CLE Meets WWE

I probably shouldn't make this admission in such a massively public forum (i.e., a blog subscribed to by five attorneys ... and my momma), but I just received an e-mail offering tickets to an upcoming WWE event.  I'd like to claim that this is just another example of unrestrained spam.  Of course, I'd also like to claim that the ten pounds I've gained this year is pure abdominal muscle, but sometimes the truth must be told (if not to myself, then at least, to my tailor).

In all candor, I received this e-mail because, in January, I attended the WWE's Royal Rumble with my two favorite sons (you have your favorites too!).  Since then, Ticketmaster contacts me whenever the WWE comes to town, or whenever there is a Monster Truck rally, NASCAR event, Kenny Chesney concert or any other event that might interest people who aren't exactly fond of reading ... or orthodontia.

After today's e-mail, two thoughts crossed my mind: (1) I really need to upgrade my entertain choices to reflect my superior education, intellect and sophistication, such as say, UFC or MMA matches; and (2) We should incorporate similar practices in our marketing of CLE seminars.

Rather than just sending a generic e-mail blast to the entire membership listing every program for the next month, we should specifically target those who have attended past seminars presented by the particular faculty member.  The e-mail could read something as simple as, "If you loved [speaker]'s Legal Ethics and Social Media seminar last year, then you'll love him in this year's More Legal Ethics and Social Media, as [speaker] is another year older and wiser (well, at least, wider)."

Likewise, we should also cross-market services whenever a program or speaker is similar to one that the lawyer has previously attended.  For example, if your attendees slept through one of Stuart Teicher's seminars last month, why not offer them a chance to sleep through Roy Ginsburg's seminar next month?  After all, a busy attorney can never get too much rest.

Seriously, one of my clients uses targeted marketing with great success in my annual seminar for her bar association.  In fact, about half of each audience consists of past attendees.  Sure, this puts pressure on me to write new jokes each time (or just hope that, like my two non-favorite sons, the repeat attendees weren't really listening to me the first time).  This targeted marketing also creates a more consistent turnout and a more enjoyable experience for the attendees; provided, of course, that they don't pay much attention to my ramblings the next time as well.

After all, if the WWE can use this method to sell out sporting arenas with fans clamoring to see middle-aged men in tights, then certainly we can use this method to reach 50% capacity at a suburban Marriott conference room.  If nothing else, our middle-aged faculty (with possible exception of Teicher) can be depended upon to at least show up to the event fully-clothed and that's a victory in, and of itself ... if ya smell what the Sean is cooking!

Courting the Undecided Lawyer

That's it!  I'm done with TV!  And it's not just because The History Channel is airing yet another pawn shop reality show -- Cajun Pawn (although that is a pretty good reason).  I simply can't stand to watch another political campaign ad in which the candidate insinuates that the opponent's parents were never married and then concludes with, "I approve this message."

And don't get me wrong.  I'm not turned off by the lies and distortions.  After all, as a humorist, they are my stock in trade.  I don't even mind that the ads are often focused on irrelevant and trivial matters.  Once again, irrelevant and trivial constitutes the bulk of my full-day seminars.

However, I do find it infuriating that none of these ads gives a single reason to vote for a particular candidate.  Sure, I now know why the other candidate is a low-life reprobate (something I knew already, by the way).  But why should I vote for the person running the ad -- because he or she is the best tattletale?  It makes me wonder how these people got this far in life.  Can you imagine one of them at a job interview?

Employer: "Tell me about the skills you possess and how you can employ them in this position?"

Applicant: "Well, my greatest skill is my observational ability, which allowed me to notice that you don't want to hire any of those bozos out in the lobby.  One of the women is wearing cherry lipstick and plum fingernail polish.  If Ms. Thing is that sloppy with her appearance, then you can only imagine how she'll handle your books.  And don't even get me started on that fool who is still using a Blackberry.  Apparently, he must have seen one of your old job postings for a Y2K consultant ...."

