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In Praise of Teamwork

This post, surprisingly enough, connects strongly to voiceover. Back when I started this blog in August, I intentionally and specifically stated that this is not a voiceover blog. And my posts thus far have borne out this statement. Most of them have focused on observations related on some level to my teaching career, including notes about leadership, assessment, and presentation skills. I’ve also posted on topics pertaining to my experiences in band. Naturally, I’ve mentioned my retirement from K-12 public education several times since that’s something that has dominated my life since the end of June, and it’s a major reason why I actually have time for this blog and for my voiceover career.

That career is progressing as we speak. I’ve established some leads, gotten a handful of auditions, and even booked a few jobs. I’m not where I intend to be, but every journey begins with its first steps, as they say. And what I’ve learned along those few steps is a critical lesson – one that I’ve realized applied in my education career far more than I expected, and one that I think applies to voiceover more than many of us appreciate. That lesson is the importance of teamwork – how the individual contributes to the team and how effective teamwork actually helps the individual. It’s an underrated lesson for my friends and colleagues in the voiceover industry.

Back when I began my education career, I didn’t exactly anticipate that teamwork would be terribly important. It wasn’t a clear priority in my education coursework at the collegiate level. We participated in cooperative learning, and we were coached how to use it effectively, but I don’t recall explicit instruction on the importance of teamwork within the profession as a matter of course. It was a more general “collaborate with your colleagues” theme. The trend of Professional Learning Communities (PLC) in education was not in vogue at the time. And if I’m being honest, my so-called “mentor teacher” during my first year was somewhere between ineffective and a total waste. I was teaching government that first year, and all I got from him was literally a printout of his “lesson plans” for the class (dot-matrix printout, no less), which was what he provided for administration but not nearly what he used for his actual class. I suppose it was a start, but it was hardly helpful and certainly not comprehensive. He would occasionally throw me the bone of an odd handout now and then. But this was hardly teamwork, and I was hardly a teammate. This type of thing went on for roughly three years, and I felt nearly alone as a teacher during that time. For three years, I figured things out for myself. Then I was moved to World Geography at what was then the “9th Grade Center,” where I spent two years, and my perspective changed dramatically. World Geography teachers operated as a true team. There were projects that all the teachers assigned. There was collaboration. I was actually valued as a colleague, and I was free to offer my own ideas and create activities to share with my peers just as much as I could borrow and absorb from them.

Those two years altered the trajectory of my teaching career. After three years feeling like a solitary soul marooned on an island, I experienced two incredible years as a valued member of a viable team. When I returned to the senior level teaching government and economics (the old “mentor” had retired), I was assertive and proactive in establishing teamwork, collaborated more, and genuinely improved as an instructor. It helped that there was some turnover in the staff, and the newer teachers were also more willing to engage with each other. And I believe the process helped all of us excel, not just as subject-area teams, but also as a department. By the time I had advanced to teaching AP Macroeconomics, I had established strong rapport with my colleagues who taught AP US Government. We taught these students on an A/B schedule, so they alternated these classes daily, and we as instructors worked so that our teaching connected with each other’s, reinforcing what students were learning in both classes. The result was better learning for all of those AP students in both courses. It was educational teamwork at some of the highest level I ever experienced.

As my career in education continued, the benefits of teamwork were consistently apparent, especially when I worked in central administration. We had a small department in Research & Assessment, but the tasks each of us worked on connected well enough that our team was always moving forward impressively for the district. All in all, I think I experienced a solid 22 straight years of effective teamwork. The actual level of effectiveness varied at times, but it was always there, and I probably took it for granted. Then I left Mansfield ISD for what I thought was a better opportunity, and better salary. A higher salary was nice, but it was not a collaborative environment. Teamwork was replaced by top-down micromanagement, headed up by someone who was simply not equipped or ready to lead effectively. She thought she had all the answers, and the other three of us were basically expected to do her bidding, even if she wasn’t clear what that was. I was not valued for the ideas I brought to my job; I was basically expected to read the mind of my supervisor and maintain the status quo in 100% detail. And when I didn’t, when I had the temerity to show initiative and originality, I was diminished and even demeaned. It was a negative environment, plain and simple, bereft of any teamwork.

So when I interviewed for what would become my final position in education, I had one answer for the question, “What do you hope to accomplish in this role?” My response: “I want to become a viable member of a high-functioning team.” I had experienced that feeling, and I had experienced what it was like to lose it and feel like I was expected to be a mindless, boring cog. I just wanted to contribute to a team again. And fortunately, I got that experience again. Yes, there were issues at the district level that ultimately led me to retire from the profession, but I can honestly and definitively say that my time at Grand Prairie High School was a positive experience as part of a high-functioning, well-managed team. I learned so much from my colleagues, and they learned from me. We collaborated on a multitude of projects, and our students benefited. We had each other’s backs. Maybe it’s coincidence, but I believe many of us became lifelong friends, as well. Quite a team, and I will always look back on that place, and so many of those colleagues, fondly.

So what does this have to do with voiceover? It comes down to how we as VO artists see ourselves. There’s a common idea (and joke) in the industry that we’re all a little strange because we spend all day talking to ourselves in a padded room. And it can definitely feel that way. But my own experience has taught me that this idea really isn’t the case. Granted, my background is primarily Live Announce, so I often find myself in an environment where there are people around me. Many of my gigs throughout the year have people in the stands, and on the field or floor, and I’m even in charge of running all the audio at times. I’m also my own roadie for a lot of jobs. And you know what? It’s exhilarating, and I love it.

As I mentioned in my Thanksgiving post, I had the chance to work NCAA Division I college basketball recently – three games so far at the University of Texas at Arlington (which is also my alma mater). And even though PA folks often see ourselves as “the voice above the crowd,” the truth I’ve gleaned from these experiences is that whoever is on PA is not simply in an environment “with other people around.” No, they are…you guessed it…part of a team. The team consists of everyone involved in the game presentation – production director, production assistants, band, cheerleaders, dance team, on-court entertainment, etc. Two hours before tipoff, we go over the run-of-show, which outlines every activity of the day or night, including pregame, timeouts, halftime, and postgame. There are a variety of PA reads, but there are also a multitude of other happenings, and the objective is to time everything out right down to the second whenever possible. The goal is to provide a high-quality game experience for the fans while at the same time recognizing all the sponsors involved with UTA Athletics, and above all, respecting and featuring the game on the floor. It is its own a machine with video, graphics, live music, recorded music, and a true cast of characters, all layered on top of and designed to support the performance of the team. As the PA guy, I am simply one part of the experience. And I will emphasize again, I love it. And it’s really not about my voice, although I truly think my pipes were made to resonate in a stadium or an arena just as much as others’ were made to feature trucks or food or Disney movies. I love being part of the event, fulfilling my role, and adding to the ambience that’s being created. Being a viable part of a high-functioning team.

For my VO friends, that’s something that I think is critical to your, my, and our success as VO professionals, no matter what genre we’re working in. It is way too easy to record an audition or a job listening solely to our own performance. It is way too enticing to get caught up in our own voices. If you want to understand what creative professionals hear – REALLY hear – you have to imagine yourself in the arena, if you will. You have to hear yourself with other aspects of the entire production in mind: the images and/or video that your voice will be used to enhance, the music and other sounds that will be layered with your voice, the objective(s) and goal underlying what the creative team is trying to accomplish. Get out of your own head and away from your own voice. Listen. Take direction. Take a broader perspective, then figure out how your voice fits it and adds to the larger mix. And contribute.

For my education friends, and for anyone else reading this post, “teamwork makes the dream work.” “Be a team player.” “There’s no ‘I’ in ‘team.’” (Although you can’t spell team without an “m” and an “e.”) <Cue groans> Sorry. Just kidding. That all sounds kind of trite and silly, much like most bumper-sticker philosophy. But teamwork really does make you better. If you’re in an educational leadership role, that means you have to involve your team members. Seek their input. Accept their ideas and figure out how to integrate them into the larger plan whenever possible. Don’t micromanage. You don’t have all the answers, nor should you. If you’re in a rank-and-file team member role, step up! Know what your role is, and do your part. Contribute. At the same time, Speak Up! If you have ideas, state them in an organized and appropriate manner.

The bottom line is that, no matter your industry or profession, life isn’t meant to be lived in isolation. Each of us can grow individually, but we advance further by working with each other, sharing ideas and activities, sometimes disagreeing, but ultimately learning and developing as both individuals and a group. In a world that seems to value individualism and “I’m gonna get mine” greed way too much, the benefits of collaboration and cooperation through teamwork have gained importance. It’s a lesson for educators, for voiceover pros, and for society at large.

40 Years of “The Marching Band Without Football” – Part 1

Last week, I acknowledged that I am a band nerd, and a marching band nerd at that. I also mentioned that I have served as the P.A. Voice of the U.T.-Arlington Maverick Marching Band since 1998. It is fair to state that the UTA Band has shaped my life. I have close friends from UTA to this day, all from my involvement with the band. I was Drum Major there for 5 years (one of only 3 people who served as DM for 5 years), and that partially led to my career in education. I learned leadership skills there that have influenced me throughout my life. I was President of their Kappa Kappa Psi (national honorary band fraternity) chapter for a year and am also a Life Member of the chapter. I was President of the UTA Band Alumni Association for 4 years. I met my wife in the UTA Band. And my P.A. work with the band was the impetus for my voiceover career. You could say band has been instrumental (pun intended, cue rim-shot) in my adult life.

