How to give away $10,000? It's a lot of work, U–Md. students learn
By Susan Kinzie
Washington Post Staff Writer
Monday, May 10, 2010; B01

It was getting down to the wire. As the University of Maryland students argued over how to give away $10,000, Robert Grimm kept telling his class, ”One at a time! One at a time!”

A sophomore snapped that splitting the money would be a cop–out. Someone interrupted her to argue that if the cash were divided, they could double the number of charities helped. ”Can we just vote?” another student pleaded. ”We're running out of time!”

After a semester's worth of research, heated arguments and painful negotiations, it had come to this. Twenty–five sophomores had to decide how best to use $10,000, real money that could help local children if they chose wisely.

The philanthropy class, new this year, is one of a small but growing number in which donors write big checks to help students learn how to give.

Philanthropy is relatively new as an academic field; for 25 years or so, some universities have offered graduate–level programs. More recently, driven in part by the surge in volunteerism and social engagement of today's college students, many schools are adding undergraduate options. The latest twist, at schools including the University of Mary Washington and Georgetown, Brown, Cornell, Brandeis and New York universities, is to push philanthropy studies from the theoretical into the real world. With cash.

It changes how young people learn about a huge sector of the U.S. economy. And it turns traditional philanthropy on its head, allowing scores of students, whose financial transactions are more likely to be for burritos and beer, play the role of wealthy donor. The students define which causes are worthy of investment and become proponents of social change.

At Maryland, the idea began with philanthropists Bruce and Karen Levenson of Potomac, who supplied the $10,000 for the students to give away. Grimm joined the faculty this semester to help launch the philanthropy and nonprofit management program that the Levensons envisioned. They hope that this undergraduate class will expand dramatically, with hundreds of students able to participate in coming years.

”To me, philanthropy education has always been like science without the lab,” Grimm said. But these students wrestled with the concepts others just memorized. He said they not only felt more strongly about individual charities but also learned to evaluate them objectively.

”This course was the first time we were able to get our hands dirty in something,” said Eran Friedman, 20, who is studying management. It challenged them to think more, he said, because the money was real, the potential impact was real and they had to figure out what to do. Donating $10,000, it turned out, was a lot harder than it sounded.

”I didn't realize it was such a detailed process,” said Heather Clark, a 19–year–old psychology major from Glen Burnie. Before she took the class, she thought of ”people being like, 'Oh, I have all this money, I'm just going to give it away somewhere.' But we took a lot of time to come up with a mission statement, to be sure we were investing the money somewhere worthwhile.”

Getting 25 people to agree on that took wrangling.

There were students who were fired up about the environment, education, health care, all sorts of things. ”People were butting heads a lot,” Clark said. The class divided into two camps, argued about whom to help and got deadlocked. Eventually, they agreed to fund a Prince George's County nonprofit group that supports education and mentoring for needy kids.

They had asked for proposals, evaluated 10 applications and interviewed the leaders of the most promising eight charities.

Rosemary Pezzuto, chief executive of Camp Fire USA Patuxent Area Council, said she was surprised and impressed that they didn't just read through the application but asked for references, questioned the people involved and then visited to see firsthand how children were benefiting.

”Kids really look at what's going on and give away money in a much more effective way than adults do,” Pezzuto said. ”They scrutinize it. I love it! We'll have another generation of philanthropists –– young people who get it. They'll go into a nonprofit or a corporate setting not with a theory but with practical experience.”

Students visited their five top charities, which included Camp Fire as well as a group that encourages local students to earn tennis scholarships, one for Latino youths and one that mentors children through outdoor trips.

Many students changed their minds after seeing the programs. Friedman wasn't impressed with the application from Mentoring to Manhood, a nonprofit run almost entirely by volunteers with an annual budget of $70,000. Its program, helping boys without strong male role–models, seemed vague, he said.

But when he heard a group of teenagers talking about fathers and witnessed how the volunteer mentors listened and didn't preach, he changed his mind. ”It was very humbling for me and a lot of the other guys. . . . These kids were smart. They just needed someone to listen to them, to challenge them. They needed a lot of things I took for granted.”

The students had strong feelings about the nonprofits being considered for funding. They argued about the charities late at night in the dorms, at a softball tournament, when they ran into classmates on the paths crisscrossing campus.

Last week, with the semester ending, the students had to hash out whether they could agree on just one charity for all the funds or would have to divide the money among several. It had already been decided that in order to award the entire $10,000 to a single nonprofit, 21 out of the 25 would have to approve.

After debating for more than an hour, Grimm wrote the options on the board and called for a vote.

Gasps were heard when one charity received only a few votes. Grimm erased its name.

”Mentoring to Manhood,” he called out, and 20 raised their hands. To award the entire $10,000 to it, one more student needed to agree.

A pause. Silence. Then Arley Donovan said, ”I'll change my vote.”

Students cheered; some stood and clapped as Grimm circled the letters 'MM' with chalk. Their money would be used to help fund a staff person and tutoring.

”It felt overwhelmingly great,” said Talia Gutin, a 20–year–old from Potomac studying English and philosophy.

A semester's worth of work and debate had ended in one moment. The whole class was smiling, in complete agreement.