Gretchen Valade is the heiress to old money, a pure lover of jazz, and a woman whose checkbook has made her more conspicuous than sheβd like to admit. To temper that state of being, sheβs been known to sit at the bar of the Dirty Dog Jazz CafΓ© β the restaurant she opened in Grosse Pointe Farms to pay homage to the music sheβs loved since childhood β and chat up strangers who have no clue who she is. She is reticent to talk about why anyone would think sheβs a big deal.
There are those who have their reasons. Valade has been a significant financial supporter of Coalition On Temporary Shelter (COTS) since reading in the newspaper some years ago about a homeless woman and her children who slept in Detroitβs Hart Plaza every night. βNo one should have to live like that,β Valade said over lunch at Dirty Dog earlier this fall. She also supports the Humane Society of Huron Valley because thatβs where she adopted her beloved dogs. And sheβs given about $3.5 million over the last few years to St. John Hospital and Medical Center because thatβs where her late husband received his care. According to Valade, she didnβt start this βsecond careerβ in giving until the age of 75, when she realized sheβd spent much of her life collecting stuff that didnβt matter.
βWhen youβre young and you have some money, you think, βAntiques, paintings, oh boy!βββ Valade, now 88, says. βAnd then you start to realize, youβre up to here in antiques and paintings. Thereβs just too many people who need things more than I do.
βValadeβs boldest move in this direction makes her other gifts seem small. The steely granddaughter of Hamilton Carhartt, a man who made it big manufacturing overalls for railroad workers in the late 1800s, Valade wrote a personal check in 2005 for $15 million that saved the Detroit Jazz Festival.
βIt made me so mad,β she says, when the festivalβs longtime corporate sponsor, Ford Motor Co., decided to drop it. Most agree now that without Valadeβs life-line to create a permanent endowment for the struggling, but world-renowned, festival, it wouldnβt have survived. In a subsequent documentary about Valadeβs life and legacy in Detroit called When I Need to Smile, musicians referred to her as the βguardian angelβ of jazz and βa woman wealthy in both heart and soulββ¦βand in bank.β
And so it was, with her single show of βbank,β that Valade became the classic, high-dollar practitioner of the kind of philanthropy that Americaβββand much of Detroitβββwas built on. Denny Stilwell, president of Mack Avenue Records, which Valade owns, also suggests in the documentary that Valadeβs abilities to do good with her money is what society still aspires to. βI think thereβs a certain part of all of us,β he says, βwho meet Gretchen who secretly think, βWow, Iβd really like to be that when I grow up.β
βTHE βSOCIETYβ FACTOR
The power to change the fortunes of one person, one cultural institution, or an entire society with personal wealth is still considered a sign of success. We tend to heap loads of attention on philanthropic feats propelled by money, as if they are nothing short of miracles. Countless studies have shown that giving is the basis of true happiness. We may wonder at times how happy weβd be if we had the same ability to give away our money in such grand fashion.
And yet, will younger generations really βgrow upβ to be like the Warren Buffetts, Bill Gates, and Gretchen Valades of the world? Will their itch to do good mirror the philanthropic gestures of the past? Will they even want it to?
These are the legitimate questions that tend to inform conversations on how Detroiters approach philanthropy today. There is also the constant mention of βsocietyβ in Detroit as it exists in other great American cities long anchored by wealthy families, and how its perpetual fundraisers, balls, and parties can come off more like social time than actual philanthropy. Others wonder about the βdeath of the socialiteβ manifested in the increasing irrelevance of status among those in their 20s and 30s. Some people have wondered if itβs worth writing about philanthropy at all, as if it were as tricky a subject as race or gender. There is the danger of committing a βmajor faux pas,β one person said during the reporting of this story, if you donβt interview the right people.
