DCF Gathering

Rewarding evening.  One of my defenses against post-retirement loneliness has been activity each spring to review college scholarship applications for the Delaware Community Foundation.  This organization has functioned for decades, engaging in direct and indirect philanthropy.  Some years ago they invited Robert Putnam, whose landmark book Bowling Alone, captivated me, as their annual guest lecturer, having published a more recent work on disparity in American culture.  Despite a fee for the lecture and a little more for parking, I had a captivating evening.  After the speech, not being important enough to have access to the speaker, I headed to the foyer where the Foundation had set up tables with sign-up sheets.  They have paid staff, but they also seek volunteers.  I made rounds on the available projects, deciding to help out with their scholarship fund.  A short time later, somebody contacted me to confirm my interest, then started sending me each spring about thirty scholarship applications to review and score among a number of categories.  Most came from high school students entering college, but a few came from people already in college seeking medical school admission.  Being the only physician on their panel, some of those went to me.  In subsequent years the number of endowed scholarships administered by the Delaware Community Foundation has expanded, along with two scholarships dedicated to current medical and law students.  

The initial year of my involvement preceded the pandemic.  We met in person at a downtown building which houses many of our state's non-profits.  After Covid sidelined meetings, we met by Zoom, so despite doing this for a few seasons, I never really got to know anyone other than the person in charge of the scholarship program, and she lived downstate about a hundred miles away.

I never returned to any of their annual guest speakers, all unlike Professor Putnam, unfamiliar to me.  Yet when they decided to have two early evening in-person gatherings, one near me, one downstate, I eagerly accepted the chance to meet some of the people I had only seen electronically.  The reception took place at a niche State Park, a place dominated by a building and grounds of historical rather than natural interest.  Despite living only a short drive away and having a lifetime pre-paid State Park Pass, I had never been there.  GPS directed me uneventfully.  Followed the paths to the parking lot where there seemed to be ample people who arrived before my wife and me.  It was unclear where the gathering would take place, as the lobby seemed vacant, not even a person at the front desk to direct people or call 911 should anyone appear dangerous.  We went upstairs, there being nobody in the other room on the ground floor either.  At the upper elevator door, a few people clad in black and white uniforms suggestive of the catering service mingled with each other.  The hall only went in one direction, so through the next entryway we found the person who hands out the name tags.  Mine came pre-printed.  My wife had to create hers with a Sharpie Marker.  Then into a small foyer where they had beverages, a choice of wine, several beers, and soft drinks.  Not clear whether open or cash.  Then into the next room where they had food displayed on a long table, much like my synagogue's Kiddush, surrounded by several chest-high round tables without stools capable of accommodating about five people each.  My scholarship coordinator had driven here for the occasion.  I'd not actually seen her since the pandemic.  Quick hug, introduced my wife, some chat about the scholarship process and how it meshes with the Delaware Community Foundation mission in some respects but holds a unique place in other considerations.  

Some nibbles.  Sufficient vegetarian options with vegetables, dips, a cheese board, bread assortment and small hoagie portions.  I recognized the caterer, an offshoot of one of the premier restaurants where we used to go for supper after the Medical Center Holiday party, though have not been for at least ten years.  Still attractive and tasty samples.  We went over to an unoccupied standing table.  Two women came over, one unknown to me who did not stay very long, the other known to me from my days of local medical practice and known to my wife through a Jewish organization.  We chatted, mostly about the Foundation for which she once worked.

Then time for liquids.  Quick walk to the bar.  White wine for my wife.  For me, the local brew, a bottle of Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA, the recipe that brought them to prominence.  Back to the table to sip it.  I offered to pay for these, but apparently the DCF opted for an open bar.  Good Beer.

While in conversation, the organizers moved the crowd into the large room where the CEO would be giving his presentation.  He described philanthropy in its many aspects, managing money, approving proposals, creating a balance of projects, though primarily enabling access to better health, social stability, or communal initiative for those who did not already have these things.  And that's a lot of people.  By then we had reassembled to new tables.  My wife, myself, the lady we were with, a DCF Board member who turned out to be the mother of our State Senator, and a staffer from the DCF.  After the talk the CEO posed for publicity photos, then headed out toward the food.  I followed him to ask him questions about his talk.  What was missing was something very elementary in my medical world where we measure everything.  How does he know how successful a project really has been?  When they apply for grants, do those seeking funds have to specify in advance how they will determine whether their purpose was fulfilled.  Some things are easy to measure.  How many people apply for the scholarships.  How many kids from a neighborhood attend a community center after school.  Some things are harder.  When a health initiative is offered, how much healthier do people become?

There's another tough determination.  Not all projects succeed.  In some way it appeared to be like a stock which may be declining low enough to never rebound to profitability yet investors acquire those stocks because they believed in the company and retain ownership of their decision as well as the failing investment.  There is a time to move on.  As expected, he understood this, but grants have a life of their own.  Those who acquire them assume ownership, not just temporary stewardship.  This may be one of philanthropy's Achilles Heels.  

Back to the table with a little more food, but no more drink.  Some chat with the new people at my table, with considerable praise on my part for our State Senator.

Time to go.  Dessert tidbits on the way out.

The last evening reception I attended had been about three months earlier, another very pleasant evening with new people.  I don't get to do enough of that.  My synagogue has mostly the same people who segregate with their Besties.  I can make an effort to capture the attention of a different person at kiddush from one shabbos to the next, though with only partial success.  And I've not been invited to a cocktail party in years. This was the closest I've come.  And I found it immensely enjoyable.