Written by Eric Rath
When I took over the Soaring Pride Band at Canyon High School in the fall of 2020, we had 126 students. This fall, we’ll be approaching 200—in a school of just over 1,000. In a school that size, a healthy band program usually makes up about 10% of a school’s population. We’re closing in on 20%.
That’s a good problem to have. It’s also a real one. Growth like that can dilute the culture you’ve worked hard to build. A program of 126 can feel like a family almost by default: Everyone knows everyone, and a director can keep a mental note on most of the kids who need extra attention. Once we surpassed 150 members, nothing was automatic anymore—not culture, not announcements, not bus lists, not getting in line to eat Chick-fil-A…
There’s a reason for that, and it’s not just a band-hall phenomenon. Malcolm Gladwell writes about it in The Tipping Point, citing the anthropologist Robin Dunbar: somewhere around 150 people, a group stops being able to function on relationships alone. Below that number, people can self-organize informally, and trust travels naturally through the group. Cross that line, and the group needs real structure, or it starts to fray.
Students want to belong somewhere, and they want to know they won’t get lost in a hallway that keeps growing every year. So two years ago, we built something to make sure they wouldn’t have to wonder.
The Squad System
Every member of our Leadership Team now has a “squad” made of six to eight students in their immediate care who play the same instrument. Squad Leaders communicate rehearsal plans, check in on practice assignments, ask about other classes, and make sure their squad has someone to sit with at lunch.
We coach students to go to their Squad Leader first, whether the need is a missing piece of music or help with an Algebra assignment. The Squad Leader is the first line of support, not the director’s office.
It started out of necessity. We couldn’t keep up with the individual check-ins that a smaller program allowed. But it’s become one of the most important things we do, and not because it solved a logistics problem. It solved a belonging problem, by breaking 200 kids back down into something closer to the size a person can actually hold in their head and heart at once.
What I didn’t anticipate when I designed it was how much bridge-building it would do—work that directors can’t do on their own. A Squad Leader, perhaps from a stable home, is now checking in daily on a freshman from a hard situation at home. A student in the top ten of their class is the first point of contact for a kid who’s struggling to keep up. Our senior Drum Major walks a reluctant freshman to the cafeteria so he doesn’t eat alone on the first day of school.
None of that happens by accident. We train our Squad Leaders to lead with empathy and remember what it felt like to be the new kid. The payoff is a program where the diversity of our student body isn’t something we manage from the podium—it’s something the students celebrate, squad by squad, every day.
The Weekly Email
The second piece is simpler, but it pairs with the first in a way that makes both work better. Every Sunday, I send a single email covering the week ahead: rehearsal schedules, deadlines, uniform notes, and whatever else stakeholders need to walk into Monday with no surprises. Because everyone knows it’s coming, it also cuts down on the day-to-day questions I’d otherwise field one at a time.
The trust it builds has been the most gratifying part. More than one parent has told me that other teachers and coaches at the school should learn from us how to better communicate, because with the band, they always know what’s going on. That kind of trust doesn’t happen on its own. It’s built one consistent Sunday at a time, until parents stop expecting to be surprised.
When the Culture Takes Over
Both systems have a life of their own now. Veteran band parents orient incoming freshman families the same way our Squad Leaders orient new students: This weekly email is your lifeline—if you have a question, it’s probably already been answered on Sunday. We never asked them to preach this part of our culture, but they’ve bought in so strongly that our parents pass this on reflexively. When the culture becomes automatic, you can feel a sense of accomplishment.
I still think about the rehearsal where I watched this happen in real time. A freshman started walking toward me with a question. His Squad Leader overheard him mention it to another student, and cut him off before he ever reached me.
“Bro,” he said, “do you even read the weekly email?”
It was a small moment, but it illustrated just how big the concepts had become.









