A Healthy Dose of Creativity

Under Oregon fund raiser’s watch, gifts to hospital rise by 500 per cent

Portland, Ore. When John Stuart May announced in June that he planned to step down from his position as the chief fund raiser here at Doernbecher Children’s Hospital, the board moved quickly to get him to stay on — as a board member.

And no wonder. In the six years since Mr. May, 42, became executive director of the Doernbecher Children’s Hospital Foundation, contributions to the hospital have increased by more than 500 per cent, to about $9-million annually.

While part of that increase can be attributed to the fact that Mr. May was overseeing Doernbecher’s first capital campaign — a $35-million drive for a new building that ends in September — a lot has to do with the innovations and aggressive style of fund raising that he brought to the hospital, observers say.

Chris Kabel, director of special projects at the foundation, says that Mr. May, who sold advertising for a radio station before becoming a fund raiser in 1985, encouraged development officers at the hospital to “dream big.”

“He developed an entrepreneurial atmosphere here in which we were constantly encouraged to bring new ideas to the table, to really be creative,” says Mr. Kabel. “It felt more like I was working for an advertising agency than for a typical non-profit.”

Colleagues say that Mr. May inspired others to do more than they thought possible, both in terms of giving and raising money.

“He motivates people,” says Charlie Allis, a retired commodities broker and former board member who worked closely with Mr. May on the capital-campaign steering committee. “Suddenly we were running this drive, and we had to give 10 times what we gave before. We did.”

While other types of hospitals have suffered fund-raising setbacks in the wake of hospital mergers and buyouts, Doernbecher and many other children’s hospitals have continued to post gains. But few have been as impressive as Doernbecher’s. In addition to recording a fivefold increase in contributions since 1992, the hospital has seen its fund-raising costs shrink from more than 30 cents of every dollar raised to 13 cents.

Those figures got the attention of the National Society of Fund Raising Executives, which gave Mr. May’s institution its annual Award for Excellence in March, the highest honor that the society gives to an organization.

Mr. May’s greatest accomplishment at the hospital, according to his colleagues, was to greatly expand its ability to get donations from new sources.

Under Mr. May’s direction, Doernbecher moved from relying nearly completely on special events to generating big money from a smorgasbord of successful fund-raising programs that reach kids, families, local businesses, and even entire regional industries.

With those programs in place and the campaign ending, Mr. May decided to take a job with the Metropolitan Group, a fund-raising consulting firm here. He says he is eager to work with other types of charities.

To improve fund raising at the hospital, Mr. May — or “J.S.,” as he prefers to be called — instituted some big changes. He gradually replaced most of the fund-raising staff, handpicking all but one of the eight development officers. And he persuaded the board to expand its ranks.

Mr. May’s casual demeanor, colleagues say, distinguishes him from other fund raisers who emulate the wealthy by dressing like them, joining country clubs, and taking up golf in order to rub shoulders with potential donors.

That was obvious at a recent black-tie party held here by a wealthy businessman who is also a hospital donor. Instead of wearing a tuxedo like most other men there, Mr. May showed up in a black jacket and a loud purple shirt. Colleagues say he never ventures out on a golf course; to relax, he practices yoga.

A laid-back personal style has not stopped Mr. May from being aggressive in fund raising, however. “I’ve seen a lot of development people trying to fob their calls off on other individuals, but J. S. will attack on his own,” says Mr. Allis. “He is not afraid to ask for a gift of any size.”

And he is not afraid to think big.

Instead of dinners, golf tournaments, and other fund-raising standbys, Mr. May has directed his staff to put most of its effort into a limited number of new events that would net at least $100,000 within two years of start-up — and that also illustrate the hospital’s good works to the general public.

To reinforce the hospital’s image as an organization that helps sick kids, Mr. May insisted on special events that benefit children. And he urged his staff to look for ways to bring some part of each event into the hospital, so it could be shared with patients and staff members.

The recently established Ringling Brothers Circus Project is a good example of the new approach.

When the circus comes to town, it sends performers to visit up to 500 children in the hospital. Doctors and other hospital employees get into the act by donning costumes and helping with activities such as face painting. Clowns even hold a workshop for hospital staff members to teach them how to use humor with kids. Some of those activities get picked up every year by local television news shows.

Doernbecher raises money from its well-publicized relationship with the circus by holding an “Un der the Big Top” party. On opening night, the hospital raises a tent outside the stadium where the circus performs, and it invites families to attend. The ticket price includes entry into the circus, dinner, and the chance to meet circus performers and their animals, as they shuttle in and out of the party between acts. An irresistible attraction for kids, the event nets $125,000 and sells out every year.

Such family-focused events do a lot more for the hospital’s image than the traditional black-tie gala, says Linda Maletis, a hospital volunteer who works with the circus every year. “There are so few events you can take your family to,” she says. With events like the circus party, she adds, “awareness of the hospital has really changed. It’s now one of the most recognizable charity names in the state.”

