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a long-articulated policy that was ultimately based on financial considerations. Intellect, not emotion, governs such a policy, but it is intellect of a cool kind. By Harvard's critics it is seen LIS an absence of sensitivity, the fortunate looking down upon the unfortunate, the strong patronizing the weak. Harvard's money not only complicates its stance on South African investments but informs its attitude toward the debate itself. To many observers the institutional neutrality to which Bok often refers is a fiction, and the new era at Harvard is symbolized by the cautionary, calculated style of a president who frequently stresses management of a policy over leadership on an issue.
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oney maintains Harvard's preeminence, but aggressive money-making can raise ethical, moral, and legal questions that are magnified by Harvard's place in American society. 1 began my book with the intention of writing about the University's fundraising, with particular focus on the Harvard Campaign. But the head of Harvard's professional fundraising corps did not warm to the prospect of being followed around by a writer, and he told me a book about Harvard fundraising would distort the relationship of the University and its alumni. I was forced to broaden my approach, and in the process uncovered issues that are more important than the workings of the development office. I did, of course, continue to follow the progress of the Harvard Campaign. Launched in 1979 with a five-year goal of $250 million, it had been trumpeted by the University with all the social zeal and verbal flourish of a holy war. Some $53 million had already been pledged when the Campaign was announced, and primary attention was given to major gifts— those of $100,000 or more. In the Campaign's second veur, staff and volunteers swung into the "regional phase," a twoyear effort to woo alumni in 7b cities throughout the country. At the same time, campaign strategists were encouraging alumni in major reunion years—"the fixes"—to boost their class giving totals. A surprising number of alumni were influenced by this nostalgic incentive, refined over the yeats by the Harvard College Fund. The initial response to the Campaign was so strong that in the summer of 1982 its goal was raised by $100 million. Then the pace of giving began to slacken. In July 1983, at the shaky midpoint of the Campaign's fourth year, its leaders realized that new gifts and pledges would have to average $5 million per month if they were to reach the $350-million target on schedule. The following January the executive committee announced a$25-miIHon "challenge fund," made up of increased pledges by the 27 committee members and three others. The fund would match each new contribution on the basis of one dollar for even.' two donated. By June the Campaign was passing the $300 million mark, and at year's end it was apparent that the Campaign would make its $350-million goal with a few millions to boot. Harvard had spent about $21 million, or six percent of the total, to raise the money—much less than the national average for fundraising campaigns of nine percent. Though the Harvard Campaign was over, the quest for more contributions was not. T h e sixry-ycar-old Harvard College Fund, which had been in suspension during the Campaign, would now be resumed, but at a different order of magnitude. In 1979, its last year of activity, the Fund had realized $7.5 million, the largest annual-giving total ever pre104
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sented to a college by its alumni. For 1985-86, its target would be a whopping $17,350,000—a goal that was exceeded by $2 million when the Fund closed its books at the end of June. As I tracked the Campaign's latter stages, I learned more about the workings of Harvard's money machine. And I soon understood the development office's reluctance to talk with me. Most alumni view Harvard more sentimentally than Harvard views them, and this is especially so in the realm of fundraising. Harvard sees its alumni as prospects. It rates their potential to give by gathering and analyzing a wealth of private and public information about them. T h e euphemism for this activity is donor research, and the development staff spends long hours photocopying, collating, and filing its findings. Basic briefing information contains a potential donor's employment history, a list of directorships and trusteeships, a history of past giving to Harvard, and a summary of Harvard activities. Any family connection to Harvard is included, and outside interests summarized. Finally, Harvard estimates the prospect's net worth by calculating his estimated resources and liabilities. This is the trickiest part, because the information on which it is based is the hardest to come by. Corporate annual reports (including a company's so-called 10-K filings with the S.E.C., on which compensation of the company's highest-paid executives is included) are helpful. So are the casual remarks of a prospect's friends. T h e development office doesn't like to talk about donor research. Derek Bok can get angry when asked about it. Hehas every reason to. Such civilized spying is contrary to the spirit of free inquiry on which Harvard's scholarly community is based. But donor research and its ramifications have become an accepted part of the megacorporate ethic.
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or its printed appeals to alumni, the Harvard Campaign adopted a crimson-and-white logo that showed Daniel Chester French's statue of John Harvard in silhouette. John Harvard, a poor minister who died in 1638, left his library and half his estate to the tiny college that had been founded two years before. No one knows what John Harvard looked like. French's statue, completed in 1883 for the College's 250th anniversary, is an idealization. Raising a chalice on the cover of the final issue of the Harvard Campaign's newsletter is a caricature of the statue. His youthful face smiling, John Harvard leans forward in his chair, the angle of his knees suggesting that he might stand to toast all the campaign contributors. Nearly three and a half centuries after his death, John Harvard has become a marketing logo, shamelessly selling what supposedly has no price. Still, the institution that began with John Harvard's generosity is prospering. With a record-setting capital campaign completed, the Harvard College Fund at a new high, tuition increases unabated, and the endowment growing at an average annual rate of over 10 percent since the inception of HMC. Harvard at 350 is in excellent financial shape. T h e ratio of endowment to annual budget—or "equity base," as George Siguier likes to call it—is about 5:1, and improving steadily. Harvard in 1986 is giving another meaning to a well-worn term: a new kind of "golden age" is at hand. Q k former reporter and college official, Carl A. Vigeland '6'J lives in Conway, Massachusetts.