Would you ever hire such a person?  Of course not.  Yet, here is the really disturbing part.  The American people will hire such a person in November.  While negative campaigning has no effect on the well-informed voter (all three of them), it's extremely effective in swaying the opinions of the all-important "undecided voter."  After all, the person who hasn't been able to choose between candidates with polar opposite political views, despite being given four years to do so, isn't going to be swayed at the last minute by the candidates' positions on, say, the role of NATO in a post-Cold War Europe.  Yet, this person might be swayed by an accusation that the other candidate is a philanderer, a draft dodger or an African American.

And while this does not bode well for our republic, it is something that we can use to our advantage in marketing CLE.  Let's face it.  A significant portion of our attendees are "undecided lawyers."  They haven't weighed all of their options (or even themselves, by the looks of things in the Midwest).  They simply know that the compliance period is nearing and that they must choose some course in order to maintain their law licenses.  In making this last-minute and haphazard choice, it's unlikely that they will consider learning objectives, practice area relevance or, in the case of IP lawyers, hygiene.  They will simply flip through a few brochures, read a few e-mail advertisements and then cast their lots.

In this situation, you can increase our chances of winning the undecided lawyer vote by going negative. For instance, rather than touting the credentials of your presenters, you should simply point out the shortcomings of your competitor's faculty.  Sending out an e-mail blast claiming that your competitor's CLE speakers are "self-absorbed, disorganized windbags" will be effective; and likely true.  Yet, you shouldn't let such things as truth or relevance prevent you from launching attacks against your competitors.  You should feel free to spread rumors that a competitor's staff is rude, spits in the coffee, and might even steal your kidney if you fall asleep during the seminar (which is inevitable given their windbag speakers).

And just so that you know that I'm willing to lead by example, I'm taking this opportunity to market my services to the undecided CLE provider:

Robert Musante and Irwin Karp are not only horrible speakers, but even worse people who consort with hippies and other leftists in northern California.

Speaking of hippies, Matt Homann doesn't even wear a tie.  Can you really trust the research coming from a man who can't even find suitable neckwear?

And speaking of untrustworthy, Larry Port is simply too good looking to be taken seriously.  After all, would you entrust your firm's IT capabilities to Brad Pitt?

And speaking of someone who has way too many kids, Stuart Teicher has four children.  Obviously, his idea of "burning the midnight oil" does not include actually preparing for his talks.

In short, there is only one choice for your next outside speaker.  My name is Sean Carter and I approve this blog post.

Oh, the People You'll Offend

It's summer again, which here in Phoenix means two things: (1) Leather car seats are not my friend; and (2) It's time to get a second job (or perhaps, a first job).  Given the extreme (but dry) summer heat, parents in Arizona must constantly find ways to entertain our children indoors (i.e., at places that charge admission fees).  As a result, a summer in Arizona can be as expensive as a Kardashian marriage; only our summers last much longer (Kanye West, you've been warned).

Therefore, you can imagine my excitement when the local movie theater chain announced weekly $1 pre-matinee movies for the children.  You can also imagine my disappointment when I learned that the concessions would still be full price ($1 movie tickets, $48 dollars for popcorn and M&Ms, priceless).  But I digress ...  

On Monday, my son Brendan and I went to our first of ten weekly matinees.  This week's movie was Horton Hears a Who.  It is the film adaptation of the classic Dr. Seuss book about an elephant (Horton) who struggles to protect a microscopic community from his neighbors who refuse to believe it exists.  Over the years, I've learned to expect a few things from going to children's movies, such as having the back of my chair kicked incessantly for two hours, not being able to hear the movie over a mother yelling, "Timmy, stop kicking that man's chair," and being arrested for assault when I demonstrate to the mother just how to keep Timmy from kicking my chair.  However, I don't expect to have my religious and moral assumptions challenged and to leave the theater in a state of intellectual vertigo (in addition to handcuffs).  Yet, this is precisely what Horton did to me.

For the next few hours, I couldn't help but to think about the questions this movie raised about my own spiritual epistemology, my current sense of moral certitude and my decision to not sneak snacks into the movie theater as I had been tempted to do.  I even turned to the Internet to read about Dr. Seuss and discovered that he had done this to me on purpose.  Seuss regularly used his seemingly innocent children's stories to influence public opinion about war, environmentalism, animal rights and civil rights.