It just so happens that this past weekend was Alumni Day for the Maverick Marching Band (typically referred to as the MMB), where they invite UTA alumni of all eras to come out and take in a brief rehearsal and a preview run of this year’s show. As part of that performance, I got to do a run of my pre- and post-show announcements. This year’s announcements acknowledge that UTA is celebrating its 130th anniversary, but more importantly to me, that this is the 40th season that the UTA MMB is performing without a football team.

If you’re not from the Arlington area, you might not realize or know that U.T.-Arlington has no football team, and if so, it’s likely you also didn’t know that they have a marching band without a team. Yes, it is unusual. 40 years ago, it was unheard of. And that is the purpose of this week’s post — to highlight some of the history that led to UTA cancelling its football program, the genesis of the current iteration of the MMB, and the ebb and flow of the band program through the past 40 years. Yes, it is another 2-parter.

To begin, let’s take a trip back in time to 1956. My parents were celebrating their first wedding anniversary, my oldest sister was born, and in Arlington, TX, the Rebels of Arlington State College won a national championship in football. Specifically, they won the Junior Rose Bowl, at the actual Rose Bowl Stadium in Pasadena, defeating Compton College to win the National Junior College Championship. Then in 1957, ASC won it again. College football in Arlington reached its pinnacle with that back-to-back feat 68 years ago, and it’s been downhill ever since.

A quick rundown of those intervening years: Arlington State became a four-year institution in 1959, playing in NCAA Division II. ASC was a founding member of the Southland Conference in 1964 and actually won the conference championship in 1966 and 1967. The 1967 team was the first to play as U.T.-Arlington instead of Arlington State College after the university moved from the Texas A&M system to the U.T. system. To conclude that 1967 season, the UTA Rebels, as they were called, won their final bowl game in school history – The Pecan Bowl in, of all places, Abilene, TX, at Shotwell Stadium.

Shortly after that Pecan Bowl victory, UTA’s student body began to get restless with the school’s Rebel mascot, its use of “Dixie” as the fight song, and the Confederate battle flag as a school symbol, including on the back of the UTA Rebel Band’s uniforms. The University ultimately changed its mascot to Mavericks in 1971, which it retains today. Along the way, UTA also struggled with stadium issues. Memorial Stadium was its on-campus stadium, with a capacity of 10,000, that was usually full during those winning seasons in the late 1960s. But school officials considered it outdated and wanted a larger venue to move up to a higher level of college football. So UTA began playing at Turnpike Stadium in 1970, which would be renamed Arlington Stadium when the Texas Rangers arrived in 1972. The Rangers took complete control of Arlington Stadium, at which point the Mavericks (also known as the Movin’ Mavs) began playing home games at Cravens Field, a high school facility in Arlington.

In retrospect, it’s clear that the stadium issues may have been the beginning of the end for UTA football. When they played on-campus at Memorial Stadium, the Rebels had a strong following. Move to a bigger venue that happens to be multi-purpose for baseball and football? How about a high school stadium with wooden bleachers? Watch the following and attendance dwindle. String together 9 straight losing seasons from 1970 through 1978. Watch the following and attendance dwindle even more. And as the following and attendance dwindled, football began to lose money. Yet UTA managed to get funding for a new 12,000 seat stadium that opened in 1980 – Maverick Stadium. The inaugural game against North Texas State (now the University of North Texas) saw a crowd of 18,000, with temporary bleachers added – this was fortuitous, since the stadium was designed to expand the width of both grandstands and even add a second deck on the east stands. I was there; it was an amazing crowd. It was actually the first college football game broadcast by fledgling cable network ESPN. So much promise, but UTA lost that opener 31-14 on its way to a 3-8 season in 1980, with its only home win before a crowd of 2,000 on a bitterly cold November night. (I was also there.) Maverick Stadium never saw attendance higher than 9,500 for the rest of UTA football’s history and never averaged more than 8,000 in a season. For a program with big-time aspirations, those kinds of attendance numbers were dismal. The team managed to win the Southland Conference once more, in 1981, but alas, that was the year the SLC champion did NOT earn an automatic bid to the Independence Bowl. No extra revenue or exposure there. The last official UTA football game in Maverick Stadium took place on November 16, 1985, a 29-14 loss to Louisiana Tech in front of 4,800 fans. (Guess who was there that day?) A week later, they concluded the 1985 season with yet another loss at NTSU. Then on November 25, 1985, President Wendell Nedderman announced that the University was cancelling the football program due to poor attendance and massive financial losses.

