And Now a Word From Our Fund-Raiser

How Kimmel Center CEO Anne Ewers separates the rich from their money

“I think it’s different things for different people, but I’m always very direct and very transparent, and I don’t play games,” Ewers explains of the Ask. “You have to ask yourself: What does this person need?” So when potential donors, say, rehash old mistakes that the Kimmel might have made financially, she hears them. If they’re education-minded, she can speak to Kimmel programs that reach thousands of school kids each year, or if they’re passionate about music, she can speak to the Kimmel’s variety of programming. And most crucial of all: “Just listen, listen, listen. So you can support and respond.”

“I also don’t give up,” she says. This confidence generally works, as it did with the foundation head. “Watching his face go from pleasant listening to his eyes lighting up, and seeing this moment of transformation, and him saying, ‘I will take this to my board,’ was incredible,” Ewers says. With philanthropic individuals, she’ll talk — and listen — about their musical tastes, their families, their concerns and dreams for the city. (She adds that she’s never before been in a place where people are so eager to share the flaws of their hometown.) “I believe that finding the right fit with the donor takes far more creativity than anything onstage, or at least as much creativity,” Ewers says.

She’d know. Born in a small town outside Chicago, Ewers started out in the 1980s as a successful director at the Boston Lyric Opera; soon, though, it became apparent that she was also incredibly good at raising money. When the opera was shut down for lack of funds, Ewers managed to talk, implore and excite the board of trustees into saving the organization by basically locking them in a room until they coughed up the needed dough — and, weirdly, found she loved doing it. Which is not to say that Ewers is disingenuous — in fact, she’s incredibly, seriously enthusiastic about opera, classical music, and the performing arts. Take the time she convinced her Utah trustees to raise more than $900,000 to produce a new opera based on The Grapes of Wrath. (Now if that’s not a fun evening, what is?)

It seems the ridiculously rich of Philadelphia are loving Ewers’s refined ballsiness and slender good looks. When Drake took her to Brasserie Perrier in October, he was left enchanted. “She’s friendly, she’s focused, she’s fabulous,” says Drake, a bit breathlessly. Donors are responding to her directness — “I asked for $2 million within 10 minutes of meeting him,” she says of one exec — especially the anonymous billionaire who has promised to match the first $24 million she raises. (The billionaire wants to be anonymous, but the place is called the Kimmel Center.)

Ewers is positive there’s more money out there beyond what the Perelmans and Lenfests offer. “There are so many people with the willingness and the wherewithal who haven’t been asked,” she shrugs, adding that she’s just met with a well-known Main Line media mogul who gave her a list of dozens of people who have “major buckage” but aren’t yet a presence on the philanthropy scene: Think younger, newer money that might well love to see its name engraved on the wall of the Kimmel lobby. “We get X amount of money from a very small handful of donors,” she explains. “That’s risky. If anyone has a turn of health, or if their heirs are not interested in the same philanthropic interests, that’s risky.” (The Kimmel isn’t about to shut down if her target isn’t met, but Ewers explains that if its bonds aren’t paid by December 31st, there’ll be some $1 million in debt service fees.

So for Ewers, the parties and cocktails just keep flowing — that’s where the money is. She bought a house in Society Hill last spring, but hasn’t had much time to do anything but work since she’s been in Philly. On rare free moments on weekends, she hangs out with the cute guys from Star Construction who are renovating her house. “We get falafel for lunch,” she says.

With that, Ewers, elegant in a pink suit and Ferragamo heels, heads off to confront an entity even scarier than a billionaire donor or an airport cab line. She’s about to face the gauntlet of the admissions committee at the Union League. She was, of course, accepted.