The Way to a Speaker's Heart is Through His Ego

Very often, someone will post a helpful suggestion on their blog for improving the quality of our CLE programs. Needless to say, this is not going to be one of those posts. Besides, even if I knew something about giving a quality CLE program, the real challenge would still remain: How to get your volunteer speakers to incorporate the idea into their presentations?

That's why I'm happy to report that I've discovered a solution to our root problem -- motivating volunteer speakers to go that extra mile. And while I'd like to take full credit for this solution, my integrity (and the fact that the true originator of this idea may read my blog) won't allow me to do so. However, since I didn't clear this e-mail with her (nor have I received her approval for my latest ... and outrageous ... expense report), she shall remain nameless. However, let's just say that she is a well-respected CLE professional whom we all know and love and whose name sounds something like "Hina Tughes."

Let me explain: Last week, I gave a full-day seminar for the "fictional" Ms. Tughes in Charlotte. The morning session was well-received and I went to lunch with that mixture of self-satisfaction and pride that explains why my wife relishes my frequent absences from home.

Before resuming the afternoon session, I smugly asked Ms. Tughes, "How are we doing?"

She replied, "Oh, great! And by the way, I just heard from my staff that Stuart Teicher brought the house down in Cary. His reviews are off the charts! People are saying they've never seen anything like it."

"Never seen anything like it? But I was there last year! Are they saying that he's (gulp) better than me?", I thought to myself while pretending to be happy about the "good news".

Now, don't get me wrong. I normally beam with pride when I hear glowing reports about Stuart's seminars.  For one, he's like the little brother that I never wanted (I enjoyed having my own room as a child).  Second, for the last three years, I've falsely claimed sole credit for his success. "Yes, he's good now, but you should have seen him before I discovered him. He was a mess!" 

And while I've always known that Stuart would one day shatter my delusions of grandeur, last Wednesday wasn't going to be that day.  As Hina introduced me to the afternoon crowd, I resolved that I was going to give them the CLE program of their lives. My goal was for at least one attendee to comment that the seminar was better than sex (or at least, better than Stuart's).   And for the next three hours, I didn't just teach legal ethics, I preached it ... and with the fervor of Billy Graham, T.D. Jakes and that homeless guy outside of your local Starbucks ... combined.  At one point, I had the audience shouting "Hallelujah!", "Amen!" and passing around a collection plate.  By the end of the session, I was physically drained but I left the building with the knowledge that I had given my absolute best (and with $9.68 in "love offerings").

And let's be clear: I don't think that Ms. Tughes was trying to manipulate me by falsely inflating Stuart's morning evaluations; although I hereby request certified copies of such evaluations just to be sure. In all likelihood, Hina probably assumed that I possessed the magnanimity and maturity that would allow me to revel in a friend's success. Well, her "naivety" might just point the way for the rest of us to motivate our volunteer speakers by hitting them where it really hurts -- in the ego.

By nature, speakers are competitive and ego-driven; and so are lawyers. After all, many of them work in law firms that are the embodiment of Darwin's "survival of the id-est." Their egos are precious commodities that they will go to any length to maintain. In fact, I'm convinced that the following phone call would work wonders with a volunteer:

"Hello, Mr. Smith, I'm so glad you agreed to speak at our upcoming IP summit. I really expect your presentation to be well-received because last year, we had [your local nemesis] and the audience absolutely loved her. Now, don't worry. No one is expecting [the things a good presenter does] in your talk. After all, she is a partner at [the most prestigious law firm in town], so no one is expecting the same level of excellence from you. That being said, I'm sure the audience will appreciate whatever you can do to [repeat the things a good speaker does]."

The volunteer who receives this kind of "gentle nudging" will respond in one of two ways: (1) He will spend every waking moment honing his presentation to prove once and for all that he is every bit as good as those "jerks" at the law firm of Stuckup, Arrogant and Fullofit; or (2) He will call your boss to have you fired. Either way, you win; and so do your attendees. And, by the way, so does the volunteer speaker. It's no fun for them to speak to an audience where half of the attendees are checking e-mail, organizing their files and/or playing Angry Birds on their iPads, and the other half are mad that they didn't attend the "good seminar" across the state in Cary. Trust me on this point!

