The Quiet Work of Leadership: Reflections from the Front Steps

Most mornings, before the sun has fully decided whether it’s showing up for work, I’m already standing on the front steps of St. Stephen Protomartyr School. Rain or shine, heat index over 110, or wind chill flirting with -20, I’m there—coffee in one hand, Knights of Columbus mini rosary in the other, greeting kids by name as they tumble out of cars like clowns from a circus wagon.

It’s not just a habit. It’s a ministry. Each “Good morning, buddy” or “Glad you’re here!” is my small daily sermon, a reminder that someone notices them. Someone sees them.

This has been my rhythm for decades—41 years in Catholic education, with 15 spent wrangling middle schoolers and 26 as an administrator. Along the way, I’ve been honored with recognitions—Who’s Who in America Teachers, the Notre Dame Golden Apple Awards, and even a nod as a finalist for the St. Rose Philippine Duchesne Principal of the Year. They were affirmations, yes, but never the goal. The real reward was seeing a student who once struggled stand tall, confident, ready to take on the world.

Recently, I was invited to speak for the Annual Catholic Appeal. They told me they saw drive, humility, and charisma—three words I don’t often hear in the same sentence. It reminded me of the early days launching the Saint Patrick Center drives, a wild little idea that snowballed into more than half a million dollars raised to fight homelessness. All because a few of us said “yes.”

And yet—here’s the honest part—it’s easy to feel invisible in your own house. In our school yearbook, I’m squeezed between the pastor and the administrative assistant, like a footnote in the margins. I’ve never been the “spotlight” educator. Sometimes I wonder: does quiet leadership still register in a world that craves the loudest voice in the room?

I turned 63 this year. I’ve still got gas in the tank, but I can feel the mileage. Not long ago, three fellow administrators and I celebrated a combined 150 years of service to the Catholic community. One hundred and fifty years! That’s enough time to part the Red Sea twice. And yet, I hear the whispers:

“Why does the Archdiocese keep sending us retreads?”

Ouch! That line was from a former Administrative Assistant, someone in a role that typically should have had the principal's back!

So, I wrestle with the questions all quiet leaders eventually face:

Should I grow thicker skin?
Should I learn the art of self-promotion?
Or should I keep showing up, steady and unseen, like Christ, who prepared others to carry on His mission and never demanded applause?

I don’t have all the answers. But I do know this: leadership doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it just stands faithfully on the front steps, holding the door open for others to walk through.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.