RIP, Mr. Quigley

At our Junior/Senior Banquet the year I graduated from college, Brent Northup, our Carroll College Forensics coach (Go, Talking Saints!) was one of the speakers. He said that after graduation, we would pick up the alumni newsletter each quarter to find out who died. It was one of those moments that was equal parts morbid and terribly funny.

I thought back on comment last week when I opened the email from my High School’s alumni office and learned that my HS Forensics coach, Andrew Quigley, had just died.

It was quite a surprise because I can’t imagine Mr. Quigley was more than 10 years older than I. And, yes, nearly 25 years later, I still think of him at Mr. Quigley, and I do most adults I met prior to turning 18. But that’s not the point I’m making here.

I remember Mr. Quigley as a smart, nice, and patient guy. He had to be to put up with our team.

He started teaching at our school in 1987 when I was a Junior. That first year, he brought back the Archbishop Molloy Speech and Debate team after a multi-year hiatus. I don’t know why he decided to do that; it never occurred to me to ask. But that decision had a huge impact on my life.

Have you ever stopped to think about how the decisions that other people make for their own reasons can completely change the direction of your life?

I joined the team, and meet some great people. I met new people from my school and from neighboring schools we competed with in the Brooklyn Queens Catholic Forensics League and beyond.

That team is the reason I spent 2 weeks in 1988 at the Baylor University Speech and Debate camp in Waco, TX. I’d spend my entire life in NY up to that point, and on that trip I met people from entirely different cultures – the south and Colorado.

I learned to dramatically read poetry and prose. I learned to support and oppose a positions from both sides and to depersonalize conflict. I learned to process and dissect arguments. And I learned to think quickly.

We had a lot of fun at tournaments, even when we had to pile way too many people into one car to get there. We were a team and we had the team jackets to prove it.


And Mr. Quigley’s decision to start that team led me to one of the most important and best decisions in my life. That was the decision to go to college in a place many of classmates thought was imaginary – Helena, MT. I learned about and attended the school because of the Forensics team.

The skills I use in my job are the ones I learned on that college Speech and Debate team. The stuff I learned in class has less impact day-to-day.

Most of the people I’m still in regular touch with from High School are from the Forensics world. Most of my friends from College are also from the speech team. And the speech team is the reason I know everyone else that met there. I can’t imagine what path my career and social life post-college might have taken had I not gone down this path. And since things have turned out pretty well, I’m not sure I’d want to imagine it.

I guess there are a couple of key take aways from all this:

• It's cliché, but teachers have a huge impact on the direction of our lives. I wonder if Mr. Quigley had any clue as to the path he set me on.
• Speech and Debate (Forensics) is a fantastic activity for kids to pursue. The logical, social, communications and team work skills they can learn are invaluable in the future.

RIP, Mr. Quigley. And thanks from bringing that team to life.

Shatner-Palooza: Why...does...he...speak...that...way?

In this clip, Shatner explains his unique cadence.

You can also find the clip here.

Public Speaking and hydration

Last week, I did a day of presentations in Indianapolis.  They seemed to go fairly well.

Many people who have trouble with public speaking get caught up in nervous aspect of it. There are a number of techniques that people can use to address that.  For all the attention that nerves generate, it's easy to overlook the physical aspect of it.

Because there's often no heavy lifting, many speakers overlook just how physically draining a day of speaking can be.  Projecting and speaking loudly enough to be heard by 40 people in a conference room for a total of 8 hours puts takes physical energy.  A day of speaking is tiring, and can be dehydrating.  Not only are you  taxing your body by projecting your voice, working with your voice, and running your mind at a different pace to speak well, you are also putting more moisture into the air from the sheer act of speaking loudly.  Drink plenty of water.

That's the mistake I made. I failed to consume a gallon or more of water during the event.  By the last 30 minutes of the last presentation my voice was starting to break and my train of thought required significant concentration.

By later that evening, tired and dehydrated, whatever bug I'd been exposed to on the flight out to Indy saw it's opportunity and jumped on my back.  I spent the next several days fighting off a cold.

I know, trauma almost as lame as the Gypsy curse I discussed earlier in the week.

The point is that when you are speaking for a day, remember to drink plenty of water.  It's not just to keep your throat clear.  It's because the body and mind need plenty of water to continue functioning properly.

Tough enough to speak

Most occupations have some sort of competitive element. People like to push their limits to show they are tougher than others. In some, it means they go with out sleep. In other occupations, people may push through the pain of stress. Or they might endure colder or hotter temperatures just to prove how tough they are.

The same thing apparently happens in public speaking.

I just got back from a trip where I did an hour and fifteen minute presentation each of 4 days. There was 1 speaker before me, and two after me. We had a different audience each day.

The crowd ranged from 80 to 120 people in medium sized conference rooms. At one facility we had a microphone available.

I came up for my slot and noticed the mike sitting there on the table, and commented to previous presenter on it. She said she noticed it, but she didn't need the microphone. I offered it to the speaker who came after me. He said he hates microphones and won't use them if he can at all avoid it. I, however, clipped it on an used it.

I guess I'm some sort of wimp.

The fact of the matter is I can fill the space without amplification. But that takes more energy. That drains me more by the time I'm done. I'd rather use the microphone, project my voice a little less, and focus on other aspects of my presentation.

I don't need the microphone, but I want it. And given the chance, I'll use it.

I guess I'm just not as hard core as the other speakers.

Performing 01: The start

When I saw the Coulton show on Friday, I was reminded how much I want to do just that. I want to be on stage performing for hundreds or thousands of people.

Someday, I'll have a plan. And maybe even some talent.

Most people are petrified of public speaking. Surveys have show that people fear public speaking more than they fear death. I am not one of those people. I've always gotten a charge out of it.

I still rememeber my first two stage experiences, brief, though they were.

Back in kindergarten at PS 97, each letter in the alphbet on our classroom wall had a character associated with it. We had to dress up as our favorite letter/character and go on stage with our class. Everyone got to say who they were and something about their letter.

I chose J -- for Mr. Junk. I thought he was the coolest of the letters. (Mr. Teeth was was the lamest of the letter characters -- his too tall smile was too goofy. I wanted to knock those teeth off the board and I didn't even know why (but that's another story (Or was he actually Mr. Tall with the very Tall teeth? Now I'm all confused))).

As I recall, my mother took a sheet or old pillowcase, sewed bits of household clutter to it and put a big J on the front.

I went on stage, said my part (probably, something like "I'm Mr. J") and stepped back into the alphabet row.

I don't remeber the rest of the day, or even what the play was about. But I do remember the view of the crowd from my side of the stage. All those people were looking at me and hanging on my words. And I couldn't wait to get on stage again.

For first grade I had moved on to St. Elizabeth's School in Ozone Park, NY. Each year, every grade level put on a play of some sort. My first year there, we put on some sort of Fairy Tale review.

I was Prince Charming.

I got to wear a purple cape with little hooks on it. (I think the cape is a highly underrated garment in these modern times. We really should bring back the cape.)

I was only on stage briefly. I was in a group of 5 or 6 kids. We each had to introduce ourserlves. I stepped forward, got down on one knee, reached my arms out, and said, "I'm Prince Charming" to the entrie student body.

I don't even remember who played my Princess that year. I just remember the feeling of power in front of that crowd.

And it's one I am happy to recapture whenever I can.

So what was your first brush with an audience? Did it empower you or scar you for years?