Of course Detroit has no shortage of big givers who have been instrumental in shaping the Motor City for the last 100 or so years. Large individual giving, in fact, is alive and well across the region, and very much a critical component to sustaining charitable and nonprofit cultural institutions both big and small, professional fundraisers say. This year alone we saw New York real estate developer Stephen M. Ross make national headlines when he gave a record $200 million donation to his alma mater, the University of Michigan. Stephen Polk gave $10 million to the Detroit Zoo for a proposed penguin exhibit. On a smaller but no less impressive scale, a California businessman named Jeff Adler who grew up in metro Detroit recently divided a gift of $750,000 between city organizations including the Wayne State University College of Nursing and the North Rosedale Park Civic Association. Heβs given these organizations carte blanche to do with the money as they please, and he told the Detroit Free Press that he feels βfortunateβ that he can write that kind of a check.
PHILANTHROPYβS EVOLUTION
But even as single wealthy donors continue to pull their weight, Detroitβs most influential charitable leaders are describing a philanthropic landscape in which the views on giving have fundamentally changed. βThereβs still a lot of wealth in the community,β says Frank Fountain, a former Chrysler senior vice president and the former head of the Chrysler Foundation. βBut being philanthropic isnβt about being rich.β Responsible for allocating about $25 million a year for charitable causes during his years with the foundation, Fountain makes a surprising leap in equating the average citizens in Wayne, Oakland, and Macomb counties with the communityβs wealthiest benefactors. Fountain insists thatβs what they became, after all, when they voted for a tax increase to save the Detroit Institute of Arts. βIn effect, [the voters] said, βIβm OK with supporting the DIA with my dollars.β Thatβs philanthropy, just in a different way.β
The economics of giving have certainly played a part in the changing philanthropic scene as the number of local nonprofits grow, says David Near, a former executive with Dow Chemical who has spent the last 10 years consulting for organizations across the state. There are more than 1 million nonprofits in the country. The number in Michigan alone skyrocketed in the last decade to approximately 40,000 public charities with 501(c)(3) status. βOver the next 30 years, dollars are going to be spread so thin,β says Near, forcing organizations to become aggressive in producing results. People obviously donβt want to support something that doesnβt work, he says.
More prominent in redefining acts of philanthropy, however, has been the larger cultural shift in how both nonprofits and the individual giver have come to define what it means to give back and to create permanent change. Simply throwing money at a problem isnβt always the answer, experts say, and aspirations for building wealth only to become charitable later in life is losing ground to the desire to take immediate action.
Whether the economy will continue to produce wealthy potential donors, in other words, is beside the point. βWhoβs the next big Rockefeller or Bill Gates?β Near wonders. βWell, Iβm not so sure theyβre going to exist in the future.
βThat may sound extreme, but itβs already happening as members of younger generations place face time and passion before money when it comes to the causes they care about. As a result, traditional dichotomies of grassroots versus boardroom or old versus young have started to collide β particularly in a city like Detroit where bankruptcy and the collective feeling of hitting rock bottom has created a perfect environment for changing the charitable rules.
The people at the local giving table may have not βpaid their duesβ or worked long enough to amass significant wealth. Still, they have legitimate ideas for making their worlds betterβββand they believe they can pull them off.
Former Detroit Mayor Dennis Archer β whose scholarship fund managed by the Community Foundation for Southeast Michigan has so far distributed more than $1 million to needy studentsβββremembers a time when people were more willing to accept the premise that someone needed to be wealthy in order to make change.
βPeople arenβt intimidated by big money anymore,β Archer says.
Near suggests that the word βphilanthropyβ itself conjures images of an elitist world whose traditions of giving millions of dollars to the symphony, the arts or the opera in decades past didnβt necessarily align with the more pragmatic ideals of the middle class. The use of the term today, he says, may even perpetuate social divisions that no longer exist in charitable endeavors. For this reason, the vernacular with regard to philanthropy is also shifting, and Near suggests that anyone who identifies as a βphilanthropistβ or a βsocialiteβ runs the risk of sounding passΓ©. βItβs a fascinating dynamic,β he says.
OUTLIERS FOR CHANGE
As the president and CEO of United Way for Southeastern Michigan, Michael Brennan was among the communityβs first charitable leaders to operate on the premise that emerging philanthropists want to feel intimately connected to their work and create change through action instead of one-off financial contributions. They have a higher tolerance for risk and failure, Brennan says, and they are hungry for creative solutions to the biggest social problems. Brennanβs initiatives for cultivating these younger, βemerging philanthropistsβ on the local level has helped him and his colleagues establish Detroit as an unlikely model for United Way chapters around the world.
It turns out that United Way Worldwide, the decades-old clearinghouse for financial contributions to countless global nonprofit initiatives, had struggled for years to stay relevant as people started to donate money directly to causes online. Furthermore, what Brennan discovered in 2003 when he came to his leadership role in Detroit was that years of doling out money to local United Way partners hadnβt produced quantifiable change in the community.
There were βa lot of static relationshipsβ with organizations expecting United Way to keep handing out the proverbial checks, says Dr. Syed Mohiuddin, a volunteer leader in United Wayβs campaign to engage younger generations in more effective philanthropy. βMike changed [this] structure,β he says. βHe knew this wasnβt a money problem.β
Reluctant to take credit, Brennan will only acknowledge what he and many others have known for some time: The future of philanthropy depends as much on bold purpose and accountability as it does on money. Itβs not that he doesnβt appreciate the value of money or the legacies that older generations have established with their huge financial gifts. The United Way still relies significantly on donations, which Brennan says are critical to United Wayβs βBig Hairy Audacious Goalβ (BHAG) to make Detroit one of the top five places to live in the U.S. by 2030. βI just know that to get where we need to be, weβre not going to get there just by writing checks,β Brennan says. βIf all we ask for is money, then weβre not being good stewards of our mission.β
POWER ON THE GROUND
Hatch Detroit co-founder Nick Gorga has had his fair share of publicity for the unique idea that has blended business acumen with charity to help revive downtown Detroitβs retail scene β something he believes will positively affect every Detroiterβs quality of life. Mohiuddin has led a program more privately on the second floor of Sinai Grace Hospital that United Way for Southeastern Michigan believes will equip the children being born today to become the kind of citizens by 2030 who will be needed to make the city a more viable place to live.
Both men are in their 30s and have an almost unbelievable drive to look beyond their day jobs for ways to positively impact the people around them (Gorga spent more than 20 hours a week planning out Hatch in addition to 70 hours as a practicing attorney). Though their charitable work is different, in many ways Gorgaβs and Mohiuddinβs trajectories are the same. Theyβre establishing notable pathways to change, and theyβve become case studies for how the new philanthropic philosophies practiced by Detroit do-gooders can have real impact on the city.
Hatch Detroitβs mission, started in 2011, is simple ββrun a yearly public contest in which for-profit retail businesses compete for a $50,000 cash grant that they can use to open and continue operating in Detroit. The cityβs retail scene had been fairly nonexistent for years, and Gorga believed that the entrepreneurs crazy enough to open in Detroit needed more than just a good business plan if they were going to succeed. Three businesses have won the contest so farβββincluding 2013 winner Batch Brewing Co.βββand continue to be supported with services from the Hatch Detroit network that Gorga helped build.
Curiously, Gorga doesnβt seem as excited about the financial component of Hatch as he does about what the charity has been able to do for some of the entrepreneurs whoβve gone through the contest process and lost. By being associated with Hatch Detroit and getting publicity from the public voting process, several business ownersβββincluding Rock City Pies, Detroit River Sports, and more recently, Detroit Vegan Soulβββhave opened up shop anyway and are receiving support from other entities. Thatβs how a micro grant can help on a macro level, says Gorga, admitting this kind of charity probably wouldnβt work in any other American city.