“Interesting story. The takeaway was that you were a fan of a losing team.” I lived 10 minutes from the stadium and I had four old siblings who went to UTA. And I grew up as a sports fan. OF COURSE I went to the games. But amidst the losses on the field, I found myself more and more intrigued by the band, especially after I started playing saxophone the same fall that Maverick Stadium opened. The UTA Maverick Band was mesmerizing to me. Gigantic sound, great colorguard, and what were considered cool uniforms for the late 1970s and early 1980s. “Tomorrow’s Sound, Today” was theIr nickname, and the band was actually ground-breaking for the time in terms of sound and approach. When Maverick Stadium opened, the east stands (opposite the pressbox) were actually the “home” stands where students sat. The band performed halftime to those stands, then they would play postgame to the pressbox (west) side. I found myself mostly sitting on the west side, so I would stick around for postgame, when the stands were empty and the band was extra LOUD. For a budding band nerd, this was nirvana. I knew I wanted to be a part of it. Once I ascended to drum major of my high school marching band, I had designs on being a drum major of the UTA Maverick Band. The reason I was at the last home game on 11/16/85 was because our band was invited to attend and perform at the game (obviously to put some more people in the stands). I was intent on impressing UTA’s directors with my own command of our group; I have no idea if they even noticed my presence, but I knew involvement in the UTA band was on my radar, for sure.

So when the announcement came down on 11/25/85, I pretty much figured that dream was over, and I was looking at breaking off from my siblings and attending a different school than UTA. Then something unique happened. Ray C. Lichtenwalter, Director of Bands at UTA, sought to continue the marching band in spite of the loss of football, but doing so at great risk. There was a movement among some fans to hold a pep rally in favor of football and opposition to President Nedderman’s decision, and these fans approached Mr. Lichtenwalter in hopes of having the band participate in the rally. Lichtenwalter declined these fans, cooperated with Nedderman’s decision, and instead requested that the University continue funding the marching band as an exhibition band. The fans who wanted the University to reconsider football were livid, and they let him know about it. But where had they been the past decade when UTA football was drawing fewer than 8,000 fans per game? Lichtenwalter was focused on how he could serve his students in a new era for UTA. The idea was that, for Music Education students at UTA, marching band was an integral lab environment where they learned how to construct, teach, and perform a modern marching band show in preparation for teaching high school band. Lichtenwalter justified continuation of the program as an academic pursuit as opposed to simply a spirit group that would naturally disband after the cancellation of football. It was a rather forward-thinking move on the part of Mr. Lichtenwalter, which is unsurprising. Lichtenwalter had taught at UTA since 1967, becoming Director of Bands in 1975. He was the brains behind “Tomorrow’s Sound Today,” modernized uniforms, and a new approach to college band at UTA. Over the previous decade, the UTA Maverick Band had evolved into something interesting and groundbreaking. Pursuing marching band without football as its own creative endeavor was simply the next logical step for the program.

In the spring of 1986, I auditioned and was selected to be one of 2 Assistant Drum Majors on a 3-person team at UTA as they embarked on this unprecedented journey. As a result, I became the 5th of 5 members of the Ponce family to attend UTA in the 1970s and 1980s, and I entered an organization that would influence me in countless ways. But more importantly, the UTA Marching Band, “New Direction,” as it was called, began its own journey that would span more than 4 decades exploring music and how it could be conveyed through the medium of marching band.

Come back tomorrow to read how that journey has unfolded.

Modern Marching Band: The Magical, the Mundane, and the Remarkable – Part 2

Yesterday, I posted Part 1 on this topic and attempted to scratch the surface of what goes into a given marching band season and why it’s awesome, why it’s magical. Read that post here. TLDR: When you consider everything that goes into learning to play an instrument, spin a flag, march, dance, execute drill design, perfect it, and do it all together…you will find few things that are more satisfying and personally fulfilling.

But guess what? Marching band can also be rather mundane. Consider the following:

