Dance Lest We All Fall Down - Margaret Willson [72]
We gathered a group of trustees, which included Alex, Susie, the accountant from Susie’s company who had worked with several nonprofits before, and Tom, a friend of mine who had been at the London School of Economics with me. Tom was at that time Economic Advisor for Europe for a major economics think tank.
I turned in all the paperwork to the Charities Commission, had it officially stamped, and we had our first trustees meeting.
“It will be fine,” the accountant said, leaning back into Alex and Susie’s sofa, sipping a wine he clearly appreciated. “They will want to meet with some of the trustees to determine if we are the ‘right’ sort of people to be trusted.”
“How can they tell?” I asked.
The accountant swirled the wine in his glass for a moment. “I am sure they will think this group is fine. We can invite them down for lunch at my house in the country—they always love that kind of thing—and I doubt there will be a problem.”
Alex laughed. “That’s what this is all about really, isn’t it? Getting your nice lunches, going to the proper society ‘dos.’”
The accountant smiled in acknowledgment.
“So, do you want an overview of the program?” I asked.
“A brief one,” Alex said. “We are helping poor little girls get an education in Brazil. That’s enough for me.”
“But there is a political infrastructure. The way it’s put together makes the organization particularly effective in promoting lasting hierarchical change in the social structure.”
Alex yawned. “Yeah. Well, I’m not interested in all that. That’s your part, you worry about that.”
“We need to put together a database,” Tom said. “I’ll donate a decent computer.”
“We have enough money now to hire an administrator,” Susie said. “I think we should put aside a bit for that from the beginning.”
“Yes,” Alex said, “and take what money we have now and divide it by twelve so we know how much we’ll be giving for the entire year. Then next year we may have the money to give or not, but we can determine that then.”
“Is that how you’re doing it in the States?” Susie asked.
“No, I’m scrabbling the money together in any way possible. We don’t know from month to month if we have enough money for the entire month.”
“That’s not good,” Alex said. “We will commit to a certain amount each month for a year and then see if we can commit again the following year or not.” The others nodded in agreement.
Alex leaned back into the sofa and chuckled. “Now I’ll force Nick to write me a fat check to pay him back for the rather largish check he forced out of me at his little gathering for that charity project he’s all involved in now.”
“And there’s Paul,” Susie said. “He’s Alex’s trust lawyer, a lovely fellow. You’ll like him. We must include him.”
“We can send out letters to a select group of our friends,” Tom said. “Not too forceful, just telling them about Bahia Street.”
“And only once a year,” Alex said. “And we can have a party, invite someone fashionable to draw people here, then get the checks out of them.”
“And I have several clients who are football stars—soccer stars, Margaret, you understand.” I nodded. “They might be interested.”
I shook my head and followed the accountant’s example of sinking into the sofa and sipping my wine. It was indeed a wonderful wine. This branch of Bahia Street, I could see already, was going to be a completely different animal than our rough and ready one in Seattle. I wondered what Rita would say when I told her about this. I just hoped the project would live up to their confidence.
Letter to Mailing List of 60: October 11, 1998
Dear Donors and Volunteers,
I feel it has been so long since I last wrote, in part because so much has happened.
The largest piece of news is that Bahia Street is to be registered as a charity in