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WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF ELLEN ROLFES
BOOKS, INC.
Since the beginning of time, humankind has centered itself in the sacred. Individuals instinctively search for security through rituals that put them in touch with the meaning and mystery of life. One such example is the meal table since sharing food is frequently a sign of acceptance. Documented in every culture is the ritual of sharing meals with family, friends and strangers. This ritual is meaningful because it affords us nourishment, fulfillment, wholeness and most of all— community. Hospitality is a gift of spirit. The meal table and the stories woven around and about it are the voice of an Ellen Rolfes Book. In her own words, this is how her voice unfolded.
The meal table and the stories woven around and about it are the voice of an Ellen Rolfes Book.
Best I can tell, there are no real accidents. We are called to show up and participate in helping to write the big storybook of our life. We just have to find the pages that belong uniquely to us and passionately live out the cosmic script. Our lives are made up of what we choose to pay attention to in the situations in which we are placed. For me, the journey began with my first memories of the Mississippi Delta and asthma. Whenever I had an attack, I would be carried to my grandparents’ home and propped up in an antique bed to recuperate. There really wasn’t any effective medical treatment for asthma back then. So, for weeks at a time, while I waited to get better I entertained myself by making up stories full of interesting people who had fabulous adventures and lively conversations. Looking back, I know this is where my imagination was most cultivated. There was simply nothing else to do but craft stories to document the human experience, which is what I really do now in my professional work. During one visit, my grandfather came to my bedside with a gift for me—a tiny wicker basket filled with toys. Inside were a cloth man and woman, a wooden table, two chairs and a clay cooking pot. It must have been at that very moment, “setting the table” on my pillow, watching them “cook” together, as they made “meal memories,” that I took the first steps in my journey toward discovering the sacredness of the meal table. Volunteerism opens new doors—My family eventually moved to Memphis, Tennessee. I was much stronger—maybe because I was no longer breathing the air from cotton fields and crop dusters. I did not take up the journey of the meal table for many years, but this “knowing” remained dormant and events in my life were guiding me back to that path. It all happened rather unexpectedly when I was a first year active in the Junior League of Memphis. My volunteer placement was “cookbook gift wrapper.” I took the job seriously and spent many afternoons in the cookbook office placing pink and lime green bows on the carefully wrapped copies of The Party Potpourri, while my infant daughter slept on a quilt nearby. I discovered what many have known through time—women volunteer to meet other women who share common ground. As I became more involved in the League, I was promoted from cookbook wrapper to cookbook committee chair. No one else really wanted this job because it was not glamorous like some other high profile placements. But I was drawn to it. The cookbook had always been the “underdog” of the organizational structure. Like many women’s organizations of those times, a vital wire had been disconnected in our League. The leadership had forgotten that effecting change took money and fundraising was the key. The strength of the group was determined by the level of its ability to change the quality of life in the community, which is often measured financially. All of this is to say, that cookbook committee started bringing some “serious” money, I was chosen as a delegate to the organization’s national convention in California.
My hunch was validated—the community cookbook was the only ways and means project that could take a socially consciousness message into the national arena.
