The Compliment That Caught Me Speechless

After moderating the panel, I rushed to gather my materials. The large crowd buzzed in the afterglow of satisfaction. A woman came up to me and said, “I hope you’re still on the radio.” The comment stunned me. It seemed to come out of nowhere.

Then I remembered. We had only one microphone. It was on a cord. My vision for the panel was more of a conversation than a series of mini-presentations. Passing a mic between each panelist would stunt the informal back-and-forth I wanted to achieve. What could I do?

When the panel began, I asked each person to speak without a microphone to test if the audience in the back of the room could hear us. They could, so I told everyone we wouldn’t be using the mic. That’s when a lady sitting in the front said, “Will you be able to keep your voice loud? Whenever a presenter decides to go without a mic, they start loud, but their voice invariably gets quieter as the presentation goes on.”

I stopped dead in my tracks, looking at her straight in the eye. Then, channeling my inner Ronald Reagan, I smiled and turned to the audience. With calm speaking confidence, I said, “No need to worry. I was a top-rated disc jockey for AM640 in New Haven, Connecticut.” I paused again for effect and allowed my grin to curl deviously before adding, “That’s when AM still played music.”

The conference attendees laughed. Nearly all of them were old enough to remember when AM played music. Their ears still rang with the bellowing tones of the loudmouth DJs that once ruled those AM airwaves.

The panel discussion went off without a hitch. As a moderator, it would be natural for me to stand. The guests, however, sat behind a table. I had the speakers rise from their seats. It’s a little trick I learned while spinning disks oh so many years ago. It’s easier to project your voice while standing. Psychologically, this also builds speaking confidence.

Funny, it occurs to me now how odd it might have looked to the audience. The three panelists stood side-by-side for the entire session. The audience (and I) peppered them with questions. It was like they had been called to the principal’s office for interrogation before being sentenced to double secret probation.

But the point of this column isn’t to show you how to speak without a microphone (a valuable takeaway in itself). The real point came later, when that same woman spoke again.

Naturally, I chuckled when she asked me if I was still on the radio. “No,” I said. “My radio days ended more than forty years ago.”

“Well, you’re a great speaker,” she said.

“Thank you,” I responded with a humble smile.

Then she added this: “But, of course, you already knew that.”

That threw me for a loop. Was it a sly insult? Was it an awkward compliment? Assuming it was the latter, I thanked her again.

Still, it stuck in my craw. It wasn’t what she said, but rather that I didn’t have an immediate response.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t “already know that.” Every speaker knows this truth: No speaker ever does. This is the point of my words today. It’s all about speaking confidence. It’s why John F. Kennedy referenced Rice University in his famous “to the moon” proclamation in Houston.

Every time you speak in front of an audience, you’re taking a chance. Even after innumerable rehearsals. Even after doing the same schtick over and over. Every audience is unique. And each one responds differently.

Do you remember a couple of weeks ago when I wrote about my acceptance speech upon being inducted into the Gates-Chili Hall of Fame? That talk started with a rather corny joke. I came up to the podium with a handful of papers – presumedly the text of my remarks. As I started to speak, I purposely dropped several pages.

“Oops! Well, you’re in luck. My speech just got cut in half.”

The kids in the auditorium laughed.

Many years earlier, a similar incident occurred during a business presentation in front of 500 people. Only that time I didn’t drop the pages on purpose. It was an accident. Embarrassed, I wanted to laugh it off, so I said, “Oops! I guess my presentation just got cut in half.”

Dead silence.

OK, that first time I was much younger. I was only learning how to read the room. That doesn’t mean similar moments haven’t happened since. They have. To all speakers. It’s not just on the speaker, though. Sometimes the crowd just isn’t in the mood. Good speakers learn to gauge an audience’s attitude and adjust accordingly.

The Hall of Fame speech was an example of that. I knew my address was going to be different from all the others. It was meant to be vibrant, funny, and end with a lesson they could all take home with them. Mine was a story, while the others were resumes. I chose to take a chance. The others played it safe.

My opening joke accomplished several things. First, it told the students, “This is not going to be your run-of-the-mill Hall of Fame speech.” Second, the listeners’ response would convey to me how they might accept such a non-conforming style. Since they laughed, I knew they wanted me to add all the vocal flourish I intended. Had they not laughed, I would have toned down the delivery to give it a more serious tenor. That confidence—speaking confidence, really—comes from learning how to read a room.

I’m glad they laughed. It made the experience more fun for both me and them.

In retrospect, then, when she said, “But you already knew that,” I should have answered the woman this way:

“No, I didn’t. Every audience is different. So I’m glad you shared your feelings with me.”

After all, speaking confidence isn’t something you’re born with—it’s something you keep building, one audience at a time.

Gee. All these years, and I’m still learning. Still speechless, but wiser.