Rasmuson, 66, was always the one his father, Elmer, thought would take over the family business. The Rasmuson family owned the largest bank in Alaska, and, as a teenager, Rasmuson spent his summers working at branches of what was then known as National Bank of Alaska. So did his sisters, Lile and Judy. But Ed was the oldest child and only son, who followed in his father’s footsteps by going east to Harvard. He granted his first loan before he turned 20. After graduating, he worked as a banker in New York, where he invested a few hundred dollars in the Broadway debut of Fiddler on the Roof.

His sisters also settled in the lower 48 states—Lile in Connecticut and Judy in Florida and Montana. But in March 1964, when one of the strongest earthquakes ever recorded in North America struck Alaska, Rasmuson headed back. His father asked him to stay and eventually named him CEO of the bank.

In that position, Rasmuson orchestrated the 2000 sale of the bank to Wells Fargo for nearly $910 million (the family’s share was estimated at $450 million in Wells Fargo stock), a sum that helped boost the Rasmuson Family Foundation’s endowment to its current $600 million, making it the largest charitable donor in Alaska. Under Rasmuson’s watch, the foundation became the centerpiece of the family fortune and the nexus between far-flung descendents of Jenny and E.A. Rasmuson, Rasmuson’s grandfather, who left Sweden at the turn of the century to work as a missionary in Alaska and, in 1918, took over a bank founded by a group of East Coast investors two years earlier.

The Rasmusons had grappled for several years with how to best use their largesse in grants restricted to the state. In 2006, the foundation was forced to overhaul its approach when the Senate ended federal earmarks: government payouts that senators traditionally used to benefit their home states. The Rasmuson Foundation had provided matching funds for many such grants in Alaska. Over the years, the foundation had become a necessary safety net for the entire state. It has funded healthcare programs for native Alaskans, grants to local artists, art galleries and university chairs. Even so, Rasmuson says, "We had been reactive, rather than proactive. We are no longer seeing the amount of federal dollars, and, as a result, we do not have the same projects to fund."

Determined to create a legacy as a family that helped relieve poverty and boost the state’s economy, the foundation—among the board members are Rasmuson; his wife, Cathy, who is vice chairman; and the foundation’s two heirs apparent, their daughter Natasha Von Imhof and Lile’s son, Adam Gibbons—has blazed trails this past year toward creating its own philanthropic programs.

For example, the foundation is developing a project to help reduce domestic violence and sexual assault in Alaska. It is offering to provide the administrative costs for a state program to increase charitable contributions from Alaska residents. And it has partnered with the Kellogg Foundation and several other donors to train Alaska native students to be dental aides.

Rasmuson encourages his daughter and nephew, as well as other family members and foundation staff, to travel around the state to look for new ideas. They have visited Alaskan fisheries, one of the state’s most important industries, and created a new bachelor’s degree program in fishery and biological sciences with a $5 million grant matched by the University of Alaska. "It gives an opportunity for our kids in Alaska to matriculate from four years into marine biology or marine management, and then they have a ready job available to them upon graduation. It also helps build up the prestige of our university," Rasmuson says.

The new direction creates a greater need for involvement from extended family. "I wanted to see a large foundation from the get-go," Rasmuson says. "I’ve gotten the family involved with it and we have family reunions every year in Alaska. The next generation is going to be further split, but I try to keep my children and my sisters’ children together, and they take vacations together back East or in Alaska. You have to work at it. If you don’t, you’re kind of ripped away."

Both Natasha, 37, and Adam, 38, feel connected to Alaska. Like her father, Natasha attended Harvard, but loves Alaska and its fresh air and wilderness. "I am West Coast at heart," she says.

Adam was torn between the East Coast, where he grew up, and Alaska, where he hoped he would spend part of his adult life. He now splits his time between New York and Alaska. "As I spend more time around the foundation and the family, I get sucked in more and more," he says.

Rasmuson considered the next generation as far back as 1995, when his father offered to transfer his remaining stake in the family business to Rasmuson so that he could assume formal control. Rasmuson became concerned about estate taxes, and with no eager successor to him in sight, the bank—which by then had swallowed up dozens of small banks throughout the state under the holding company National Bancorp of Alaska—could slip from family hands after his tenure. He proposed that his father use his bank shares to boost the coffers of the family foundation. "It got to the point where I finally said, ‘I am already wealthy,’" Rasmuson recalls.

"You really want that?" his father asked. The next week, the elder Rasmuson changed the will.

But the sale of such a large bulk of National Bancorp of Alaska’s small-cap stock would dent its value. Rasmuson, still CEO, decided that selling the company altogether might make it possible to boost the foundation’s assets and answer the successor question. So he approached a colleague he knew from Bankers Roundtable, Dick Kovacevich, CEO of Wells Fargo, which bought out the Rasmuson family’s interest in National Bancorp in 2000.

After opting to sell, the family had to decide whether or not to keep the foundation operating in perpetuity—and they chose to take this difficult step. "By not sunsetting," Rasmuson says, "it puts more pressure on my immediate family and me to make sure that future generations of Rasmusons are involved—or you become a foundation that’s not family-run, but run by management. I can’t say what my sister and my daughter and my nephew will do in the future, but if I live for another 30 years, maybe I can influence my grandchildren."

Elizabeth Harris is a staff writer for Worth.
 
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