The trip was a defining moment for me. My hunch was validated—the community cookbook was the only ways and means project that could take a socially consciousness message into the national arena. They didn’t know that there were 300,000 devoted community cookbook collectors, who knew the Junior League cookbooks were among the best titles available. Many collectors were “armchair cooks” who bought cookbooks to read as other people read novels. Through these recipes they would reminisce about a place they had traveled or fantasize about a dinner party they would like to give. Since this “pent market” existed, selling community cookbooks—especially the Junior League titles—was not really that difficult. Unlike other local fundraisers, a cookbook could catch a ride with UPS and “travel outside of town.” Since the market was not regional in scope, its financial potential was limitless, but the women’s groups that published these titles did not know it. Marketing moved in concentric circles, starting with the hometown and expanding out into the world. The only sales limit lay in the ingenuity and determination of its committee members and a supportive membership. No one had ever thought about a non-profit cookbook in this way. It was clear there needed to be a forum to explore this unique aspect of community cookbooks and train the sales force. Logic told me that the more money an organization made, the more impact it could have in its community. The challenge was to find better “ways” and “means” of taking the community cookbook to a higher level. back to the top
Have trunk, will travel: a volunteer turns professional—So in 1979, another League member and I used our volunteer experience to create The Community Cookbook Seminar. By then I was pregnant with my second daughter and remember I standing in front of our first classes with swollen feet and an aching back preaching the gospel of community cookbooks. Those in attendance not only listened, they told their fellow volunteers about our seminar. Year after year, they kept on coming. These women were starved for something to validate their volunteer roles, to help them network with others of like minds, and to learn the latest trends in cookbooks. Information swapping ignited like wild fire. We became the first trainers for professional development in non-profit publishing. We didn’t know it, but we were entrepreneurs. The seminars were held across the country-Dallas, New York, San Francisco, Atlanta, New Orleans, Chicago, Las Vegas— and thousands of women from the volunteer sector came to learn the fundamentals of planning, designing, printing, publishing, and marketing community cookbooks. While we talked about how to make a successful cookbook fundraising program, we were also facilitating women’s personal development. We helped them touch their own creativity, raise their self-esteem, and gave them a venue to find their voices. We enjoyed a lot of regional media coverage as our work quietly gained national prominence. Then in 1983 we took a bold step. We rented a booth in the small press section at the American Booksellers Association Convention in Los Angeles to introduce community cookbooks to the international publishing world. It had never been done. My partner and I emblazoned a banner with “The Collection: Classic Community Cookbooks” and hung it over our booth. We carefully placed our winning cookbooks in Lucite stands. We were ready for prime time. I will be forever grateful to those non-profit organizations that paid to support our venture. Their faith helped open the door for the world to embrace this book form. If memory serves me, our tiny booth at the ABA was placed between the chanting Harikrishnas and a strange man who made lamps filled with colored water. The atmosphere in the small press section was like a carnival. Many people walked by there out of sheer curiosity. Nonetheless, we remained passionately committed to our mission of securing a respectable place for the community cookbook in national trade publishing, a sector that had long ignored the success of these books.
We helped them touch their own creativity, raise their self-esteem, and gave them a venue to find their voices.
Now that I work in this arena, I can say with some confidence that New York publishing was threatened by the incredible sales records of community cookbooks whose sales rivaled even surpassed many titles on their front and back lists. This was difficult to swallow because the sales were all through volunteer efforts and without significant promotional budgets. For example, one book in our booth, River Road Recipes published by the Junior League of Baton Rouge, LA, had sold well over a million copies and that was 20 years ago! We stood there day after day, telling the story to anyone who stepped into our booth. By the end of the week, I had lost my voice; I could only whisper. In the last few minutes of the convention, a dignified woman with an entourage of staff and camera people suddenly appeared in our 10 x 10-foot booth. The woman was Barbara Hanson, feature editor of The Los Angeles Times. She asked if she could interview us. Our booth and our unique voice in trade publishing would be her lead story on the ABA convention. The Los Angeles Times article put the community cookbook and us on the “map.” It was a new beginning for me. Along with trade shows and seminars, came consulting jobs. About once a month, I would pack a suitcase, pack up some posters and a bag of cookbooks, kiss my family goodbye and go wherever I was called. These trips took me to just about every state in the union. It was a time of great personal growth for me. I was like a “midwife” called in to “birth” a community cookbook for different regions and cultures. All the while my understanding of the nuances of the women’s regional, ethnic and religious “foodways” was evolving. It was no accident; I was in “training.” While I was serving my apprenticeship, I helped to “birth” some of the “grand dames” of the community cookbook movement. These books evoke especially powerful memories:
While I was consulting and teaching, I also co-authored How To Write A Classic Cookbook (New American Library, 1986); worked with the McIlhenny Company on the development of the “Tabasco Community Cookbook Awards” program and with Oxmoor House Publishing on the initiation of its annual continuity series for community cookbooks, America’s Best. My professional world was expanding. As my journey unfolded, my awareness of the meaning of the meal table deepened. I realized that I was subtly being given a gift; I was learning how cultural foodways document our lives. I came to understand that community cookbooks were more than collections of recipes. Daily the young and old, rich and poor, the strong and the weak, the socially conscious and unconscious “break bread” together. During the simple rituals designed to nurture our lives, we share our personal stories of our values, beliefs and traditions as we pass them on to the next generation. Mealtime becomes “story time” as we eat in community, we speak about the events of the day, reminisce with childhood memories, proselytize our faith, review current events, teach personal responsibility and table manners, plant seeds of social consciousness, face our individual fears and collective fears, discovers others’ truths and share vision about a better tomorrow. Then and now, they serve as commentaries on the evolution of family and social life; they allow us to experience other cultures through sharing meals; they are our “story books” which reveal how we, as a people, choose to live intimately with one another in a particular place and time. Culturally, women have always been the “keepers of the flame.” They recognized the meal table as the perfect place to preserve and pass on the values, beliefs and tradition to the next generation. For many of them, it was there in the “breaking of the bread” that they found the sacred to nurture their families and communities. Historically, cookbooks have been this voice for women.
Culturally, women have always been the “keepers of the flame.” They recognized the meal table as the perfect place to preserve and pass on the values, beliefs and tradition to the next generation.
Cookbooks document this evolution, but these rituals are being threatened in today’s world due to the breakdown of the family. In an era of two-working parents, single-parent families, and kids overscheduled with activities, when we share precious few meals together, the meal table has become increasingly important. I believe that it does not matter what you eat together, even if it is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, just as long as you do it together. The understanding of the rituals centered around our meal tables was becoming stronger and stronger in me. I knew it was the responsibility of women to perpetuate this meaning through their recipe collections. But that was not all these cookbooks had to offer. The nonprofit organizations that publish community cookbooks were doing important work. Each year they raised and returned millions and millions of dollars to significant causes and initiatives in their hometowns so others can have a place at the human table. You didn’t have to look hard to see the feminine face of philanthropy shining through these pages. back to top
The journey begins in earnest—Years passed. Even after I was no longer active in the Junior League, and had given the last Community Cookbook Seminar, I still had a passion for the power of community cookbooks to address society’s unfinished business. There in those recipe pages was an underpinning for me. This book form was the expression through which I would find my own voice in publishing. I didn’t know then how I would get to the next way station on my journey. Happily for me, I was in the right place at the right time. The seminar and my consulting experience with community cookbooks gave me my entrée into the publishing arena. In 1986, I had become Vice President of Publishing for the Wimmer Companies in Memphis and started an imprint, Tradery House. Our mission was to capture the paradoxical voice of this book form—Community Cookbooks Preserve American Regional Traditions and Change the Quality of Life—through addressing contemporary social issues. My chance came quickly. A man from Proctor & Gamble kept calling me at home. When we finally talked, he explained that through the Crisco Division, he wanted me to develop a cookbook for the National Council of Negro Women (NCNW) in Washington, D.C. He invited me to join him and another gentleman in Washington on a certain date to meet Dr. Dorothy I. Height, President of NCNW. Some say it was Divine intervention, but on the appointed day, fog delayed the men’s flight from Cincinnati. I was told by their secretary under no circumstances was I to go there until they arrived. I was to call her office and reschedule the appointment for that afternoon. Dutifully I tried. back to the top
An extraordinary woman becomes my life-teacher—When I reached her by phone, Dr. Height said in a gentle voice, “Mrs. Rolfes, I have five members of my board of directors in a room waiting and three people from the American Cancer Society are on their way. I think it would be a good idea if you come over.” A little voice in me screamed, “Ellen, you don’t work for those guys, go on.” A short time later I was on the eleventh floor in huge office building. I was escorted immediately to the massive conference room. When the door opened I experienced one of the defining moments of my life. There before me, sitting around a conference table, were nine Black women in power suits with a leader of extraordinary, radiant energy seated at the head. I prayed, “Dear God, work with me. Not only am I white, I have a Southern accent!” Little did I know I was about to be introduced to one of the most powerful African-American women in history; Dorothy Irene Height, the protégé of Mary McLeod Bethune, was the leader of the four million women who belonged to the NCNW. I was in awe. The short of the long version, I told them that I created cookbooks based on “meal memories.” I explained that the meal was how we celebrate with food because food in every culture is the “great connecting force.” Coming together through the meal is more than the simple act of eating; it is at the core of the human experience. They liked my message and by lunchtime, Dr. Height announced that the National Council of Negro Women was going to publish a cookbook with me. Then she asked me to stay for lunch.
