by Dr. Kevin Dean, President & CEO, Tennessee Nonprofit Network
Every nonprofit executive director has a recurring nightmare. In this dream, they are standing in the middle of a collapsing building. The roof is leaking, the furnace is screaming, and the payroll ledger is bleeding red ink. They look up into the dark, cavernous balcony where the board of directors is supposed to sit, and they see… nothing. Just empty chairs and the faint, mocking echo of a “motion to adjourn” from three months ago.
But then, the moment a real crisis strikes—the moment a pipe actually bursts or a major donor vanishes into the night—the atmosphere shifts. The air turns cold. The lights flicker. Suddenly, the balcony is full of spectral figures. They aren’t there to help patch the roof. They are there to point at the puddle and moan, “Why is it wet in here?!”
This is the Legend of the Phantom Board, and it is scarier than any campfire story I have ever heard at a youth retreat.
The Vanishing Act: The Ghosting of Gary
We have all met a Ghosting Gary. On paper, Gary is a titan. He has the perfect corporate pedigree, a silver mane of hair, and a signature that looks like it belongs on a treaty. When he joined the board, the staff rejoiced. They thought they finally had a champion.
Then, the “ghosting” began.
Gary missed the strategic planning retreat because of a “conclave.” He skipped the budget committee meetings because his Wi-Fi was “acting up” in the mountains in Gatlinburg. For six months, the ED sent monthly reports into the void, wondering if Gary was even still among the living. The only sign of his existence was an occasional “Out of Office” auto-reply that felt like a cold breeze hitting a tombstone.
But then, a staff member resigned with a spicy open letter. Suddenly, Gary manifested. He didn’t just appear; he haunted the ED’s inbox. He wanted every Slack message from the last ninety days. He wanted a séance to discuss “organizational culture.” He was everywhere—rattling chains, slamming doors, and demanding “accountability” for a situation he hadn’t bothered to help prevent.
An Autopsy is Not Support
There is a terrifying distinction between being a partner and being a paranormal investigator. When a board only engages during a catastrophe, they aren’t offering support. They are performing an autopsy while the patient is still trying to breathe.
Imagine if you only heard from your landlord when the house was literally on fire. They don’t help you clear the brush. They don’t check the smoke detector batteries. But as the flames lick the rafters, there they are, standing on the lawn with a clipboard, asking why you didn’t buy more fire extinguishers in 2023.
That isn’t governance. That is a deposition from the beyond. This reactive management creates a culture of dread. When an ED sees a board member’s name on their phone and their heart skips a beat—not out of excitement, but out of a primal “fight or flight” response—the mission is already dead.
The Loneliest Office in the Cemetery
Nonprofit leadership is inherently isolating. It is the only job where you are the middle of an hourglass. You cannot vent to your staff because you have to be the “calm in the storm.” You cannot be entirely vulnerable with donors because you have to be the “visionary leader.”
I once knew an ED who sat in her office as a major grant was rescinded. She felt like she was trapped in a glass coffin. She could see everyone working outside her door, but she couldn’t scream for help without shattering the glass and hurting them.
The board is supposed to be the group that breaks that isolation. They are the only people who can say, “We see the weight you are carrying, and we are reaching out to help you hold it.” But they can only do that if they are actually in the room before the lights go out.
How to Stop Being a Poltergeist
If you want to stop haunting your ED and start helping them, you have to be present in the daylight. You have to be a living, breathing human being when things are going well, not just a vengeful spirit when things go wrong.
The Proactive Pulse: Real support is the board chair who calls on a random Tuesday just to say, “I was thinking about the team today. Is there anything on your plate that we can help move?” This isn’t a “check-in” to micromanage; it is a sanity check to ensure the ED knows they aren’t alone in the dark.
Public Praise as Protection: If the ED hits a milestone, be the first person to celebrate it publicly. In the 2024 Tennessee Nonprofit Compensation Survey Report, we see the data on burnout—and nothing fuels burnout faster than a board that only notices mistakes. Be a vocal advocate, not a silent critic.
Strategic Breathing Room: Use board meetings to look at the horizon, not just the mud at your feet. Ask, “What keeps you up at night?” and then actually stay awake with them to solve it.
Investing in the Living: Budget for coaching. Pay for a retreat. Ensure they are taking their vacation days. A board that protects the ED’s well-being is a board that is protecting the future of the organization.
The Exorcism of Trust
The ultimate weapon against a “haunted” organization is trust. If you hired a competent leader, stop waiting for them to trip so you can jump out of the shadows. Trust is the light that keeps the ghosts away.
Problems will happen. It is the nature of the work. But if the only time an ED hears from their board is when the “Check Engine” light is flashing red, you aren’t leading. You are haunting.
The Midnight Challenge
I am challenging every board member to do one thing this week: send a message to your ED that has nothing to do with a problem. No “where is the report?” and no “did you see this news story?”
Just a simple: “I appreciate the work you are doing. How can I support you this month?”
Stop being a ghost. Be a partner. The mission depends on you staying in the light.