What's in it for me? Profiting from nonprofit causes.

Reality bites.

As much as we'd like to think our targets (potential donors) share our altruism, sadly it just ain't so. Except when we're preaching to the choir--other members of a genuine Board of Governors (not those we've given the appellation to because we ego-ed them out of money) and organizers-we're in a competitive arena. We're grunting and heaving and throwing up shields against intruders who want their hands in the same pocketbooks we want.

Reality tells us, in our saner and more lucid moments: The adjective best describing the ongoing loyalty of our contributors is ... mild.

That's why we, as astute marketers, had better take a realistic "Mirror, mirror on the wall" look at what we're saying to generate response.

Oh, you say, we aren't marketers? We're fundraisers, so we don't grub around in the marketplace like those grimy folks in commerce.

Ugh. Please be my competitor. Well, if you're thinking of delivering something memorable in exchange for a contribution, we're still on the same team.

Sure, give boxes of chocolates to those who renew their subscription to the opera, the symphony, the ballet, or the lecture series right there, on the spot, during the current season. Your mild gift can jump-start their "I'll wait" non-reaction into a mildly positive one.

Imagination can bring in the dollars

"Shop to feed abandoned animals."

That's a worthy notion, and the items for sale--a pewter "paw print," a purple cat kitchen towel, other charming gifts, accessories, and apparel--can bring dollars where a bare "We need help" cry can't.

This clever approach typifies a new generation of Web sites, where a visitor can satisfy personal acquisition and guilt at the same time. One image has as its click-through spur "Adopt a Red Howler Monkey." The click brings some appealing photographs. The cost is $23 for "a week of rehabilitation and food" for your money. Shipping is another $9.95. Other options, for various prices, are Rescued Wild Horse Food Kit, Iraq Food Kit, Tsunami Rebuilding Kit, School Building Kit, and, oddly, Tsunami Relief Roast Sumatran Coffee.

Secondary information tells us "the item is not tax deductible." Uhhh ... yikes. Why not? We know the answer, but we certainly don't want to present it in such undressed wording. But then, maybe this is just a clever for-profit ploy.

Is it a nonprofit presentation? Beats me. I've wandered back and forth through the site and don't have a clue.

By helping thin the herd without turning them into baseballs, one can get a desk-size bronze statuette of a mustang. Now, that's an ideal match-up, because those who most are interested in helping find homes for homeless mustangs are those who most would enjoy having a bronze mustang on the desk. Without the gift, it's just another pitch for money. With the gift, logic--or what we cynically regard as logic--affects the gift-giving impulse.

The Web site of a West Coast nonprofit has a loose statement of purpose: "The mission of [NAME OF ORGANIZATION] is to empower refugee and underprivileged youth through educational programs and to help them create better opportunities for their future. We fulfill our mission by fostering a sense of belonging and self-worth in refugee youth, as they develop valuable vocational, technical, and photography skills."

Well, okay ... but even the most ardent supporter has to admit this statement isn't loaded with dynamite.

Ah, but wait, there's a lure here. A click brings us to:

"Our students' photographs are available for a tax-deductible donation. We suggest a minimum donation of $50 dollars for an 8 x 10" photograph. This includes shipping costs. Please select your photo from the collection above and either: 1) Make a donation to ... and notify us which photo you would like via email, or 2) Send a check to ..."

Using both the dollar sign and "50 dollars" suggests this organization could use a proofreader. (Note, please: Misspellings and indications of blue-collar intensity and dedication can work where sophisticated rhetoric won't. If you look back to the beginning of this diatribe you'll see the word "ain't.")

The University of Washington has a straight quid pro quo, called the Tyee Club. "At the University of Washington, Tyees are those who, through their generosity and their commitment, provide support and leadership for the self-sustaining Department of Intercollegiate Athletics.

"Tyee members, through Washington's seat-related giving program, have the opportunity to sit in some of the best seats in the house--whether it be Bank of American Arena at Hec Edmundson Pavilion or Husky Stadium. Through a donation, in addition to the purchase of season tickets, Tyees sit in premium seats for football and basketball games."

"Bank of American"? The need for online proofreading seems to be epidemic.

Bricks and mortar 

Increasingly popular are donor programs that bestow apparent temporary immortality. Lesser donors have their names on one of a stack of wall plaques or on a brick set into an entrance walkway.

Coattail riding? Yes. Objectionable? Of course not.

Major donors, of course, can have entire buildings named after them; or, in the case of educational institutions, a professorial seat. I'm assuming we all understand the lesser bits and pieces aren't related to the massive planned giving ventures, but, rather, to more piddling donations. I'm assuming, too, because we certainly are aware of the IRS breathing down our backs, we know how to cover both ourselves and our donors relative to tax deductibility ... unlike the Howler Monkey example quoted earlier.

On the other hand ...

Totally straightforward was an email with a horrifying image of a man clubbing a baby seal to death and the unvarnished headline, "Stop Canada's Massive Seal Hunt." One indication of legitimacy was the suffix to the organization's name--"org," not "com." A more convincing validation is the name of the group, the Humane Society of the United States. No, they don't have seal paw prints for sale and they won't send you chocolates or coffee. So personal greed has to take a back seat to altruism.

Pick and choose. Drama not only can overcome the need for a box of chocolates or a mini-mustang or photographs of children ... but hey, not every organization can claim horrific potentials. So obviously there's room for everyone, provided a dab of logic is included in the mix.

And that's the profundity for this month.

Herschell Gordon Lewis is the principal of Lewis Enterprises, Fort Lauderdale, Fla., consulting with and writing direct response copy for clients worldwide. His 28th book, Asinine Advertising, was just published. Among his other books are How to Write Powerful Fund Raising Letters; a recently-published new edition of On the Art of Writing Copy; Marketing Mayhem; and Effective E-Mail Marketing. His Web site is www. herschellgordonlewis.com.