As a result, while he was beloved by children, he made quite a few enemies among adults.  In the 1980s, a Northern California logging town attempted to have his book, The Lorax, removed from its elementary school's reading list.   Decades later when the book was made into a movie, it drew sharp criticisms from both the New York Times and the New York Post for its blatant pro-environmental stance.  One of the film's detractors went so far as to levy his complaints in verse:

Its knickers are twisted so high and so tight.
It could lead the day’s news on the Daily Kos site.
It’s all preaching and perching on messages dry.
Bob Dylan’s poor knees are six times as spry.

As a legal humorist, I can relate to Dr. Seuss because it's nearly impossible to tell jokes without offending someone.  After every one of my seminars, there is at least one person who wishes that I had never entered the field of CLE (besides me, of course).  In the beginning of my career, I was devastated by each negative comment.  Just one harsh evaluation could overshadow 100 positive evaluations.  That is, until I realized that part of my job as a humorist is to offend.  After all, for a joke to be funny it must contain an element of truth; and the truth hurts.  As one scripture tells us, "They shall know the truth and the truth shall make them mad."  Apparently, this scripture was written by a CLE instructor; or it should have been.

As a legal educator, my job is to not only comfort the afflicted but to likewise, afflict the comfortable.  Isn't that what a great teacher does -- helps struggling students to gain a basic understanding of the material while challenging comprehending students to reach greater heights of understanding and ability?  That's certainly what my best teachers did for me, despite the fact that I didn't always appreciate their efforts.  In fact, on the night before my final exam in Advanced Calculus, I can remember dropping to my knees and uttering the following prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep.

I give the Lord my soul to keep.

And if tomorrow morning Ms. Kobayashi should be hit by a bus

That will be a secret we can keep just between us.

Amen.

Now, can you imagine the kind of evaluation I would have given this incredible teacher had our principal been foolish enough to ask for one?  Although, in any event, I suspect that Ms. Kobayashi would have been too wise to pay attention to my words of disdain, most of which would have been misspelled (by the way, I loved my English teacher).  She must have simply accepted the fact that being hated is as much a part of teaching as being underpaid (and looking both ways before crossing the street on the morning of a final exam).

Can we accept that as well?  Can we accept that interactive learning formats will afflict those attorneys who have become comfortable with using CLE as an opportunity to catch up on e-mails (or sleep)?  Can we accept that roundtable seating will afflict those attorneys who are uncomfortable with normal human interactions (i.e., IP and tax lawyers)?  I think we can accept these things so long as we stay focused on the long-term objective -- avoiding going back to the practice of law.  Likewise, if we focus on creating better lawyers (whether they like it or not), then we can better endure the slings and arrows of outrageous evaluations.

And if you're concerned that this "tough teaching" approach won't work with lawyers, I want to point you to words of my new hero, Dr. Seuss.  To paraphrase from one of his most famous books, Oh, the Places You'll Go:

And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and 3/4 percent guaranteed.)

GIRLFRIEND, YOU'LL MOVE LAWYERS!

Be your name Joanne, Louise or Mindy or Phyllis
or Mary Lynne Johnson, oops now, McInnis,
You're off to educate!
Today is your day!
Your angry lawyer is waiting.
So...say "What the hay!"

It's the Status, Stupid!

Whenever I explain to someone that my job requires spending 100 days each year on the road, they'll say, "I feel sorry for your poor wife!"  On second thought, people tend to express that sentiment with or without reference to my travel schedule.  They also wonder how I deal with the burdens of so much travel.  Yet, the truth of the matter is that travel is actually quite enjoyable for me.  And that's just not because I have four sons at home; three of whom are either on the terrorist watch list or should be.  It's also because I travel with status.

