Media Arts Administration at Artists' Television Access (II)

, or, Rebell Yell

The story so far: LMH leaves BAVC, the media art center he's worked at for 10 years, joining Artists' Television Access as Executive Director. He finds an organization of committed volunteers ready to take on the task of rebuilding some essential systems. He also finds a wicked smell of undetermined origin, possibly related to ritualistic sacrifices rumored to be taking place in the immediate neighborhood.

PART II

In June I drove out to St. Louis to speak at a conference. Returning to San Francisco, I was surprised to have one of my sisters (three of them live in town) say to me: "We need you to go and pick up the folk s car in a couple of weeks." Even more surprising, after some discussion, that couple of weeks was shaved down to a few days. I was travel tired. I knew some of my family talked about moving my mother and father out to San Francisco, but I thought it was a lot of hooey. I made the drive from out West to Michigan in 2 days.

We packed up and sold the house in the middle of an oppressive heat. It wasn't "sleeping weather," so I didn't sleep. My father really wanted to take the train, but his doctors told him he should fly to San Francisco instead. It would have broken my father's (ailing) heart to fly. His doctor's looked at us like we didn't have any sense. They found no one in our family to take their side. If he wanted to take the train, he was a big boy. So he took the train, with an oxygen tank by his side. He said it was the best trip he had ever been on. Within a month we said goodbye to him as he lay in the hospital...

Here's a test: To move ahead as a media arts center, ATA must maintain equipment, market services, develop a funding base, get the finances in order and continue to keep screenings, workshops and the volunteer program running. What should take priority?

For me, the answer is obvious. At least, the answer that is right for me. I must get the finances in order. Everything that I had ever read, everything that I had ever learned about business from my father (a bookkeeper for 40 years) told me the right or wrong tone could be set by how the leadership of an organization prioritizes keeping financial records and communicating financial information.

My feelings were confirmed at ATA. Listening to the volunteers at ATA, a common theme was that the most discouraging aspect of volunteering at ATA was being ignorant about where the organization stood financially. Without any information, the "we really need to tighten our belts" or "we need to increase earned income" platitudes, repeated one too many times, began to sound hollow, desperate and out of control. I talked to a former ATA workshop instructor who said: "I was asked to take a 20% reduction in my fee to help out ATA. I said fine, just tell me what you are going to do with the money you don't pay me. No one could tell me. And I said I didn't want to teach at ATA anymore."

Setting financial accountability goals is one thing, keeping to them is another. Often, the advocates for infrastructure work show up after the work is done. While it is in the works, even those who strongly believe in what they're doing, have self-doubts. Shouldn't I be trying to get more people on the edit systems? Isn't there a flyer to get out? Shouldn't we get some of this equipment fixed?

Yes to all of the above. But not at the expense of getting your organization off on the right foot. For instance, my first 6 months at ATA were spent fielding dunning calls. A large amount of the money we made during that time went to pay for instructors of classes that took place months ago, or to refund students for classes that never took place.

Before I began diving in to set up the financial system as a whole, I opened a savings account where I deposited all incoming workshop fees. These funds sat in this account until each class had successfully run. The instructor got paid the last night of class.

This small change had a profound effect. Suddenly, the volunteers didn't have to dread the unpleasant calls that had become so common on their shifts. And even though this meant less money for me to work with immediately, it definitely narrowed the field of money worries.

Building the accounting system at ATA turned out to be a chore. Even though the system we were setting up was simple, I wanted it designed so ATA's records could be easily used for financial audits. Our first hurdle: there were no recent ATA financial records available. At some expense to the organization, I had to get photocopies of checks and bank statements from Wells Fargo to have an accurate record of 1999. Working with a bookkeeping consultant, I entered the financial data into Quickbooks Pro, the accounting system we had chosen. All this was absolutely necessary, not only to report to my staff and volunteers, but also to give us a chance at receiving future funding.

And then there were the surprises that slowed down our work. Surprises as sad as my father's death or as shocking as what greeted me one morning when I came to work.

Unlocking the front door to ATA, my jaw dropped as I saw the confederate flag hanging in the window. It would have seemed oddly out of place in the window of the bookstore half a block away. Hanging in ATA's window - representing me - it gave me a sick feeling.

My father came to me one night. In this dream, we met in a conference room where I worked, in a dilapidated office with the musty dignity of an ancient and out-of-favor law firm. He waited patiently for me as I scooted around, fussing with all sorts of minute tasks. Finally I sat down with him. The conference table was huge, but we sat intimately in one corner. He just stared at me. I searched his eyes. His look said: "You figure it out."

This non-advice is the best I can hope for? You figure it out.

Is a confederate flag flying in ATA's window a freedom of speech issue? It would be if I fought to keep the flag up against outside pressure. While some volunteers were strongly against keeping it up, others equivocated.

My decision was that it was my decision. I had been hired to direct the organization. From the time I was young the confederate flag has, for me, been a symbol that belongs in a history book, not on a flagpole, or in ATA's window. It is a symbol of oppression, as corrupted for me as a swastika. And as unpleasant as it is to tell an artist, or anyone, that something they have done will not work, I had to do it. I took down the flag. I then spoke to the artist, and, out of respect, I made sure that she realized that the decision was final. There is nothing more disrespectful than leading someone to believe there is room for discussion when there is not.

This is no small matter. Telling someone they can't do something does not come naturally to me. Having the power to do that, and doing it, gives me a feeling of shame. I should have come up with another way to handle the matter, I tell myself. But no amount of shame can keep me from doing what I think is right. To make these choices, as a director, you should take an inventory of yourself, try to understand your weaknesses and strengths. If you are making decisions on issues central to your organization and its mission, you must be ready to lose your job for your principles. Or at least that's how I feel.

Is this leadership? I don't think so. It's the rawest type of management, "do as I say." As a manager I prefer developing teams to build an organization, but if the teams are young and gangly, the appointed director must be willing to act.

In the best of all possible worlds, an organization is made up of individuals who take coming to work seriously. They weigh their values with the values of the organization (stated and unstated), and give their best to the organization. There is a sense of stewardship. That's what we aspire to at ATA, and we'll try to keep our eyes on that goal despite a hundred stumbles.

My father's advice comes back to me. Take your experiences and use them. Take the experiences of your staff and use them. Listen and learn from others, but when you need to, stand up for what you believe. You'll make mistakes. It's no picnic. You figure it out.

LUKE HONES is still the Executive Director of Artists Television Access in San Francisco.

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