What's in a name? In the case of a building on Duke's campus: one of those giant novelty checks with a large number to the right of the dollar sign.
The names Bostock, McClendon and von der Heyden, to list just a few, are as familiar as the campus landmarks that bear those monikers. They are the mega-donors that put cash in the University's pocket, while leaving their mark all over campus with plaques in their honor and buildings in their names.
Further down the totem poll of high-yield donors, there are the fortunate occupants of the seats in Cameron Indoor Stadium. Although there are a number of ways you can score tickets to a Duke home game (perhaps you are the Navy SEAL that trained DeMarcus Nelson), the only surefire entrance-pass is a substantial yearly donation.
At one of the home games this year, an obnoxious student near me asked one of the fans above the Cameron Crazies' section what he paid for his seats. The man, despite being taken aback by the socially tactless question of some kid he does not know, told the student that each ticket in his season ticket package cost about $60. That price sounds like quite the bargain until he added that he earned the right to purchase his tickets by paying for a student-athlete's full scholarship-his membership fee for the Iron Dukes, the athletic department's branch responsible for alumni relations and donations.
According to the Iron Dukes' Web site, a minimum yearly gift of $7,000 may grant a donor the opportunity to buy season tickets; there is no guarantee of availability because ticket priority is determined by one's annual giving level and cumulative donation record.
Still further down the line of donors, there are the alumni who give a more modest amount-a few hundred dollars each year, perhaps. These are the vast majority of donors that make the percentage of Duke alumni who donate the second highest of all American universities, according to US News and World Report.
Clearly, Duke alums, from those with tens of millions in the bank to those with tens of thousands, are willing to send cash over to their alma mater. But are these donations made in the name of altruism as we would like to believe? Surely, when alums write checks made out to Duke, their actions are not completely devoid of charitable intentions, but they are by no means simply giving money away.
Donations to Duke are purchases. When alumni generously give an enormous sum of money to construct a building, they are buying themselves a legacy and a status symbol-a building in your name at one of the world's foremost universities is far more visible a symbol of success and power than any mansion, car or R. Kelly-style fur coat.
Iron Dukes without a doubt are pleased to support student athletes, but the access to seats in Cameron more than likely is their primary motive to donate. Paying the way of a member of the golf team or the field hockey team is of course a lovely gesture, but at the end of the day, those scholarships are the cost of season tickets.
It is less clear what the vast majority of donors-those that give a modest sum to Duke-purchase when they donate. Sending $18 in the mail to the University like it just had a bar mitzvah is not going to get your name carved into the door of a stall in a Jarvis bathroom, let alone on a building.
Alumni give back to Duke, no doubt, partially out of love of their alma mater. There is, however, a less charitable side to these donations.
A friend of mine best explained the logic of these smaller donors. "After I graduate, I'll send a few hundred to Duke each year, just so they don't forget about me if my kids apply here. And if they turn out to be really dumb, I'll send more."
Perhaps, a few dollars will bring the good favor of Dean of Undergraduate Admissions Christoph Guttentag or his successors when an alumnus' hypothetical child applies. Even charity has its rewards.
Jordan Rice is a Trinity sophomore. His column runs every other Friday.
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