  • There’s a football game every week, and at least half of those (more for some schools) involve travel. Riding a bus back to school at 11:00pm on a Friday night when you’re exhausted is not exactly anyone’s definition of fun.
  • There’s a drill team song to learn and perform every week. Don’t get me wrong – there’s nothing wrong with drill team, per se; they work hard just like bands and accomplish impressive things. But that stop-down every Thursday to rehearse with them plus the Friday performance also gets tedious over 10 weeks.
  • Stand tunes can be cool, but they can also wear mighty thin. Seriously, how many times can anyone play “The ‘Hey’ Song” and “Seven Nation Army” without going a little bit crazy? (Although to be fair, “Land of 1,000 Dances” never gets old, IMO.)
  • There are times during the marching season that become an enormous grind. Look at the calendar – we are literally in one of those times today, 9/17/25. When I taught drum major camps, I used to teach everyone this: The DM’s leadership isn’t that essential on the first day of band camp, or at the first performance, or at any contest. Everybody’s pumped for those times. It’s easy. No, the DM is most critical in mid-September, when the temperature is still in the 90s, the band hasn’t performed at any contests yet, the show is mostly learned by now but you’re working on all the parts where the ensemble is struggling, tempers are on-edge, and enthusiasm is low. THAT is when the drum major needs to be at their best, helping the group power through those grinding times.
  • If you have a good football team, marching season can seem to last forever because the season then goes more than 10 weeks.
  • Contests are cool, but they can also be a grind. It’s an entire Saturday gone, and you might have important assignments to complete for classes. Imagine working on homework in the stands while other bands perform because otherwise, it won’t get done. Plus, it might still be warm outside, so you’re sweating almost the entire day. Now imagine doing that every weekend for an entire month.
  • October often features weather that is windy and possibly rainy. This poses many challenges as you’re trying to perfect your show and losing rehearsal time to rain and possibly lightning, or simply struggling in high winds.
  • In all honesty, sometimes the shows themselves are really mundane. Marching band often relies heavily on imitation; everybody wants to do stuff that’s popular in DCI or among the top-tier bands at UIL and BOA competitions. The activity is beholden to trends, sometimes to its detriment. There was a period several years ago, for instance, where it seemed like every show was “Title: Subtitle, in four movements – I. Noun II. Noun III. Noun IV. Noun and Noun.” I would joke that I could simply announce everyone with “Please welcome the Average Suburban High School Marching Band,” and no one would even notice. Thankfully, we’ve moved beyond that phase, and the shows are a bit more imaginative these days.

I could delve into a bit of an old-man rant from this point forward because there are certainly other things that are frustrating about the activity: People often question whether marching band is valuable as music education because so much time is spent working on a limited amount of music rather than expanding students’ repertoire. (There’s an old adage that marching band could be called “Learning to Hate Music, Three Songs at a Time.”) Sometimes what judges reward is more style and less substance, which incentivizes schools to spend more resources on props and other extraneous aspects of the show. There are definitely socioeconomic disparities in marching band. By and large, you will find a strong correlation between the wealthiest schools and the bands that score highest at UIL and non-UIL contests alike. Marching band is awesome, but the activity is far from perfect.

But here’s the thing: In this activity, perfection, in the end, is a goal but not actually an objective. Every band will strive to perfect what they’re performing. None of them will achieve it at a 100% level for 100% of the time. And that’s OK. The act of striving for perfection in a safe and healthy environment, with people you grow to love, in service to music and a product that requires everyone’s involvement, IS the point. Each ensemble begins its season at a certain beginning place and works toward “the perfect place” for 3-4 months, and then it’s over. The journey and the work involved matters more than any result. Some groups will need a new trophy case to hold all their hardware. Good for them. Some groups will just be happy to advance to finals at an invitational, or to UIL Area, or to UIL State. Good for them. Some groups will expect trophies but be unable to capture them, or expect to advance to State and finish as alternates, or not make Area Finals. All for reasons they may not grasp because the judging system is inherently subjective, and their show didn’t receive sufficient points in the right places. It is not the same as losing an athletic contest, because you cannot necessarily watch the film or examine the stats and say “we would’ve won if only…” It’s the nature of competition in competitive marching band, and sometimes it leaves ensembles wondering what-if. There is no shame in that as long as they can look back at how their performance progressed through the season and how the members connected with one another – if you can look back at those things with satisfaction, then the scores do not matter. Sure, it’s disappointing; everyone likes to achieve high scores and win. But years from now you’ll think about the joy of the experience, not tab sheets or trophies.

And the experience should be joyful, because it is remarkable. Regardless of what anyone in their 40s or older may think about the music, the choreography, the props, the amplification, the costumes, or any other aspect of a modern marching band production, what the students accomplish is astounding. I’m in my 50s and marched in the 1980s and 90s. In high school, we primarily marching symmetrical drill on a fairly rudimentary level. In college, the drill was more advanced, and we added basic choreography in places, but none of it was like what you see today. The music, drill, and choreography an audience member will witness at a typical marching band contest these days should boggle their minds. I knew guys 40 years ago who would’ve gotten physically injured trying to do what bands do today. Who couldn’t produce a sound on their instrument marching modern drill. Who would cramp up, seize up, or fold up trying to play the music of the caliber that students perform today.

