Get Off the High Horse - Part 1

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You're going to write a speech. And you're scared to death. Sure, I know you're not afraid of the speechmaking. Spouting it out is comparatively easy; in fact, it may be fun. But writing—ah! That is another story.

But relax, and let's talk about it. Push aside the paper and pencil, or if you are planning to dictate your speech, tell Miss What's-Her-Name to come back later. Somehow this invitation to make a speech puffs you up like a gas balloon. Why, I don't know. You're the same person you were before you took the phone call or read the letter. The ideas you will present to these people will be the same old two-by-two's that you've been giving the barber and the bartender. There is nothing startling or revolutionary about these ideas. Well, if you are the same person with the same ideas, what's the sense of getting puffed up?

So let's deflate and discuss why they asked you to make this speech. I don't mean what they told you in the invitation—let's go into the real why. Is it because Whosis is the program chairman, and he knows you or has heard of you? Or maybe somebody has asked your manager in Fort Worth, and he tried to think of somebody and sold you to them. Or perhaps they've got twenty-seven turndowns and in desperation they are grabbing at you. Most invitations are like that. So let's not get puffed up over the bid.

Then let's consider what they want. Well, they want you to talk for twenty or thirty minutes. They hope you will be good, but they have their ringers crossed. They want you to tell them something, or to sell them something, and they hope you'll do it in a lively, amusing, and interesting manner that keeps them awake. But they're not too hopeful. They have been stung again and again, and here they are stuck with you and they hope for the best.

Don't let any of the externals of this invitation confuse you. Perhaps they did ask for a biographical sketch and your photo. They told you they want to run them in the local newspapers, but don't let that fool you. They need the publicity to get a crowd at the meeting. Then, too, the chairman may have mentioned that little cocktail session before the meeting. But that, too, is custom.

So let's be cold in our analysis of this bid to you. Perhaps the picture is not too flattering, but it's the McCoy. I've been on both sides. I've been the committee, and I've been the guest speaker, and I know. I'm bringing it to you to deflate you, to puncture your pomposity, so that you'll get off the high horse. For I know that if I get you down to the realities at the start, I'll do you a big favor and I'll do your audience a big favor.

Why do I bother to blot out this picture you have of yourself as a guest speaker? Well, I've done a lot of ghostwriting—putting together speeches for others to give. An associate asks you to write a speech for him. You discuss the subject matter, the occasion, the group, and you write it. You bring it in, and he reads it, slowly, carefully. Then he clears his throat. "This is good, but I wonder if it has the dignity I should have in addressing this group?"

You feel like saying "Nuts," but he's the boss, or an associate you don't want to offend. You realize that he's not considering this speech as he should. That he's pouted up like a pigeon and he won't be happy until he has added to the script a number of dignified words, preferably those of seven letters, words which are not his, which he may have trouble pronouncing and with which he isn't too familiar.