Telling Tales

Charities distribute life stories of their donors and volunteers in order to motivate others to give

Tom Kenny, a managing partner at New York’s Goldman Sachs investment house, had never heard of the Shake-A-Leg Rehabilitation Center in Providence, R.I., when he got a call from the charity two years ago. The organization, which provides recreational activities for people with spinal-cord injuries and related disabilities, wanted to honor Mr. Kenny, a paraplegic, at its annual gala and to tell his life story on videotape.

“We wanted to recognize him as someone who overcame incredible adversity to perform brilliantly,” says Paul Callahan, chairman of the Shake-A-Leg board.

After Mr. Kenny agreed to accept the gala honor, he worked closely with the charity to help create his own six-minute video profile.

That in turn taught him a lot about the organization. “Unquestionably, the things I learned about Shake-A-Leg in making the video drew me close to them,” says Mr. Kenny, who began contributing to the charity before the tape was finished. Following the gala, he accepted an invitation to join the charity’s board — and increased his donations substantially.

Like Shake-A-Leg, many charities are realizing that distributing life stories of their donors and volunteers can motivate people to give. Many fund raisers have started to use personal histories not only to raise money but also to thank people for contributions and to move others to follow their example.

Life histories — in the form of short videotapes, transcribed oral histories that can take up hundreds of pages, or even Internet sites — appeal to many donors, fund raisers say. And by becoming treasured keepsakes, they can set the stage for additional gifts from either the donors themselves or their friends and family members.

“Families tell me how grateful they are to have their loved ones’ stories preserved,” says Anita Hecht, a historian who founded Life History Services, a Madison, Wis., company that produces personal histories for individuals and families. Often, she says, “the stories are more meaningful than the material things people inherit — golf clubs, plaques, and china. Plaques don’t talk.”

Ms. Hecht says that life histories have motivated charitable activities in the families of some of her subjects. One example is a videotape she produced about the life of Dan Neviaser, a 78-year-old Madison, Wis., real-estate developer who has been involved in many charitable efforts, like picking up the hotel tab for hospital patients’ out-of-town family members who couldn’t afford to visit otherwise.

On the tape, Mr. Neviaser described his charitable interests and motivations and the personal benefits he derives from giving, in addition to his family lineage and the events of his life.

Now, inspired by the tape, one of Mr. Neviaser’s sons has become interested in taking on some of his father’s charity projects. “In a way, I have become a role model,” Mr. Neviaser says. “Through the history, my children have truly come to see me not just as a businessman, but as someone concerned for his community.”

Videotaped life histories produced by a professional like Ms. Hecht can be expensive: up to $1,000 a minute, depending on the quality of the production. Because of the cost, most such videotapes commissioned by charities are short.

Experts say that non-profit groups can keep costs down — as low as $300 to $500 a minute — by having a clear idea of what they want, by keeping changes to a minimum, and by using existing photographs or interviews shot in a studio rather than on location.

Some groups, like Shake-A-Leg, have persuaded video producers to donate their services or have obtained sponsors who agree to underwrite their costs.

Videotapes are not the only way to use life histories effectively, however. Some institutions have found much cheaper ways to incorporate aspects of donors’ personal lives into their fund raising.

Carol Karsch, executive director of the Jewish Community Foundation of Southern Arizona, in Tucson, for example, has been using a form of life histories for the past decade to attract planned gifts and build endowment funds.

The foundation created what it calls a Book of Life in which donors can sum up their feelings about the meaning of their lives, their heritage, families, hopes for the future, and “whatever is precious and sacred to them,” says Ms. Karsch.

“My parents, Tarnel and Lila Pakier, were Holocaust survivors from Poland,” wrote one woman in her Book of Life entry. “They moved to Tucson from Illinois in 1972, and I followed in 1980.” Giving, the woman continued, “was the most important thing in their lives, and I am continuing to honor their values.”

The foundation designed a leather-bound volume for the statements and put it on permanent display in the foundation’s lobby, although it is often brought to presentations at the local synagogue or other meetings with potential donors.

Says Ms. Karsch: “The Book of Life is a way to get individuals to think about what has been most meaningful in their own lives — their past, their religious heritage, their values, what they do now — and connect it with their philanthropy.”

To be eligible for inclusion in the book, donors must make two declarations: first, that they revere their Jewish heritage and want to ensure that the Jewish people will survive and flourish, and second, that they will contribute financially to the local Jewish community.

Donors add their statements to the Book of Life in a public ceremony. “There is nothing casual about the signing,” Ms. Karsch says. “It’s a very solemn act, and it comes only after deep reflection and serious discussions with family members and friends. In Judaism, words must be followed by deeds, lest they be words in vain.”

The foundation’s fund raisers and volunteers then work with the signers — over 400 donors to date — to help them fulfill their promise to give.

When the foundation started the program in 1991, its assets totaled some $8-million; that figure has now grown to $42-million. Much of the gain — about two-thirds of it, Ms. Karsch says — can be traced to gifts from donors who made a promise to give when signing the Book of Life.

The overhead costs associated with the Book of Life program, Ms. Karsch says, are “very low.” To make such a program work, the book should be displayed in a prominent place, she says, and it is a good idea to provide donors with a modest but high-quality gift to help remind them of their promise.

The foundation gives signers a framed art print that is labeled with their name, the date on which they signed the Book of Life, and the page number on which their statement appears. Each donor also receives a piece of sterling silver jewelry — a pendant on a chain for women and a lapel pin for men.

Another institution that has found an inexpensive way to use life histories is Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho.

When donors set up an endowed scholarship fund, Ricks development officers ask them to write the history of the person or persons for whom the fund is named and to provide photographs. (If the fund is named for the donor, that person writes his or her own life history.) A sample history is provided.

Fund raisers review the life history when it is submitted, make editorial suggestions, and ask the donor to approve it. Along with photos provided by the donor, it is then published as a pamphlet and sent to all students who receive scholarships from that fund.

The students are asked to read the history carefully, reflect on the life of the person profiled, and write the donor a thank-you letter. Each letter is then hand-delivered to the donor, along with a photo of the student who wrote it.

Meanwhile, the donors have been given a looseleaf binder, which contains the life history and is embossed with the name of their scholarship fund. They are encouraged to place students’ thank-you letters and photographs in the binder as they receive them. Over time, dozens — perhaps hundreds — of letters will go there.

The cost of the program — in terms of both money and staff time — is modest. Information about it is regularly included in the college’s alumni magazine. Jolene Sorter, a Ricks fund raiser who oversees the program, says she spends about 20 percent of her time on it, while other fund raisers promote the program in one-on-one visits with donors and alumni. Other expenses include the embossed binders and printing costs.

The binders become family heirlooms in many cases, fund raisers say, and they have been spotted at family reunions. Says Dave Richards, another development officer: “I have been in the living rooms of donors when they have read the students’ letters and looked at their pictures. The tears flow.”

Donations also flow. One donor who received a student’s thank-you letter added $10,000 to his initial gift. Another donor, also touched by a student’s letter, gave $64,000 to establish two additional scholarships, far above the $10,000 minimum required for each fund.

And at a family foundation that had set up several scholarships, trustees recently devoted an entire meeting to reading the students’ letters and looking at their photos. The foundation has now agreed to increase its scholarship gifts.

When life histories were added three years ago, Ricks had 164 scholarships, which had taken decades to accumulate. Now, with more than 200, it is adding one or two each month.

Just as important as those results, says Ms. Sorter, is the influence that the life histories have on students. “When they read their donor’s history, students began to develop genuine appreciation for what they have been given, for the role of charitable giving in American life,” she says. “It is a powerful teaching moment.”