What Balloon Boy Taught Me About CLE

Yesterday, I was hard at work doing the job of a legal humorist (i.e., watching YouTube videos while trying to keep the 2-year-old from his latest chew toy -- my iPhone). However, my diligence was interrupted by a chirp from my iPhone. After wresting it away from Devin (and drying it with my wife's hair dryer), I learned that the Associated Press had sent me an urgent alert. It read: "6-year-old Floats Away in Runaway Balloon."

As a parent, my first thought was: "Why didn't I think of that? I bet that Dad is watching YouTube videos right now! And I bet his iPhone is dry too!" However, my second thought was one of empathy. I could imagine the fear and agony that any loving parent would experience during such a situation. For the next three hours, I obsessively followed this story on television, radio and over the Internet. And judging from the constant chatter on Twitter and Facebook, I wasn't alone. It seemed that the whole country was holding its collective breath for his safe return.

Fortunately, we were all able to breath of collective sigh of relief when we learned that the little boy was found safe and sound in his own attic. Apparently, he had never boarded the balloon in the first place, something that we might have all discovered millions of collective work hours earlier if anyone in our media would have bothered to ask something as simply as, "Did anyone actually see the boy climb inside the balloon?" Herein lies in the problem with our modern media ... and CLE.

In a strange coincidence, while the entire American workforce was being as unproductive as well, the American workforce, the best and brightest minds in CLE were assembled in Scottsdale, Arizona for a summit on the critical issues facing our industry. And while I wasn't able to attend the summit (largely because I wasn't invited to the summit ... but I'm not bitter), they were gracious enough to provide a webcast of the plenary sessions for the "peanut gallery." In fact, the conference organizers even made the 600 pages of conference materials available online. Thus, allowing us commoners to take away much of the experience of the live attendees sans the hernia from lugging around a 600-page conference binder (okay, maybe I'm a little bitter).

However, as I perused the conference materials (I'll actually get around to reading all 600 pages, I really will), it became clear that we are in danger of falling into the same trap as the news media -- using technological advancements as a substitute for fundamental competence. Let me explain.

In hindsight, it was comical to see Wolf Blitzer and the other geniuses in the "Situation Room" using the most sophisticated tools to track and monitor the flight and landing of an empty balloon. It was the height of breaking news, all except for the part about getting the facts straight. However, in the Situation Room, there's no time for facts. After all, they have situations to cover.

Likewise, my fear is that we are developing the same mindset with respect to CLE. We are in such a hurry to implement technology that we may be ignoring the fundamentals. I think this is most evident in the almost universal disdain for the "talking head" presentation. We constantly decry the lecture format as being archaic, especially in relation to new lawyers.

Yet, the truth of the matter is that the lecture format has been instrumental in passing down information from generation to generation since the beginning of time. Before there was a printing press, an Internet or a Situation Room, there was the oral tradition. Almost everything that is known today has been passed down by "talking heads." Does it make sense that we can do away without them now because we have Twitter?

If you think so, then perhaps you should have been following yesterday's Twitter feed about the whereabouts of Balloon Boy. Depending upon who you happened to be following on Twitter, he was inside the balloon, riding in a basket below it, surfing atop of it or flying alongside of it. Later, when the balloon was discovered to be empty, the Twitterazzi was just as varied in its reports of the boy's whereabouts. He was reported to be everywhere from his attic in Fort Collins to the basement of Phil Collins (for you Gen Yers, he was a pop singer back in the days when people actually sang).

In short, Twitter is a great interactive tool; provided that there is an underlying basis of knowledge to serve as a framework for the discussion. In that same vain, interactive CLE (whether via Twitter or live breakout discussions) is only as useful as the underlying knowledge of those in attendance and that knowledge can be greatly enhanced by a so-called talking head.

Now, as someone who has attended 500 CLE conferences in 40 states, I must admit that talking heads don't always fulfill this role. In most cases, my first question in the Q&A session is, "Why did you bother to show up -- to personally escort your PowerPoint slides to the conference?" Of course, I never ask such a question as it would: (1) constitute a breach of professional courtesy; and (2) require me to be awake at the end of the presentation to do so.