Through the years with NCNW Dr. Height told me that we agreed on something important—more work could be accomplished at a dinner table than a conference table.
That was the birthday of The Black Family Reunion Cookbook and its sequel, The Black Family Dinner Quilt (Tradery House, 1986-88). Both became bestsellers and the paperback rights for both titles were sold to Simon & Schuster in 1992 and 1994. Combined sales for these books are now over 500,000 copies and they are standards on the publishers’ backlists. Through the years with NCNW, I conducted training sessions with their leadership at their bi-annual conventions. I also was privileged to have many private conversations at mealtime with Dr. Height. We talked honestly about racism, women and children’s issues, the changing times, and her years as a Civil Rights activist. She told me that we agreed on something important—more work could be accomplished at a dinner table than a conference table. She understood that women knew food brought people together, no matter what their life experience or cultural orientation. (Looking back, it is now indelibly clear that part of my emerging path was to develop a venue of cross-cultural relatedness through the meal table. Today, as I embark my journey with the Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Inc. to develop their title, I often think about this truth. I thank Dr. Height, with the twinkle in her kind eyes, for being my teacher and for guiding this part of the path to unfold. She was Delta Sigma Theta’s tenth grand soror.) back to the top
New York City and trade publishing were a small world—Once I understood somewhat how the publishing world worked, I began to dream of packaging my own books for trade publishers. Not ordinary books, but ones, which would have a distinct voice and would embrace my emerging philosophy of the meal table. I was fortunate to reconnect with John Boswell in New York City, who is a veteran book packager. He was from my hometown, and I always felt that he wanted me to make it in that tough trade because we come from the same taproot. Through the contract he got with Doubleday, John gave me the courage to break away from traditional employment and start Ellen Rolfes Books, Inc. With his name on the deal, and his staff anchoring the development and production, I was able to secure my initial title, The Junior League Centennial Cookbook (Doubleday, 1996) with the Association of Junior Leagues International. John is a great guy. I remember riding in the back of a taxi with him after getting the commitment for that first title. I said what do we call the company? He replied bluntly, Ellen Rolfes Books, Inc. Through his generous gesture, John opened the door. I am indebted to him because he taught me so much of the business and helped me actualize my dream of creating community cookbooks for trade publishers. I will always remember the moment I held the first “Ellen Rolfes Book.” No longer was I a “midwife;” I was a “birth mother.” John and I still collaborate on projects. We completed The Junior League Celebration Cookbook (Putnam, 2001). Right now we are working on a sequel for AJLI entitled The Junior League Entertains at Home (Putnam, 2003). back to top
Special people…divine intervention—Life has always brought me special people. When I first meet them, I know intuitively that we are meant to be foot soldiers walking together on the journey. Lord knows I owe a huge debt to Jessica B. Harris, the noted author and lecturer who is the definitive voice of African-American foodways. She wrote the introduction to The Black Family Reunion Cookbook so that I, a blue-eyed woman from the Mississippi Delta, could have an authentic title. She introduced me to Marilyn Abraham at Simon and Schuster who bought the trade paperback rights. Together, Marilyn and Jessica did the kindest deed. They introduced me to Liv Blumer of The Blumer Literary Agency in New York. Liv called me one day and actually said that she really didn’t know why she was calling, but if Marilyn and Jessica said that she should find me, she knew she better make the call. Liv became my agent and has been the instrumental in helping me shape a niche for this unique genre in New York publishing. Thanks to Liv Blumer and John Boswell, developing cookbooks and food related titles for trade publisher was now a real path for me. By way of example, I would like to give more introduction to some of my “children.” A Gracious Plenty by the Center for the Study of Southern Culture at the University of Mississippi with John T. Edge (Putnam, 1999)
The Junior League Centennial Cookbook by Association of Junior
Leagues
The Junior League Celebration Cookbook, Association of Junior Leagues International (Putnam, 2000)
The Church Ladies Divine Desserts by Brenda Rhodes Miller (Putnam, 2000)
