Powers of Persuasion

Jack Shakely is an Oklahoma boy, and it shows. He says things like “bless her heart” and “gosh darn,” and gets away with it. He greets everyone--security guard, colleague, maitre d’--by name, and when he asks, “How ya doin’?,” he actually leaves room for an answer.

And there’s the accent, worn down a bit by years in the big city to a genial, countrified lilt that carries his words along like running water. It’s a definite asset.

Because as president of the California Community Foundation, Jack Shakely talks for a living. At cocktail parties and benefits, in front of Rotary Clubs and conferences, Shakely talks about money. Complex sentences, complete paragraphs, page-long soliloquies about scholarships and grants and donor-advised funds, about neighborhood regeneration and commitment to the arts, and the partnership between the private and nonprofit sectors.

Shakely talks about all these things, and many more, and that cordial Oklahoma accent sweeps the listener along, makes it easy to think: “Why yes, yes, I do have a lot of money, and I certainly want to do some good. So perhaps I should give some of it away. Yes. Through the California Community Foundation.”

The foundation, one of the oldest of its kind in the country, is a collective of philanthropic funds that doles out millions of dollars each year, mostly to local programs and artists.

“I have two big jobs,” Shakely says. “Working with the board to look at grant-making opportunities for cohesive programs, and working with the staff to proselytize on behalf of philanthropy. I tell folks, ‘You ought to be a philanthropist, it’s good for your health, improves your teeth and gums.’ ”

Which may explain, in part, why, during Shakely’s 20-year tenure, the foundation has increased its assets from $22 million to almost $500 million, and last year gave almost $60 million in grants and scholarships to 3,000 organizations throughout Southern California.

The arts, education, community revitalization, health, children, multicultural needs, rehabilitation and recovery--the areas that the foundation funds are as limitless as human need. Recipients of board grants in 1997-98 included Long Beach Day Nursery, California Museum of Science and Industry, Helen Keller International, ChildSight and the Center for Nonprofit Management.

But board grants are the smallest tier on the foundation’s philanthropic tea trolley. The foundation’s assets come from more than 900 funds--large donations made by individuals. The foundation invests the money and pays out a percentage of the return to local nonprofits, which are chosen depending on the type of fund the donor has established. (A discretionary fund, for example, allows money to be used for any purpose approved by the foundation’s board of governors; a field of interest funds limits grants to a broad area such as education; designated funds endow specific charities.)

Donors Decide Who

Gets Grants

Most of the foundation’s grants, however, are made through donor-advised funds, which leave the grant-making decisions largely to the donors. Some of these are anonymous and very few are publicly announced.

By offering philanthropists such a smorgasbord and relatively low overhead--Shakely regularly boasts about his 1% average administration cost--community foundations have in recent years managed to corral some of the baby-boomer money that charities and nonprofits are scrambling for. The donor-advised funds in particular are enticing to the entrepreneurial philanthropist--the Silicon Valley whiz kid, for example, who made her own money and wants a lot of say in how it is doled out.

“Community foundations make it very easy for people to give, especially if you want control but don’t have the time or money to set up a private foundation,” says Stacy Palmer, editor of the Chronicle of Philanthropy, a biweekly newspaper for the nonprofit community.

Shakely and the board of governors, which is made up of 17 prominent community leaders, spend a fair amount of time reviewing staff-recommended grants.

But in the new world of philanthropy, where donors are more interested in the bottom line than the fancy-schmancy charity ball, innovation, networking and a really good business plan are requisite.

“I can’t afford to sit around and wait for a really good grant request to drop on my desk,” says Shakely, 59. “And it is clearly no longer enough to fund a health clinic in Venice if the neighborhood around it is going to pot.”

He is sitting at a small round table in an office not his own in the foundation’s downtown Los Angeles quarters. He was just kicked out of his, he explains, by board Chairman Virgil Roberts, who is meeting with a developer to discuss luring a call center--the actual place where many 800 numbers are answered--to Los Angeles. Because the majority of such calling center workers are women, AT&T; has created extended workplaces, mostly in the South, complete with day care, a clinic, literacy programs and other basic services to attract workers. The result: accidental community impact. Now Shakely wants a not-so-accidental version in L.A.

“We found out the developer who has planned these sites is from here,” says Shakely. “So we called him up. We’re thinking we may be able to entice one of these big companies if the public-private commitment was strong enough. The day care, the clinic, the programs, we could handle that, if they just provide the jobs.”

Roberts sticks his head in the door to make a report: The developer seemed interested but reticent about a few issues. Next steps: Identify a shopping mall suitable for such an undertaking and do a labor market survey.

“We’ll see if we can’t jump-start this,” says Roberts as he leaves.

It’s a far cry from sitting at a desk leafing through grant proposals. “We have to be aggressive,” says Shakely. “I guess we run the risk of being accused of meddling, of dominating rather than supporting certain groups.”

To an outsider, such criticism would seem odd, considering the foundation basically gives away huge wads of money. But wherever there are huge wads of money, there will be criticism and competition.

