Day 1, 8:45 a.m.: It’s Sunday morning and I’m heading for Connecticut to catch a plane. My destination is New Orleans, site of this year’s CASE (Council for the Advancement and Support of Education) conference on capital campaigns. I haven’t been to a CASE conference in five years, so I’m looking forward to seeing if anything has changed.
5:25 p.m.: Following a three-hour layover, I arrive in New Orleans. One reason I decided to attend the conference is that I’ve never visited this city. I choose my conferences carefully, preferring those in locations conducive to sightseeing, especially by foot.
6:40 p.m.: I’m finally checked in and unpacked. I’m staying at the hotel where the conference is being held, so I can sneak back to the room when necessary. After calling home, I troll around the French Quarter in search of spicy cuisine. I opt for the jambalaya to kick off the week’s epicurean festivities.
Day 2, 8:15 a.m.: Registration doesn’t begin until noon, so I have a free morning for ambling about the city’s slate sidewalks and narrow streets, shopping for beads, baubles, and bibelots.
12:20 p.m.: I search for my nametag at the registration desk and pick up an array of handouts, including a list of conference attendees, a notepad, and a dozen or so evaluation forms. It is here that I also make acquaintance with the four-pound spiral binder containing notes on all upcoming presentations. I’m now anchored by this orange behemoth, which at least convinces me that a good number of people have given capital campaigns considerable thought.
12:35 p.m.: I claim a seat near the exit and glance through the attendees list, noticing that some institutions have sent two or even three people. Is this cost-effective? I appreciate the desire for professional development, but why not have these colleagues attend different conferences and compare notes? I’m also somewhat surprised by the wide range of positions represented, considering the topic; that is, not everyone here leads a development office (but neither do I, for that matter). Dress, I see, is “business casual,” and I blend right in with my khakis and polo shirt. Only the presenters are wearing suits. The group, mixed in age, seems familiar in two respects: Most participants are women, and almost all are white.
1:00 p.m.: A CASE representative welcomes everyone. He says he’s aware of competing organizations offering similar conferences and thanks everyone for choosing CASE, much like the pilot thanked us for choosing his airline. And he’s right -- CASE now competes with various groups focused on development specializations such as planned giving and prospect research. But he shouldn’t worry; CASE is still the 800-pound gorilla of professional development for the advancement community.
1:30 p.m.: The conference begins. We’re led through a series of “general sessions,” presentations by our “faculty” on how to plan and manage a capital campaign. The format is consistent, with PowerPoint presentations you can follow in your four-pound notebook. One presenter asks why everyone came. People say they want to learn more about campaign budgeting, the role of volunteers, and development-office structure. But I wonder if those are ostensible reasons masking true motivations: My boss said to go; I want to see New Orleans; I need to rekindle my passions; I hope to network and find a new job.
5:00 p.m.: Networkers unite at a wine-and-cheese reception. People are eager to start conversations. I run into someone who works for my previous employer and we compare notes. I also find someone who used to work with an individual soon to join our office. His positive reviews are reassuring. When I ask a few people why they came, hoping to elicit more revealing answers, I get the same fare they provided earlier. Common themes emerge in these conversations: the frequent turnover among development staff members, the difficulties of raising money in the post-9/11 world, the unending pressures from presidents and boards, the continuing struggles to gain respect and cooperation from some quarters on campus. Many say their institutions are reluctantly, or perhaps cautiously, moving forward with campaign planning in the hope that the economy will rebound just as their campaigns are due to begin. I sense that only a handful are here looking for another job, and the conference doesn’t seem to be much of a happy-hunting ground. A grand total of one opportunity is posted on the job board. At least a member of the faculty has made it clear he’s on the prowl.
6:00 p.m.: We’re on our own for dinner -- conference planners haven’t organized an evening on the town for tonight or any other night. So I take a riverboat cruise down the Mississippi and enjoy the city skyline.
Day 3, 8:10 a.m.: A quiet start. Most are eating breakfast alone with their newspapers; some talk in small groups. We’re sitting in the same seats we occupied yesterday, like students who’ve staked out territory and claimed it for the semester. The use of cell phones is rampant compared with five years ago. But few ring during presentations because we’re told to shut them off.
