California Schemin’

I don’t get out to the West Coast much. It’s a bit of a drive -- some 3,000 miles, give or take -- and the trip can chew up a few days. So when I do go, I like to make the most of it.

You may be surprised to learn that my institution, a small state college in Massachusetts, has a significant alumni population in and around Los Angeles. In fact, while we don’t have an alumni chapter in Boston, we do have one in LA. Why? Well, one of our most popular majors is communications media. We pump out plenty of graduates who want to work in the film industry, mostly behind the scenes on the technical side. Where better to do that than in Hollywood?

Over the last year, our prospect research has uncovered a good number of grads in LA. who, according to our sophisticated analysis, may be able to give us scads of money. Using concepts like “scads” with trustees keeps them off guard. They’re more apt to trust you when you tell them the campaign will raise “multiple scads.” They usually nod in approval.

Anyway, my colleague, another lifelong East Coaster, had never been to LA. He’d never been to California, period. I thought it was high time we hitched up the wagons and headed west.

It’s not often that I get to eat breakfast in Massachusetts, lunch in Chicago, and dinner in Santa Monica. Makes for a long day. But our first evening in town went very well. Our alumni hosts treated us to a behind-the-scenes tour of a special-effects studio, which was busy producing the next animated blockbuster. When it comes out in theaters, I’ll be able to tell my kids I witnessed its creation.

During our walk back from dinner -- in shirt sleeves mind you, a far cry from the sub-zero temperatures we left in New England -- we passed the restaurant where the opening scene of Speed was filmed. We were on hallowed ground. Along the way, we chatted about the film industry. Our hosts mentioned how competitive it is, how unpredictable life can be, how peripatetic young professionals must become to make ends meet. It all sounded quite exciting and scary, and about as far from the life of a state employee as one could get.

The next day we met with a couple of alumni who represented the wide spectrum of (no offense intended) “Hollywood types.” On our way to lunch with the first one, I was reminded of the pleasures of L.A. traffic. I began to think it might be easier to make three rights than to take a left without the benefit of a jumper light. We were running a bit late, and our navigation system, which we named Gertrude, told us we were about five miles from our destination. My colleague called our alumna and said we would arrive in 45 minutes. That turned out to be a good guess.

Over lunch, we discussed this graduate’s amazing career. I won’t venture into details, but suffice it to say she’s “made it.” Names dropped like autumn leaves. What’s more, she understood philanthropy and knew exactly why we were there -- to escape winter, of course. When someone asks how your campaign is going, without your even mentioning you’re in one, that’s a clue. I left feeling that, if nothing else went right, that meeting made the trip worthwhile.

Gertrude told us our next appointment was about 40 miles away, so we figured we would arrive in about three hours. The good news is that we made incredible time. Maybe there was a Lakers game and folks were staying in town. Whatever the case, we actually got our rig moving faster than 30 miles per hour, which made us giddy. The bad news? It wasn’t worth going.

Los Angeles, as I suggested earlier, is home to three broad categories of Hollywood sorts. Some have actually fashioned careers in the film industry, and remain gainfully employed. Many even become rich, as we saw during our stroll down Rodeo Drive, where I made a pilgrimage to the boutique visited by Julia Roberts’s character in Pretty Woman. My wife wanted a photo.

Another category includes those hoping to make it. They’re the actors/directors/producers/waiters who are taking acting classes, writing spec scripts, networking with anyone who’ll listen, and memorizing lunch specials. They know it’s tough and the odds are long, but they’re pursuing a dream. Maybe someday they’ll become big donors. Or not.

The third category features artists who think they’ve made it but haven’t. And never will. They call themselves actors, or producers, and even sport business cards to prove it. It’s all terribly impressive until you learn they actually work at Macy’s and that their production company consists of a dozen friends equally delusional. Nice folks, really, but reality isn’t their strong suit. Major prospects? I don’t think so.

That was our dinner date.

Note to fund raisers booking trips in February: Nobody likes to get together on Valentine’s Day. It’s a sacred Hallmark holiday. So we had that day to, um, rest up for the remainder of the trip. Rest included visits to a few beaches, most notably Muscle Beach in Venice, where my colleague clicked a blackmail-worthy photo of me, and to the high-class shops along its boardwalk. We also managed to play a round of golf in Malibu, which sounds more expensive than it was. And thanks to Gertrude, we found our way to the Hollywood hills and saw some spectacular views of the smog. Sometimes the life of a fund raiser can seem rather grueling, no?

Guilt never crossed our minds because we were “on the clock” for a week, away from family, and mostly busy conducting development business. You may assume there’s plenty of down time but, in truth, we actually packed a good deal of work into the trips. Our receipts prove it.

The final visit, with an extremely affluent prospect, gave us yet more hope. Here again, she knew the game and her role. We didn’t ask for a gift, which surprised her a bit. Perhaps fund raisers out West are more aggressive, because here in Massachusetts, we don’t kiss on the first date. We take things slowly, building relationships over time, managing moves, and carefully weaving cultivation strategies. More dates are in order.

On the trip home, I had plenty of time to reflect on our experiences. We decided to take the red-eye flight to save a day. Smart thinking, except that we sat in the emergency-exit row, and the seats there, as we unfortunately learned, don’t recline. Makes for a long journey when you’re sitting at a 90-degree angle all night.

So I thought some more. Was our trip successful? We didn’t raise any money, yet we connected with several good prospects. And some not-so-good prospects. A net loss, yes, but a down payment on a pretty decent return on our investment, I predict.

What are the next steps? How many more trips to California before we realize the fruits of our efforts? Didn’t I read somewhere that every zero in your projected gift equals one visit? Four or five more times in LA.? You have to be kidding. This, evidently, could take a while. Sitting on the frozen tarmac in New Jersey, I wondered how this business can be at once so simple and so complicated.