A Fundraiser’s Nightmare Before Christmas

I thought it would be inspiring to all of you fundraisers out there shaking the trees for those end-of-the-year gifts to hear a tale from the annals of the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s holiday fundraising: ‘Twas the night of “The Hard Nut” gala in December 1992.

“The Hard Nut” is choreographer Mark Morris’ take on “The Nutcracker,” and the show, created by Morris and performed by MMDG (the Mark Morris Dance Group), is stunning, irreverent and completely original. It was also BAM’s first holiday extravaganza. Morris’ greatest talent is his ability to integrate music with movement, and his use of the full Tchaikovsky score—something that few other choreographers had ever done—to create a radical new version of a traditional holiday staple revealed things about the original music and story that no other “Nutcracker” had touched. Inspired by the black and white cartoons of Charles Burns and featuring the Brooklyn Youth Chorus singing from the stage-right box seats in our BAM Opera House, it was a bold, postmodern spectacle, full of drag and gender fluidity, which referenced all of the Nutcrackers that preceded it with irony, parody and even respect. It was also very expensive, and in order to present it in the Next Wave Festival, we planned a gala—this time, a holiday-themed, post-performance party in one of New York City’s most iconic settings, Grand Central Station.

“The Hard Nut” was a major opportunity for BAM. Finally, we had a show that was “contemporary and edgy,” but not so weird that it would alienate a gala audience, and a delightful tongue-in-cheek cartoon version of the “Nutcracker” that New Yorkers know all too well. It was an enormous bonus that the legendary leader of Vogue, the formidable Anna Wintour, a pal of Morris and a fan of MMCG, agreed to chair the event. Quickly, we sold out all the gala tickets and were excited to generate as much revenue as possible. Everything had fallen into place. All signs pointed to what would no doubt be a very successful fundraising event. The only problem was the weather.

On the morning of the gala, we woke to perhaps the worst forecast in the history of mankind. A giant nor’easter, the likes of which the city had never seen, was barreling up the East Coast and bearing down on New York. It was simultaneously pouring, hailing and freezing. We gathered early at BAM to discuss whether to cancel the gala. While talking on the phone to Nancy Umanoff, executive director of MMDG, I ventured out onto the roof of the BAM Opera House and felt like King Lear on the heath: All of the elements were spiraling down upon my head. Finally, we decided we were going to go ahead. It was too complicated to cancel. 

Of course, the seating was completely screwed up. We didn’t know who was coming and who wasn’t. People had called throughout the day to find out if the show had been canceled. We had no idea how people were going to get to Brooklyn for the performance and then on to Grand Central for the gala. We threw caution to the wind (which was blowing at an unprecedented speed). By 2:30 p.m., we were telling people, “It’s on. Get here any way you can. Late seating or never.”

When the curtain went up that night, a smattering of people actually arrived dressed in black tie and boots, drenched but miraculously present. We were heartened by the tenacity of the crowd. The house was pretty empty at the start of the show, but magically—with that special Next Wave BAM karma—by intermission, somehow, the theater had filled up almost to capacity. This was the pre-cellphone era, and yet word had spread that something extraordinary was happening that shouldn’t be missed. People kept showing up and flowing into the space throughout the performance. Everyone was excited to be there. It was that thing that sometimes happens when people transcend adversity together. Everyone shared a common bond that night, and a very real sense of community. As a leader, you dream of creating a moment that illuminates the idea that we are all in this together no matter what. 

Since this was to be a holiday gala, we had arranged something truly spectacular. We organized a special subway with the MTA to run directly from Atlantic Avenue (next to BAM) direct to Grand Central Station, where we were having the dinner. Based on a term Morris had used in the show, we called it the “Perlipat Hard Nut Express.” We decorated the cars with BAM signs in the windows, and as patrons entered Atlantic Terminal, we gave each of them a fake walnut as a token to get on the subway. We had our own track and our own subway train, which we somehow convinced the MTA to give us for the night. In spite of the raging nor’easter, the MTA agreed to forge ahead despite the weather because they, too, were now part of the drama.

Everyone who had braved the elements to come to BAM was up for the adventure. After the performance, the crowd poured out of the theater and into the subway station. We all boarded our train. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” cackled over the train PA system. The mood was festive and the crowd was in high spirits. Because of the inclement weather, when we arrived at Grand Central, the majestic, old station was virtually empty. We had the place to ourselves. So we walked up from the subway, deep in the bowels of the Earth, into a vacant Grand Central, two and a half weeks before Christmas.

As our guests entered the main concourse, the New York City Gay Men’s Chorus, which we engaged for the event—more than 100 singers strong—serenaded them with Christmas carols. The main concourse was theatrically lit to accentuate the grand sweep of the high clerestory arches. The shimmering zodiac was spackled with stars. In the adjacent historic Waiting Room, where we held the dinner, the space flickered with the wavering light of a thousand votive candles. Between the sentimental notes of the Christmas carols, the glow of the thousand candles and the unforgettable subway journey from BAM to Grand Central, many of the patrons were overwhelmed with emotion as they entered the room. It was one of those New York nights when the city lived up to its reputation as one of the greatest cultural centers in the world. 

Morris and his dancers wore holiday outfits of red and green. When he led them into the dinner, moving gracefully and in unison, the guests leaped to their feet and cheered. Nobody argued about seating that night, as they usually did at galas. It became a badge of honor to have possessed the fortitude to attend in spite of the terrible storm. “The Hard Nut” gala went down as one of the great social performances and holiday events of the decade; one for the history books.