I was flattered to be asked to speak at the meeting, even if the invitation was casually delivered. I had been talking to the president of the club on the street corner as we waited for the walk signal and he mentioned that maybe I’d like to say a few words at their next meeting. I’ll be there, I said.
And I was there. Early. People were milling about the coffee machine, some of them starting to fill up the chairs at the back when I arrived. The president greeted me warmly. Said he was glad I could make it. I was a little nervous and headed for a seat, so I could be alone a few minutes and collect my thoughts. I sat in the front row. Easier to get to the podium from there.
The chairs behind me started to fill up but with only a few minutes to the start of the meeting, I counted only 40 people, a rather small turnout, I thought. Did the organizers not advertise the meeting topic, the location, the guest speakers?
Oh well, better a big fish in a small pond. And as the chairman droned out announcements before the first speaker got started, I began to relax and enjoy the occasion. I felt good. Almost elated. This is the way the picture was supposed to develop. First a writer, then a speaker. Who knows what after that? If this audience was small, all the better. A good chance to sharpen my speaking skills where there was less at stake.
The meeting could have stood with a little more formality. The chairman sat down and the first speaker stood up and there was no indication what the audience could expect to transpire during the rest of the evening. At 7:45 p.m., The Subject At Hand began to unravel before us all and a minute later, I imagined I heard the sound of 80 eyelids falling shut. Five minutes later, heads began to bob and weave and by 8 p.m., arms were falling off chests and hanging limply the sides of slumping bodies. Here and there, papers and books dropped off laps onto the floor and for a while I didn’t know whether I had come to a lecture or a slumber party.
By 8:30 p.m., And In Conclusion I’d Just Like To Say was obviously a long way off. At this rate, we’d all be a lot older when we left the room than when we entered it. And the orator was just getting wound up, like a storm gathering clouds over the next hill. He’d spent a lot of time on this speech and we were going to too.
But in a way, opportunity lie before me and I began to wonder if Providence had even arranged things this way. By the time I got up, the audience would be crying for something light, easy and interesting. I’d be like a lone, twinkling star in a dark and sullen sky.
In contrast to the speaker, who, by 9 o’clock was still churning out little stories the story just before the last story reminded him of, my cache of little-known anecdotes would glisten like a rainbow after a downpour.
Finally, like a jet decelerating for its approach to the runway, the speaker began heading for home and I knew my time was near. My palms began to sweat and I felt a slight lump in my throat, but I was ready.
To scattered and brief applause the speaker sat down and the chairman stood up. Heck of a speech, the chairman said. Didn’t know there was that much to know about that. Let’s hear another round of applause.
“Well, thank you all very much for coming out tonight,” the chairman finally said. “There are tea biscuits, scones and a big pot of coffee at the back of the room. Feel free to stick around for a while.”
I applauded, limply, like the rest, and shaped my face into a stunned smile. Even thanked the speaker for his interesting talk.
But my graciousness ended when the president of the club, who obviously had forgotten our little talk on the street corner, came over and asked me if I’d help stack the chairs.
I never wanted to be a public speaker in the first place.
©1987 Jim Hagarty
