The Territory
Philanthropy in Western North Dakota
“And he doesn’t know the Territory!” — The Music Man, Meredith Wilson
Western North Dakota has undergone two major oil booms.
The first was the discovery of oil near Tioga in 1951, lasting until 1980.
The second was initiated by technology, not discovery. Hydraulic fracturing (“fracking”) and horizontal drilling made possible the exploitation of deep shale oil deposits in the Bakken Formation, centered in McKenzie County. This boom took off in 2010.
I started working in development for Luther Seminary in 2011. The territory they assigned me: western North Dakota.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
I’d only been in western North Dakota one other time —on a bicycle!
All I knew was that it was a windy place, with rolling hills and long distances between towns. But sure, I thought, I’ll give it a go! Did I have a choice?
The list of donors I received was two people deep: one old guy in Minot and one even older man in Bismarck. When I flew to see them, I learned that Bismarck and Minot were the last places a guy could get a hotel room; west of there, not a chance.
Hotels and motels were booked solid by oil companies. Campgrounds were full of oil workers living in trailers, even through the cold winter. “Man Camps” were springing up on former farm land — rows and rows of mobile housing, surrounded by tall barbed wire fences. Rental cars? Good luck. Booked up, all year, as far east as Fargo. Restaurants? Hope you like gas station pizza.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
I called the bishop’s office, and spoke with Beth who worked there. She was a graduate of our seminary, and somewhere along the way she must have received a Ph.D. in hospitality! Beth warmly invited me to the annual Pastors’ Conference in Medora (that’s in western western North Dakota) in September.
I have shared in a previous post that this timeframe was the lowest period of my personal life. For a couple years, I’d been having a bad day. That three-day conference in the Badlands was an oasis! The welcome went beyond politeness; in a hundred ways, they let me know I was one of them. Yes, please. I needed more of this!
They also cared deeply about their seminaries. Most saw me and my fundraising efforts as an ally, not a threat. Without me having to say so, they could see my predicament: given the realities of this oil boom, how was I going to meet potential donors? Where would I eat and sleep?
Before that conference was over, several pastors had pulled me aside and said, “When you’re in Williston (or Stanley, or Dickinson, or New Town…) you can stay in our guest room, and have dinner with us. As many nights as you need.”
That’s how it started. Almost every month I made a long trip out west. I got to know the territory. Sometimes the trip was bookended by day-long drives to and from Saint Paul. Sometimes I flew (“Rent a Wreck” car rental service was unknown to the travel sites). My trips always included a weekend as I attended worship at a church or two. When word got out that I would cover the pulpit for the pastor’s vacation, my phone rang.
The oil boom was crazy. Road construction meant the long drive took infinitely longer. I was run off the road more than once by big trucks driven by young men on cell phones. Churches served meals and sheltered strangers on cold nights. Big city problems found their way to small towns. Small towns doubled in population. Opportunity came with damage; comforting routines were disrupted. Everything changed, then changed again.
I had a front row seat. It was frustrating, but it was fascinating.
The best part of it all was staying in the homes of those new pastor friends. Some were young families with messy mealtimes, babies to hold, and questions about how to handle ministry issues. Some were empty nesters, sharing slow meals, long conversations and acquired wisdom.
These pastors came to know and trust me, enough to introduce me to their members whose farms or oil leases had made them quietly prosperous. Sometimes the pastor and I went on these visits together, so they could see how I move, hear what I say. My list grew long. The territory got to know me.
And personally, my cup was no longer empty. These pastors, and the other North Dakotans I came to know, were giving me much more love than they knew.
Or maybe they did know.
I must report, however, that my list of donations was depressingly short. A fundraiser is supposed to raise some funds. It was not happening.
“Be patient one more year, Paul.”
One afternoon I went into the office of my vice president, closed the door, and let my discouragement run down my cheeks. It had been over two years! I loved it. But I couldn’t understand why people weren’t saying “yes” to my requests. What am I doing wrong? Am I in the wrong line of work?
He was encouraging and kind. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re doing great. I hear it from people out there. Be patient one more year, Paul.” And he assured me that whenever I’m feeling this way, he wanted me to come to his office and talk about it.
He was right, of course. Year three was remarkable. The gifts flowed in! New donors and new connections multiplied. Often I didn’t even ask — people called me and said they were ready to give.
And that’s not even the best part: my life started to flow. More about that in next week’s post!
Within five or six years, the infrastructure in western North Dakota caught up with the demand. Airports were expanded, highways widened. I could get a hotel room, a rental car, a meal. Home stays were not necessary and grew less frequent. Many times I went to their pastors conference, even changing my affiliation to become a member of the clergy roster in western North Dakota. Now I was one of them!
These days I wonder how the story would have been different if I had not needed the help and hospitality of these people. I’m certain that my predicament and their partnership were the main ingredients behind the success in fundraising.
Even as I type those words, “success in fundraising,” I flinch. It doesn’t fit. Instead, I see images like these:
A table set for three.
Towel and washcloth laid out on the guest bed.
Friends singing “Evening Prayer” in the Badlands.
The future of ministry shining as a bright vision in an old woman’s eye.
This was not “fundraising.” This was philanthropy, which literally means love and people. Philanthropy includes need, hospitality, trust, despair, patience, generosity. Love. People.
People are the territory. Know your territory.
The editor of “To Be a Fundraiser” is Kelly Wendell, Director of Communication at South Dakota State University.
Next week: “Focus and Flow: finding flow in fundraising”
I've been reading all your posts and loving them. Thanks for writing. I did my undergraduate at UND and though that is in eastern ND, much of your description of the people rings true. I'm also in the throes of a book launch aimed at fundraising . . . meeting people as I talk about the work and thinking about your wisdom to listen first to people's own mission. All this is so very timely. Thank you.
Paul . . . I absolutely love this story. Philanthropy and fundraising is first and foremost about relationships. You became an integral part of the community, and from that . . . the gifts became a river. Beautiful!