Campus, Community, and a Career That Stuck

Thank you. I’m deeply honored to receive this award, though I must admit, it feels a bit surreal. When I began my Advancement career at the University of California, Irvine, I never imagined standing here today.

At UCI, I found myself immersed in the nascent field of advancement research. Back then, our roles were still being defined, and resources were scarce. Recognizing the need for a collaborative platform, I created PRSPCT-L, one of the first listservs dedicated to the advancement profession. My vision was to create a community-driven resource—a space where peers could share insights, ask questions, and support one another. This initiative was never about personal recognition; it was about fostering collective growth.

The first SoCARA board circa 1993 (left to right)
front row: Marsha Kraus, Laura Raymond, Cathy Terrones
back row: me, Napoleon Hendrix, Patty Tolliver

I owe immense gratitude to mentors and colleagues like Napoleon Hendrix, Cathy Terrones, Marsha Kraus, Laura Raymond, and Patty Tolliver. Their encouragement and collaboration were instrumental in bringing PRSPCT-L to life. Additionally, individuals like Karen Greene, Alan Hejnal, Michael Seymour, Shirley Gottschalk, Peter Wasemiller, and many others contributed significantly to my professional development and our community's growth.

Beyond PRSPCT-L, I was privileged to be a founding board member of the Southern California Advancement Research Association (SoCARA), the precursor to CARA. Our early meetings, often accompanied by modest refreshments and spirited discussions, laid the foundation for the robust organization we celebrate today.

But I’d be remiss if I didn’t talk about my first network—my family.

My father, for years, would ask me: “Have you gotten a real job yet?” He wasn’t being dismissive—he just couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea that I never really left the university. From his perspective, I graduated and just kept hanging around the campus. I think he suspected I was running some sort of elaborate scam that involved free parking and campus discounts. The truth is, I didn’t expect this to become a career either. It started as just a job—a way to pay the bills while I looked for the job that I really wanted to do. But somewhere between the spreadsheets, the research rabbit holes, and the incredible people I met, it stopped being just a job. It stuck. Campus became community, and community became a calling. And before I knew it, I was in the middle of a career I never planned—but wouldn’t trade for anything.

But during his retirement ceremony, he relayed a sentiment that has stayed with me. He said that careers aren’t just about balancing work and family, but about understanding how those things interact and overlap. At the time, I nodded politely, like a good son does. I was too early in my own career to have that kind of foresight. But now, looking back, I realize how right he was.

Parenting, partnering, and working aren’t separate lanes—they blur together. I’ve brought work stress home, and I’ve brought home perspective into the office. I’ve missed meetings because of school plays, and I’ve written prospect memos at the kitchen table while dinner simmered or backpacks were packed for the next day. And let me be honest—my kids have paid a price for my ambition. There were phone calls taken in parking lots instead of playing catch, donor visits scheduled over weekend soccer games, and the occasional grumble of “Are you working again?” when I pulled out my laptop on vacation.

To my children: thank you. Thank you for your patience, your rolled eyes, your hugs at the end of long days, and for being far more understanding than I often deserved. You’ve been unwitting co-authors in my career, and I hope, through it all, you’ve seen that building something meaningful—something lasting—takes love, sacrifice, and a little bit of humor. Just like raising a family.

I’ve also learned that our colleagues become a kind of second family. We celebrate milestones, we share inside jokes, we vent in the break room, and we build things together—like PRSPCT-L, like CARA, like careers we’re proud of. And no one—no one—receives an award like this without the strong support of both families: the one that shares your name and the one that shares your office, your values, and your mission.

So to my mentors, my colleagues, my family—both official and honorary—thank you. Thank you for making this work feel not only worthwhile but deeply human. Thank you for every brainstorm, every pep talk, every laugh, and every shared spreadsheet.

And to my dad—don’t worry. I finally got a real job. And it’s been a good one.