Yet, the fact that many lectures fall short of the mark doesn't mean that we should throw out the baby with my soggy iPhone (as much as I might like to). Instead, we should get back to the fundamentals of providing our attendees with presenters who can deliver the goods in terms of both content AND delivery. We should insist that our presenters know their stuff. Furthermore, they should have the ability to relate their information in a way that it makes an impact on the audience. And if they don't, we should train them to do so.

And while the latter requirement seems like a tall order, it isn't nearly as difficult as, say, sleeping with your eyes open as a panelist at an ethics seminar (trust me on this one). All it requires is a commitment to stress the fundamentals of effective communication -- telling compelling stories. As any great trial lawyer will tell you, the key to winning a case is to tell a story that compels the jury to side with your client. In the same way, the key to winning over a CLE audience is to tell a story that compels them to ingest the knowledge being put forth and then incorporate it into their practice afterwards.

Isn't that what every great communicator does -- tells a story? Dr. King told a story of a dream he had. President Reagan told a story of a city on a hill. In fact, our current president was completely unknown five years ago until he told a story of a skinny kid with a funny name who believed that America had a place for him too. And don't think that this principle just applies at large political events. Every weekend, I walk into a funny-shaped building to hear a "talking head" deliver a sermon that ... you guessed it ... contains a story.

And if you think that CLE is somehow different, think back to the greatest CLE presenter ever -- Irving Younger. Despite the fact that Professor Younger died more than 20 years ago, his programs are still among the most popular around today. Why? Because he mastered the art of PowerPoint, relentlessly promoted Twitter hash tags, or set up a jamming Facebook fan page? Or perhaps, it's because he mastered the art of story telling.

Now, I'm not suggesting that all of your presenters can achieve the legendary status of an Irving Younger (or a humorist in Mesa), but I am suggesting that they can greatly enhance the value of their presentations. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that if they don't start telling good stories, the quality of CLE will continue to decline. This is true, regardless of how adapt we become at incorporating the latest technology.

The disaster of PowerPoint proves this point. Over the last two decades, PowerPoint has become a mainstay (and the bane) of CLE presentations. As presenters focused more on visual aids, they focused less on the underlying content. They thought that the slides would do the work for them. Likewise, I fear that we are now falling into the trap of thinking that "interactivity" will do the work for us.

Now, don't get me wrong. PowerPoint can be a great tool to enhance understanding of the material but it is no substitute for competent presentation of that material. Likewise, the current push for interactivity can enhance the educational experience, but it can't replace the fundamental component -- a competent and compelling faculty.

Therefore, unless we refocus our efforts on shoring up the fundamental skills of our presenters, we will be just like yesterday's media -- expending great time and resources following an empty trend.

Can I get an amen?

I Had a Nightmare ...

Matt Homann has initiated an interesting discussion in the Continuing Legal Education Speakers group on Linkedin.com.  He asked for opinions regarding PowerPoint, which I considered to be one of the world's greatest evils, along with poverty, disease and VH1's fascination with Flavor Flav.  Given my strong feelings on the matter, I couldn't help but throw my two cents in (all I can afford in this economy).

And while I'm tempted to simply paste my convincing (and oh so witty) remarks here for your consideration (and great amusement), sometimes a picture really is worth a thousand words.  Therefore, I present the ultimate argument against the use of PowerPoint -- Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s long lost PowerPoint slides from his I Have a Dream Speech.

I rest my case!

Move Over Jon Stewart ... Here I Come

You Know the Media is in Trouble When I Become Part of It

My entry into a field of endeavor usually spells the beginning of the end for the field and its institutions.  I ushered in the rise of online brokerage services by joining an offline broker in the early 1990s.  I popped the tech bubble by purchasing my first Internet stock in February 2000.  I later brought on the current financial collapse by working for one of the nation's largest subprime lenders.  Every company or law firm for which I've ever worked has eventually gone out of business.  The only institution that I haven't destroyed by my mere presence is the institution of marriage, which was already ruined when I got to it.