For instance, I have Platinum status on US Airways.  As a result, I'm not forced to wait in an airport security line that is the length of the Great Wall China; only the airport security line moves slower.  Instead, I get my complimentary strip search and TSA groping in a fraction of the time.  Likewise, I'm allowed to board the plane before the "commoners" by entering the "Preferred Member" boarding lane complete with its plush blue carpet, which is perfect for rubbing one's feet and then shocking the peasants as they walk down the jetway.

And if that isn't reward enough, my status also entitles me to complimentary First Class upgrades.  Take it from me.  There are few pleasures more sublime than sipping a glass of wine and enjoying the Poor Person Parade as they sheepishly walk back to coach.  Perhaps, the only thing more satisfying is when the flight attendant closes the curtain just before take-off and makes an announcement like this:

"Welcome aboard US Air flight 999 to Chicago.  Please remember that the lavatory in the front of the cabin is reserved for our First Class passengers.  Now, for those of you in coach, a lavatory is not a place to do scientific experiments, but rather where you go potty.  When we reach our cruising altitude, we will begin meal service.  Our passengers in First Class will drink out of real glasses and eat on real plates with real silverware.  We can trust them with actual knives and forks because they have demonstrated that they possess refinement, wisdom and a complete set of nuclear chromosomes.  However, the rest of you will eat your meals out of a cardboard box with plastic utensils.  Now, please note that we didn't bother to pack enough food for all of you, so you'll have to arm wrestle the person seated next to you for the opportunity to pay $12.95 for a Kit Kat bar and a Slim Jim.  And, by all means, please have correct change.  Jeez!"

When it's time to rent a car, I once again bypass the line at the counter and proceed directly to my car.  Why?  Because National Rental Car has granted me the status of being an Executive Emerald Club member.  My status allows me to save about 30 minutes at the rental car counter; time that could be better spent repeatedly driving in circles around the airport or the wrong way down one-way streets in downtown areas.  But the fun doesn't stop there.

If I'm staying at, say, a Hilton Hotel, I enjoy my Honors with this hotel chain.  This status allows me to use the expedited check-in lane and very often, obtain an upgrade to the vaunted "Concierge Level."  On most properties, this is the top floor that can only be accessed with a special room key (this is to keep out the regular $300/night Hilton "riff raff").  Also, it's to preserve the sanctity of our exclusive cocktail lounge, where there are free drinks and appetizers nightly.  In this inner sanctum, we Honor(ables) can engage in a fellowship amongst equals (not including the staff, of course) in which we commiserate about the burdens of success, the challenge of balancing work and family and most importantly, the difficulty in finding good help these days.

In all seriousness, while I might be slightly exaggerating the perks of frequent traveller status, I can not overstate its importance in making my travel plans.  For instance, in booking flights, all things being equal, I will choose to fly US Air.  In truth, all things being unequal, I will choose to fly US Air.  In fact, not only will I sacrifice a few extra dollars to "go Platinum," but I will sacrifice time and convenience as well.  On more than one occasion, I have flown to the wrong city and then driven myself 200-300 miles to my ultimate destination rather than fly directly to the right city on the wrong airline.  To paraphrase an old religious saying, "If flying on US Air is wrong, I don't want to be right!"

The same is true when making rental car and hotel reservations.  Whenever it's cost-effective to do so (or when I think that the organizer won't notice), I will patronize those providers that have showered me with status.  For those of us in the business of providing CLE education, perhaps it's time to create some brand loyalty of our own by bestowing status on our best customers; or Frequent Sleepers.

For example, if a lawyer takes, say, 5 hours or more of the provider's courses during a CLE compliance period, she would become a Silver Preferred Customer.  At this level, she would be able to cut to the front of the registration line, allowing her the first opportunity to complain that you forgot to put out Gluten-free bagels or horsetail grass tea.

She would also have an incentive to work her way towards Gold Preferred status.  A Gold customer wouldn't just get to bypass the registration line but she would also have the option to sit in the Gold Section, which would consist of the most desirable seating in any CLE seminar -- the last two rows.  Furthermore, when a Gold member complains that the room is either too hot or too cold (and she will), the provider will actually pretend to address the complaint.  Gold Preferred status could be obtained for, say, 10 hours or more of the provider's courses during a CLE compliance period.

And for a provider's best customers, there could be the Plutonium Level.  A lawyer who reaches this level would be able to bypass the registration line; and if the regulators are lax, the seminar altogether.  Otherwise, the lawyer would be allowed to sit behind a pole or other obstruction.  Furthermore, Plutonium Level customers would be granted access to power outlets, so that they can plug in their laptops, cell phones, Hibachi grills or other electronic devices to help them pass them time.  Best of all, Plutonium Level members would have their parking validated and butts kissed extensively ("Mr. Tax Attorney, you are looking really handsome in that suit.  Is that a new pocket protector?").

Of course, for this type of loyalty program to really take hold, it isn't enough to reward the best customers.  A provider must also show utter disdain for its occasional customers -- the CLE plebeians.  For that reason, every seminar should start with an announcement something like this:

"Welcome to today's seminar.  Before we introduce the faculty, I want to give a special acknowledgment to our Silver, Gold and Plutonium level customers.  For those of you who are not preferred customers, we ask that refrain from interacting with, breathing on, or even looking at your betters.  If at any time, you should have to use the restroom and you are a preferred customers, feel free to use the facilities across the hall.  If you are not a preferred customer, we have made arrangements for you to use the pay toilets at the filling station across the street.  And please have correct change.  Jeez!"

And while this may seem like an absurd way to run a business, it's no more absurd than trying to provide quality CLE while competing with fly-by-night CLE operations on the basis of price.  Therefore, it makes sense to seriously consider ways to provide an incentive for lawyers to return to your seminars again and again.  And since you can't put my picture on the cover of every brochure, it might be time to consider a sensible loyalty program (i.e., not the one above).    After all, in the end, a lawyer is much more concerned about his ego than his wallet.  Trust me on this one.  To paraphrase a popular campaign strategy, "It's the Status, Stupid!"

Get Me to the Marriott

It's been said that 90% of life is showing up.  This is certainly true in CLE, where 90% of life is the speaker showing up and the other 10% is the program lasting the full hour so that we can resell it on the Internet.  Yet, as important as speaker attendance is to the overall success of the program, I'm amazed at how often a seminar will start with an announcement that one of the speakers is stuck in traffic, on the tarmac at O'Hare or in jail on tax evasion charges.  Recently, I heard a story of a speaker who went back to his office during the lunch break and returned late for the afternoon session because he "lost track of time."  Stories like this illustrate why every CLE organizer should be required on an annual basis to watch the movie Get Him to the Greek.

In this movie, a young talent scout (played by Jonah Hill) is assigned the task of escorting a British rock star (played by Russell Brand) from London to Los Angeles for his concert at The Greek Theater.  What seems to be a simple task turns into a chaotic 72-hour odyssey of illicit drugs and even more illicit sex.  However, in the end, our hapless hero manages to accomplish his mission and delivers his charge to The Greek for a successful concert.  This movie could prove instructive for those in charge of getting CLE speakers to The Marriott (or those running a John Edwards presidential campaign).

Now, don't get me wrong.  I understand that rock stars are much different from CLE presenters in many respects.  For instance, rock stars are actually good at what they do.  Likewise, a CLE presenter is slightly less likely to ask you to smuggle heroin in your underwear for them.  Nevertheless, there are some important lessons to take from this movie.

Lesson #1: Never trust your presenter to be prepared for her presentation.  In the movie, Hill and Brand stop in New York City for a performance on Today.  Just moments before taking the stage, Brand confesses to Hill that he can't remember the lyrics to the song he is about to sing.  Hill then frantically searches for the lyrics during the commercial break.

This same thing has happened to every CLE organizer.  Just minutes before the seminar, the speaker asks, "Are my Power Point slides loaded onto the computer?"  Of course, the Power Point slides in question are the ones that the speaker had promised to bring with her since she had not "completed" (i.e., started working on) them by the deadline for sending over A/V materials.  You then frantically call back to her office to see if her assistant can e-mail the slides to you in the next 20-30 seconds.  Just to be safe, you should always make sure that you have on hand extra copies of the Power Point slides, the handout materials and, if at all possible, the law firm associate who actually wrote those materials in the first place.

Lesson #2: Never trust your presenter to make her own travel arrangements.  Interestingly, you need not strictly observe this rule when dealing with paid speakers.  For instance, I've made it to more than 500 engagements without missing a single one, which is not a testament to my reliability but rather my financial instability.  Quite frankly, I must get to the Marriott so that I can collect the balance of my fee (and race the check over to Bank of America before it closes and tabulates that day's credits and debits).

On the other hand, your out-of-town expert on, say, tax-deferred annuity plans established on even-numbered days, doesn't have the same dire need to get to your event.  As a result, she may not make travel arrangements that allow for flexibility in the event of weather delays, mechanical difficulties or flight attendants who freak out during take-off.  Instead, she will likely book the last flight of the day; the one with an on-time percentage lower than Shaq's career free throw percentage.  When this flight is invariably cancelled (or more likely, she misses it), the CLE organizer will spend the rest of the night making the CLE-equivalent of a "booty call."

"May I speak to Tammy, please?  Hey girl, it's been a long time.  I know that I haven't called in a while but I was just sitting here thinking about you and wondering if you'd like to ... you know ... do it one more time.  You free tomorrow morning at 9 am?  I'll bring the Power Point!"

In that same vein, presenters should be picked up at the airport; and for the same reason that entertainers are picked up by their handlers -- no one trusts them to drive themselves safely to the venue.  After all, can you imagine a concert promoter trusting, say Snoop Dogg or Keith Richards to rent a car and drive themselves halfway across your state in the middle of the night to a remote mountain resort?  So why would we expect an equally bleary-eyed and exhausted lawyer to fare any better?

Lesson #3: Wake them up!  Now, at this point, you're probably asking the following question: Can one man be this funny and brilliant too?  You may also be asking: Does a top-flight practitioner from a major law firm and with a book of business longer than War & Peace (just less confusing to read) really need a wake-up call?  The answer to both questions is "Maybe."

For instance, let's suppose that you've made the mistake of hiring a certain legal humorist; one who stays up into the wee hours of the morning writing silly blog posts and routinely sleeps until noon; hypothetically speaking, of course.  Such a person (whomever they may be) might appreciate a wake-up call ... and waffles, bacon and orange juice delivered by room service for breakfast; hypothetically speaking, of course.

And even if you hire a rational and sane presenter, you should still make the call.  Hotel alarm clocks or wake-up call systems are about as reliable as a "foolproof Blackjack system"; and just as likely to cost you thousands of dollars (trust me on this one).  And if your presenter doesn't show up, you will have to refund all of the registration fees and still pay the hotel for the meeting space (and the $12 poppy seed bagels).  The only thing that will make your boss more upset is to know that this fiasco could have been avoided had you only walked over to the nearest courtesy phone and called the presenter, whose alarm was set for the right time but for the wrong time zone.

In short, CLE presenters should be treated just like the rock stars we think we are; and just like the irresponsible prima donnas you know we can be.  Otherwise, you run the very real risk of not getting the speaker to The Marriott (and me not getting the check to the bank before closing).  We can, and must, do better than that.

Bringing Preppy Back

Last Thursday night, I attended the Mesa Prep Seniors' Dinner for my eldest son, Austin.  And while I was excited about his graduation from high school (and even more excited that he will be leaving home for college in 2 months, 15 days and 6 hours ... but who's counting?), I wasn't as excited to attend yet another banquet.  I attend dozens of banquets each year.  Furthermore, this particular banquet was missing the one thing that makes those other events bearable -- someone handing me a check afterwards for giving the after-dinner speech.  In this case, I had actually paid to be bored; or so I thought.

The after-dinner program consisted of the teachers giving short speeches about each of the 26 graduating seniors.  I envisioned spending the next two hours listening to rambling speeches about the time that Wendy put in extra hours of practice to make the softball team or the time that Jimmy stayed after school for an entire month to learn all of the elements on the Periodic Table, including that tricky potassium (the symbol for which is K ... go figure!).

My worst fears were initially confirmed when one teacher started her talk by commenting on the wonderful penmanship of her student.  Apparently, the student wrote with such neatness that it was difficult to discern her handwritten papers from those typed by other students.  In fact, the teacher suggested that the student could duplicate the other aspects of sans serif fonts, such as italicization.  I couldn't help but to think that, unless this student also had the ability to create a time machine to take her back to pre-Gutenberg days, she was going to be spend most of her future saying, "Would you like fries with that?"

However, as this teacher continued her talk, she began to weave a theme about the student and her "font" -- the meticulous way that she went about living her life.  The teacher demonstrated the time and care that the student took with her schoolwork, her extracurricular activities and most importantly, her fellow students.  In just a few minutes it became clear that this student had quite a bright future ahead of her; one that history would record in a font almost as beautiful as her own.  I was almost moved to tears but I held them back ... for the moment.

The subject of the next speech was Austin.  As the teacher began to paint a wonderful picture of our beloved son, my wife turned to me and whispered, "Don't you even start with the tears!"  However, her warning came far too late as I was already into full-Boehner mode at that point.  In fact, the tears continued to stream down my face through the next four or five speeches (and twice while writing this blog post).  Over the next two hours, I was transformed into a teenage girl in that I alternated between fits of laughter and tears and answered each one of my wife's requests to stop embarrassing her by saying, "Whatever!"

I was also transformed for the better.  When I left the banquet hall that evening, I was inspired to try to become more like those 26 wonderful young people.  Specifically, I made two resolutions: (1) to finally see a mental health professional about my apparent emotional instability; and (2) to bring preppy back to CLE.

Mesa Prep is a truly special place because it does not prepare its students for college (although 98% of the students continue on to 4-year colleges and universities).  According to its mission statement, it prepares them "for the life-long pursuit of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty."  In other words, this wonderful institution isn't just trying to cram random names and dates into a student's head (facts that will be forgotten shortly after the SAT, if not before).  It is trying to instill higher values into the student's heart that will last a lifetime.

Mesa Prep is reaching towards the true goal of education -- paideia.  Now for those of you who went to public schools like me, paideia is not the new apple turnover-like desert at Taco Bell (that's the Caramel Apple Empanada, and it's delicious).  Paideia is the classical form of Greek education that was not meant to train their young men in a particular skill or art (that was called banausos), but rather to train them for liberty and nobility so that they would be capable citizens, or even kings.  Given the prominent role that lawyers often play in society, should we expect anything less of continuing legal education?  Shouldn't we bring preppy back to CLE?

For instance, a banausos CLE will remind lawyers of their obligations of candor towards the tribunal.  It might even provide loopholes to help lawyers avoid this obligation whenever possible.  However, Preppy CLE would go further and remind lawyers of the "Truth, Goodness and Beauty" that underlies the candor obligation.  In doing so, it would give lawyers a reverence for their roles as officers of the court so that that, ideally, they wouldn't dream of tarnishing the reputation of our honored profession or defiling our "sacred" courtrooms with acts of dishonesty (or acts of incivility, self-dealing, fraud and the like).

And if you think that this is another one of my empanada-in-the-sky ideals that won't work in the real world, I only need to point you to the 2012 graduating class of Mesa Prep.  From what I've observed over the last five years, every one of these young men and women is more honest, loving and respectful than I can even pretend to be.  This is despite the fact that I have much more schooling and should know better.  However, they've been educated to be better.  And this is why we need to bring preppy back to CLE because we will only create better lawyers after we first create better people.  Much like making me cry uncontrollably at a banquet, it's really that easy.

CLE, Lies and Videotape

I was recently speaking with one of this industry’s most respected and beloved CLE professionals, who shall remain nameless (and I mean it this time).  In the course of our conversation, she expressed a common lament – that I’m already happily married.  Or perhaps more accurately, she expressed her continual amazement that some of her volunteer speakers fall short of the mark despite her best efforts to create substantive and relevant CLE offerings.

