The Bell Curve:

Editor’s note: The following is a letter written by Joseph N. Bell.

Richard Naum

vice president, development

Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center

Dear Mr. Naum:

Some weeks ago, you sent me a mailing that included, as you later described, “beautiful labels, two note pads and a Certificate of Appreciation.” The mailing also included a request for money to support the “life-saving advances in cancer treatment” taking place at Sloan-Kettering in New York.

The lifesaving is ongoing daily. But my certificate was premature, which occasioned your second letter that arrived last week. You may recall that it started out like this:

“I haven’t heard from you yet, and I was worried that my package was lost in the mail or that I had the wrong address. Please let me know you received my gifts by returning the attached delivery confirmation with the appropriate box checked.

“And when you send back your delivery confirmation, I hope you’ll also enclose a tax-deductible gift.”

So you are now, as requested, hearing from me. I am not sending a gift, but I would have returned your certificate with this letter but, alas, it is gone. Instead, I’ll offer a tax-deductible bit of advice.

Before I do that, let me tell you about another pair of letters that arrived the same days as yours. They were from Floyd “Shad” Meshad, National Veterans Foundation founder and president, and included the usual solicitation of money. But there was also a dandy gift called “free Patriotic Office Set.” It included a pocket calendar and calculator on which my name was inscribed — and which I bundled up and returned with instructions to remove me from their mailing list. Cost me four bucks in postage.

Their response was a prompt letter from the founder himself, that began:

“Will you use the form above to let me know you received the free Patriotic Office Set I sent with that letter? The inscription of your name on the pocket calendar and calculator looked very nice. And I like the large keys on the calculator and hope you find this office set handy.”

Why, you may ask, do I take this cavalier attitude toward such generous gifts, especially when they are serving highly worthy causes well deserving of our support? The short answer is that I’m sending this stuff back because the causes are so worthy that they deserve better marketing than self-serving certificates and desk inscriptions.

Because I actually read many of these marketing pitches and even drop a few bucks here and there — at the risk of being added to evermore mailing lists — I know what is out there. The good ones are rare and the bad ones, depending on “gifts” to be loved, are increasing.

So let me offer an example of a good one. It comes from Oxfam America, which provides grants and technical assistance to landless peasants, refugees and survivors of war and natural disasters working their way out of poverty.

Oxfam’s marketing pitch starts like this:

“Here’s what you won’t find accompanying this letter: an expensive calendar that you don’t need (and we can’t afford); heart-rending photos calculated to play on your emotions; vague-sounding petitions addressed to somebody in Washington; or address labels aimed at “guilt tripping” you into giving. What you will find is a straightforward case for one of the most effective humanitarian aid agencies anywhere in the world.”

So much for certificates of appreciation. Or enough address labels to carry me to the next ice age. I figure if a cause requires even modest bribery to get my attention or “gifts” that may cost more than the minimal contributions they drag out of the guilty recipient, they’ve lost me.

I realize that playing on guilt is nothing new in fundraising — or human relationships, for that matter. But as competition for funds in a staggering economy make your task more difficult, I sense the “gift” stakes going up where a little imagination might be more productive and less irritating. The Oxfam letter may be a kind of reverse guilt trip, but it is creative and provocative, qualities that are hard to come by in this business.

I’m afraid I’ve been long-winded here, but hopefully, you might find a useful thought or two. At least you might read my letter. I read yours. And I’m sorry I can’t get that certificate back to you.

Sincerely,

JOSEPH N. BELL lives in Newport Beach. His column runs Thursdays.