Why Good Programs Disappear

☕ Sunday Morning Coffee

I've seen some extraordinary programs disappear over the course of my career. Programs that changed lives. Programs that improved educational outcomes, strengthened facility culture, opened doors to employment, and gave incarcerated people opportunities they had never imagined possible. Programs that worked. In some cases, programs I built myself. And then, one day, they were gone.

Not because they failed, or because students stopped benefiting, or because the need disappeared. Sometimes, all it took was a change in leadership. A superintendent retired. A director accepted another position. A new administration arrived with different priorities. A passionate program champion moved on. And something that took years to build quietly faded away.

If you've worked in corrections, education, or the nonprofit world long enough, you've probably witnessed this yourself. It's one of the most frustrating realities of our field, and it raises a question I think every leader should be asking: Are we building programs that work, or are we building programs that only work while we're there?

The Champion Problem

Most innovative programs begin with a champion. Someone sees a need, imagines a better way, and refuses to accept that things have to remain as they are. That person builds relationships, secures resources, persuades skeptics, navigates bureaucracy, and occasionally performs what can only be described as administrative gymnastics. I've been that person more times than I can count, and I love those people. They're the ones who make things happen.

But there's a danger in building a program around one person's passion, relationships, and institutional knowledge.

When that person leaves, what remains?

Does anyone else understand the vision?

Are the partnerships documented?

Does the next leader know why certain decisions were made?

Is the program embedded in the organization's operations, or does it exist primarily because one determined person keeps pushing it forward?

A passionate champion can launch an extraordinary program, but passion alone won't sustain it. If the program can't survive the departure of its champion, we haven't finished building it.

Innovation Is Exciting. Institutionalization Is Not.

Let's face it. Launching something new is fun. There's energy. Possibility. Excitement. People love announcing new initiatives. We cut ribbons, take photographs, write press releases, and celebrate the launch, but nobody gets particularly excited about documenting procedures.

Or creating implementation guides.

Or developing succession plans.

Or figuring out which budget line will support the program three years from now.

Yet those are the things that determine whether an innovation becomes a lasting part of an organization.

I've come to believe that the least glamorous part of program development may be the most important, because launching a program and building an institution's capacity to sustain it are two very different accomplishments.

Sometimes the Program Was Never Really a Program

This may sound harsh, but I've seen initiatives that were essentially a collection of activities held together by one person's determination. They had a name. They had a logo. They had enthusiastic participants. They may even have had impressive results, but they didn't have an operating model. There was no clear documentation of how the program worked, what resources it required, how staff were trained, how outcomes were measured, or how new people could replicate it. The program lived in someone's head, and when that person left, much of the program left with them.

That's not a criticism of the person who built it. In corrections, we're often creating innovative programs while simultaneously managing daily operations, staffing shortages, security restrictions, and about seventeen other emergencies. Documentation doesn't always rise to the top of the priority list, but it should.

Because if we want good programs to last, we have to make them transferable.

The New Leader Wants to Make Their Mark

Here's another uncomfortable truth. Leadership transitions often bring a desire for something new.

New priorities.

New initiatives.

New terminology.

New strategic plans.

Sometimes the new leader inherits a perfectly good program but doesn't understand its history or value. Sometimes the program is closely associated with the previous administration. Sometimes the new leader simply wants to establish a different direction. And occasionally, we find ourselves reinventing something that was working beautifully five years earlier. With a new name, of course.

I've watched this happen in education and corrections, and it represents an enormous waste of institutional knowledge, resources, and opportunity. New leadership should absolutely bring fresh perspectives. Organizations need to evolve, but innovation shouldn't require erasing what came before.

One of the first questions a new leader should ask is: "What's already working here that I need to protect?" That's just as important as identifying what needs to change.

Funding Is Necessary, but It Isn't a Sustainability Plan.

We've all seen the grant-funded program that produces wonderful results for two or three years. Then the grant ends, and so does the program. Sometimes that's unavoidable, but too often, sustainability becomes a conversation we have six months before the funding disappears. By then, we're scrambling.

Writing proposals.

Seeking donations.

Trying to convince leadership that the program is essential.

Sustainability should be part of the design from the beginning.

What will this program cost to maintain?

Which resources are essential?

Can it be integrated into existing operations?

Are there multiple funding sources?

Can partnerships reduce costs without compromising quality?

What evidence will we need to demonstrate its value?

And perhaps most importantly, does the organization have a genuine commitment to continuing the work?

Because while a grant can launch a program, itt can’t substitute for institutional commitment.

Build Something That Can Survive You

Over the years, I've become increasingly interested in what happens after the person who created a program walks away. Not because I expect leaders to be replaceable in some cold, mechanical sense, but because I believe the greatest measure of leadership is what continues after we're gone. If we're serious about sustainability, there are some things we need to do differently.

Document the model. Write down how the program works. Capture the curriculum, implementation processes, staffing requirements, partnerships, and lessons learned. Make it possible for someone else to understand and replicate the work.

Distribute ownership. Don't allow every decision, relationship, and piece of institutional knowledge to flow through one person. Build a team that understands the mission and can carry it forward.

Train more than one person. Cross-training isn't just an operational convenience. It's a sustainability strategy.

Embed the program in organizational routines. If an initiative depends on special favors, informal arrangements, or the goodwill of one administrator, it's vulnerable. Build it into schedules, budgets, policies, staff responsibilities, and planning processes.

Measure what matters. Collect evidence that demonstrates the program's value. Not just how many people participated, but what changed because they did.

Build relationships beyond the champion. Partners should know the organization, not just the individual who recruited them. A leadership transition shouldn't mean rebuilding every external relationship from scratch.

None of these things is particularly glamorous, but all of them matter.

Sometimes We Have to Let Programs Go

I also want to be clear that not every program should survive forever. Needs change. Evidence evolves. Technology advances. Funding priorities shift. Sometimes a program that was innovative twenty years ago is no longer the best way to serve people today, and sometimes an honest evaluation reveals that something we believed in isn't producing the outcomes we'd hoped for.

That's not failure. That's learning.

The goal isn't to preserve every program simply because someone worked hard to create it. The goal is to make thoughtful decisions based on evidence, need, and mission, not personalities or leadership preferences. If a program needs to end, let's make that decision intentionally. Let's learn from it. Let's preserve what worked, and let's avoid throwing away valuable institutional knowledge simply because the person who created it is no longer in the building.

The Real Legacy of Leadership

I've been fortunate to help create programs throughout my career that I'm incredibly proud of, but as I've gotten older, my definition of success has changed. I'm less interested in whether people remember who started something and more interested in whether the work continues.

Are students still benefiting?

Are staff still using the practices?

Are partnerships still producing opportunities?

Has the program evolved and improved?

Did the organization become stronger because we were there?

That's the kind of legacy worth building, because the real test of an innovative program isn't what happens when its champion is standing in the room. It's what happens when that person leaves. The best programs don't need their founders to remain extraordinary. They need their founders to build something that can become extraordinary without them, and perhaps that's one of the most important responsibilities we have as leaders.

Not simply to create something good, but to build something good enough, and strong enough, to last. And to be gracious enough to sustain something that was built by our predecessor(s).

I hope it feels a little like fall where you are this morning. Crisp, clean, fall air is full of possibilities, isn’t it? Make sure you have a steaming cup of coffee while you enjoy it. Cheers!