Foundation vaults into Hub prominence

28 May 2004

The Boston Foundation is the new Vault and Paul Grogan holds the keys. It's a prospect that thrills some and worries others - notably, Boston's mayor - and leaves Grogan in a quandary, trying to figure out where all of this power leads.

The Vault was the nickname for the Coordinating Committee, a quasi-secret organization created in 1959 by Boston's business elite. Although some regarded it with suspicion, its purpose was benign. Born out of frustration with a corrupt and inept city government, the power of its members was such that it helped elect mayors and guide Boston's subsequent renaissance.

The Vault formally disbanded in the late 1990s but its influence ended far earlier. Some of that was a consequence of changing times and a resistance to unelected bodies having too much sway. More disturbingly, however, it reflected a growing disengagement of the business community from the life of the city.

Enter Paul Grogan and the Boston Foundation.

The foundation has been around since 1915, amassing a vast endowment and using it for all of the standard do-gooder stuff that charities always do.

In 2001, its board hired Grogan as president. The charge to him was clear: Raise the foundation's profile. Make it central to Boston's future rather than something that nibbled around the edges.

Grogan was a good choice. His resume spoke of civic engagement: aide to Mayor Kevin White, president of the Local Initiatives Support Corp. (spending more than $3 billion nationally on housing and community development), vice president for community affairs at Harvard, and co-author of "Comeback Cities," a guide to revitalizing urban areas.

Moreover, Grogan understood the role the foundation could play in Boston's future. The city's old mainstays - Jordan Marsh, John Hancock and New England Telephone - had been sold or merged. And while it was true that other businesses had reared up, these newcomers seemed oddly disconnected, without the passion for the city that characterized their predecessors. There's "fragmented leadership," Grogan says and that, he thinks, is a problem.

"How does a community work?" he asks. "When it has the capacity to mobilize to solve problems."

Giving it that capacity, becoming the leader Boston lacks, is now the foundation's mission.

The charity's power derives from its money; each year it disburses around $50 million. Yet where once those funds were handed out quietly, now Grogan and the foundation are provocateurs. The foundation created a grant program to encourage the development of pilot schools in Boston, for example. It pulled together the broad- based Commonwealth Housing Task Force and proposed new legislation to address the area's housing crunch. It is trying to revive the urban middle class, taking the lead in coordinating the area's fractured arts community, hatching an effort to give the state more control over failing local schools, funding get-out-the-vote efforts, and so on.

This is more than grant-making. Grogan is making policy, "stepping into the breach," he says, when others fails to act - just as the Vault once did. "There's a real hunger in the city" for that kind of leadership, Grogan says, and the response to the charity's new activism has been tremendous.

Not everyone wants to dine at Grogan's table, however, and especially not Boston Mayor Thomas Menino. For the record, Menino spokesman Seth Gitell has nothing but kind words. Yet the open secret in City Hall is that the tension between the two men is high and growing.

Why the clash? Part of the answer lies in understanding Boston's peculiar culture. In this city, if you make a billion dollars, discover a cure for cancer and then win a Pulitzer for your first novel, people think it's all a prelude to running for public office. That's the problem that dogs Grogan: Menino figures he wants his job.

There's a second reason as well: The foundation challenges the mayor's influence. Through Grogan's efforts, the charity has become its own center of power. Moreover, by leading the charge on issues it sees ignored or festering, it is implicitly critiquing Menino's reign.

So where does this leave Grogan? City Hall's suspicion about him, he says, "used to be flattering. Now it's just a problem." He says he told the mayor directly he won't run against him, pointing out he has three kids in school and sees himself "indefinitely" as head of the foundation.

"I think I can make a difference here," he says, dismissing a mayoral bid, yet in the next breath adds, "But I've never really completely ruled it out."

Meanwhile, Grogan is not about to back off. "As popular as (Menino) is, many feel the lack of political competition is bad," he says.

He's right. Grogan's plans for himself remain a cipher. For now, he competes not for votes but rather in the realm of ideas and policy, as both a goad and an alternative. Boston is better for it.

Talk back to Tom Keane at tomkeane@tomkeane.com.