With $1.5 million in hand, Diane contracted with Drs. Sargent and Gilfoy to begin the first of several cemetery digs. In early April, she finally received an artist’s rendering of the memorial that she liked, after spending almost $60,000 on several that she did not. A marketing firm took the art and produced a slick direct-mail solicitation that went to 300,000 potential donors. In addition to the art, there was a color photo of Lovely and three paragraphs about her story. It was enormously successful, generating over $400,000 in the first two months.
Also in April, Diane decided to forgo law school for another year. She had been accepted at Emory, her first choice, and the school agreed to another one-year deferment, but her dreams of a career in environmental law were fading. She was too busy with the foundation. She said goodbye to Steven and his little nonprofit and rented more space. She hired the second employee. When notified by the IRS that she had failed to list her board of directors, she quickly sent in the names of Steven Mahon, Bruce Cable, Gifford Knox, Mercer Mann, and Naomi Reed. Then she got busy and forgot to tell them that they had been elected to the board of the Nalla Foundation.
At the beginning of the legislative session in Tallahassee, the Black Caucus held a press conference to announce the filing of a bill that would create a memorial to the enslaved people who had lived on Dark Isle. The bill sought $2 million in initial funding, a modest amount for a wealthy state with an impressive budget surplus. The bill died in a subcommittee, then was resurrected only to be killed again upon final adjournment.
Diane and Mercer were at the state capitol, lobbying in a vain effort, when time expired. It was a tough loss, but most caucus members were optimistic about next year. Among the many lessons Diane was learning was that private money was preferable over local, state, and federal dollars.
The Nalla Foundation was raising money and had enough to keep it busy for quite some time. It was about to get a big boost with the publication of
The early reviews were nothing short of remarkable.
Viking wanted to throw a launch party in New York, but Bruce Cable would have none of it. He wouldn’t even discuss it with Mercer. The book was born in the waters around Camino Island, and that was where it would be celebrated first. He ordered two thousand copies, a record for Bay Books, and harangued Mercer into pre-signing all of them the day before the launch. He rented the town’s brand-spanking-new amphitheater on the beach, a gift from the legislature to honor those who died in Hurricane Leo. He sold tickets for fifty dollars apiece, which included an autographed book, pregame rum punch on the beach, and a donation to the Nalla Foundation. The weather cooperated, the night was perfect, and a huge crowd showed up. Bruce was, of course, the master of ceremonies, and he introduced some important people to say a few words: Diane Krug, executive director of the Nalla Foundation; the mayor of Santa Rosa; the chairman of the Black Caucus in Tallahassee; and Marlo Wagner, director of the African Burial Project in Baltimore.
The star of the evening was Mercer Mann, and she spoke for a few minutes before surprising the crowd with another introduction. When Lovely Jackson walked across the stage and took a bow, the crowd stood and cheered. When it settled down, she stepped behind the podium, pulled the mike a little closer, and thanked everyone for coming. She thanked Mercer for her book, and Diane for the foundation and its wonderful work, and Bruce at the bookstore. From a pocket somewhere in the midst of her teal-tinted robe, she pulled out a paperback, her own story. She set the scene, then read:
