The Fund Raiser

Speech Impediment

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By Mark J. Drozdowski

It's early May and my director of development and I are planning alumni-related commencement activities. This marks my first spring graduation (we have one in December) at Fitchburg State College, and I'm finishing my freshman year as the head of our foundation.

At this point, we're discussing the alumni breakfast.

"Alma will give her opening address and introduce the president," my colleague said. Alma is our outgoing alumni board chair, and it's her farewell talk. "Then it's your turn."

"To what?"

"To speak."

"Speak what?"

"You have to give a presentation," he said. "It's an annual tradition."

Me? In front of a sizable alumni audience? A real speech? With a real podium and a mike?

I felt a little queasy.

It's not that I have trouble speaking my mind. I've taught college classes, and have been on the radio. Twice. I've opened my mouth more than a few times with an alumni crowd, and I usually do pretty well.

But a presentation like this is different. It's formal. I'll be standing and everyone else will be sitting, dissecting my every word and wondering just how the college could hire a doofus like me. I won't even be able to temper my nerves with a glass of merlot.

One thing I've learned about being the top fund raiser and alumni person on campus is that you're always pressed for answers, always under a spotlight. Any leader is, you say. Sure, but everyone thinks he can conjure up better ideas for engaging alumni and draining dollars from pocketbooks. I have yet to hear an alumnus tell our CIO how to upgrade the network. Yet everybody seems to know our business. We, in turn, must sift through the rubble of recommendations to find quality fragments. All of which means that our public comments tend to be scrutinized pretty carefully.

"Just get up there and say a few words about this past year," my colleague went on, "and talk a bit about next year. It's not a big deal."

Maybe for you, pal.

Jerry Seinfeld had a shtick about public speaking. He would quote a survey revealing that people feared speaking in public more than anything else. Death was No. 2. He concluded that people would rather die than talk before a crowd. No doubt he was pointing out how difficult his line of work was. Never mind being funny and entertaining on top of it.

Jerry Seinfeld I'm not, but I can be witty on occasion. And I certainly can speak intelligently about alumni relations and fund raising. I figured I would embrace the chance to show folks what I know, and to demonstrate leadership qualities. That is, after all, my job.

Later that day I went about the business of writing my speech. I knew I had to be informative, inspirational, and insightful, all in the course of 10 minutes or so. I couldn't appear indecisive or -- heaven forbid -- insipid. Trite as it is, we all know what they say about initial impressions. This would be mine, at least with the alumni who had never met me.

It would also be an opportune moment to discuss our capital campaign and plant the seed with alumni that they would be asked to participate. So I wrote that message into my speech, along with some nuggets about the importance of giving back and paving the way for future generations of students. All things considered, it wasn't bad. Perhaps a bit mushy in parts, but effective nonetheless. Or so I hoped.

Before delivering it the next morning, I figured I would run it by my harshest critic. My wife read it, changed a few words, and asked me to do a practice run right there in our living room. I used our CD rack as the podium, and our karaoke machine did a fine job as the sound system. A few words into the speech, she stopped me cold.

"You're rushing," she complained. "Slow down and talk. Don't read. And you're not making good eye contact."

Other than that, I was flawless.

I took a deep breath and started again. I remembered the trick of picturing your audience in their underwear, so I thought I'd try it. Somehow, it wasn't a problem.

This time I did better, but I still wasn't entirely comfortable. I went to bed worrying about how badly I would screw up the next morning. Was the speech too hokey? Too schmaltzy? Not schmaltzy enough? What if I'm heckled, or beaned with a home fry? Ten hours to humiliation. Sweet dreams, bud.

Nine hours later I was pacing outside the banquet hall, fine-tuning my oration and gnawing the end off my ballpoint. I greeted alumni as they arrived and made small talk with a few alumni board members. They probably sensed I was agitated, or maybe they figured I'd had too much coffee.

Eight o'clock rolled around and things got underway. Alma gave her talk, a nice, perfectly sensible talk that was neither inspirational nor insipid. It was just right. She had done this before, and it was obvious. She finished and turned the mic over to the president, who gave his patented rabble-rousing performance, unscripted and unrehearsed. The crowd laughed and cheered. They loved him, as usual. He's one of them, a graduate who has returned to lead his college. And he surely has the personality to pull it off.

I was next. I'm not one of them. I'm a hired gun, an Ivy League outsider who writes for highfalutin publications and flaunts "doctor" before his name. All of which masks that I'm really an affable bloke with a healthy sense of humility. I suppose I had to prove it.

So I did. I stood up, absent any hint of fanfare, and delivered my speech. I spoke slowly and didn't read to my audience, which remained fully clothed. I made frequent eye contact all along. My talk was laced with self-deprecating potshots, some of which elicited giggles; other remarks constituted inside jokes to which only my staff responded.

As I spoke, I became more comfortable, more confident, and I hit a stride. I even veered off script without dire consequences. Grabbing the podium at 10 and 2, I commanded attention and, I hope, respect.

Sitting back at my table, I received a few "good job" nods, followed by similar comments when the event closed. At some point I chuckled to myself, realizing I had made way too much of this and had lost sleep for absolutely no reason. Speaking in front of a crowd -- especially a presumably friendly one -- isn't so difficult. As long as you convey confidence and don't take yourself too seriously, it's not so bad.

I'm sure I'll get better at it because I'll have plenty of practice. It's now an important part of my job -- a part I no longer dread. It certainly beats death.