Fundraising

WEKU starts its spring membership drive this weekend. When I worked at the station I was probably the only employee who actually looked forward to the pledge drives. After all, for most of them it was a week of long hours, funky shift changes to accommodate everyone's schedules, and countless cups of coffee and stale donuts. For me it was a golden week when I was allowed to go on the air and extemporize about why public radio is so great that people should voluntarily pay for it. This is something that I'm likely to do for free any time someone mentions public radio, so to be paid to shill for them was like a dream come true.

I mean, when I was in elementary school I used to try to guilt trip my parents into pledging during the public television fund drives because I believed it when the hosts said "If you don't pledge, we won't be able to bring you this great programming." Public television pledge drives were when they ran the "good" shows that we otherwise would never have seen, things like Monty Python and The Red Green Show. Without public tv, my sense of humor wouldn't be nearly as warped as it is today, and yet my parents never sent in a dime.

From what everyone at WEKU told me, the years of begging my parents to pledge have given me a finely developed ability to pitch during pledge drives - and they must be serious, because they've asked me to come back to help fill shifts during the two drives since Liza was born. And they haven't even asked me to bring the baby, so I know they don't have ulterior motives about inviting me! I'm not that great at reading off of the prepared pitch cards that some of the hosts use, but if you want to give me ninety seconds to tell you how pledging to WEKU is a much better way to spend your Saturday morning than, say, ripping out the English ivy that's invading your front yard, I'm golden.

Jason, on the other hand, is about the last person you'd ever ask to do a pledge drive. He hates talking to strangers on the phone, hates asking people for favors, and is generally uncomfortable talking about money matters with other people. I mean, it's taken almost 10 years of marriage for me to convince him that asking him to call in the pizza order isn't some sort of punishment I'm leveling on him.

So I was surprised when he called me today to tell me that he had been "volunteered" to be his company's representative at the MDA "lock-up" fundraiser. Apparently all the people who usually do this sort of thing were out of town or otherwise unavailable, and Jason was the man of last resort. Nobody told him about it ahead of time, though, so when the police officer showed up to drive him to the holding cell at the bowling alley, he had a bunch of meetings he couldn't reschedule. Nothing like telling the cop, "I'll meet you there at 2 pm." For that matter, there's nothing like getting a call from your husband saying, "So they asked me to come down to HR, and when I get in Mike's office there's a police officer waiting for me there." Just about gave me a heart attack, that particular sentence did.

Despite a late start and a complete lack of planning and/or preparation on his part, Jason managed to raise $850 for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, aka "Jerry's Kids." Or, as the lady sitting near Jason kept saying, "I'm calling to raise money for Gary's Kids." I can just imagine getting that call - "Lady, who's Gary, and why the heck should I care about his kids?" For his time, Jason received a commemorative photo, a certificate, a t-shirt, a keychain shaped like a pair of handcuffs, and a book of really crappy poetry written by one of Gary's Kids. I personally think they should have skipped the trinkets and let him leave after only $800, but that's why they don't put me in charge of these things.

Anyway, congratulations to Jason, even if he didn't have the guts to actually call any of the neighbors whose phone numbers he made me look up when he called home this afternoon. Gary's Kids would be so proud!