Part 5 (1/2)

”Okay, it goes like this. Instead of the plaque on, say, a reception desk, stating THIS DESK GIVEN THROUGH THE GENEROSITY OF d.i.c.k AND DOTTY d.i.c.kHEAD THIS DESK GIVEN THROUGH THE GENEROSITY OF d.i.c.k AND DOTTY d.i.c.kHEAD, it just has a nice bra.s.s plate that says d.i.c.kHEAD d.i.c.kHEAD. Because if you put up all that other stuff, it looks like someone just coughed up the bucks to get their name there. But if it just says d.i.c.kHEAD d.i.c.kHEAD, it makes you stop for a minute and think, yeah, that d.i.c.khead.” d.i.c.khead.”

”I see.”

”Isn't that what Walter J. Annenberg did at Harvard?” Mr. Morin put in.

”Exactly. He gave several million dollars to Harvard just to have a dining hall named for him.”

”A dining hall?” I repeated with not entirely feigned incredulity.

”A freshman dining hall at that.”

”Amazing.”

”Well, it is a Harvard dining hall.”

”But a dining hall nonetheless.”

”Yes.”

”I mean a place where people eat.”

”Not really people, students. But eating is very important.”

All three were now openly t.i.ttering as Mr. Flaler went on.

”Exactly.”

”Well, Mr. Annenberg must be very rich and very humble to do such a generous thing.”

”Rich and generous but not necessarily humble.”

”What do you mean?”

”Well, he has his name, just his last name, and the word Hall Hall incised in great gold letters like they've been there forever just outside the dining hall in a hall that has until now been reserved for small marble plaques bearing the names of those sons of Harvard who were killed in the Civil War.” incised in great gold letters like they've been there forever just outside the dining hall in a hall that has until now been reserved for small marble plaques bearing the names of those sons of Harvard who were killed in the Civil War.”

”Really? Annenberg's name stands out among the fallen heroes of Harvard?”

”Sure.”

”Isn't that a little...louche?”

”Oh, no, Mr. de Ratour. It merely exemplifies what benefactors want in return for their money.”

”But those are heroes...”

”Yeah, but they only gave their lives...”

”And not for Harvard, either.”

”Do people give their lives for Harvard?”

”They'd rather have your money.”

I shook my head. ”I really don't see the point of trying to be remembered by people who don't know who you are or what you were.”

Mr. Morin snorted. ”Maybe that's because the people they knew wouldn't want to remember them.”

Mr. Sherkin then turned on what he must have taken for charm, telling me, ”Your museum, Mr. Ratour, is virgin territory. I took a walk through it the other day. It was disorienting to find hardly anything named for a hit...I mean a benefactor.”

I nodded and dissembled a quiet excitement as a plan began to form in my mind. I asked, ”What's the actual mechanism for getting people to make really big contributions?”

Mr. Flaler inhaled sagely. ”The approach. Asking for money is like asking for love. You have to do it right. Mostly, you get the rich to ask the rich. People with a lot of money need rea.s.suring.”

”You have to schmooze them,” Mr. Morin put in.

”Schmooze?”

”Give them drinks and praise. Glad-hand and glad-mouth them. Talk up the vision thing.”

”Like we said, people like to see their names chiseled on buildings.”

”Yeah, it's like the whole thing becomes their tombstone. Only it's not in the cemetery.”

”Right. And buildings need names.”

I shook my head. ”We have a policy at the museum. All gifts must be anonymous and with no strings attached. We are willing to consider naming a room or gallery or library for someone whose achievements in his or her field - Mason Twitch.e.l.l's, for instance - merit such consideration.”

Mr. Sherkin frowned. ”Any gifts to the university need to be channeled through the Development Office.”

I grimaced a smile at the man and said nothing.

Mr. Morin cleared his throat. ”Look, Norm, we're making you an exceptional offer. Everyone wants a piece of the New Millennium action, but the deal is strictly limited.”

”And what does the Museum of Man have to do in return for this privilege?”

”Simple. You get your Board to agree to a closer a.s.sociation with the university. Then we can cut out all this c.r.a.p in the courts.”

”I might even bring it up with the Board. And now, gentlemen, you'll have to excuse me. I have a museum to run.”

It took me a while to extricate myself. Thanking them each graciously and shaking their hands, I picked up the impressively designed three-ring binder t.i.tled ”Development Goals for the Museum of Man in the New Millennium.” It could well serve as the basis of a fund drive of our own.

But I must be careful. What I sense at Wainscott, what I don't want to happen at the MOM, is the philistinism that can result when an inst.i.tution becomes too consciously inst.i.tutional and loses sight of its original purpose.

12.