Music education has advanced, to its credit. The “marching arts,” as many like to call the activity, have also advanced. These are good things. Students get an opportunity to do amazing things and perform on an elite level. “But it’s not like it used to be.” Okay. Whatever. People used to teach band members to “pound the ground” when marking time. “Kill the grass!” They used to teach techniques that are now suspect. They used to haze new members and make them feel terrible and unwanted. Does anyone really think it would be productive or educational to return to those days? And while there are people who live for old-school military bands marching 6-to-5 from end zone to end zone and despise props and microphones and speakers and dance movements, a person’s preference for the kind of show should not detract from the remarkable work the students are accomplishing. Modern military bands are also great. Bands that perform HBCU-style shows are also amazing. Those styles have advanced, as well. Honestly, no matter the particular style of show, the challenge of any marching show from the 20th century pales in comparison to the demands of a modern show, where students might be flying across 40 different spots on the field while doing choreography and maintaining sufficient body control to play with incredible musicality. Complain about the shows, if you want. Respect the performers. Celebrate them. Band students are awesome. Band is still awesome. It’s remarkable.

Ode to Presentation Skills

Listen to this post.

Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Rode NTG 5
  • Interface – AudioSigma MikeHero (Classic)
  • Hardware – iPad Pro 11″ M4
  • Software – TwistedWave for iOS
  • Additional Software Treatment via MacBook Air M2 13″ – AU HiPass, LoudMax, iZotope RX11 Mouth De-Click

Recorded in my Home Studio

Let’s talk Presentation Skills. You should probably get some if you will ever present something to a group of people. Or at least if you intend to do so in the future. Even if you won’t give any formal presentations, there still may be some value in knowing how to present something – a topic, a philosophy, an argument, even your career or life story. You never know when the moment will arise where it’s necessary to convey a message in a coherent, organized manner.

I attended a voiceover conference this past weekend and sat in on several presentations. It was pretty much all “sit-and-get” sessions with opportunities for questions. As you might expect, it was a mixed bag. But then, these were primarily voiceover artists whose profession regularly calls for them to interpret and deliver the words given to them, not necessarily write their own stuff, so I took a forgiving mindset into the presentations. One presenter eschewed any slides on-screen altogether (quiet hallelujah) and just talked through his points and ideas. That was admittedly a risky approach, but he was knowledgeable enough that he could proceed in this way and still help everyone in the room gain useful information. Others committed some proverbial cardinal sins of presentations. Clearly they were not quite polished enough, but that was still fine for this particular conference.

The experience reminded me that I have given hundreds of presentations in my lifetime. I’m actually quite good at it, maybe even great. Last year, one of my colleagues, after a presentation I had made during a faculty meeting, suggested I should become a professional presenter (not sure there is such a thing like that besides maybe emcee work; presenters usually have an area of expertise as a foundation). It’s definitely a skill I’ve cultivated, but I had to get good at it: I taught government and economics for 19 years, classes that were required for graduation but were not exactly at the top of any student’s wish list. When I moved into administration, I specialized in testing for another 12 years. Testing, where the topics really got mind-numbing…I mean, “challenging” — mostly compliance-oriented training on such wildly popular topics as test security & confidentiality, testing irregularities, testing procedures, student accommodations, and so forth. No one was ever busting down my door begging for a presentation. Sometimes I did get requests from specific groups needing specific training on specific topics that I understood and they didn’t. But even then, the topics were still Sahara-desert dry. The point is, I developed strong presentation skills because it was necessary. I knew that if I Ben-Stein-ed my way through it (you know Ben Stein, don’t you? “Anyone…anyone…Bueller?”), my audience is gone almost immediately. I had to be engaging, energetic, and focused on what the takeaway of this nonsense I’m talking about is. Otherwise it’s just boring political and bureaucratic talk, or “the dismal science,” or that awful testing stuff we have to cover every year.

I have also attended hundreds of presentations, many of which were excellent, but most of which, honestly, were somewhere between mediocre and brutally bad. Some even seemed impressive on the surface but were actually terrible, like the time a curriculum supervisor from a suburban ISD was supposed to be talking about her district’s correlation between curriculum development and assessment, but she A) talked so fast and B) spent so much time lavishing praise on her own district and its leadership — and NOT on the topic at hand — that I wondered how anyone was supposed to decipher any kind of point from it, let alone glean ways that their own district could use this information. I found myself just wanting the PowerPoint in PDF format so I could try to figure out anything I could actually use. Just stop talking already and please let me read instead.

Did you see that dreaded word in the previous paragraph? PowerPoint. Insert your own shuddering reaction here. Don’t get me wrong – PowerPoint, Keynote, Google Slides, Canva, Prezi – they’re all wonderful, powerful tools capable of enhancing your presentation. But they are tools. At the end of the day, no one cares how impressive the builder’s hammer was; they care about what the builder actually built. And a set of PowerPoint slides is only as effective as the message the presenter delivers with them. Transitions, animations, little GIFs embedded in Canva, etc. – they’re all nerdy and sometimes cool things in the programming, but they don’t make the presentation itself any more interesting. Sometimes they actually distract.