βThereβs a tremendous blurring of philanthropy, business, and life right now in Detroit at the grassroots level,β Gorga says from his office at Honigman, Miller, Schwartz, and Cohn in downtown Detroit where he is a litigation attorney and recruiting partner. βI mean, what do you call this thing? Is it business? Is it charity? Is it philanthropy? As corny as it sounds, itβs called Detroit.β
Gorga calls himself a βnative sonβ of Detroit who moved to Chicago to start his career, only to pine years later for a chance to help fix the problems that plague his hometown. When he moved back in 2008, he deliberately sought a job with Honigman, Detroitβs largest law firm with a rich history of encouraging its employees to be philanthropic leaders in practically every cultural institution and nonprofit initiative.
βNothing goes on (in the city) that weβre not a part of,β says Honigmanβs Chairman and CEO David Foltyn. βFrankly, we were involved before it was hip to be involved.β
Still, the idea for Hatch, Foltyn and other partners say, was something they hadnβt encountered before. Foltyn describes an environment now where young people like Gorga expect to take a very hands-on approach to their charitable grassroots work. They may eventually take their money to the more established institutions, Foltyn says, but for right now, theyβre looking for ways to make an immediate impact, wherever that may be. βThatβs very different than it was even 10 years ago, let alone 40 or 50 years ago.β
DELIBERATE, LITTLE STEPS
Mohiuddin, whose parents are from India, describes growing up with a father who was βimpassioned by the marginalized personβ and who preached the need to find meaning in life by helping others. The preaching worked, leading Mohiuddin to attend medical school and then search for a way to use his knowledge to impact the health of Detroit. As a resident at Detroit Medical Centerβs Sinai Grace Hospital, he would eventually become inspired by Brennanβs innovative approaches to philanthropic work at United Way. Mohiuddin is now a director on United Wayβs board and the chairman of Leadership Next, a United Way local initiative that emphasizes meaningful relationships with the community and βleading and doingβ over financial contributions.
This is happening quietly at Sinai Grace, a hospital with its fair share of babies born into poverty who face a lack of access to the basic tools required for success. For example, research shows that a child living in poverty from birth hears about 30 million less words by age 3βββand that this deeply affects their literacy over a lifetime. To fix this problem, Mohiuddin leads a team of volunteers who meet mothers right after they give birth on the hospitalβs second floor in order to establish long-term relationships with them. Volunteers ask the mothers to promise to read to their children at least 15 minutes a day, and they give them resources like free books and access to programs to help them keep the promise.
βWe tell these mothers, βCongratulations! Your baby is part of the class of 2030,βββ says Mohiuddin, referring to United Wayβs Big Hairy Audacious Goal. βWe know weβre not going to reach this goal of a better society in Detroit if weβre not starting right when a kid is born.β
Mohiuddin says his active role with United Way has exposed him to a world not so much defined by the concept of big philanthropy, but by the very deliberate, little steps people can take to help improve someone elseβs experience, whether thatβs tomorrow or years from now.
βThe number one thing I tell people is to know that theyβre needed, and to know you can make a difference,β Mohiuddin says. βAt the end of the day, we all want the same damn thing. We all want to kick ass.β
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Gretchen Valade Wrote a $15 million personal check in 2005 that saved the Detroit Jazz Festival. βWhen youβre young and you have some money, you think, βAntiques, paintings, oh boy!β And then you start to realize, youβre up to here in antiques and paintings. Thereβs just too many people who need things more than I do.β |
Dr. Syed Mohiuddin Chairman of Leadership Next, a United Way local initiative that emphasizes meaningful relationships with the community. βThe number one thing I tell people is to know that theyβre needed, and to know you can make a difference. At the end of the day, we all want the same damn thing. We all want to kick ass.β |
Nick Gorga Co-founder of Hatch Detroit,Μύ whose purpose is to revive downtown Detroitβs retail scene. βThereβs a tremendous blurring of philanthropy, business, and life right now in Detroit at the grassroots level.ββ¦βwhat do you call this thing? Is it business? Is it charity? Is it philanthropy? As corny as it sounds, itβs called Detroit.β |
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