I was late to the “Sex and the City” party, but when I finally binge watched the long-running HBO series during the pandemic, I went all in. And I’m in the midst of another rewatch this summer. The stories of Carrie, Miranda and Charlotte continue in the reboot, “And Just Like That…,” which also brings more diversity to the show, including high-powered women of color and their families, looking a lot more like the New York City I grew up in.
Part of the reason for the new approach is Susan Fales-Hill, an executive producer/writer on the reboot and a veteran of Black Hollywood whose writing credits go back to “The Cosby Show” and its spin-off, “A Different World.” Born in Rome, Fales-Hill was raised in New York City and went on to earn a degree in history and literature from Harvard. Moving between Hollywood and the publishing world with several books to her name, Fales-Hill has also quietly been an arts patron and philanthropist. She was, for instance, the original patron for internationally renowned ballerina Misty Copeland, paying her American Ballet Theatre salary in 2004 and kickstarting Project Plié, ABT’s diversity initiative. Copeland was once ABT’s only Black performer, but today, Black dancers comprise about 10% of the company.
Fales-Hill and her banker husband, Aaron Hill, also endow a scholarship at the private high school their daughter attended, St. Paul’s School, and helped create a fund at Harvard’s Radcliffe Institute for a series of symposia on civil discourse. She sits on a range of boards, including American Ballet Theatre, and has served on the board of the Lycée Francais de New York, her alma mater.
I recently connected with Fales-Hill to find out more about her giving, the story behind it, and to get her thoughts on the state of Black philanthropy.
You’ve had an extraordinary career shaping culture behind the scenes from “A Different World” and “The Cosby Show” to books. What first made you see yourself not just as an artist, but as a patron?
I had the great privilege of growing up around some of the greatest artists of the 20th century, from my mother, Josephine Premice, to her BFF, Diahann Carroll, to her good friends, Maya Angelou, Eartha Kitt, Roscoe Lee Browne and Richard Burton. I observed them and their challenges from the time I was a child. On my father’s side, I’m descended from generations of white Anglo-Saxon Protestant education and privilege. My grandfather was the third-largest book collector in the United States in the mid-20th century and eventually founded a library with his collection as its core, The Fales Library and Special Collections [at NYU].
I grew up in the ethos of “to whom much is given, of them much is required.” As soon as I began making a decent salary, I considered it my duty to give it away, and having witnessed the struggles of talented artists of color, I was determined to create opportunities that hadn’t existed for the men and women of my mother’s generation. I can’t pinpoint a moment, but when you grow up around artistic geniuses who are denied their proper places on the stage and you yourself have been granted every advantage of education, it lights a fire. This is my life’s purpose: to level the playing field.
You were Misty Copeland’s first sponsor when she was just a teenager, long before she was a household name. What did you see in her, and what does that experience say about the power of individual, early-stage philanthropy?
From the time she was a cygnet in the corps de ballet, Misty was a magnetic presence. You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. True talent isn’t always “famous.” Don’t look for the stars, look for the budding stars. So many want to hitch their wagons to a bold face name, or someone who has already achieved recognition. I would encourage people to follow their gut and look at the corps. Who is it who is dancing, writing, painting, acting, founding a startup who isn’t known but clearly has promise? Success has many parents and failure is an orphan, as the saying goes. Whether in business, art collecting or arts sponsorship, be the person who spots the budding talent. Invest early and help the individual soar. You go from being that annoying lunatic talking about the person you believe in to a visionary who found the next big thing.
So many of the donors I speak with talk about impact, but you’ve actually helped people flourish in their careers and lives in a very hands-on way. What does impact mean to you and how do you measure it? I believe in deliverables. How many students have benefitted from your endowed scholarship? How has it transformed and shaped the trajectory of their lives? But there are impacts that one can have that are unexpected and immeasurable.
When Misty first learned that someone had chosen to sponsor her, she burst into tears of gratitude and joy because it meant that someone believed in her. When the story was relayed to me, I was astonished. I had no idea that so relatively small a financial investment could mean so much and I’d never thought about what being chosen for a sponsorship meant for a dancer.
There’s also the impact of mentoring. What you might think of as something painless and easy, taking someone for coffee to talk, could mean the difference between their excelling and just surviving. Whether it’s money, time, thought leadership or just a listening ear, your reach can far exceed your grasp. I have never been the wealthiest person on any board on which I’ve sat, but because of my passion and willingness to lay it all on the line, my influence has far exceeded my capacity to give.
How do you reconcile working within elite institutions while also trying to open the doors wider?
In my mind, no reconciliation is necessary. In the words of the late great Alvin Ailey, who founded his eponymous company while dancing in the chorus of the Broadway musical in which my mother co-starred, “Jamaica,” “Dance came from the people and we’re bringing it back to the people.” I believe that of every single dance form, and every form of so-called “high art” and certainly of higher education. If you are a human being, there is no space in which you don’t belong.
With education, we make it affordable through financial aid. With the arts, you create accessibly priced tickets and a welcoming atmosphere. [New York] City Center was founded as a people’s hall. In the last few years, Lincoln Center has succeeded brilliantly in making their campus a place where all feel welcome and all can find a ticket at their price point.
You’ve described yourself as a “cultural preservationist.” In a moment when so many institutions are facing budget cuts and political attacks, what’s the case for sustained investment in the arts, particularly Black and diasporic arts?
I go back to a story about Winston Churchill during World War II when his cabinet wanted to slash and burn the arts budget and he countered, “Then what are we fighting for?” I don’t know if this story is apocryphal or true, and people may love Churchill or revile him, but that’s the question. The arts form the core of our cultures and civilization. The only truly original American art forms — jazz, tap, ragtime, gospel, country music, modern dance, and hip-hop — all have their roots in the African diaspora. Our cultural forms are imitated the world over. Forget the artistic, moral and spiritual case for promoting the arts — why would anyone want to limit our most influential export? It’s as powerful a weapon as any nuclear warhead — and less destructive.
How has your identity as a Black woman shaped your giving philosophy? And do you think traditional philanthropy is finally beginning to take donors of color more seriously? Are there any other donors in the sector you’re inspired by?
As I mentioned before, my giving has been largely shaped by growing up around Black artistic geniuses. It’s my mission to create opportunities for artists of color to thrive, especially in the performing arts. My giving has also been influenced by my own educational journey and wanting to extend the sense of inclusion I felt to others who didn’t have the same access or hereditary comfort level.
In my experience, most boards are eager to include donors of color. They are well aware of their existence and covet them. The only dismissiveness of donors of color I’ve encountered has been among people who are soullessly transactional and hopelessly benighted. We must pray for them. There are so many donors of color who inspire me: Raymond McGuire and his wife, Crystal McCrary McGuire; Ken and Kathryn Chenault; Ted and Nina Wells; Valentino Carlotti; ABT board member and next generation leader Arielle Patrick; Lisa Skeete Tatum, Carla Harris, Mellody Hobson, [Mellon Foundation’s] Elizabeth Alexander and [Ford Foundation’s] Darren Walker — our queen and king of foundation philanthropy.
There’s also Misty Copeland herself, who, through her eponymous foundation, is bringing dance education to underserved communities in New York. I could go on. Philanthropists of color have pulled up their seats at the table and they show no sign of leaving.
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