That being said, here is my debut on the Legal Broadcast Network, reporting "live" from the Sotomayor hearings in Washington, D.C.  The countdown to the collapse of the news business can now begin.

Video Homage to CLE Workers

My previous blog entry inspired the creation of the following video.  With the vocal talents of my podcast co-host, rap partner-in-crime and fellow CLE presenter, Stuart Teicher, I put together this music video in tribute to my sisters (and sometimes, brothers) in the struggle.

And if you like the video, make sure that you subscribe to the Two Lawyers in a [Pod]cast show, where we will be unveiling the LP version of the song later this week.

This Box of 14 Half-Eaten Donuts is For You

In 1999, Budweiser introduced its legendary Real American Heroes campaign, in which it celebrated the under-appreciated members of our society, such as Mr. Losing Locker Room Reporter, Mr. Dishonest Cable TV Hooker Upper and my all-time favorite -- Mr. Nudist Colony Activity Coordinator.  Yet, despite paying homage in song to more than 100 of these "unsung heroes," Budweiser has never given credit to greatest unsung hero of all -- Mrs. Onsite CLE Organization Representative.

I learned this sad fact when I recently put on my first (and last) self-sponsored half-day CLE program.  From my vantage point as a speaker at hundreds of these functions, it didn't seem like the most difficult job.  You hand out name badges, point the attorneys to the rest rooms and pretend to care about their complaints.  "What?  You had to pay an entire $5 to park your 7-series BMW?  I'm going to get right to the bottom of this!"

However, I soon learned that the job can be just as frustrating as being the travel agent for Governor of South Carolina, just not nearly as comical.  It started as soon as I reached the conference center that morning and was shown to my conference room.  Over the phone, I had been clear that I needed a room capable of seating 50.  Apparently, I had not been clear that I was referring to 50 adults; ones who probably wouldn't want on floor mats or the laps of complete strangers.

The conference center hostess attempted to alleviate my concerns by pointing out that my event wouldn't be one of those cold and impersonal seminars where the attendees leave without meeting a single new person.  And I had to agree with her on that point.  As tight as the seating arrangements were, it was entirely likely that someone would leave the seminar pregnant.  Of course, I've attended more than my share of family law conferences, so it wouldn't be a first.

In any event, I wouldn't have time to brood over the facilities because my first attendee arrived five minutes before registration started.  What kind of early bird shows up to CLE that early?  Was she afraid that all of the good seats would be taken and that she'd be stuck way back in the fifth row?  Or perhaps, she wanted to make sure that she had her first choice for breakfast.  If so, she could have slept in.

I've been to enough of these events to know that you must serve coffee and muffins/donuts/champaign brunch at a morning CLE event.  Otherwise, you run the risk of an actual revolt that would revival the current unrest in Iran in terms of both wanton violence and Twitter traffic.  To avoid this fate, I stopped at Krispy Kreme and bought boxes of coffee and dozens of doughnuts.  As it turned out, allowing my attendees to revolt and ransack the place would have been less wasteful.

Not only did I pour just about every drop of coffee down the sink afterwards, but when I attempted to box up the donuts, they didn't fit in the containers.  Amazingly, it appeared that I had more donuts at the end of the seminar than I started with.  Had someone come to my seminar just to get rid of some of their unused donuts?  And was this the same person who approached me during every break complaining that the room was too hot?  Or was this the person sitting next to him who complained that cold air was blowing on him but never considered solving his problem by just switching seats with the "too hot guy"?

These were just some of the many unanswered questions from my misadventure as Mrs. Onsite CLE Organization Representative.  And with a newfound appreciation for my brothers and sisters who toil under the florescent lights of hotel ballrooms, I salute you with a leftover box of donuts from the seminar.  This box of 14 half-eaten donuts is for all you do in ordering massive amounts of food that will never be eaten and smiling while silently wishing harm upon your attendees.  "God, if you love me, you will allow a power surge to electrocute this lawyer when he plugs in his laptop, portable printer, and microwave oven."

It isn't said enough, but you are the Real American Heroes.  Well, you and Mrs. Look the Other Way While I Assaulted That One Attendee in the Parking Lot Conference Center Hostess.