a pad and report the final tally to the development office after breakfast.
At the first breakfast things proceeded just as I had been briefed. That is, until it got to Gerry G ______ . Larry, as with the others, new all the details about how well Gerry had done the year before, including how much he had spent on the legendary bat mitzvah he threw for his daughter Sarah. So it was no surprise that he pledged $150,000 and said he would arrange for the money to be delivered to the campus that very afternoon. Next to the $150K I affixed an asterisk, indicating that the check was more than in the mail.
I, though, was not prepared for what happened next—Gerry turned to me, this was the first time anyone appeared to notice I was in the room, and asked, “And, Steve, what will I get for my money?” Flummoxed, I sputtered, “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. G _____ .” I was that innocent. “I mean, what will you name after me? The G _____ Study Hall? The G _____ Student Lounge? For my 150, I should at least get something.” I muttered, “I’ll see what’s possible and we’ll let you know.”
Back on campus my first stop was with my development person who gave me a mini-lesson on naming gifts—for the right amount of money, I was instructed, everything at the university can be named. Hadn’t I noticed that NYU’s school of the arts was called the Tisch School of the Arts?
So I was not surprised to read in the New York Times that anonymous gifts have more-or-less disappeared and if you go to a place like, say, the Metropolitan Opera, all seats in the orchestra are named after donors, as are the staircases and even the bathrooms. (Article linked below.)
A few years into my stint at NYU, a potential student showed up at our school accompanied by her mother who, we all noticed, was wearing a full-length sable fur oat. Parked just outside my window on Washington Square Park was a pink, yes pink Rolls Royce. Clearly this was the car that had transported daughter and mother to us.
They were here to talk about admissions. Since the university was still very much in the red, all I could think about was development—how much might we extract from them to have their daughter . . . ? I didn’t finish the thought because NYU, in spite of its financial situation, did not accept those kinds of donations with those kinds of stings attached.
So I had another thought—with the school of the arts named for the Tisches and the school of business for Leonard Stern, how about seeing if the Reverend Ike, that’s who it was, would make a naming gift to our school? No knowing, I speculated about how much it would cost him and wondered would we agree to name one of our schools after this, how shall I put it, unconventional minister?
Thus I asked someone high up in the president’s office. “If the Reverend Ike would agree to donate $50 million, what would the university do?”
After just a moment’s thought she said, “We’d take it.”
“And would we name my school after him?”
This was a bit more complicated and so she pondered it for a minute. “How much did you say?”
“Fifty million.”
Without hesitating she said, “No problem.”
One of my first meetings was to meet with our school’s development person. I.e., the staffer who’s job it was to raise money and to engage deans, people like me, in the process.
He informed me that I was expected to host a series of fundraising breakfasts, already scheduled, for leaders in the New York real estate community. Guys (and they were all guys) such as Larry Silverstein and Leonard Stern and the Rudin brothers had agreed to attend these and they knew in advance that we would be hitting them up for money.
I was told that it was my job to sit at the head of the table, not say very much while the food was served so as not to interfere with their talking among themselves, gossiping and cutting their various deals; but when the dishes were being cleared I should stand up, tap my coffee spoon on a water glass, and say a few words about my school, how well it was doing (being sure not to talk about the deficits we were running), and how we needed their help to expand and enhance our offerings.
Then, I was to sit down and shut up. The chair of NYU’s Real Estate Institute, my co-host, would do the rest. He would say, I was told, “Leonard, we were all pleased to learn that Hartz did very well last year.” Everyone would applaud and Leonard would nod and smile. “Thus, how much can I count on you for this year?” Leonard would say, “Thank you Larry. It’s true and so I pledge $100,000.” My job was to jot this down on a pad and report the final tally to the development office after breakfast.
At the first breakfast things proceeded just as I had been briefed. That is, until it got to Gerry G ______ . Larry, as with the others, new all the details about how well Gerry had done the year before, including how much he had spent on the legendary bat mitzvah he threw for his daughter Sarah. So it was no surprise that he pledged $150,000 and said he would arrange for the money to be delivered to the campus that very afternoon. Next to the $150K I affixed an asterisk, indicating that the check was more than in the mail.
I, though, was not prepared for what happened next—Gerry turned to me, this was the first time anyone appeared to notice I was in the room, and asked, “And, Steve, what will I get for my money?” Flummoxed, I sputtered, “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. G _____ .” I was that innocent. “I mean, what will you name after me? The G _____ Study Hall? The G _____ Student Lounge? For my 150, I should at least get something.” I muttered, “I’ll see what’s possible and we’ll let you know.”
Back on campus my first stop was with my development person who gave me a mini-lesson on naming gifts—for the right amount of money, I was instructed, everything at the university can be named. Hadn’t I noticed that NYU’s school of the arts was called the Tisch School of the Arts?
So I was not surprised to read in the New York Times that anonymous gifts have more-or-less disappeared and if you go to a place like, say, the Metropolitan Opera, all seats in the orchestra are named after donors, as are the staircases and even the bathrooms. (Article linked below.)
A few years into my stint at NYU, a potential student showed up at our school accompanied by her mother who, we all noticed, was wearing a full-length sable fur oat. Parked just outside my window on Washington Square Park was a pink, yes pink Rolls Royce. Clearly this was the car that had transported daughter and mother to us.
They were here to talk about admissions. Since the university was still very much in the red, all I could think about was development—how much might we extract from them to have their daughter . . . ? I didn’t finish the thought because NYU, in spite of its financial situation, did not accept those kinds of donations with those kinds of stings attached.
So I had another thought—with the school of the arts named for the Tisches and the school of business for Leonard Stern, how about seeing if the Reverend Ike, that’s who it was, would make a naming gift to our school? No knowing, I speculated about how much it would cost him and wondered would we agree to name one of our schools after this, how shall I put it, unconventional minister?
Thus I asked someone high up in the president’s office. “If the Reverend Ike would agree to donate $50 million, what would the university do?”
After just a moment’s thought she said, “We’d take it.”
“And would we name my school after him?”
This was a bit more complicated and so she pondered it for a minute. “How much did you say?”
“Fifty million.”
Without hesitating she said, “No problem.”
posted by Steven Zwerling at
10:36 AM
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