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Henley with her late parents,
Jean MacMillan and Gordon Southam
Image courtesy of Martha Lou
Henley |
The Quiet Philanthropist —
Page 4
Alcohol, estrangement, and untimely deaths have so ravaged
the Southams, in fact, that several acquaintances refer
to the clan as “that poor family.” Even
as I write this, Henley’s mother (battling dementia
and failing physical health) is in hospital with an
ever-worsening condition. (Henley’s father, Gordon,
died at home, one day before his 88th birthday.) And
most young people need prompting, now, to remember what
“Southam” once stood for. Henley’s
quiet work represents a kind of final act in the grand
history of a larger dynasty.
After Henley, what kind of arts philanthropy will the
city enjoy? Vancouver is doubly damned: too far north
to benefit from the American tradition of philanthropy,
and too far west to receive the attentions of old money,
the city’s arts organizations endure a geographically
ordained scarcity. In the States, private citizens have
always known it was up to them to fund the arts as their
government was otherwise occupied (or occupying). Henley
falls in this American-style camp—she sees her
wealth as a calling. We can only hope for a phalanx
of new Henleys to shore up the arts funding gap our
governments have left us.
“In the U.S. they believe that philanthropy, that
the arts, is a private responsibility,” says Janet
Ketcham—a longtime supporter of the Vancouver
Art Gallery who now makes her home in Seattle (where
$180 million was recently raised for the Seattle Art
Museum). Jim Wright, general director of the Vancouver
Opera, has also served as executive director at two
American operas. He agrees that the Americans have a
philanthropic head start. “There are many more
family foundations in the States. Their government support
is miniscule but they subsidize the arts by providing
more liberal tax breaks for individual giving.”
Most Canadians, however, are not preened for philanthropy.
We expect at least moderate government support. But
look at the Vancouver Art Gallery: 20 years ago the
government was handling 80 percent of their budget.
Today it provides 28 percent. “We now rely on
earned income and contributions,” says director
Kathleen Bartels.
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While she loves
her family, Henley’s work, finally, has
moved her beyond the realm of a name, and secures
her a far more powerful legacy—she becomes
a force unto herself.
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Henley is reticent when you try to draw her out about
governments or funding patterns—her own giving
is not strategic but derives from a more general goodwill.
Walking through her garden one day, she waves her hands
to dismiss the complexities of her own finances: “When
I started all this I told my lawyer I want to have fun.
I got very angry when they started boring me with all
the details.”
We all know, in our hearts, that swimming pools full
of gold coins cannot purchase happiness or stave off
death (even if some greedy inner faculty argues the
reverse). But, in the end, how do we know we’ve
had a life well lived? How can we know that the world
will, afterward, think well of us?
Philanthropy is surely as good a way as any of leaving
one’s mark. But the easy assumptions we might
make about Martha Lou Henley—that there is something
“behind” her giving, or that the dispensing
of money in any way “atones” for the capitalist
backdrop it was gathered against—fall to the floor
when you meet the person. While she loves her family
(“I appreciate my heritage, I benefit from it—we
all benefit from it”) Henley’s work, finally,
has moved her beyond the realm of a name, and secures
her a far more powerful legacy—she becomes a force
unto herself.
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