A Downhill Battle

By Mark J. Drozdowski

As good-will ambassadors for our institutions, we fund raisers often stretch beyond the call of duty to accommodate potential donors. I've had to endure golf outings, Final Four weekends, yacht rides, wine-tasting parties, and various other excursions that have deprived me of more enriching experiences like staff meetings. Yet we persevere for the good of the cause.

In February, however, I was pushed too far. One particular prospect, a "corporate contributions officer" representing his company's best interests, wanted to take me skiing. He also wanted to discuss a possible scholarship gift.

I should have heeded the early warning signals. On his first trip to campus he arrived in a Subaru sporting a ski rack -- complete with skis. The "Rossignol" sticker covering half the side window was another clue. This guy was Franz Klammer in pinstripes. How quaint, I thought.

After some cajoling, he finally persuaded me to join him for an afternoon of fun at a "little hill" in Vermont. From that little hill I could see three states, but he assured me it was "just right" for beginners like me. I obliged partly because I'd always wanted to try downhill skiing, even though the notion terrified me, but also because I knew a potentially large scholarship gift hung in the balance. It seemed like a good opportunity for mutual edification: He was new to corporate contributions, so I could apprise him of how his company might invest wisely in us; he, in turn, was eager to teach me to ski.

The day he picked was clear but frigid, and we met near the rental barn. I wasted no time, launching into my pitch while trying on boots. "One of our primary goals is to increase scholarship aid for needy students," I explained. "As tuition rises, we're afraid of pricing ourselves beyond what some families can afford."

Unlike ice skates, I discovered, ski boots lurch you forward. I clamped into my skis and did my best impression of a newborn calf on Quaaludes.

"Steady there, doc," Franz snickered, visibly amused at watching my dignity take a flogging. "Use those poles for balance."

Our conversation continued on the bunny slope, where I was supposed to learn the finer points of turning, plowing, and rejoining separated shoulders.

"You're in luck," he said as I struggled not to wipe out on the tow rope, "because most of the money we give away goes for college scholarships. In fact, I have an idea I want to run by you."

"Great," I said, picking the snow from my eyebrows. "Let's move this conversation to the lodge."

"Later. For now, let's get up that hill. We'll have plenty of time to talk on the lift."

During our ascent he told me that the company was interested in establishing a scholarship "in the five-figure range." I was all ears, frozen as they were. But I recoiled a bit when he outlined his proposed criteria.

In an effort to increase minority hiring and serve the local community, the company wanted to earmark scholarships for members of certain minority groups from specific neighboring towns. And, for good measure, recipients had to major in engineering.

"Uh, we don't have an engineering major," I told him. "And I'm not sure we want to restrict your scholarships that way."

"No engineering, huh?" Franz said. "We can work with that. But we definitely want our money to go to minorities from the area.

"Get ready to jump," he added.

He had left out that minor point about jumping. It seemed my discharge involved leaping out of the chair and onto a snowy ramp. I felt rather queasy about the idea, so I did the next best thing: I just sat there, catatonic with terror. About the time the lift started to head back down the hill, I decided it was better not to continue the ride. So I sprang from my perch and landed upside down in a heap, narrowly avoiding the oncoming chairs.

"That was fun," I said, brushing myself off nonchalantly, as if my dismount had been carefully planned. "But let's get back to the scholarship criteria."

I followed my tormenter as he made his way across the summit, looking for a challenging path back down. "Like I said," he reiterated, "we want to target our money for minority students. I don't see a problem with that."

"It's a problem for two reasons," I countered. "First, we might have difficulty finding appropriate recipients if you define the criteria too narrowly." I reminded him that New Hampshire has a very small minority population.

"But more important," I said, "we don't want to light a powder keg by creating a scholarship just for minorities."

"Well, we'll talk in a bit," he replied. "Let's go this way." He pointed at his preferred trail but warned me not to pay attention to the sign with the black diamond. It meant nothing to me at the time, but I later thought it should have instead featured a skull and crossbones.