I am expecting delivery on the following titles. The Junior League Entertains at Home by the Association of Junior Leagues International (Putnam, 2003) The Church Ladies Celestial Suppers by Brenda Rhodes Miller (Putnam, 2004) Delta Style - A Legacy of Hospitality and Entertaining by Delta Sigma Theta Sorority (TBD)
“Come on down”—Ellen Rolfes Books, Inc. was a real thing. As I said a while ago, there are no accidents. Sometimes we are called to serve in the most unsuspecting ways. This part of my journey began when I was given The Encyclopedia of Southern Culture by the Center for the Study of Southern Culture at the University of Mississippi during the holidays. I loved the book’s depth, the way it explored the complexities of the South. But as I got inside its soul, I discovered there was not one word on the Southern meal table. How could you define the South without even mentioning food! I wrote Dr. Bill Ferris, who at the time was Director of the Center for the Study of Southern Culture. Like a good Southerner, he listened then hospitably said, “Why don’t you come on down?” The meeting with Bill must have been on the Divine drawing board. Before I knew it, we decided to develop a cookbook that documented the paradox of the Southern meal table. G.P. Putnam Sons agreed to be the publisher. I did not anticipate the long, difficult journey ahead. A Gracious Plenty was the hardest book I ever “birthed,” but it changed my life. Even though I didn’t realize it when Bill and I first met, I needed to reconnect with my Mississippi roots. back to the top
My ancestors calling me back—In order to complete the book project, it became necessary for me to move to Oxford, Mississippi. I had no intention of staying there, much less of finding an emotional connection. An Ole Miss alumnus had said that if I were to live there I needed to know Chancellor Robert C. Khayat. So my friend made an appointment for me. I remember that meeting like it was yesterday. The Chancellor and I sat there in his office with absolutely nothing to say to one another. We made some small talk. Then he asked me why I wanted to leave my life in Memphis and move to Oxford? I replied that it was kind of spiritual…I felt like my ancestors were calling me back. His entire demeanor changed then. He said, “Come here, I want to show you something.” We went behind his desk; he opened the middle drawer, pushed all the papers forward and showed me a tiny note, taped to the bottom. In a thick first grader’s handwriting, was written, “Dear God, I’m doin’ the best I can.” Frank. The Chancellor told me he understood that my moving to Oxford was spiritual. He said that every day he looks at Frank’s note and says to himself, if Frank can do it, so can I! In that moment I felt the shuttle moving across the loom, creating a new pattern in the “tapestry” of my life. I knew that I was going to be part of his team to create a new mythology at Ole Miss for Mississippi. I did not know how it would unfold; I just knew God was present in that room on that day. Chancellor Khayat was a man, different from others. He was dedicating his life to make Ole Miss “one of America’s great public universities.” back to the top
Twinkle lights and fireflies—I had not been married for several years and knew that I needed to make some significant changes in my life. I was glad to leave Memphis for a while. Even though Oxford was just 80 miles down the road, it was far away. That summer I rented a little house with a swing on the porch. I would be totally alone in a town where the people from the Center for the Study of Southern Culture were just about my only human contacts. I needed to stay focused. The manuscript had to be crafted to blend the many contradictory voices at the Southern meal table. It took much discipline and it was hard work. In my spare time, I planted a flower garden and even tacked up twinkle lights on a shed in the backyard to brighten the long nights. I spent hours weeding and talking to butterflies and hummingbirds. I remember dancing with fireflies in the soft breeze after nightfall. I talked to God constantly, not like in prayer, rather just a running monologue that evolved into a dialogue. For the first time in my life, I released the illusion of control. I had nothing to sustain me, not even a real job. I just knew and trusted that it would be revealed. By the grace of God, I had been repotted in Mississippi. I believed the path would unfold. An intuitive friend felt with certainty that I would be involved in higher education. She suggested that if I would stand in front of the most important building on the campus the answers would come. I had nothing to lose. One hot August afternoon, I stood in front of the Lyceum, the oldest building at Ole Miss, and said, “God, I am here. Tell me what to do.” back to the top
