In my former life I used to do a
fair amount of public speaking…at least compared to the very little I do today.
For a while the many invitations had me duped into thinking I was decent at it, but I’ve since recognized that the
multitude of speaking opportunities were much more a byproduct of the stroke of the position
and the organizational clout that came with it than any perceived prowess I
might of thought I possessed at the podium.
There was one particular large
yearly conference that was kind of my baby to organize…or at least that’s the
way I liked to remember it in my head. The truth is there were a host of talented people that
worked tirelessly to put it on (they still
do…and the product is even better), and man
let me tell you, they poured their hearts into it. I remember one year in 2007
working 66 consecutive days leading up to the event without even thinking about
taking a day off. About a week before the conference, I can even recall staying
up for several days without even trying to go to bed (I didn’t even lay down).
In my second year on the job,
the 2007 conference was held at the Hyatt Peachtree in Atlanta. At least
in my own mind, I was just getting the hang of things and really starting to
understand what I thought it took to be adequately prepared. On the second day
of the conference, I would typically give about a 10-15 minute speech to open
the segment and the cool thing was most of it was spent highlighting the great work of
others. The remarks were usually pretty rudimentary, but I would take at least
a month practicing the words several times a day…and do so to the point that
the teleprompter we provided for our plenary speakers was mostly unnecessary
for me…as I had memorized almost every non-extemporaneous word I planned to
deliver (one upside to having to only give one big speech a year).
After an unsettling night’s
sleep leading into day-two of the conference, I awoke about 3:30am and went for
my customary pre-dawn 3-mile run through the underwhelming and somewhat
sketchy streets of downtown Atlanta. The run was uncharacteristically easy that
morning, as my mind was pretty much consumed with the pre-game excitement that
comes with putting on a big conference. Day two was the construction seminar,
and after spending the opening day in the production booth with a colleague and
good friend Alan Freeman calling the show for nearly 1300 delegates (that was
the real nerve-racking duty), it would soon be time to take the stage and do
what I loved.
After showering I walked down to
the plenary room about 5:30am. The ballroom was long and narrow and set with 1300
classroom-style seating so the rows seemed like they stretched for a mile to the
back of the room. Though I’d probably run through the speech 200 times leading
up to this day, I thought the pre-dawn solitude would provide the perfect time
to walk up to the dais and rehearse the speech one more time. About mid-way
into the remarks, I planned on talking about my father and the pride he felt
shortly before he passed away when he learned I’d been given the opportunity to
hold a prominent job for the organization he so loved. The segment came about
5-minutes into the remarks, and though the story was difficult, I’d managed to
get through it countless times without stumbling on all the previous run-throughs.
The mic was oddly hot that early
hour, and as I began practicing to the then empty and cavernous room, it was
clear that all the previous rehearsals had paid off. I felt confident,
comfortable and moved through the first paragraphs with ease. Then as got near
the part about my father, I could feel the emotion swelling up. When I
got to the specific section…I broke down for the very first time.
Thankfully I composed myself…but
it was a struggle. I remember thinking “ain’t this a bitch?” Here’d I gone
through this over and over without a problem…and now…just hours from show
time…I was really struggling (oddly…the stuff I’d read suggested that preparing
would help you overcome the intrusion of emotion on game day). After I finished
rehearsing, I started to walk off the stage when a comforting and familiar
voice from behind the curtain said “you sounded fantastic…you’re going to do a
great job.” For a second I thought it was god, but then realized that unbeknownst to me, my friend and teleprompter guy Danny Patsko had been sitting backstage
getting ready and listening the entire time.
I was embarrassed, and remember
apologizing for getting emotional. I went on to tell him I wasn’t sure how it
happened…as I’d practiced a gazillion times without a problem…and it was
frustrating to deal with it now. Then, we had an exchange that I will never
forget…and it went something like this…
Me: “I’ve practiced this thing a
thousand times…and I know every word. If I feel myself getting emotional and
get the sense I can’t get through it, I’ll just skip this section and move onto
the next piece. Just scroll down on the prompter if you see me veer off
script…and you’ll see where I’m picking up right after the story about my dad.”
Danny: “No…don’t do that. It
wouldn’t be a good idea.”
Me: “What do you mean no? If I
can’t get through it…I don’t want to breakdown so just skip over it. I’m not
going to make a fool of myself, so if I want to leave it out…we’re not going to
do it.”
Danny: “Well…we could do that,
but I’ve read through this thing twice now and just heard you deliver it… the
truth is it is by far the best part of the speech. The story about your dad is
the thing folks will remember. Not the charts, not the stats, not the
substance…but they’ll remember you talking about your father. If you feel
yourself getting choked up, just get through it…people will understand…but most
of all…they will be touched.”
Me: “Pack up your crap and get
out of here…you’re fired.” Okay…that’s not what I said. Plus, if I'd have tried to fire Danny...I would have been canned. I guess it was something more more like
“Okay…well you know this stuff better than I do…I’ll give it a try.”
So later that morning, when the
show began, I got through my remarks and the story about my dad. Thankfully…I
didn’t breakdown, but I was clearly right on the edge…especially at the end.
It’s funny, I used to do presentations like this all the time. I build animated PowerPoints with video,
music and colorful chats and data that
would make the world’s hippest Prezi creator weep like a bullied schoolchild. The
substance of the presentations was compelling, but now years later, people rarely ever
come up to me and say anything about the numbers I showed or the fluorescent trend lines that floated over
graphics. I normally only get one thing…and it’s usually about some stories
they remembering hearing…like the one I told about my dad and the IBEW.
So…what’s the point of all this?
Maybe it’s that like
life, making an impact on people is often
much less about the substance…than it is about connecting emotionally. Have a
great weekend, and if you can, do something that would make a good story
someday.
A friend and mentor once told me that the
key to good writing was “seven drafts.” Well, if that’s true, than this
hurriedly written, non-proofed pile is on the other end of the spectrum. Sorry
for all the typos, bad spelling and just plain lousy grammar.
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