Mr. May’s unusual ability to combine creativity and practicality in special events was also apparent in his overhaul of the hospital’s direct-mail appeals.

On the creative side, Mr. May threw out staid letters signed by hospital officials and replaced them with less-conventional ones to emphasize what people get from the hospital, rather than the institution’s needs. One appeal, for example, was written from the point of view of a dog who described how he helped kids in a program to take pets to visit young patients.

At the same time, Mr. May took the practical approach of cutting the hospital’s unwieldy mailing list of 20,000 people down to 9,000. He simply stopped sending appeals to people who had not given $25 or more in the past year.

After making those changes, Mr. May’s first year-end appeal yielded $65,000 — more than double the amount that was raised from the previous year-end mailing.

Hard-nosed practicality was also apparent in the capital campaign, as Mr. May spearheaded a parallel drive to get as many building supplies and services as possible donated to the new hospital. That saved hospital leaders the trouble of raising money that they would simply use to buy the same things.

Charities often overlook in-kind gifts during capital campaigns, experts say, even though a well-managed effort to get building materials can make fund raising easier by shaving a substantial amount off the cash goal. It also helps fund raisers demonstrate to other donors that they’re going about rais ing money in a cost-effective manner.

Working with the architects and general contractor, Mr. May recruited a new board member, a marketing executive from a local steel company who was well-connected to the local building industry. They hammered out a plan to ask for in-kind donations when the hospital sought bids to complete its new building.

Companies willing to donate needed supplies deducted the cost of the supplies from their bid, thus making it more attractive to the hospital. And, if accepted, the donation qualified the companies for a tax write-off.

All told, 32 companies gave Doernbecher some $2-million worth of donated supplies, including medical equipment, steel, and cement.

In seeking other ways to beef up corporate support, Mr. May has tried to get large groups of similar businesses in the region to help out.

Fund raisers persuaded the Oregon Credit Union League to encourage its members to contribute to the hospital. Now 104 local credit unions in Oregon and southern Washington raise money for Doernbecher by holding auctions, car washes, bake sales, selling specially designed checks, and other activities. They raised $561,000 last year alone.

Despite many fund-raising successes at the hospital, Mr. May says that he was frustrated when some of his ideas were rejected. For example, he says, he was unable to institute a program to automatically deduct monthly payments from donors’ bank accounts — a process known as “electronic funds transfer” — when the hospital sold commemorative bricks.

Instead of the usual practice of charging a lump sum, Mr. May decided to ask people to buy the bricks through a monthly installment plan, pledging $12 per month for one year. That way, he figured, paying $144 per brick would seem more reasonable — and people would get into the habit of regular giving.

He also wanted to offer donors the option of making their monthly payments through automatic deductions. That would have saved money on monthly invoices, he says. What’s more, many non-profit groups find that donors keep on giving through automatic deductions once they realize how painless it is.

But financial leaders at the foundation, citing a shortage of staff time, rejected the idea of implementing the new procedure.

Mr. May had an easier time convincing board members that they should try new things. For example, instead of waiting until a certain time every year or two to nominate new members, Mr. May persuaded the board to induct people who love the hospital and have a talent for fund raising whenever possible. As a result, the hospital board has grown from from 22 to 31 members.

Many boards, says Mr. May, “are too wrapped up in getting friends of friends or finding a person whose job title fills just the right niche, like a lawyer. But if the lawyer hasn’t shown any support for your institution and is just coming on the board as a favor to somebody, you’re probably better off waiting until you find someone who really cares about the institution.”

He adds: “That’s why we stay in constant recruiting mode. These people don’t come along every day.”

An unusually dedicated board fund raiser is Myron Child, a father who threw himself into a school-based effort to raise money after his teen-age daughter was successfully treated for bone cancer at Doernbecher.

The program, called Kids Making Miracles, involves area elementary and high-school classrooms in fund-raising projects such as “penny drives,” in which classes compete to see who can fill a large jug with the most pennies.

In five years, the program has expanded from 22 to 250 schools; it has raised nearly $1-million for the capital campaign and will continue to raise money for the hospital after the campaign ends.

One reason the program is popular year after year is that the hospital invites youths aged 13 and up who raise money to an all-night “Pajama Jam.” More than 1,000 kids are bused to the party on a Friday night near the end of the school year, where they enjoy basketball games, dancing, pizza, karaoke contests, and other activities until breakfast is served the following morning.

The school fund-raising drives have helped Doernbecher land other big gifts too. “When you go to a corporation or foundation and show them what the kids have done, they can hardly say No,” says Mr. May.

Like other efforts that have been adopted during Mr. May’s tenure, the school program demonstrates the hospital’s growing fund-raising prowess. Says Mr. Child: “I don’t think we could turn it off now if we wanted to.”