Meet my new family—A short time later, I re-met a wonderful woman, who has become a mentor, Dr. Gloria Kellum, the Vice Chancellor for University Relations. One day surprisingly she set me a note welcoming me to “Oxpatch” and suggesting that I apply for an entry-level fundraising job at the University of Mississippi Foundation. I thought, why not; it would be a way to meet people and give me a paycheck while I finished up the cookbook. I got the job and began a most wonderful and enriching phase in my life. Ole Miss had a familial feeling. The faculty, staff, students and alumni were among the most genuine people I had ever met. They all had so much in common with me—and they truly loved Ole Miss. Its history was marked with scars and pain, but I couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of connectedness. Ole Miss stood for so much in my own life—preserving the values, beliefs and traditions of our culture that were worth saving. It proved the paradox that change must come from firmly grounded traditions. I knew the mythology at The University of Mississippi was being rewritten. I wanted to be part of facilitating that change for the sake of the entire South. As fate would have it, I got lost on campus one day driving to a meeting with Dr. Kellum. After I apologized for my tardiness, I said that while I was roaming around, I could not help but notice, “This place was so masculine.” At the time, all the bricks and mortar displayed men’s names. Where, I asked, was the feminine leadership? I explained to her that during my brief tenure as Director of the Women’s Foundation for a Greater Memphis, I learned that 60% of the wealth in the country—seven trillion dollars—had shifted to the hands of women. Ole Miss was not focusing on the giving potential of this donor base. In the meantime the feminine face of philanthropy was emerging and its voice was beginning to be heard across the country. She said matter-of-factly, “Well, you go back and see if you can figure out something to do about it.” I wished I had not opened my mouth. back to top The birth of the Ole Miss Women’s Council for Philanthropy—I have always been up for a good challenge, but this one just about beat all. I did not know where to began except deep inside. Somewhere in that silence I found the words to draft the twenty-page document I presented to Dr. Kellum a few days later. My proposal was about a dream to convene a diverse group of women, recognized for their circle of influence, to become founding members of The Ole Miss Women’s Council for Philanthropy. Twenty-five significant women from the university family agreed to serve. It took an hour and a half breakfast, but I was able to talk Edith Kelly-Green into becoming the founding chair. The choice was exactly right. Edith, one of the most senior ranking minorities at FedEx, was a high profile alumna, a wife and mother, a breast cancer survivor and a major donor. She was a powerful, unprecedented leader. She was indeed a new voice. The entire roll call was impressive. Our charge was to identify and recruit high school students who were destined to move the private, public and philanthropic sectors toward a new leadership model based on teamwork and community. These young men and women would have already exhibited ethical and caring behavior through their deep desire to help others. Furthermore, they would be risk takers; in creating a shared vision to serve humankind, they would articulate and demonstrate leadership. If they were to improve the quality of institutions, these students would have to aspire to levels of influence and decision-making. We agreed they would have to rely on proven systems, while having the courage to create new societal models. From my background in the writings of Robert Greenleaf, I knew they would need to live their lives as servant leaders. The students we chose would be designated Council Scholars and we would guide them into leadership roles for the 21st Century. Through the years, I have taken many leadership development seminars, but they are like B-12 shots. As soon the new booster wears off, we resume our old ways. I wondered what would happen if we gave our Council Scholars the opportunity to have cutting-edge leadership training through the Lott Institute at the university, while, at the same time, we infused their development with a cluster of mentors. In other words, leadership and mentorship would hold hands on the playground. The traditional leadership approach was so masculine; yet mentoring, as we know it, is quite feminine. This was not gender specific thinking; we all have our masculine and feminine sides. The theory somehow seemed to bring out the best in both worlds. Money always plays its hand. How would we pay for all of this? Women power! Each $100,000.00 endowed scholarship would be named for or given by a woman. We would plant a rose garden where each bush would symbolize a gift and give feminine energy to the masculine campus.
