Family. Amen. Thanks to my three kids — Scout, Ben, and Kit for letting me catch you, raise you, annoy you, amuse you, and love you with all my heart.
And of course, to my legal wife of 7 years and spouse for almost 40, Eileen Opatut. In 1996, she casually suggested I leave the for‐profit sector and apply for a nonprofit executive director job. We had three kids under 7 and had just bought a big house, the perfect time for a new low paying job. She saw, as she always does, what I often miss completely — I was a leader and an advocate ready for a cause. And so began a new chapter in my life. A life that turned from black and white to color the day we met, like Dorothy's arrival in Oz, complete with three munchkins.
Introduction
I could have killed my development director.
And I don't mean it the way you think.
Julie arrived at a quarterly board meeting, but she didn't look quite right. It was hard not to notice that there was something protruding from her blouse.
A heart monitor.
She flew in from Los Angeles to Chicago, and I flew in from New York. We had not seen each other in a few weeks.
Maybe she mentioned something about doctors’ appointments, but come on. I was leading a nonprofit trying to save a portion of the world. Who has time for the health and well‐being of staff?
Clearly not me.
I'm sure you're wondering. Julie is fine. Today she is a clinical psychologist who no doubt helps clients contend with Type A oblivious bosses who drive their employees to heart problems.
Oh, also in case you are wondering, the board meeting was a big hit. Julie and I were impressive and on our game — as we usually were. I did get a few comments at the breaks like “Hey, how's Julie?” or “Julie looks like the job is taking a toll on her.” “No worries,” I said. And went on to get an A+ on our board meeting presentation.
But wow. Who was I? Why did I not tell Julie to turn on her heels and take the next flight home to Los Angeles?
I am not utterly clueless. I swear. I would never intentionally try to put Julie (or anyone else for that matter) in harm's way.
But nonprofits can cause a person to transform into someone they don't recognize.
Why?
Because nonprofits are messy.
Nonprofits can cause a person to transform into someone they don't recognize.
Why?
Because nonprofits are messy.
It's inherent in the formula of the unique beast we call a 501(c)(3).
A + B + C + a big dose of intense passion = MESSY
1 A poorly paid and overworked group (staff) who…
2 Rely on the efforts of people who get paid nothing (volunteers) and are overseen by…
3 Another group of volunteers who get paid nothing and who are supposed to give and get lots of money (board).
All this is in the service of something that every single one of them cares passionately about. Wow. Now that is a recipe for messy. And that organization you care so deeply about can get messier still if it’s not led and managed well.
I learned the messy lesson the hard way.
What did I know? Fifteen years in corporate America and then poof! I'm running a nonprofit (more on the “poof” part in a few).
I felt ever so well equipped with my financial skills, my management skills, and my understanding of how to manage a budget and to deliver results.
I had never met “messy” like this until the day I sat down at my desk at GLAAD, one of the largest gay rights nonprofit organizations. Or so I thought.
Actually, GLAAD was large by reputation, but “large” was not the first word that came to mind when I saw that we had $360 in the bank — that was not at all the word that came to mind.
It was bad. And I'll admit it here — I felt like a bit of a fraud, soon to be unmasked as having neither the grit nor the skills to dig us out.
There was one very bad day the first week on the job. I remember it well.
I was at my computer, writing a solicitation letter to a lapsed donor — trying everything to drive cash in the door. I was pleased with the letter. I sent it to print on the serviceable printer, reviewed it, found a typo.
And with that I burst into tears. It may have been my predicament, but I think it was singularly focused. I knew we could not afford to reorder letterhead.
Then there was this other day.
I was in Los Angeles meeting with donors (and praying they would pick up the tab) when my phone rang. It was my Deputy Director in New York. He calmly said that it might be time to look for office space he knew we couldn't afford.
There was an inch of snow on his desk when he arrived for work.
Very very messy.
I'm not sure I knew what to expect when I left corporate America for this job. Not sure I did a lot of thinking. My move from the corporate world to the nonprofit world was more of a “heart” move than a “head” move.
I was not unhappy in the corporate world. Hardly. I’d hit the corporate jackpot. In my first job out of college, I landed on the management team of MTV.
Yes, working at MTV in the early ’80s was just as cool as you can imagine. I also learned a ton. I learned about the pace, intensity, and thrill of being a part of a startup (more on that later). I learned how to innovate when I wrote the business plan for the MTV Video Music Awards. And my Harvard MBA boss bought me an HP12c calculator (the calculator that allows people to assume you have an MBA) and taught me about budgets and balance sheets.
From MTV I moved to Showtime Networks. There I became a very good manager of people. I became a team player. I learned what it meant to be a good corporate citizen as one of the early gay poster children when Showtime began to walk the walk on diversity. We gave money to worthy causes, and I found myself in the early ’90s advocating for corporate sponsorship dollars from Showtime to gay organizations.
While there we built a new business, a now‐dinosaur that we called pay‐per‐view. And it was there that I learned about boxing.
Yes, boxing. Like that thing big sweaty guys do with gloves on in rings.
I learned that people pay a lot of money to watch boxing on TV. And that if you get really good seats at the MGM Grand Hotel in Las Vegas, the flying sweat … well, it flies.
The most important gift Showtime gave me was the recognition that