“Certainly there are feelings of competition between community foundations and charities,” says Palmer of the Chronicle of Philanthropy. “The charities would rather receive all the money directly with no middle man. There is also a tension between these relatively new foundations and groups that specialize in federated giving like the United Way. Many of them are going head to head after the same big donors.”

In Los Angeles, Tom Rosin, director of communications for the United Way, which raises the bulk of its money through the workplace, sees it differently:

“All giving is good giving,” he says quickly. “We have worked together on projects, and our way of doing business is very different. But obviously there is a finite community of donors.”

The sudden growth of special tax-exempt funds set up by for-profits--banks and investment companies--are also muscling in on that finite community. Shakely decries these funds, claiming that companies like Fidelity Investments spend too much on high-profile ad campaigns. But the result is that he and other community foundations must increase their visibility.

But this was why the foundation hired Shakely in the first place. Then publisher of Foundations News Magazine for the Council on Foundations, Shakely had just written a piece on the rise of community foundations that took the slumbering California Community Foundation to task. A few days after the article appeared, Shakely got a call from Sid Brody, then head of the board.

“Sid said, ‘You probably think I’m going to punch you in the nose,’ ” Shakely says with a laugh, “ ‘but I want to hire you to help me fix this thing.’ ”

It didn’t take much convincing; Shakely had been wanting to run a community foundation since the mid-’70s, when he decided that they were the future of philanthropy, and he had a few ideas of his own.

“Jack knew how to position the foundation,” says Paul Vandeventer, former vice president of the foundation and now president of the nonprofit Community Partners. “He established a real credibility not only in the minds of the donors, but in the minds of those with access to donors. He made sure every attorney and accountant in town who had any influence in estate planning knew the benefits of the foundation.”

Vandeventer, whose organization, which provides administrative, financial and legal assistance to nonprofit groups, especially new ones, has been funded in the past by the foundation, says good word of mouth made the growth possible. “We hit some real bumps in the late ‘80s, but Jack just turned the whole financial function around. Now [the foundation] is unquestionably a well-run financial organization.”

Shakely’s first step toward this fairly specific career goal was a direct result of the size of his hometown: small. Very small. So when he graduated from the University of Oklahoma, he joined the Peace Corps.

“Now, I would like to say I was motivated by the greater good,” he says, “but I really just wanted to go somewhere.” Costa Rica was definitely somewhere.

“It was such an awakening for me. I met these young people from all over and they had joined with the dedication to improve the world. They really thought they could turn it around.”

Shortly after his two years were up, he was drafted. Because of his fluency in Spanish, he was sent to a base in Key West, Fla. Eventually, he made his way to Los Angeles, where he worked for awhile until grant-writing and public relations took him to Washington, D.C. and the council and the fateful telephone call.

“I really never thought I would end up back here,” he says, “because frankly, this was not a cutting-edge kind of town, foundation-wise, and I am a cutting edge sort of guy.”

The town he refers to shimmers all around him--from the 24th floor corner office downtown. Los Angeles, from Pershing Square to beyond the Hollywood Hills, spreads itself out in silver-white summer lassitude.

“Oh, you should see the view from the new office,” he says. “I can see Dodger Stadium from there.”

The foundation has in fact outgrown its office space and is moving a few blocks away to a space with 5,000 more square feet.

An Office Filled

With Family Photos

The only thing that competes with the view, in fact, are the pictures, the family pictures--rows of them that leave scant room for books on the shelves. Shakely just celebrated his first wedding anniversary with wife Kitty Bartholomew, host of Home and Garden Television’s “Kitty Bartholomew: You’re Home.” Front and center is their wedding photo, with their blended brood--Benton (his), Brooke, Bo and Bridget (hers).

“The fighting Bs,” he says, laughing. “It really was a coincidence.”

The two met on a blind date--he took her to a fund-raising dinner--and hit it off. “I go to two or three of these things a week,” he says, “and bless her heart, she just loves them. Which makes it a lot easier, let me tell you.”

“I have to say it is such a thrill for me to have daughters,” he adds. “Brooke, in fact, just graduated from the University of Indiana in nonprofit studies, and I was that proud.”

For a boy who joined the Peace Corps just to get out of town, Shakely seems to firmly believe in the importance and the possibilities of the philanthropic sector. He makes it a point, he says, to speak to each of his 700-plus donors, often sitting down to help them finalize the nature of the donation.

“It’s often a very emotional time,” he says. “People are making a big decision, giving away as much as 15% of their accumulated wealth. I’ve had some rough-edged folks--wildcat oilmen who come in and say, ‘Well, I’ve always wanted to help kids,’ and when I show them what their money can do, they just break into tears.

“Me? I’ve got a great job. I see everyone on their very best day, when they’re deciding who it is they want to help and how.”

* For more information, call the California Community Foundation at (213) 413-4130 or visit https://www.calfund.org.

* Mary McNamara can be reached by e-mail at mary.mcnamara@latimes.com.