These young men and women would have already exhibited ethical and caring behavior through their deep desire to help others…Furthermore, they would be risk takers; in creating a shared vision to serve humankind, they would articulate and demonstrate leadership.
The plan was in place, but who would be the donors? There was skepticism, and I frankly was scared to death. Then one bright day, Council member Molly Meisenheimer entered my office at the foundation. Her sister-in-law had died an untimely, tragic death. To turn the pain into something that could make the world better, the family had agreed to endow The Sarah Meisenheimer Council Scholarship. It was an extraordinary moment for me. I knew for certain there was a higher good in place working through us. Given my history with the meal table, we began having box luncheons, casual suppers, or dessert parties for women and other donors soon followed. There were six Council Scholars in the first class; in the fall of 2002, eight more will enter the four-year Leadership-Mentorship Program. While they are at the University, they come to the meal table through our “red plate suppers.” The guest speaker has the red plate and talks to them about her individual leadership style. For me, their stories seem intertwined with the purpose of a good meal, the power of women's collective voices and our responsibility to the next generation. After just 18 months we have 2.4 million in the OMWC endowment. Both men and women have stepped forward to endow Council scholarships. In the spring of 2003, the Rose Garden will be planted at the Gertrude Ford Center for Performing Arts at the entrance of the University. A magnificent bronze sculpture, depicting a woman mentoring two young adults, will be placed in the middle of the garden. I cannot imagine what it will be like to have this be one of the first sights you see when you drive onto campus. Its message will say so much about the emerging culture at The University of Mississippi. The Council Scholars have become an integral part of my being. For example, one day, a young woman in our program ran across campus in the rain to share her umbrella with me. We stood there and talked about living life. Leadership and mentorship belong together, especially when scholarship is present in the mix. It is real. And too, a subtle cultural shift is evolving at The University of Mississippi. For the sake of all of us, these 25 women have taken a legitimate seat at the table of philanthropy in the Deep South. back to the top Ole Miss First–Where it all comes together—After two years in Oxford, I did move back to Memphis. I treasure my family, and I was just too close to my daughters to not be home for those impromptu dinners. I worked out an arrangement with the administration to continue my employment to develop the OMWC. I also continued my work in the world of community cookbooks. Both commitments flowed from the same voice, which now was indelibly clear inside me. My professional life was set, or so I thought. The University had just finished its sesquicentennial campaign. They had raised $525 million in gifts, pledges and planned gifts, more than double the initial goal. But a dark cloud was looming over Mississippi. The state legislature was drastically cutting funding in higher education. The Chancellor had created a brilliant plan to replace and expand scholarship money, the University’s most critical need, by launching another campaign to raise $100 million for an endowment. It was to be called Ole Miss First. What I didn’t know was that they wanted me to be the head the campaign. My initial answer was a resounding “No.” Once again, I opened my mouth in a meeting. I said I didn't know how they would raise all this money, since they had just come off a massive campaign. They couldn’t keep going back to the same “well for water.” And, I added, the stock market was on a downward spiral. Regretting my bluntness, I drove home to Memphis and stared at the computer. What came out was a document called “Rainy Day Thoughts.” The words, written in late August 2001, alluded to the global shift and even foreshadowed 9/11. I felt something dark and dangerous threatening our safe Mississippi world that was so removed from everything big and fast. This heavy essay ultimately became the case statement for Ole Miss First. The words explained that in a world experiencing