The Little Rockefellers

Next stop: the Daniel D. Cantor Senior Center, where Director Gail Weisberg welcomed Vasquez with a warm hug. Vasquez was asking an octogenarian for a date when Weisberg whisked her away to the cafeteria, where nearly 100 seniors were enjoying a kosher lunch. Weisberg introduced their visitor. "You know the Sunday-afternoon programs you all enjoy so much?" she asked. "Well, here's the person who makes it possible: Elaine Vasquez!" After a slight pause the room suddenly erupted in thunderous applause. Overwhelmed with their reaction and memories of her own father dying in a nursing home, Vasquez burst into tears. As meaningful moments in philanthropy go, Andrew Carnegie probably couldn't have done any better.

When it comes to charitable giving, Vasquez and her cardiologist husband, Erwin, are no Bill and Melinda Gates. Last year they donated more than $100,000 to 15 to 20 nonprofits, including $4,000 to the Lighthouse center and $10,000 to the senior center. But within their well-defined sphere of giving — elder care in Fort Lauderdale — they rank as VIPs. Rather than drip their dollars into the oceanic coffers of the United Ways and Red Crosses of the world, they've opted to be proverbial big fish in a little pond, and the reason is pretty simple: Their money — and their influence — goes a lot further. "I'm part of something big now," says Vasquez.

Welcome to the age of the little Rockefellers. By nearly all accounts Americans are on a charity kick, donating a record $223 billion in 2006, up 39% from five years earlier. But while the major charity outfits continue to receive the lion's share of the money, industry observers say they're seeing a boom in small but substantial donations made to the local food bank, the down-the-block after-school program, the neighborhood arts center. Indeed, assets entrusted to community foundations tripled, to $45 billion in the past decade, and according to the Foundation Center, the number of family foundations increased 40% between 2000 and 2005. And as boomers start retiring and inheriting cash from their parents, they're recalling the hippie-era adage to "think globally, act locally."

Of course, there's a hitch to all this new generosity: The donations come with strings. While wealthy donors have always been able to tell nonprofits how high to jump, charities say that even middle-class donors are making them work hard for the money these days. The new breed of benefactor, accustomed to being top dog at work, expects similar control over nonprofits, demanding a say in everything from hiring the volunteer coordinator to evaluating programs. They have high expectations for results, too. Linda Karesh, co-president of the Association of Development Officers, says that some donors aren't satisfied just to learn how many kids attended an after-school program and ate hot meals. They want assurances that their donation is changing lives. "They want to hear that these kids will go to college," she says. "How should I know? I'm just getting them through the year."

For many donors the urge to manage goes hand in hand with the impulses that inspire their generosity. Elaine Vasquez, for one, admits she can't even give to the homeless without telling them how to spend the money; she once followed a man to a 7-Eleven to make sure he didn't buy beer. Same for the charities she supports. Before funding a new geriatric-education database for Nova Southeastern University, she stipulated that the school use student labor to trim the budget. "Don't they already have more money than God?" she jokes.

You can't blame patrons for demanding more oversight. The past decade has seen one high-profile nonprofit after another come under fire for the way they allocate funds. The Red Cross had to reverse its plan to divert $200 million in surplus 9/11 donations to aid disaster victims. Harvard University famously paid its three money managers $45 million to oversee its endowment. Then there's the bevy of charities that spend more than 80% of their budget on fundraising or pay seven-figure salaries to retired execs. Where the so-called Greatest Generation simply wrote a check every year and trusted charities to make good use of the donation, boomers are skeptical and want more transparency, says Linda Carter, director of the Community Foundation of Broward in Florida.

Is their vigilance paying off? We tracked down a few überactive donors who say that finding good charities was a lot harder than they thought — and so was making sure their money was well spent.