By now, you’re probably asking, “Okay, since you’re such a pro at presentations, what should everyone be doing to be like you, smart guy? HUH?!?” The answers are simpler than you might think. From my experience, a good presentation comes down to 5 core ideas:

  1. The old adage, “Begin with the End in Mind.” Don’t just start making slides or writing down notes to read from. Ask yourself, “what ideas or skills should people attending my presentation gain?” Someone who spends their time listening to you ought to get value out of that time. What value will you provide? Plan the takeaways for the audience before you plan the bullets and graphics and speaking points for yourself. Educators should easily recognize these as “learning objectives,” and you need them before you start deciding what to show and say.
  2. If you’re using slides, keep them limited, relevant, and visually engaging. No one, and I mean NO ONE, enjoys experiencing “Death by PowerPoint,” where the presenter hammers everyone with slide after slide, some of which they don’t even bother to feature. Better to have too few slides than too many. For slides that are primarily text, follow the 6×6 Rule (Maximum 6 lines of text, maximum 6 words per line), but be willing to break it if you need to. Use graphics when possible, but make sure the audience can decipher them and that they actually add to your message.
  • Side Note: I used to know a central administrator who insisted that PowerPoint presentations by administrators, particularly campus principals, should be graphics-only with zero text, because “the audience should be listening to words, not reading them.” This was one of the WORST takes I ever heard in my education career. (I believe the technical term is “horsesh**.”) Obviously, don’t beat people down with overloaded text on a slide, but graphics-only slides are there for effect, not messaging. They are NOT the norm.
  1. PREPARE what you’re going to SAY. DO NOT Read your Slides to your Audience (unless they’re a bunch of toddlers who cannot read yet). Your job is to SPEAK TO the points that appear on-screen. Offer details, tell stories, embellish — these things engage the audience. Reading what everyone can already see is BORING, and it’s brutal for the audience. But I know why you’re reading the slides; I’ve been there. You’re not really prepared to speak. You drew up a slide deck, you don’t really know what to say with it, so you’re just turning your eyes to the screen and reading what’s there. Yes, that is better than fail-smiling to the audience because you’ve got no words, but only by about 0.03%. This is why PowerPoint literally has a Notes field for the Presenter view. If you have to use it, use it. Better to read prepared notes from your laptop at the podium than reading the words on the screen that the audience already sees. But YOU have to PREPARE those notes. If you’re not using slides, then you’d really better be prepared to speak, unless you happen to have the natural ability or the experience to start talking and work your way to a coherent message.
  2. Be Energetic, but Slow Down. There’s a thing in education known as “wait-time,” usually reserved for moments when you pose a question to students and need to pause and allow them to think about an answer. Even in a sit-and-get presentation, wait-time is still essential. People can only process so much auditory and visual stimulation in a given timeframe. If that means you have to cut slides and speech for time, so be it. Edit yourself. Your content isn’t so important that 100% of it is absolutely critical and necessary. Figure it out. Speeding through things just to get through all your slides is poor presenting.
  3. Know your Technology. Use your Technology. If you’re personally managing the slides, know how to advance and reverse them ahead of time. It’s frustrating for your audience when you keep saying “Whoops” and struggling to find the correct frame. And USE THE MICROPHONE. You know that person who says, “I’m loud and ya’ll can probably hear me, so I’m not going to use this.” While it may be true that you’re loud, I’ve already stopped listening now, because you’re an idiot. They gave you a microphone so we can hear you better. Please use it. And if it’s a lavalier (the little clip-on with a transmitter box), please clip it to your shirt and belt like it’s designed. Holding a tiny lavalier microphone at your chin is NOT how it was designed, and you’re causing distortion. We cannot understand you. Ask for help before the presentation, lest you look like an amateur or worse. Figure it out.

When it’s all said and done, your presentation comes down to credibility. You as a presenter at least need to look like you know what you’re doing. Even if you enter the room as an expert in your field, if the audience cannot hear or understand you, if you talk too fast, if you’re just reading the slides, if you have too many slides, or if there seems to be no point to what you’re showing and/or saying, it all falls flat. The ability to maintain coherence and competence with the presentation itself builds credibility for you and ultimately strengthens your message so that people remember the information and are perhaps inspired to use it for their own benefit. And that’s the whole purpose of taking the time to make, and attend, a presentation.

Some Funny Things Happened on the Road to Retirement

Listen to this Post

Above Audio Recorded Using:

  • Microphone – Rode Video MicroGo II (USB-C)
  • Hardware – iPad Pro 11″ M4
  • Software – TwistedWave for iOS
  • Additional Software Treatment via MacBook Air M3 13″ – AU HiPass, LoudMax, iZotope RX11 Mouth De-Click

Recorded in my Home Studio

It truly is about time I retired from public education. I’ve actually been planning this for several years now. I came across an old unpublished blog post from January 2021 in which I triumphantly stated that 2021 was “what I intend to be my last year as an educator.” 2021.

