We Americans are charitable people.
That's not enough for some of our charities.
Long ago these enterprising charitable organizations hit upon a genius scheme to squeeze the last drop out of us. I call it the Great American Charitable Shakedown and it works something like this:
Locate a CEO with a huge ego who runs a company with many outside vendors. It's best if this CEO already sits on your board of directors, but that's not required.
Offer to make the CEO your charity's man of the year if, but only if, the CEO can fill a hotel ballroom with people willing to spend $10,000 per table to watch the CEO accept the man of the year award.
(It helps if last year's honoree is one of the CEO's rivals.)
Mark the CEO's company down for five tables. Collect from the CEO contact information for his mother and father, five of his closest friends and 100 of his company's largest vendors. A lot of tables need filling.
Send a solicitation letter to the vendors, offering them the opportunity to pay $10,000 to sit at a table and watch the CEO get honored. Offer full page ads in your program for another $5,000. For vendors who want to publicly announce the termination of their relationship with the company, offer half-page ads for $3,000.
Some vendors won't get the message, others will hope if they shut their eyes and cover their ears you'll go away. Get the CEO's underlings to contact these hold-outs personally to emphasize how important this event is to the CEO and the company. Ball-peen hammers shouldn't be necessary.
(It helps if the underling can point out that the vendor's chief rival has already purchased two tables. "Can I mark you down for three?")
One by one, the vendors cave. You sit back and collect the checks as they pour in. All you have to do now is hire some third-rate entertainment, order some rubber chicken and, on the off chance anyone at the dinner actually cares enough about your charity to keep giving after being held up for tens of thousands of dollars, prepare a short commercial showing your charity's good works for broadcast at the dinner to your captive audience.
On the night of your dinner, watch the vendors scramble to demonstrate to someone, anyone, at the company that they've paid their dues and deserve to continue to do business with the company.
Dim the lights, trot out the entertainment, dish out the rubber chicken, give the CEO plenty of time to canonize himself at the podium. Finish in two hours and you're a hero. Survey the now empty room, the half-eaten dinners and discarded programs filled with unread testimonials to the CEO's greatness and think to yourself "we've already cleaned up."
Behold, my friends, the Great American Charitable Shakedown, brought to you by our charity-industrial complex. All for a good cause.
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