8:30 a.m.: More general sessions. On average, the “faculty members,” most of whom are professional fund raisers in higher education, are knowledgeable and effective presenters. CASE should be commended for bringing together a group representing a range of institutional types, including colleges waging smaller campaigns. Participants’ questions attempt to relate issues to their own campuses. The speakers nod knowingly during these questions, revealing the vainglorious smile of experience. I do find some evidence among presenters of membership in the mutual admiration society.
9:15 a.m.: Our first and only breakout sessions. These electives allow us to choose topics of interest and ask more questions. I remember other CASE conferences offering many such options, with fewer prescribed sessions marching us along, en masse, in lock step. More electives also means more speakers and a greater diversity of perspectives. Instead we’re hearing the same five people again and again. Of course, I’m basing that comparison on having attended different CASE conferences, specifically those for our geographic district and for corporate and foundation relations.
Noon: We’re offered lunch and a keynote speaker -- that is, if we’re pre-registered. I must have missed that part of the registration form, though I assumed lunch would be covered by the several hundred dollars I paid to attend the conference. On my own for an hour, I head over to the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.
1:30 p.m.: The general sessions resume. More PowerPoint lectures remind me of the benefits of active learning. In other words, I’m getting bored. I try wading through photocopied articles in the four-pound binder, but some are too muddy to read while others are reduced to the point of illegibility. I suppose that’s why the one and only vendor here (I’d expected more) is giving away a magnifying glass as its tchotchke.
5:00 p.m.: The schedule indicates there’s a networking reception, but I can’t find it anywhere.
5:15 p.m.: Dinner is “on your own” again, which for me means a room service po’ boy and the American Idol finals.
Day 4, 8:00 a.m.: We’re back for more caffeine and fruit. Today marks the end of one conference and the start of another, on campaign communications. Many, like me, are here for both, and the transition appears seamless.
8:30 a.m.: General sessions have begun and I’m filling out more evaluation forms. CASE wants one for every presentation. I know they provide important feedback, but this gets tedious.
10:15 a.m.: We’re starting to hear the same messages again; the presenters even apologize for redundancies. But I’ve learned quite a bit about campaigns, particularly with respect to the use of volunteers. Our volunteers, I’ve come to realize, are typical: They run the gamut in terms of their knowledge, dedication of time, and stomach for fund raising. We’re told to count on only a handful of top volunteers, and this suddenly seems right. I’ve also benefited from hearing about development research, including findings that note the increasing importance of planned giving and those that positively correlate consistent giving with major contributions. From casual conversations, I conclude that most agree this conference has been a good experience.
11:45 a.m.: The conference ends. There’s just enough time to grab some lunch by the Riverfront before the “next” conference begins.
1:15 p.m.: After an encounter with étouffée, I’ve returned to register for Part 2. The crowd is smaller, with some new faces joining the holdovers. The attendee list shows a range of fund raisers and communications professionals. Our binder is smaller, thankfully, and it includes a useful bibliography on campaign communications. One of my Career Network columns made the cut; I’m flattered.
1:30 p.m.: We’re off and running. Of the six presenters, five are consultants. I notice a bit more self-aggrandizement. The presentations are also more theatrical, not driven by PowerPoint slides. That’s why our notebook is smaller.
Day 5, 8:30 a.m.: I’m learning a great deal. We’re shown what constitutes an effective case statement, which is timely information for me. The consultants speak from experiences across a range of institutions, giving us examples of how various colleges have managed campaign marketing. I assume the other fund raisers in the crowd will share this advice with their communications staff when they return to campus.
11:45 a.m.: Things are winding down. I’m ready to get home but will miss the conversations, the city, the food, and the freedom to wander.
1:30 p.m.: The taxi ride to the airport permits time to reflect. The conference certainly was worth my institution’s money and my time. To be sure, I had expected more evidence of job networking, more vendors, more elective sessions, and some organized evenings on the town. But I came primarily for the knowledge, and that I gained. Now I’m better equipped for the challenges of planning our campaign. I certainly recommend attending a CASE conference, as if they need my endorsement. I doubt I’ll wait another five years before I do.
Mark J. Drozdowski, director of corporate, foundation, and government relations at Franklin Pierce College in Rindge, N.H., writes a regular column about careers in university fund raising and development.