The Universe Is a Friendly Place

The “logo” for my
public speaking enterprise

A handout poem

By Moristotle

About 30 years ago, I got it into my head that I wanted to be, and could be, a public speaker. I joined Chapel Hill’s Toastmasters Club and participated in speech contests, a number of which I won. My wife and I drove to Ft. Lauderdale, Florida, during the OJ Simpson trial (1995) so I could participate in the regional finals (I did not win this one).

The animal lovers convention, part 3

[continued from yesterday]

Having just been introduced to give a speech on "The Appreciation of Pets" to the annual convention of pest controllers, I don't know how I managed to stand up, but I did. I rose and walked to the lectern, the butterflies in my chest battling me the whole way.
    In a Toastmasters club meeting, when you're called to speak impromptu on a table topic, your stomach often fills up with butterflies. A purpose of table topics is to help people learn to control their butterflies.
    But I was feeling worse than a butterfly infestation. I was about to address two thousand strangers—for fifteen minutes! I think I had dragonflies in my chest.
    In a high voice, I squeaked, "Thank you," to polite applause. I struggled to relax and bring my voice back down to normal.
    "As your chairman said, I will talk on the topic—" I cleared my throat. "The Extermination of Pests."
    I cleared my throat again. "Good morning, fellow—" I frowned and cleared my throat some more.
    "Good morning, pest controllers! You are gathered here, two thousand strong, to celebrate your heritage of...of exterminating pests. And...and there's a lot of it about these days...a lot of pests...Why, every American, without exception, has pests...."
    Oh, my dear reader, it was a long, long fifteen minutes. And even now, nineteen years later, I don't know how I got through that speech. But I did. There was no standing ovation, no tumultuous applause—not much applause of any kind.
    But I did get through it.
    The chairman even made me an honorary member of the National Pest Control Association and placed on my head their official headgear, an orange baseball cap with a gangly black spider on the bill. He received loud applause for that.
    Then he handed me a check for $3,000 and whispered, "See, those fortune tellers sometimes know what they're talking about."
    I still have the cap, too, but the uniquely honoring spider is long gone.
    And I finally figured out why there weren't any Toastmasters in the audience that day. Pest controllers naturally think they can control their own butterflies.

Self-portrait made on July 15

The animal lovers convention, part 2

[continued from yesterday]

It was 2 a.m. by the time I finished writing my speech for the 60th annual convention of the Network for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. I went to bed and fell asleep practicing it in my imagination:
    Good morning, fellow animal lovers. We are gathered here, two thousand strong, to celebrate our heritage of preventing cruelty to animals. And there's a lot of it about these days. Three Americans out of five own at least one pet....
    The next morning, my eyes adjusting to the lights, I began to make out the hundreds of tables in the huge ballroom, with all those members of the NPCA. And on the wall across the banquet hall, I could now see a huge banner.
    The chairman was at the microphone, introducing me, explaining how I was filling in for the announced speaker.
    "But Morris Dean is a Toastmaster!" he exclaimed with admiration. "And he had time to prepare—all night!"
    Modest laughter greeted this announcement. But I wasn't able to enjoy the humor, for I had just comprehended the huge banner across the banquet hall. I was about to address the 60th Annual Convention of the National Pest Control Association.
    My prepared speech had suddenly become a "table topic," which Toastmasters clubs use for short impromptu speaking.
    The chairman was saying, "Mr. Dean will speak on—" He looked up from the introduction I had given him and turned to look at me incredulously. "On what? 'The Appreciation of Pets'?"
    A swarm of butterflies invaded my chest.
_______________
[concluded tomorrow]

The animal lovers convention

In 1993, soon after I joined Toastmasters, my wife and I drove up to Washington for the Fortune Tellers Bazaar. I was excited about the bazaar, because Madame Sophie had prophesied, "In Vashington, you vill be crowned with a unique honor."
    The hotel hosting the bazaar also had the 60th annual convention of the NPCA. "That's the Network for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals," my wife said.
    "I know that," I said.
    That evening we had dinner in the hotel restaurant. As we were being seated, I noticed a distraught-looking man at the next table, and I heard him say, "I just don't know what I'm going to do."
    While we were waiting for our entree, I noticed that the man was staring at my lapel. The next thing I knew, he was fingering it, and rubbing my Toastmasters pin.
    "Boy, am I glad to see you," he said.
    He said he was the chairman of the NPCA convention, and the speaker for next morning had fallen ill.
    "Would you fill in?" he said.
    Frankly, I couldn't imagine filling in on such short notice, but he insisted. The way he put it, I'd be dishonoring all Toastmasters everywhere if I refused.
    "You have all night to prepare a fifteen-minute speech," he said. "And you'll have plenty of time to attend the Fortune Tellers Bazaar."
    "But—"
    "And because of the short notice, I'll pay you twice what I was going to pay the other guy. Two thousand bucks!"
    My wife kicked me in the shin and her look said, "Ask for more!"
    "All right," I said, "I'll do it for three thousand."
    "You're on!" the chairman said, with an expression that might have meant I could have gotten four.
    Back in our room, my wife said, "Isn't it strange that this NPCA group doesn't have a few Toastmasters?"
_______________
[continued tomorrow]