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.

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!