I was seated at Table 25 at a donor recognition event many years ago. That was the pre-COVID world when we used to do such things. I was also the chief communications and marketing officer at the host institution. Table 25 was in the back row, near the fire exit, close to the coat check and the rest rooms. You know the one.

So maybe I didn’t need the new black dress from Neiman Marcus.

Even so, I felt upbeat. I had a feeling the dinner would be a home run. The president was pleased with the speech I had written. He only made minor tweaks. My team had come up with a great program and creative collateral, sophisticated and elegant. Braided gold tassels on programs that were printed on thick porous paper. Thick enough to justify tux rentals for the men and the nifty velvet table favors for the ladies, back when tuxes and table favors were still in vogue.

We’d found a student with an incredible story to tell our donors and coached her over several nights. I was confident she’d nail it. She did. There were goosebumps and tears before dessert was served. Anyone who knows me knows I’m all about goosebumps, especially when donors are involved.

But, before those goosebumps, somewhere between the sorbet and the surf and turf, I felt something I can best describe as professional indigestion. Someone had forgotten that I was also a donor. In fact, I was a member of the giving society being honored that night. I even had the foil lined invitation with my name in fancy calligraphy in my clutch. Big deal, right? Lots of staff feel that way at these dinners. Get over it, Anne, I told myself. Could someone please pass the rolls?

In my head, I knew I was ‘just’ an employee, even if I was the chief communications officer, even if I was also a donor, even if I was pretty passionate about the place. Hmmm, I thought. But, wouldn’t it make more sense to use me strategically in this sea of our best supporters? I know the Board’s priorities verbatim. I can explain the need for increased private philanthropy on everything from new student housing to student financial aid to that new institute we’re betting the bank, oops I mean the bond issue, on. Faculty chairs, increased endowment support, tuition discounting? Let me at. The new strategic plan? No Problem. Plain old witty banter? HELLO. I am a communicator.

But, then my brain moved to the next rational question. Why didn’t they at least seat me with a development officer to see if I could be set up for a future planned gift or at the very least, a larger annual gift? Then again, maybe someone could have stopped at my table to just thank me. That didn’t happen. I was just staff that night. But, in all fairness, the tiramisu was pretty amazing. Probably the best I’ve ever had.

Don’t get me wrong. I love what I do. And, I still love the organization to which I am referring, but my epiphany at Table 25 left me thinking about the lines we draw around people just because of the titles on their business cards or the roles we see them in from 9-5. Is the writer just a writer? Is the director of donor relations just that? Do fundraisers need to make every ask on their own and gather the intelligence for the donor files? Should major gift officers manage major gift portfolio strategy independently? Should the advancement communications person create only that which they are asked to create or should they sometimes pipe up with a different idea, a bigger idea, a different way of saying it or doing it or getting to those goosebumps?

I’ve held onto my name card and table assignment from that dinner for many years. It sits on my desk as a reminder to not make quick decisions about people, messaging or communication strategy. It also reminds me that of all the tools in my communications arsenal, people are among the most important. Most of all, It reminds me that when the kudos and accolades are flowing near the podium at the front of the room, we really need to be thinking about what’s happening at the back of the room where the prospect pipeline is mingling. Is anyone feeling left out, unacknowledged or underappreciated? That’s the fastest route to losing our best people and our best donors.

So, in honor of that night, I’m naming this blog, podcast, whatever it becomes, Table 25. I hope it will be a place where we can share insights, inspirations, and occasional epiphanies from the back of the room or the side of the room, or wherever we find ourselves on a range of topics in the world of communications strategy.

I can’t provide surf and turf or tiramisu, but maybe we can share some food for thought.

I’ll be inviting some of my favorite collaborators and big picture thinkers to this table.

I hope you will join us.

The Story Behind Table 25