I'm standing next to Katy on stage at the Women Airforce Service Pilots Homecoming dinner with a kazoo in my hand, preparing to introduce our keynote speaker.

This is not where I thought my speaking and emcee career would take me.

Yet here we are. Because somewhere along the way, Katy and I decided that if we're going to introduce speakers, we're going do it differently than the way everyone else does.

Because most people do introductions wrong.

You know the ones. The monotone recitation of credentials. The LinkedIn bio copy-paste special. The "She's worked at seventeen companies and has twelve degrees and here are forty-seven awards she's won" marathon that makes the audience check their phones while the speaker stands there, smiling awkwardly, waiting for the torture to end.

Nobody remembers those.

Nobody connects during those.

And if we're being honest, nobody gives a damn about those.

So when Katy and I were tapped to introduce Nancy Parrish as the keynote speaker, we did what we always do: we got on the phone with her first.

Not to get her bio. To get to know her.

The Pre-Game Matters More Than The Game

We schedule calls. Multiple calls. Not interviews - conversations. We ask questions nobody puts in speaker bios:

• What's the story nobody knows about you?
• What do you want the audience to feel?
• How do you actually like to be introduced?

That last question is where Nancy got us.

"I'm just a gal who didn't know what she wanted to be when she grew up… and still doesn't."

Perfect. Real. Human.

"Okay, but seriously," we said, "how are you normally introduced?"

"Usually with the Army Herald Trumpets."

On both ends of the call, there was laughter. There were smiles. There was connection.

Nancy just told us something important: she values humor. She doesn't take herself too seriously. She wants to connect, not impress.

And her quick-witted response both impressed us and created a line of connection with us.

Research shows that pre-event connection between hosts and speakers reduces performance anxiety by 23%. 

Which is how we ended up with kazoos.

The Avenger Field Philharmonic (Kazoo Division)

The night of the event, Katy and I took the stage.

"We are fortunate to have Nancy Parrish, daughter of WASP Deanie Bishop Parrish, as our keynoter tonight. Now, when we asked Nancy how she likes to be introduced, she said she's just a gal who didn't know what she wanted to be when she grew up… and still doesn't."

The audience is smiling. She's human. She's one of them.

"Then we said, 'No, seriously, how are you normally introduced?' To which she immediately replied, and I quote: 'Usually it's with the Army Herald Trumpets.'"

"Which… is great. Very regal. Very stately. Very brass-heavy. Unfortunately, it turns out that trumpeters are very unionized… and they're Army, soooooooo."

Laughter is building (because most of us in the room at Air Force).

"But we didn't want to disappoint, so we called in some favors from a lesser-known but equally powerful wind section… The Avenger Field Philharmonic. Kazoo Division."

With great flourish and over-exaggerated flair, Katy and I stood at attention, kazoos in hand.

"PREEEEEE-sent. Kazoos!"

With militant precision, we brought kazoos ceremoniously to our gullets and kazoo'd what I believe might have actually been the Olympic fanfare. Complete with a bass note between flourishes.

There may have been harmony.

There might have been multiple keys kazoo'd.

There was definitely laughter.

From the audience. From Nancy. From us.

To this day, our emails with Nancy always include some kazoo reference.

What Actually Just Happened (Besides Absurdity)

Here's what most people miss about that moment: it wasn't just funny. It was functional.

When people laugh together, their brains release dopamine. 

By the time Nancy took the stage, the audience wasn't a crowd of strangers evaluating a speaker. They were people who just laughed with her. They were already on her side.

That's not an accident. That's design.

And here's the selfish part nobody talks about: the kazoo moment also connected us to Nancy. We didn't just introduce a speaker. We built a relationship.

An Introduction Nobody Remembers vs. The One Nobody Forgets

Most introductions are designed to impress.

We design ours to connect.

There's a difference.

Impressive introductions list achievements. Connected introductions create moments.

Impressive introductions establish authority. Connected introductions establish humanity.

Impressive introductions make speakers look good. Connected introductions make speakers feel good, which makes them be good.

When Nancy walked on stage after the kazoo fanfare, she was laughing. She was loose. She was connected to a room full of people who were already on her side.

That's what those pre-event calls create. That's what the kazoo delivered.

That's the difference between an introduction anyone could read from LinkedIn and an introduction that creates a memory.

What We're Actually Doing When We Emcee

Here's what Katy and I figured out years ago: our job isn't to introduce speakers.

Our job is to be the bridge between the speaker and the audience.

We take time very few others take: multiple phone calls, conversations instead of interviews, learning the language and rhythm of the speaker.

We ask questions nobody else asks: not just "what's your bio" but "what do you want people to feel?"

We create moments nobody else creates. Because a kazoo fanfare says something a credentials list never can: we took you seriously enough to be ridiculous.

The psychology is clear: preparation reduces anxiety. Humor accelerates trust. Shared laughter creates bonds.

And here's what the research can't measure: the emails that still reference kazoos years later. The relationships that started with a phone call and turned into friendship. The moments that become stories people tell.

You can't copy-paste that from LinkedIn.

You can't read it off a teleprompter.

You have to show up. Have the conversations. Do the work nobody sees. Take the risk that maybe, just maybe, pulling out kazoos in front of 300 people will land.

(It did.)

The Real Question

Next time you're introducing someone at a conference, a meeting or a dinner, ask yourself: what am I creating here?

A list of credentials nobody will remember?

Or a moment nobody will forget?

Because the audience doesn't need another LinkedIn bio read aloud.

They need a reason to care.

They need a bridge to the speaker.

They need connection.

Sometimes that connection sounds like Army Herald Trumpets.

Sometimes it sounds like kazoos played with militant precision by two emcees who absolutely knew better but did it anyway.

The difference is whether you took the time to find out which one mattered.

We did.

And somewhere, Nancy Parrish is probably reading this and laughing.

(She'd better be. I still have that kazoo.)