Truth is, the trip down the slope gave me time to think about how I could tactfully state my case about minority scholarships. It turned out to be plenty of time. I spent the better part of half an hour sliding down on my keister, digging my elbows into the packed snow to slow my pace. A few times I tried to stand up and refasten my skis, but the slope was too steep. And it was all I could do to avoid the kindergarten-age snowboarders whisking past me at warp speed.

Sympathetic, Franz eventually waited for me to skid down to where he'd stopped. He wanted to offer words of encouragement.

"You're doing fine!" he said, savoring the sarcasm. "We're certain to make it to the bottom before dusk."

Finally regaining enough balance to stand up, I attempted to deflect the conversation back to the scholarship issue.

"Policies promoting racial preferences have come under serious attack recently," I began. "Affirmative action in college admissions has been especially scrutinized, even by the Supreme Court."

"Like out in Minnesota," he added.

"Michigan."

"Whatever."

"But minority scholarship programs are even harder to justify," I continued. "Let's get to the bottom first, and then I'll explain why."

Franz resumed his side-to-side swooshing while I assumed my original seated position to ready myself for the final third of the trip. As I neared the end, where the hill began to flatten, I gathered enough moxie to travel upright. I demonstrated great form and picked up modest speed. But by the time I approached the lodge, I was slightly out of control and wondered how I might actually stop. Dozens of skiers stared in disbelief as I streaked toward them, arms and poles flailing, shouting "Better move!" I managed to avoid the crowd and finished the trip impersonating a luge rider without the luge.

"Smooth," said Franz as he followed me to retrieve one ski that had escaped the ordeal.

"Now can we retire to the lodge?" I asked. "I could use a hot toddy and an ice pack."

Once inside, we and the conversation heated up.

"You were saying that minority scholarships are harder to justify than affirmative-action decisions," he reminded me.

"Right. Well, with affirmative action, race provides some advantages in admissions decisions. But with minority scholarship programs, race is the defining factor. In other words, it's the difference between preference and exclusion. That's why race-based scholarships are so controversial these days. The media has reported several stories recently about campuses affected by scholarships reserved for minority students."

"How about those students in Rhode Island who started a scholarship just for white students?" he asked.

"Exactly. That was a prime example of a conservative backlash against these programs," I explained while rubbing the feeling back into my calves.

"But can't donors choose whom they want to support?"

"Yes, to some extent. You can't earmark scholarship aid to a particular student, for example. That wouldn't be a charitable gift. But you do have some latitude."

"How much?"

"Quite a bit, actually. I'm no legal expert, but I assume the courts would more likely approve a minority scholarship established by a donor than a program initiated by a college."

"And you're private, so that helps."

"Yes, we're not held to the same standards as public institutions, but that's a fuzzy area too because we do receive federal funds."

"Let's leave race out of this for a minute," Franz said. "Could we create a scholarship for an athlete -- say, someone from the ski team?"

"Sure."

"How is that different from a minority scholarship?"

After ordering another round in hopes of easing the pain now coming from various sources, I tackled his question.

"Fundamentally, it's similar," I said, "though keep in mind that athletic ability is in fact a form of merit. But practically speaking, there's just something unsettling about singling out race as the determining factor in any competition. It's just a delicate subject that has come under intense scrutiny. Campuses across the country are rethinking programs that are based solely on race."

"So what would you recommend?" Franz asked. "What do I tell my boss?"

I suggested that his company should create a scholarship that gives preference to minority students from several area towns, but does not exclude anyone or any major. I told him we'd require a combination of academic merit and demonstrated financial need. And I offered to help arrange a company internship for the recipient.

"That sounds pretty safe," he concluded, "and not really what we had in mind. But I'll see what I can do. I don't want to put the college in a difficult situation. Up for another run?"

"I think I'll sit this one out," I said, not wanting to battle gravity again, especially under a slight influence. "One slippery slope is enough."