Cash-Strapped Nonprofits in Oil-Boom Region Go Begging for Workers

As requests for its services exploded along with the population during the last four years, the Williston Salvation Army reacted as if time had stood still. It had little choice.

Energy companies here, enjoying an oil boom, dangle wages of $100,000 or more a year, and even fast-food joints pay some new workers $20 an hour on top of $1,000 sign-on bonuses.

Meanwhile, the Salvation Army couldn’t afford to offer more than $13.60 an hour—hardly enough to fill an open position quickly, much less expand a charity overwhelmed by the needs of people struggling to make it here.

With rents for single-bedroom apartments averaging around $1,700 a month—when you can find one—such pay represents far less than a living wage. What’s more, many who come to Williston to work aren’t arriving with the hope of helping others.

“A lot of people come here to chase the big-money dream, and we can’t help them with that,” says Joshua Stansbury, an officer with the Williston Salvation Army. “We’re left trying to find people who believe in our mission and who can live on relatively little. If I had a house to offer, I think we could hire someone pretty easily.”

Adds Jim Yockim, president of the North Dakota Association of Nonprofit Organizations: “The people charities recruit tend to be at the bottom of the pay scale. People come to Williston for good-paying jobs. It’s a challenge for us.”

Rural nonprofits, no matter how well their local economy is doing, often have a hard time recruiting people who can manage and carry out programs, says Jeff Yost, president of the Nebraska Community Foundation, a grant maker that works to make places with few residents more attractive to new businesses, charities, and residents.

Low-cost housing is often in short supply even in poor rural towns, he says. And with little money and few benefits to offer, organizations tend to oversell their mission, often asking employee prospects to immerse themselves in the work and to take satisfaction in the ability to make a bigger difference in a smaller place.

Most who make the leap don’t stay long. The United Way of Williston, for instance, is seeking an executive director.

“This would be a good situation for someone whose spouse works here or someone who is willing to put a more lucrative career on hold to do good work,” says Sabrina Ramey, a board member. “It’s very competitive to get employees here. Nonprofits can’t offer the benefits packages that bigger employers offer.”

The previous leader, who held the job part-time—all that the organization’s roughly $225,000 annual budget could afford—worked in Williston while her husband did and left the charity position after less than two years to move back with him to Idaho early this year.

Others leave nonprofit posts after similarly short stints because of the hours and low pay.

“You might be able to martyr yourself for three to six months under those conditions, but you’ll never last four or five years,” Mr. Yost says, adding that the rapid turnover can hurt the growth of organizations and their ability to fulfill their mission. “Unfortunately, we really don’t see any viable strategies out there now to lure charity employees to these areas.”

The United Way’s board isn’t optimistic about finding a new leader. Says Ms. Ramey: “If the right person came along, and was really a perfect fit, we could offer a full-time position because they’d earn back their salary in fund raising.”

But in all likelihood, she acknowledges, the organization, will probably hire someone part-time instead.

Seeking Solutions

For North Dakota, one solution might involve creating nonprofit housing cooperatives specifically designed for charity workers.

“North Dakota has a history of forming cooperatives to solve problems,” says Mr. Yost. “I’d also love to see charities take a more cooperative approach to utilizing and paying their workers as well. Why couldn’t there be some kind of job-sharing arrangement between the Salvation Army and other groups?”

Until recently, the Salvation Army had only briefly filled a case-manager spot that had been open for nearly two years. The organization wooed people from other Salvation Army outposts in the Upper Midwest, including Chicago and Minneapolis-St. Paul, and attempted to entice people from other charities across the country.

Only five people interviewed for the position, however, and nearly all withdrew. “Only one hung around to see how things would turn out,” Mr. Stansbury says.

But the Salvation Army’s story has a happy ending—at least for now. The group found its new case manager in Utah after her husband found work in Williston—and after Mr. Stansbury managed to get the OK to pay her much more than the prevailing wage nationwide at the charity.

“It took me two years to convince our national headquarters that we needed to pay our employees more to get them here,” he says. The group will pay its new case manager $20 an hour—much more than the typical $12 to $14.

Even though the new hire leaves the Williston chapter with eight employees—it’s no larger than it was three years ago—Mr. Stansbury sees it as a sign of progress. “We’re very happy with our decision,” he says.

Though financial support for salaries from an organization’s headquarters can help rural chapters like his increase staffing, Mr. Yost believes that small towns in general hold the key to drawing in charity workers. “Build and sustain hometowns that will attract young people and families with options,” he advises. “A local focus and effort is probably more important than financial incentives. If combined, the two could be powerful.”