In 8th grade, our English teacher marched all of us into the auditorium to practice “extemporaneous speaking.” We were all terrified. He had set up a microphone and speaker system and had placed our class, as well as that of another teacher, (part of the pod system, popular in the 1960’s) in the first 10 rows of seats, to serve as our audience. Talk about pressure.
In fairness to our teacher, we had been learning about public speaking for the past two weeks and had learned the important elements of a speech, voice projection, working with a microphone and body language skills; like eye contact and how not to appear nervous. At that moment however, I did not recall a whole lot about those lectures. All I noticed were about 50 of my friends, ready to laugh and mock us as we practiced our new public speaking abilities.
Our teacher announced the rules for our little session on fright control. He said there would be no heckling from the audience, no laughing, and most of all, no attempts to disrupt either the speaker or the class. Each speech would be 5 minutes long and none of the speakers knew what the topic would be until 1 minute before the speech. We would all draw our topic from a fish bowl of topics he had created the night before. Now I completely understood the meaning of the word “extemporaneous.”
He further explained that we would thank him later in our lives because the ability to prepare a speech, deliver it effectively, with little or no preparation, would be vital for our personal success in our future careers. He further stated that those skills would be even more critical, in the game of life. I did not believe a word of it. All I wished for was for this day to end and for me to survive this little escapade. He rolled out a small table with the fishbowl on it, that also contained our topics and he then set up a mobile blackboard with the main topics of how to present the speech listed, in order on the board. He told us we could all use it as a reference while we prepared our speech. I do not recall looking at it prior to my speech. I think I was not alone in that regard.
The one break I did receive that day was that the order of speaking would not be alphabetically. Having the last name of “Burley,” I would normally have been the second person to endure this torture. Rather, our teacher had a second fishbowl ready, that he now removed from beneath the podium. He would draw the first name and then, the speaker, when he or she had concluded their talk, would draw the name of the next hapless presenter. Lucky me. I felt like I had won the lottery. Little did I know that was not in fact the truth. I would have less topics remaining in the other fish bowl, because he also allowed the person picking the topic to throw back his or her choice and take another, if the first selection was not to their liking. As luck would have it, I would be the last person to present and as such, the final topic would be all that remained and most likely, it would have been rejected by many other speakers. That is exactly what happened.
When my turn to speak arrived, the audience was certainly ready for this event to be over. Most of the speakers, as you might have guessed, were nervous, spoke either too rapidly or too slow, or lamely stumbled through their assigned 5 minutes. A couple of speeches were actually pretty good and one or two even revealed classmates who had a distinct talent for this type of activity. A few even seemed to enjoy it. Most, however, simply tried to muddle their way through, with the least amount of pain, in the shortest possible time frame. A vast majority of these speeches lasted less than 3 minutes. I could see the disappointment on the face of my teacher and the bored looks of most of the audience. I never wanted something to end so desperately in my entire life. Alas it was not to be. I would have to perform.
When my turn came, the teacher announced that this would be the final topic. A loud cheer rose up from the students assembled in front of me. He told them all to be quiet. My name was announced for all to hear and I slowly reached into the fishbowl to select my topic. I knew I would have to present about what was written on that small white piece of paper. There were no other pieces of paper remaining. No other options would be presented. I reached in, pulled out the topic, opened it slowly and read what I would now speak on for 5 horrible minutes. It simply stated that, “Beauty is fragile.” I stared at it again and again and it did not change. I instantly understood why this topic had most likely been refused by so many other speakers. Where would I start, what would I say about beauty? More importantly, I was in 8th grade, just ready to begin high school. What did I know about beauty at such a young age? I could feel panic rolling over my entire body.
I do not recall a lot about what I said that day, but I do remember talking about physical beauty and the fact that you can take a baseball to your face and mess up all that beauty pretty quickly. (Hence the fragile part of the topic.) I also recall trying to make eye contact with the audience and seeing the smirks on all of their faces. Many of them knew what I was going through and also, many of them had already rejected my topic for the very reasons that I now stood before them. “Better him than me.” was no doubt what they were all thinking. I ceased making any additional attempts at eye contact with the audience.
Mercifully, it all came to an end. I was still alive, no one was hurt and I had not been heckled. My teacher thanked me and told the group that I had a lot of courage for taking that topic, (like I had a choice.) and that I had a good speaking voice. I returned to my seat, the teacher summed up what we had all learned and the class was dismissed. Most of us forgot or tried to forget, what had just happened. That is not the approach that I chose.
Over the years, I have thought about that “adventure” quite a lot. My career has called upon me to speak frequently in front of large groups, often with little, or no preparation. The strategies I learned in that class and the way to prepare speeches, remain with me to this day. I rarely reflected on the actual topic I spoke about that day, until later in my life and I believe I would now have a very different answer, that differs greatly from the one I blurted out so many years ago in Kenmore, New York.
I would now say that beauty is fragile because it does not last. Exterior beauty fades with age. Interior beauty grows and matures with the individual. Exterior beauty is judged by everyone in seconds, in what we call “first impressions.” Interior beauty is measured by what we do, who we are and what we become…on the inside. Interior beauty is not fragile, rather it is solid steel, forged by the toil of our individual experiences; our loves our beliefs and our sense of self-worth. Interior beauty really never fades and interior beauty is what we really are and what we mean to others. Interior beauty is what makes us human and what makes us special. Interior beauty never fades and it never dies, because it lives on the hearts of those special to us.
No, I did not say anything like that almost 50 years ago, in the city where I was born and raised. I did not know then what I know now and I did not know then that I would use my public speaking skills so frequently throughout my life. I never did thank that special teacher back then, but I will do that now. Thank you Mr. Hanlon, you taught me a lesson then, that I still use to this day. What greater impact can any teacher ever have, or wish to make? You made a difference. You made an impact. I will never forget that day so long ago and I will never forget all that you have done for me and everyone you have taught. Teachers may never know what they have set in motion, but they can hope that it will carry on. Beauty is indeed fragile, yet so is life and most of life is extemporaneous.