GREENSBORO, N.C. -- When Johnnetta Cole gets up at 4:45 a.m., a nagging question gets up with her. It's there during her four-mile walk, there when she heads to the office, and there when she goes to bed at night: How do I keep Bennett College afloat?

Last year, when she arrived as the new president of the historically black women's college, the 66-year-old Dr. Cole faced a $3.8 million deficit, $10.6 million in debt and enrollment that had declined 37% in four years. Until 1997, Dr. Cole was the president of Spelman College in Atlanta, the other, much better-known historically black women's school in the U.S. She helped raise $114 million there before retiring. Bennett's board of trustees in 2002 asked Dr. Cole, a Ph.D. in anthropology from Northwestern University, to take charge of their floundering school. She made a five-year commitment.

At a recent 10:00 a.m. staff meeting, Dr. Cole announced that after three months of "cultivating," Bennett had just received a $100,000 check from the Joseph M. Bryan Foundation of Greater Greensboro. The staff reflects the changes Dr. Cole has made: She replaced much of the administration, cut the college's work force by 11% and hired an outside chief financial officer. She also reshaped Bennett's fund-raising efforts, persuading Bob Dole, the former senator and presidential candidate, to chair a $50 million fund-raising campaign. For herself, she took on the task of rejuvenating support among the school's 4,000 alumnae. In 2001, only 10% of Bennett's fund-raising dollars came from former students.

Since her arrival, $6.7 million in private gifts, grants and pledges have been made to the liberal arts school, including $1.1 million that Dr. Cole cajoled from alumni. In the previous fiscal year, all such gifts totaled $2.6 million. In the fiscal year ended June 30, 30% of all living alumnae gave to the school, and Bennett recorded a $331,000 operating surplus, according to the school's just-completed annual audit. "The truth is, African-American alumni have always been willing to give," says Dr. Cole. "We just haven't been serious enough about getting that money."

Dr. Cole sells alumnae -- one at a time, if necessary -- on Bennett's importance to their lives and African-Americans' lives generally. She keeps a list of high-achieving young grads, star students and other black professionals she believes capable of major gifts. "Let there never be an alumna on campus I don't come to greet," Dr. Cole says, hugging two visiting graduates after the staff meeting.

The visitors, retired educators, responded to Dr. Cole's "1926 Campaign," named after the year that Bennett became a women's school. Last fall, Dr. Cole challenged Bennett alums and executives to make a $1,926 donation, faculty to give $196.20 and students to give $19.26. Each of Bennett's 32 board members contributed, with more than half raising at least $19,260.

Founded in 1873 by what is now the United Methodist Church, Bennett sits on 55 acres northeast of Greensboro, a textile and manufacturing city. For most of a century it had an elite following among Southern black families. But since the 1960s, "Bennett Belles," as the students call themselves, increasingly have come from lower-income families, and now 90% receive financial aid. The school's financial health reflected the shift.

Then, in 1998, the U.S. Education Department, in a grave misplacement of a decimal point, allowed Bennett to draw down a $5.7 million financial-assistance grant. The amount should have been $57,000. By the time the error was discovered, some of the money had been spent. It took years for Bennett to return the funds, and the college is still paying interest.

Some supporters lost confidence in Bennett. Enrollment dropped to 429 for the current school year from 650 in 1999. Doubts arose about the accuracy of past accounting, and operating revenue in 2002 plunged 28% to $11.3 million. The board had to spend some of the permanent endowment to balance the budget. Last year, Bennett was placed on probation for a year by its accrediting association.

At 2 p.m., Dr. Cole pitches the president of the Community Foundation of Greater Greensboro about funding a proposed conference of corporate diversity officers in 2004. A corporation might provide funding, he suggests, in return for putting its name on the meeting. "To be real," Dr. Cole says, "for a million dollars it can be the 'X Buckaroo Diversity Conference.' "

An hour later, Dr. Cole is on the phone with former Sen. Dole's staff. As dusk nears, she returns to the president's house for cocktails and dinner with a group of black Greensboro doctors. "I live in a big house and beg for a living," she says.

Dr. Cole is intent that evening on encouraging Gerald Truesdale, 54, an affluent plastic surgeon, and his wife, Althea, to add Bennett to the list of their beneficiaries. Their will, already drafted, stipulates that their estate will be largely divided among Atlanta's Morehouse College and Spelman College and the United Negro College Fund. They are alums of Morehouse and Spelman, respectively. Sometime between the shrimp cocktail and the cheesecake, Dr. Cole's aims become clear. Mrs. Truesdale reacts positively. "With the vigor that she has, the vision and her determination," Mrs. Truesdale says afterward, "my husband and I will consider revising our will and including Bennett."