VOICES
Wednesday, august 10, 2022
HeRMIstOnHeRaLd.COM • A13
Learning the true power of public speaking
BY CAROLEE KOLVE
special to the Hermiston Herald
In my junior year in high
school, my mother fashioned
herself as my college admis-
sions coach. She decreed
that I needed something be-
sides grades and SAT scores.
I needed to become a school
leader. “No athletic skill, no
musical talent, only mundane
summer jobs,” she told me,
shaking her head sadly.
“But no track record for
leadership either.” I said.
“Yet,” she replied.
To make it more improba-
ble, I had just switched from
a small girls’ school to a large
public school. Not only did
I know no one, but I regu-
larly came home from school
in tears because I had eaten
lunch by myself. How was I
to transition from pathetic
loner to school leader?
It was my junior year, and I
took a stab. I ran for the low-
est possible office: student
body secretary. And lost. My
entire campaign consisted of
two posters. If anyone even
saw them, they were certainly
not persuaded to “Take a
chance with Carolee Nance.”
A slogan that was neither as-
pirational nor inspirational,
although it did rhyme. My
father later explained that I
had dodged a poetic bullet.
In his day, kids had chanted,
“Nance has ants in his pants.”
But my senior year, there
was another election. This
time my mother said, “This is
your last hope, so you have to
run for something which in-
volves giving a speech.”
“Huh? I’ve never given a
speech and I am terrified to
even speak up in class.”
My mother decreed that I
would be a natural. A natu-
ral? She had only ever given
one speech herself, so how
did she know?
She assured me she knew
everything there was to know
about speech-making as she
had just purchased “The Art
of Public Speaking” by Dale
Carnegie. Of course, she
hadn’t read it yet.
But first I had to decide
what to run for. It had to be
either student body president
or girls’ vice president. Stu-
dent body president was too
long a shot, so I chose girls’
VP. The girls’ veep also was
president of the Girls’ League,
a loose organization of all the
girls in the school. So far, no
one seemed to know what this
body of females actually did.
I figured out that I needed
some ideas, so I polled the
girls I had gotten to know.
Between us, we determined
that a body of several hun-
dred young women could
probably do some significant
things, and so far they were
just an idle clump of girls. I
asked everyone, “What would
you enjoy doing?” I heard
ideas about school dances,
good deeds in the commu-
nity, ways to raise money.
I thought back to the girls’
school I had just left — their
traditions and activities.
I tested ideas on other
girls. People nodded and
smiled. My confidence was
nudging up!
And then I learned about
my competition.
I only had one opponent.
She was the most popular girl
in the school. She was in an
elite club of other popular
girls, who were all promoting
her campaign. She was beau-
tiful, slender, with stylish
clothes and cascades of dark
wavy hair. The week after
the upcoming election was a
school dance, and somehow
everyone knew she would be
attending with the handsome
football and baseball star who
was about to be elected Stu-
dent Body President. Clearly,
they were the “star couple.”
Two dazzling winners in a sea
of also-rans.
Undaunted, my mother
began my speech coaching,
paraphrasing loosely from
Dale Carnegie, or at least
from the table of contents.
There were some rules, but
mostly it seemed to be com-
mon sense: 1. Know your au-
dience; 2. Engage them; and
3. Give them a reason to vote
for you.
I had some good ideas and
wrote my speech with ac-
tual confidence. I practiced.
I smiled. I made eye contact
with my imaginary audience.
My dog, Heidi, listened at-
tentively. Perhaps she only
feigned interest? My cat hid
under the couch.
On the big day, I put on my
best pleated skirt and white
sweater. I attempted to deal
with my wild hair, kinked up
from ill-considered pin curls.
Oh well. I grabbed my speech
and my attention-getting
prop, and off I went.
As we arrived, the can-
didates gathered on stage. I
looked around, and my jaw
dropped.
My opponent was dressed
in the most dazzling outfit I
had ever seen. A tight sweater
and skirt made entirely of
pink angora. As she walked
the little tufts of fluff floated
and waved all around her. She
looked like some sort of pink
fuzz goddess.
The assembly began, and
she was asked to go first. She
stepped to the podium, and
she said: “The purpose of
these speeches is for you to
hear us speak and see what
we look like. So first ... I’ll
show you what I look like.”
With that, she left the po-
dium, went to center stage,
held her arms out like a balle-
rina, and did a slow rotation.
As she moved, her angora
fluffs swayed in the spotlight.
She was impossibly graceful,
gorgeous, and the boys went
crazy. They stomped and
cheered, creating additional
breezes for her waving fuzz.
Finally, she returned to
the podium and read the
speech that no one would
ever remember.
My turn. I pulled out my
“attention getter,” a bunch of
bananas, and said, “The Girls
League is not just a bunch of
girls clumped together like
these bananas.” I smiled, and
I felt a connection like I had
never felt before. All my jitters
disappeared, and I never had
to look at my notes. I shared
ideas with them, and I knew
they were listening. Everyone
was smiling, and I was on top
of the world. I was also pretty
sure of the outcome.
My opponent was gor-
geous, and the boys loved her.
But she had overlooked the
first rule of public speaking.
The audience rules.
Because, of course, for
Girls’ League president? Only
the girls voted.
Anyone can write
Nearly 40 years in the business have taught me that readers are bom-
barded and overwhelmed with facts. What we long for, though, is
meaning and a connection at a deeper and more universal level.
And that’s why the Hermiston Herald will be running, from time to
time, stories from students who are in my writing class, which I’ve
been teaching for the past 10 years in Portland.
I take great satisfaction in helping so-called nonwriters find and write
stories from their lives and experiences. They walk into my room be-
lieving they don’t have what it takes to be a writer. I remind them if
they follow their hearts, they will discover they are storytellers.
As we all are at our core.
Some of these stories have nothing to do with Hermiston or Umatilla
County. They do, however, have everything to do with life.
If you are interested in contacting me to tell me your story, I’d like to
hear from you.
Tom Hallman Jr.
tbhbook@aol.com
Tom Hallman Jr. is a Pulitzer Prize-winning feature writer for
The Oregonian newspaper. He’s also a writing coach and
has an affinity for Umatilla County.
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