The hallmarks of a great speaker

The altercation at 8.03 pm was as unexpected as it was disturbing. Nobody was prepared for the marital flare-up that evening. Had the janitor not taken his Easter holiday, we could easily have lost the venue for good.

The speakers’ session began at 8 pm on the dot. The jovial and expectant audience assembled in the art centre’s drawing-room where still life works of fruit bowls, urns and coffee pots adorned the spotlit walls, and outside the French windows, the trains of wisteria signalled another glorious late spring evening.  

As the founder of the club, I made the opening remarks and I spoke of the club’s ethos – to allow people, from all backgrounds the opportunity to improve themselves for professional, personal or social reasons.

‘At the heart of endeavour is courage – the word ‘courage’ derives from the French word ‘Coeur’ meaning heart. A life without courage is an empty life. To achieve our goals, we must extend ourselves, and we must learn and grow.

‘For many, public speaking is an inhibitor. It stifles your personality. It prevents you from sharing your message and being your best self. By sharing our knowledge and experience we help others grow. If you want to help yourself, help others. Speaking is a leadership role. You’re managing people’s time and people’s time is their most valuable asset. As a leader, set high standards for yourself and for others to follow. Share a message of optimism that creates an environment for individuals to transcend themselves.

‘As a young man, I was a terrified speaker. But I was determined not to wallow in the shadow of mediocrity. The only way I could move was forwards. And the exciting thing about stepping toe to toe with anxiety is observing its rapid retreat. Anxiety is an illusion that can strangle your soul if you allow it.

‘The only time that public speaking matters is when you’re doing it for real. Please see the club as a training ground where it’s ok to make mistakes, and it’s ok to explore the tools of expression. Public speaking is a skill; we’ll talk plenty about theory, but this is where the theory and the practice hit the road. 

‘Thank you for coming this evening, and it’s terrific to see so many new faces. We have a diversity of talent in this club, and everybody’s contribution makes it a unique and special occasion. So relax and make yourself comfortable and please, enjoy the ride and come back next time.’

Before the gentle ripple of applause began, the door was flung open. Raised voices smashed the group’s concentration, and they craned their necks towards the door – what was the commotion? Then an enormous man half stumbled in, only to be dragged out again a moment later. The door closed with a bang.

They say there’s a first time for everything. It was unusual - unseen in the art centre’s tranquil setting.

I put my head around the door, and there stood the enormous man with his head in his hands. With him stood a tiny woman; the person who had pushed him in and dragged him out.

‘Can I help you?’ I offered.

‘Are you in the speakers’ session?’ said the tiny woman.

‘I am.’ I assured her.

‘Can you take this lump and make something of him?’

I looked at the man who was sweating and dabbing his face with a handkerchief. He was about six-foot-six and built like a tank. His knuckles were large and fleshy.

‘Have you made a speech before?’ I asked.

‘No, and I don’t want to,’ he snapped back.

‘What are you doing here then?’

‘My wife made me come.’

‘She wants you to speak, but you don’t want to?’

‘He’s got an important exhibition in three months. He’s a genius, and he needs to sell his work,’ she interrupted.

I told his wife the session finished at 10 pm, and I guided him into the drawing-room where he settled on the back row.

His name was Ray. Ray, the silversmith.

With so many guests in attendance, I asked if they’d like to say a few words about their life, work, family, but Ray settled for giving me his name and artistic interests. His voice contained a rich vibrancy. Big man, big lungs, and massive anxiety of public speaking to match.

At the end of the session, we exchanged contact details, and I thanked him for coming. He was trying to explain something, but he was struggling to breathe. The next meeting was in fourteen days, and I was optimistic he’d attend.

The following week the phone rang, and it was Ray. He apologised for the disturbance, and he remarked that he had enjoyed the meeting. I thanked him for the call and asked him to elaborate on his work as an artisan silversmith. At which point, the floodgates opened. In that next five minutes, he produced a brain dump of his artistic experiences, and though a little disjointed, it contained an excess of fascinating material. 

‘Ray, that was excellent. Could you deliver that in the form of a speech?’ I asked.

There was a long silence followed by a muffled conversation with his wife.

‘Yes,’ he eventually replied.

The following week, Ray was the first to arrive, though dripping in sweat. Having devoted hours to his speech, he couldn’t make it work. Was it ok to listen and learn from the rest of the group? He enjoyed the atmosphere and the supportive feedback offered to each speaker. Everybody felt welcomed, accepted and acknowledged, way beyond the activities in the room.

That comment was insightful, as was his dissection of other members’ contributions from last time. Ray had an excellent memory for names and details. He demonstrated a high level of critical analysis, and he understood what effective communication looked like, even though he was a rookie.

At the break, Ray approached. His large frame dwarfed me.

‘Vince, I’d like to make a speech entitled, ‘The modern artisan’.

I checked the schedule.

‘Sure Ray, but aim for about five minutes, could you?’

‘I’ll be lucky if I can hold it together for one minute.’ He grimaced and took his seat.

Fifteen minutes later, to tumultuous applause, Ray and ‘the modern artisan’ was introduced. But no sign of Ray.

As the applause faded, Ray’s legs had frozen in the chair. Unable to move, his body leant forward over his legs, and the sweat ran down his face. With an enormous smile, he outstretched his arms, and it took three men to haul him to his feet.

Ray’s awkward movement helped him reach the stage but still with his back to the audience. He started talking, though nothing was discernible. At first, I thought he was joking.

I stepped on to the stage and whispered, ‘Ray, turn around and talk to them.’

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I feel sick.’

‘Then go and be sick.’ I led him by the arm towards the door.

‘No! I want to speak,’ he insisted.

‘Ray, the audience is comprised of ordinary, everyday human beings. Look them in the eye and say a few words about yourself and your work. It’s your first speech - don’t overthink it. Just do it! It’s a journey, so focus on one step at a time.’

‘What if they don’t like it?’ he asked.

‘It’s a speakers’ class. They’re here to listen and learn. The audience wants you to be yourself. So, talk about your life, your family and your work. Open the door to your world and invite them in. These themes are universal. It’s how we connect. We share our knowledge for the good of the group and the community. We’re all part of something special because we contribute to each other’s education.’

That was one of my best and most concise speeches for many years. It did the job because Ray was now on stage, facing the audience.

He spoke for 7 minutes. He touched upon his upbringing in Scotland. Meeting his wife at university, he started a family as a poverty-stricken student – tough decisions ensued before settling down in London and becoming an artisan silversmith.

There was a theme, and that was ‘the first time for everything.’ It wasn’t well structured, but the potential was there. He became more relaxed as the speech progressed, sharing personal stories about hardships and opportunities, false dawns and disappointments. It succeeded because he related to the audience. We all empathised with his difficulties and shared the joy of his success. Sure, there were areas for improvement like eye contact and some unusual moments of body language. But with a little guidance and focused practice, Ray had the hallmarks of a great speaker.

The next three months saw Ray move from novice and anxious to speaker first-class. He was often at the venue before I arrived to help set up the room. We’d talk about the club and his growing business ventures. A few months later, I stepped down as club chairman, and Ray’s election to my role as a precious moment. He had absorbed the club’s courageous ethos at a cellular level and became its latest torchbearer. Through his words, he became a first-class leader of the club and its membership. In time, his efforts were rewarded at Area and District levels.

One of his favourite sayings is, ‘It’s not where you start, it’s where you finish. And I’m not finished yet.’

Taking courage, diving in and immersing himself in public speaking stifled his anxiety. Like a fire blanket smothering a flame, take away the oxygen and the fire ends straight away. The battle was with himself and fifteen years later, I know that his personal ceasefire still holds.