The 2020-21 school year was my 27th year in education, when I hit the “magic number” for retirement in Texas: Age + Years of Service = 80. On August 7, 2021, I turned 53 years old, so from that day onward, I was officially eligible to exit my career. But 20-21 was also only Year 1 in my final district, and you might recall that it was also the school year right after the COVID pandemic. What a strange year – our district began the year with 100% distance learning, then later allowed students who wished to pursue in-person instruction, but only with social distancing. Testing procedures were really odd – students could either choose to test or defer until later – but I learned a lot in that unique environment. By August 7 of 2021, I don’t think I was actually ready to retire, after all, so I committed to Year 2 at that campus and in that district. I did truly enjoy the campus where I worked immensely, learn many new skills, had made new friends, and was able to find fulfillment in my work as the Campus Testing Coordinator. So I pressed on…2021-22, 2022-23, then 2023-24.

Each of those next 3 school years grew progressively more difficult, though. The district kept adding tests and testing responsibilities while simultaneously gaslighting everyone with a message of “we’re actually doing less than in years past.” Right. I suppose, as George Costanza said, “it’s not a lie if you believe it.” The State of Texas was also adding new things at least every odd-numbered year. And I was burning out while yearning for more time to do voiceover work, worrying that I might miss a critical chance, if only from the opportunity cost of time spent with education and not VO. So in June 2024, I actually filed the paperwork. Sent a paper copy off via USPS Certified Mail – I still have the receipt. I informed my principal, who was herself moving onto a revised life and career in New Mexico. Also informed the staff. The timing actually seemed perfect – 30 years, weary, new principal, new superintendent – let’s make a break for it.

Into my office walks a former principal of mine from a previous campus, now a district administrator. “I want you to reconsider,” she says. We talk about the bureaucratic issues within the district, as well as my salary, and she pledges to work on a pay raise for me. I figure if she can make something happen with my pay that is worthwhile, I might dig deep and muster up another 3-5 years of effort. So I cancelled my retirement in anticipation of her delivering. She didn’t. Or, to put it more accurately, she couldn’t. With a new superintendent, she found herself professionally pidgeon-holed (districts like to call it “reassigned”) and therefore had very little leverage to influence my pay, at least to the level I hoped. I received a raise beyond the typical x% given to all employees, but it was nowhere near what I had requested or felt like I deserved, given the scope and quality of work I was doing for the campus. “But you’ll like working with [new principal],” I was told in an effort toward consolation.

And I did. Great guy, hard worker, dedicated. Trouble is, he found himself just trying to stay afloat amidst even more district bureaucratic nonsense. Everyone at our campus did. It became comical, and we joked about it openly. I joked freely about these things in e-mails to campus staff. And of course, that got me in a little hot water. “You sound like you’re pitting the campus against the district,” I was told by a central office administrator. No, the district is destroying our morale, and I’m trying to show empathy with our teachers through humor. (But that’s another story for a later post.)

So after year 31, in the spring of 2025, I filed the paperwork again, this time electronically. Then a central admin position came open in another nearby district – “Director of Assessment & Accountability.” Way back in 2018, this was where I was headed in my first district before the rug was yanked out from under me (Another story for still another post.) I apply. I contact this district’s superintendent, also a former principal of mine. (No, I am NOT above leveraging old professional relationships, and neither should you be.) I get an interview. Probably the best performance I ever had in an interview. The committee lead calls and tells me it was a great interview, the committee was very impressed, and he needs to contact my references next.

Now you might be thinking, “What about voiceover? What about THE DREAM?!? Weren’t you ready to commit full-time?” Yes, but this central office job would’ve been a substantial pay increase and set me up for an even more lucrative retirement situation in just a few years. I owe it to myself to try, at least. And if this job is meant to be, I can cancel my retirement again and stick it out a little longer. And a week after the interview, it’s looking like that shall be the plan. They seem to want to hire me. Then another week goes by. And another. And finally, I get the e-mail saying “we have decided to move forward with another candidate for this role.” I figure it’s probably the guy with an Ed.D.; districts love doctorates among central administrators. (Yet another future post.)

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry.” Please don’t feel sorry for me – no condolences, no regrets. I applied, I put in appropriate effort and performed well, but that other district went a different direction. I like to think they’ll regret not hiring me, but it doesn’t matter. In the end, I know from experience that central office work is just a little soul-crushing (wow, that’s FOUR future posts), so that potential additional pay would’ve likely come with…suffering. And now, I simply have to hustle as a freelance VO talent, keep building my skills, market and find clients, and do the work. If I do it right, I may be able to cover the potential difference in salary from that job, and then some. And because I enjoy VO, there won’t be any soul-crushing or suffering. It truly is about time I retired from public education.