From Zero to Hero
Becky Beaulieu, PhD, is what museum professionals affectionally call a museum nerd. She has been working in museums since the age of sixteen, doing everything from managing family programs as a teen to her current work as a museum director.
Becky writes:
I have always sucked at math. One of those smart kids with an unrepentant blind spot for numbers, I excelled in the humanities and struggled with any topic in which numerals played a part. A voracious reader for as long as I can remember, it was in about sixth grade when I realized that I had absolutely no aptitude for mathematics. Zero. Zilch.
My parents tried every avenue they could think of to provide support for their daughter. They gave me math flashcards, scheduled regular appointments with math tutors, and even tried to get my middle school math teacher to sign a contract to provide additional support (it didn’t work). It was apparent to all involved that the efforts were fruitless, and I spent the rest of my teenage years just getting by in my math courses, while concurrently developing a love of museums and dream to work in museums. By the time I graduated from high school, I had a couple of internships under my belt and an acceptance to the George Washington University in Washington, D.C., which offered me the chance to visit, and ultimately intern at, the Smithsonian Institution.
I was able to skirt math for the next few years. I sailed through my college math prerequisites by focusing on conceptual courses like Introduction to Logic and Knot Theory. But following the completion of my master’s degree in art history, I faced the hurdle that challenges many young professionals, in which I couldn’t find a position for which I was qualified. With my extensive background in unpaid internships of no help, I joined the ranks of a field most non-profit professionals fear to tread: fundraising.
My time in the development offices of two major Chicago organizations taught me two things: one, I really was NOT GOOD at numbers; and two, no one else really was either. Theater companies, museums, and myriad other arts organizations were overflowing with people dedicated to mission while also fumbling to learn financial basics. I was newly equipped with the knowledge that if I just DID THE THING to tackle the financial concepts about which I was so apprehensive, I might have an edge.
And so, I went to Columbia University, an Arts Administration student in New York City, the mecca of museums. It was heaven: I was broke and at one time had to take three trains to campus, but it was still heaven. I learned about art education and strategic planning and capital projects, I interned for historic sites and went on class visits to the MET and to MOMA, I explored new territory like architecture and historic preservation. And then, I could avoid it no longer: CPA-track accounting taught at the Columbia Business School. A requirement for the Arts Administration program, one that I was assured several members of my cohort would take alongside me and during which we could band together like scared mice in the corner.
Except that wasn’t the case. I was the lone ARAD student in my accounting section, a class full of princes and Swiss entrepreneurs, led by a Turkish professor who called homework “deliverables.” I thought I had entered hell. I purchased two copies of the textbook, one to keep on campus and the other to keep in my Brooklyn apartment. I spent hours trying to understand account payables and receivables, my textbooks full of dents from every time I threw one against the wall.
And then I discovered the CBS tutoring program, where I was matched with a carrot-topped former child actor who mimed dunking a basketball and shouted “KOBE!” every time I got an answer right in our sessions. We soon met twice a week and pored over every assignment question, reviewed when I got something wrong, and prepared me for my biggest fear: a three-hour final exam in which students were required to analyze the annual financial statements of the Walt Disney Corporation. I got a B+. I’ve never been so ecstatic to receive a B+.
It is not an exaggeration to say that the blood, sweat, and tears I expended during that accounting class and my strident, pissed-off commitment to learning something I loathed was a game-changer. I started to take on museum administration jobs with increasing focus on finance, resource allocation, and budget management. I started to tackle endowments, capital planning, and cash flow projections. And soon, I had the idea to write a book for people like me: people who are passionate about museums, mission, and audience, but shied away from financial topics like the plague. Whether my peers’ resistance was due to a lack of comfort or a lack of training, I wanted to find a path forward for us. The result was Financial Fundamentals for Historic House Museums, a 2017 book designed for museum volunteers, staff, trustees, and students who sought a primer on the topic.
Becky Beaulieu’s new book!
As of 2022, I’ve given close to 50 workshops and lectures on museum finance and teach professional development courses and sessions for the American Alliance of Museums, American Association for State and Local History, College Art Association, National Trust for Historic Preservation, and Society for American Archivists. Last year I launched the first undergraduate museum finance course at Connecticut College, and this August sees the release of my second book, Endowment Essentials for Museums. I share this not to boast, but because I still consider myself the sixth-grade bookworm who felt a pit in my stomach every time I entered the math classroom. I find it wondrous that I have become a resource for my peers on a topic that has filled me with dread and insecurity in the past. But at the same time, I think of how proud I am every time I see a lightbulb go off for a colleague or a student, and then I think of that dented textbook that sits in the office of the museum at which I serve as director. And I’m filled with that same pride for myself.
We can amaze ourselves.