Philanthropist Gives $9,161 Each to Underpaid Teachers in Wealthy SF Suburb
Source: Fortune. Casualplayhub News adds summary, context, and editorial framing while linking back to the original report.
In Marin County, one of the wealthiest suburbs of San Francisco, a startling reality hides behind the region's affluence: teachers are paid far less than their neighbors. The Ross Valley School District, serving communities like Fairfax, San Anselmo, and Sleepy Hollow, pays its educators a starting salary of about $64,000 per year. That figure is on par with the national median salary for all workers, yet it falls well short of the local median household income, which hovers near $150,000. Meanwhile, other districts in Marin County offer starting salaries as high as $80,000 and mid-range salaries reaching $142,000. Ross Valley's mid-range tops out at just $102,000.
Last week, more than 100 teachers, counselors, and advisors in the district were summoned to a last-minute meeting, expecting routine updates. Instead, each received a personalized check for $9,161.70. The donor was Maja Kristin, a longtime philanthropist and former civil litigation lawyer known for her work representing survivors of sexual abuse, including cases against the Catholic Church. Kristin donated $1 million to make the direct payments possible.
"We, as citizens, can write a direct check," Kristin told local station KRON4. "My hope was … word would get out, and Marin residents who value public education would step forward one way or another, whether it's a direct gift or a political act, or foundation pull or something."
Anna Schnell, a teacher in the district, described the impact on her family. "I have three kids, and there's lots of activities that they want to do that we can't always afford to pay for because of my salary," she said. "And it's with this kind of money that there are things I can say yes to that they want to do, so it's really exciting and huge for our family."
Kristin is not the first private donor to bypass institutional channels and put money directly into educators' hands. Last year, an anonymous San Francisco tech worker gave $1.6 million to provide $250 gift cards for all 6,000 teachers and paraeducators in the San Francisco Unified School District. In 2021, businessman and television personality Marcus Lemonis cut $18,000 checks to every staff member at his Miami high school alma mater. "I'm not going to wait for the government or private institutions to do what we think is right," Lemonis said at the time, echoing Kristin's sentiment.
Kristin's background is as remarkable as her philanthropy. She grew up in San Francisco's public housing projects, raised by a single mother, and worked her way through college and law school. She founded her own law firm just two years after passing the bar and was later named one of America's top 10 women lawyers by Time. She also taught negotiation and mediation at Stanford Law School, UC Berkeley School of Law, and UC Law San Francisco (formerly UC Hastings).
Her giving follows a philosophy she calls "the last breath, the last dime"—a plan to distribute her wealth while she is still alive rather than leave it to heirs. While her net worth is not publicly known, Kristin has made several multimillion-dollar donations. In January, she gave $3 million to the American Red Cross. In 2023, she donated $3 million to UC Berkeley's Human Rights Center. That same year, she gave a 120-acre property in Nicasio, Marin County, to Halleck Creek Ranch, a nonprofit that provides horseback riding and equine therapy for children and adults with disabilities. Kristin had been a consistent donor to the ranch for more than a decade.
"The timing was just perfect," Kristin told the Point Reyes Light. "Halleck is right there, and when I reached out, they said they were looking to expand their outreach and wanted to preserve the land."
For the teachers of Ross Valley, the unexpected windfall offers more than just financial relief. It sends a message that their work is valued, even if the system that employs them fails to reflect that value. As Kristin hopes, the gesture may inspire others in the community to step up—whether through direct donations, advocacy, or political action—to address the persistent gap between the cost of living in one of America's richest suburbs and the compensation of those who educate its children.
Article commentary
Maja Kristin's $1 million gift to teachers in Marin County spotlights a paradox that runs deep in American education: even in the nation's wealthiest communities, the people who shape young minds are often underpaid. The Ross Valley School District's starting salary of $64,000 matches the national median for all workers, yet it pales in comparison to the local median household income of nearly $150,000. This disparity is not a failure of the market but a reflection of systemic priorities. Public school funding in California relies heavily on local property taxes, which can create stark inequities between districts. But Marin County is wealthy across the board; the gap between teacher pay and community income suggests that even when money is available, it is not channeled into educator compensation. Kristin's decision to bypass the school board and the state legislature and write direct checks is a powerful, if symbolic, act. It echoes a growing trend of wealthy individuals stepping in where governments have lagged, from anonymous tech workers to celebrities like Marcus Lemonis. While these gestures provide immediate relief, they also raise uncomfortable questions. Should the financial well-being of teachers depend on the whims of wealthy donors? In a society that claims to value education, why are educators in one of the richest counties in America struggling to afford extracurricular activities for their own children? The answer lies in a broader cultural and political calculus. Teacher salaries are set through collective bargaining, often pitting unions against school boards that must balance budgets, respond to state mandates, and manage voter expectations. The result is a system where teachers are asked to do more with less, year after year. Kristin's donation, while generous, is a band-aid on a fractured system. It highlights the power of individual action but also the limits of philanthropy as a substitute for structural reform. Yet there is something undeniably moving about Kristin's approach. She grew up in public housing, raised by a single mother, and worked her way to the top of the legal profession. Her philosophy of 'the last breath, the last dime' reflects a deliberate choice to redistribute wealth while she can still see its impact. The teachers who received those checks will remember not just the amount, but the message: that someone saw their worth and acted on it. For the rest of us, the gesture is a reminder that the conversation about teacher pay cannot be limited to funding formulas and tax rates. It is also about values. Until communities—especially wealthy ones—decide that educators deserve a living wage commensurate with the cost of living, philanthropists like Kristin will continue to fill the gap. That is both a testament to human generosity and an indictment of a system that makes such generosity necessary.