Where small dreams find life
Civic Innovation Lab gives money, support to individuals' projects
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Joe Frolik
Plain Dealer Columnist The front page of last Wednesday's Plain Dealer offered welcome reassurance that even in tough economic times, some big ideas are alive and kicking in Cleveland.
Arrayed across Page One were stories about a buyer with ambitious plans for the former Ameritrust property at East Ninth Street and Euclid Avenue downtown; continuing efforts to bring a medical mart and convention center to the city; and University Hospitals' pledge to buy and hire locally on a $730 million expansion.
If Cleveland's going to become the first-tier city most of us think it can and should be, such projects need to succeed. The same goes for the big bets being placed by the likes of Scott Wolstein, Nathan Zaremba, Ari Maron and the Cleveland Clinic.
But if Cleveland's to be the kind of vibrant place where interesting, creative people choose to live, it also needs a lot of little bets to succeed, too, the likes of which are being made by people like Ray Petro, Alton Tinker and Donna Dabbs. And that's where Jennifer Thomas comes in.
Thomas runs the Civic Innovation Lab, where she traf fics in dreams and ideas, not test tubes and microscopes. Since 2003, the lab has given away nearly $1 million of the Cleveland Foundation's money, mostly in grants of $30,000 or less, to an idiosyncratic array of 34 initiatives.
Petro got money to market his indoor mountain-biking course on Cleveland's West Side; Tinker and Dabbs to expand their social networking organization for black professionals. Money's also been invested in a new musical theater troupe, an effort to persuade young people to live in the city, a car-sharing cooperative, an alternative-fuels venture and a lot more.
Behind each project is an individual or a very small group of people who truly believe they have an idea whose time has come. In the jargon of the lab, Thomas calls them her "champions." Her job is to channel their passion into a workable idea.
"The people we work with are risk-takers. They risk their money and their reputations," says Thomas. "We try to put support around them."
To do so, she has assembled a band of successful professionals, entrepreneurs and innovators who have assisted nearly 500 would-be civic and business pioneers. "The mentors are the engine of the lab," Thomas says. "Without them it would just be $30,000 grants."
Even with the mentors and with an extensive screening process, some bets haven't panned out. But Thomas is OK with that, and so apparently is the foundation, which last fall committed another $525,000 to the lab.
It's good to take a risk on people," says Thomas. "I don't think we've ever regretted a grant, even the ones that didn't work as we hoped they would. I think we should make some mistakes. It proves to the community that we're willing to take risks in support of innovative creativity."
The Civic Innovation Lab represents the most structured piece of a budding grass-roots movement to seed and nurture some very cool, small-scale ventures. In some ways, this movement mirrors the inherent optimism of high-profile groups like BioEnterprise and JumpStart that seek to accelerate the development of potentially high-growth new businesses. There's another common belief: Doing the same old things with the same old people won't transform either Cleveland's economy or its quality of life.
About a year ago, scores of young professionals began meeting both to socialize and to brainstorm about ways to make the city more attractive to them and their peers. The result is a loosely structured organization with a quirky name: 10,000 Little (Micro) Ideas to Keep You Believing in Cleveland. One not-so-little idea they're pursuing aims to light up a handful of neighborhoods in ways that will promote safety and create an artsy, almost European flavor.
Another concept, bubbling up around the country, is known as "giving circles." Like-minded individuals chip in a relatively small amount of money quarterly or yearly, then give to grass-roots initiatives they believe in. One local group that calls itself the Cleveland Colectivo is preparing for its third round of grants for ideas - like a mural project in Ohio City - that might pass below the radar of established funders.
Petro's mountain-biking park is a good example of how these alternative funders work. An avid rider, Petro always felt blue when winter made him put away his bike. He'd eye vacant buildings and tell himself they'd be great for off-season biking. In 2004, he "finally called my own bluff."
Tapping his savings and credit cards, he found a old factory of nearly 100,000 square feet, bought a pile of lumber and started building his field of dreams. Biker friends showed up to help. Once he opened, word of mouth brought riders by the score from all around the Great Lakes. But how to grow his enterprise?
With help from the lab, Petro has put together a business plan he can take to potential investors. He's also got some money for marketing. He's working with hotels and attractions to create weekend packages for his clientele.
Tinker and Dabbs, a pair of KeyBank executives, started their Society of Urban Professionals (SOUP) on a similarly informal basis. They wanted a venue for black professionals to forge business and personal ties - the kind of networking that has helped make Atlanta and Detroit centers of African-American business growth - so they literally started asking people to lunch. But the get-togethers mushroomed into more than they could handle. Dabbs met Thomas, who encouraged her to make a pitch to the lab.
The result was money for a Web site that has streamlined organizational work. That, in turn, has expanded SOUP's ambitions: Its next event will be a evening fund-raiser for an art galley at Karamu House. And that's on top of a few marriages and business deals that started with SOUP. "All that impacts the health of the community," says Dabbs.
It's also a good reminder that when it comes to innovation and risk-taking, Cleveland obviously needs to think big. But thinking small isn't such a bad idea, either.
Frolik is an associate editor of The Plain Dealer's editorial pages.
To reach Joe Frolik: jfrolik@plaind.com, 216-999-4548
Previous columns online: cleveland.com/columns
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