accelerated change, we return to the familiar for substance and meaning in our lives. Entwined in these places are relationships that nurture us and help us grow. Knowing the culture, I realized that most graduates of The University of Mississippi consider themselves members of the Ole Miss family. Many “walk-on alums” feel the same. These people are “Ole Miss First” families. They possess the core value of family philanthropy—giving beyond themselves to something they believe in. After their own families and careers, they sustain their strong relationship with Ole Miss by putting the University’s needs first. It’s a family matter—became the slogan for our campaign. It touched the soul of the Ole Miss alumni base. They believed that any strong family has a responsibility to educate its next generation. I kept saying that besides love, education is the only gift we can give our children that cannot be taken away. I reminded our alumni that Mississippi had suffered, as the best and the brightest students received handsome scholarships only leave the state and never return. In leaving, these young people had severed their “taproot.” We could no longer afford to lose them. back to the top
First among equals—Perhaps the last piece of Chancellor Khayat’s vision for the University of Mississippi is to have Ole Miss discussed in conversation with UVA, Vanderbilt, Chapel Hill or Texas. It was going to take the whole family to get Ole Miss there. So I said yes. How could I not? I was born in the Mississippi Delta, and now I knew for sure that my ancestors had called me back. I felt I was the right person to head this campaign because I was an entrepreneur and it was going to take “thinking outside the box” to pull this one off. Now, the next chapter in my journey is being written. Thank goodness for my volunteer experiences, personally, cross-culturally and professionally because our campaign has a huge volunteer base, and I was being called to motivate diverse constituencies from the alumni and friends to work towards the University’s greatest need — a scholarship for every deserving student. Being a Southern woman, I had been raised to never talk about money. I have never had it, but I had been around it all my life—old money, new money, quick money. I have seen what a lot of money could do to people who had no consciousness beyond self. I had seen what happened to people who survive in lives of quiet desperation because of no means or even the hope of having it without an education. I have come to realize that money has no meaning; we give it meaning. Money is only an instrument, and it can work for a higher good if we give it that assignment. So I have found some voice here too and speak about this unspeakable subject when we meet to discuss Ole Miss First or the Ole Miss Women’s Council for Philanthropy. We have to pull from our own strengths, so of course, we are having “red plate suppers” in alumni homes. We regularly gather around the meal table to talk about the responsibility of a family to educate its next generation. Even in these difficult times people are starved for a seat at this table because they want to be part of something bigger than themselves. They want to leave a legacy. Yes, it’s a family matter. I too have even a dream about publishing The Ole Miss First Families Cookbook to take this message far into the national arena, but I haven’t just yet brought up the subject. I always think about what can happen “when two or more are gathered.” back to the top
The unexpected–the blending of an authentic voice— For me life is like a big schoolroom filled with storybooks. We all are called to co-author own script with the Divine, not just memorize the lines of someone else wrote for us. We are to use our free will and our life lessons so we can bloom where we are planted in the storyline. I am blessed to have found my own voice through community cookbooks, the meal table, and the core value of philanthropy. Special seeds reside in all of us, but we have to fertilize and water them to grow out from the soil into the light. I live my life quite differently today than yesterday with family, friends and the gift of strangers who show up unexpectedly as foot soldiers to share the journey. I know more and more that life can be an adventure book, if we write it as one. back to the top Ellen Robinson Rolfes Summer, 2002©, J. Hudson Web Design |