More often than not, she will select faculty members from amongst a list of leading experts; experienced practitioners who have the specialty certifications, client lists and divorces to prove it.  Furthermore, these faculty members take CLE seriously and put together substantial handout materials that, if read, would greatly expand the average practitioner’s knowledge (and, if printed, would bankrupt the organizer).  On paper, these seminars should be successful.  Yet, too often, they fail more miserably than a North Korean missile test (or the average high schooler in Detroit).  But why?

Because, in many cases, otherwise knowledgeable and conscientious faculty members stammer and stumble through disjointed presentations that they prepare the night before (or more often, in the car on the way to the seminar).  And to be fair, who can blame them?  Most of these faculty members are partners in prestigious law firms, local judges, and law school professors.  In other words, they are top-flight professionals (and judges) who might not have the time it takes to create a coherent and compelling seminar.  After all, it takes weeks to writing and rehearsing before I’m ready to give one of my seminars, so you can just imagine how long it would take to prepare for a good one.

Moreover, why would they put in all of that extra effort when the reviews indicate that they are already doing a "great" job?  Let’s face it.  CLE attendees are notoriously easy graders.  In fact, only Tiger Woods and Secret Service agents in Columbia give out fives more indiscriminately.  For most attendees, so long as the seminar wasn’t a complete waste of time, the presenter will receive a score of 5 out of 5.  If it was a complete waste, they’ll receive a 4 out of 5.

Furthermore, after every seminar, someone will approach the faculty member to tell her how wonderful she was.  Remember, the faculty member is an important person in the legal community (or a judge).  It never hurts to be nice to someone who could possibly put in a good word for your child with a hiring partner, a dean of admissions, or your parole officer.  In contrast, the 99% of the attendees who just spent the last three hours answering e-mails, reviewing documents and/or reconsidering the choice to become a lawyer in the first place, aren’t likely to approach the lecturer to express their disappointment.  And even if so inclined, they probably wouldn’t recognize the speaker in any event. “Are you the one who was boring me for the last three hours?  Well, sir.  Oh, I’m sorry!  Madam, you stink!”

In short, evaluations and attendees lie.  So how do we get our volunteer speakers to see the truth?  By showing it to them.  Increasingly, we are recording our seminars for resale online.  Why not provide your faculty members with a copy of these recordings?  It will make a world of difference and I know this to be true from first-hand experience.

When I first started speaking on this circuit, I believed the lies from attendees and evaluations.  I thought that I was the greatest thing to happen to CLE since the invention of the neck-brace pillow that allows you to sleep while sitting up.  That is, until I made the mistake of watching a recording of one of my talks.  Sadly, videotape doesn’t lie.  Every “um,” “ah,” and awkward gesture was crystal clear; not to mention a disturbing number of wrinkles and blemishes (Damn you, HD!).

In all seriousness, my first thought after seeing the truth was, “I should give the money back.”  Of course, given that I had already spent it, I had to come up with a Plan B – improving my skills as a speaker.  As a result, I joined Toastmasters to eliminate the stammering, stuttering and unnecessary pauses.  I read dozens of books on public speaking and listened to thousands of hours of the best public speakers (i.e., not me).  And most importantly, I found a brand of make-up that hides most of my flaws from the camera (Take that, HD!).

And truthfully, even after almost a decade in this business, I’m still shocked and horrified whenever I watch tapes of even my current speeches. I still find myself sometimes talking too fast, being lazy in my elocution or doing other shockingly amateurish things, like putting my hands in my pockets or leaning lazily against the lectern (or still teaching CLE after ten years).  Yet, I wouldn’t be aware of my obvious shortcomings if I hadn’t been shown these tapes (or married such an intelligent woman).

Likewise, our volunteer speakers aren’t aware of their shortcomings and it’s up to us to show them the “light”; or perhaps, more accurately, the “lights, camera, and action” of their starring role in our CLE programs.  Confronted with indisputable evidence of their inadequacies, your faculty members will be compelled to do what I did – buy their spouse a luxury SUV.  These faculty members will also be compelled to improve their presentations, or at the very least, make better fashion and grooming choices.  Either way, it will be a win-win for our attendees.