Many people acknowledge that President Obama is a good public speaker.  At the same time, many note a significant difference in the quality of President Obama’s speech between those occasions when he uses a Teleprompter and those when he speaks extemporaneously.

They assert that his oratorical gifts are actually not as great as they seem because when he speaks without a teleprompter he says “er and uhm” like the average oratorical duffer, and often pauses awkwardly once he starts a sentence, as he seems to re-think how to arrange the thought into words that will not play against him.

While I’ve noticed a certain partisan tone when this distinction is made, I too feel concerned about the use of TelePrompters.  They seem to make public speech more dead than alive. But would we prefer that our leaders step to the lectern and reach inside their breast pocket to withdraw a written speech?

Barbara Tuchman, the great American historian, had a few radical thoughts on this subject.  She suspected that Teleprompters would bring down our democracy.

She said, in an interview with Bill Moyers, that the devices were “the most devastating tool that technology’s invented…” Our public men, “don’t speak spontaneously. You don’t hear them meet a situation out of their own minds. They read this thing that’s going along there in front of them. Words that have been created for them by PR men or by advertisers or whatever. And this is not the real man that we see. And it allows an inadequate, minor individual to appear to be a statesman, because he’s got very good speechwriters. Mr. Reagan! Boy! And to read the stuff off, because he reads it very well. He’s an actor, I guess, a trained actor. … you never know what he’s reading. Nor do you really know this with any of them. They learn it very fast…the teleprompter–is a really, in my opinion, it’s a terrible tool, because what we have is an artificial result.”

Then Bill Moyers says,  ”And yet George Washington had Alexander Hamilton as a speechwriter. The Farewell Address, his final major statement as he exited the Presidency, was largely penned by Alexander Hamilton. Is there a correlation?”

And by the way, Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address had help from William Seward, his Secretary of State.

Then Tuchman says, “No, because the teleprompter shows the person in a situation which is not real, and which is phony, and which is deceptive. The thing is, you see, that we’re a public that is brought up on deception, through advertising. From the moment we are children, we learn that some kind of cereal is going to make us strong and win races and one thing and another, and the next thing you know, if you use a particular kind of toothpaste, you’re going to marry Gary Cooper, or at least have a glamorous romance somewhere; all that is deception.”

She raises some questions.
1. Are teleprompters a form of deception?
2. What’s the difference between a teleprompter and a piece of paper with the speech written on it?
3. Do we want our Presidents to speak without benefit of speech writers, teleprompters, or written notes?
4. How important is it that our President be a good “communicator”–meaning a strong advocate for his ideas and for our country.
5. What are the skills, attributes, and behaviors of a good communicator?

These are questions that are worth answering well, and ones that we at Sims Wyeth explore.

Oh!  One more question!  What about PowerPoint? Don’t most of us use it as a teleprompter to remind us what to say?

Sims Wyeth is a speech coach in Montclair, NJ specializing in presentation skills andpublic speaking training in order to give accomplished people the knowledge and skill they need to become accomplished speakers. Learn more public speaking tips atwww.SimsWyeth.com.

You are a visual. Every move you make, every step you take…they’ll be watching you.

This is good news because once you know this, you can take control of the message you send by aligning your gestures, movements, and facial expressions with your words.

Who you are speaks more loudly than what you say. Actions speak louder than words. You are a visual message. Master your body language.

That’s the Golden Mean, or the Golden Ratio It’s the method by which the ancient Greeks would determine how to build something in order to make it beautiful.

I like it because it suggests there is science to beauty, and that proportion is important in all endeavors, including speaking.

For instance, what is the appropriate mix between data and interpretation? Between entertainment and substance? Between self-revelation and listener-centric content?

All these elements–and others– need to be balanced in a highly effective presentation.

In fact, in any important business conversation, we need guidance to balance the myriad views that need to be heard…and spoken.

And there’s another ratio for highly effective meetings: the Listening to Talking Ratio.

Somewhere in the fog of being there’s an optimal mix.

Sims Wyeth is a private speech coach in Montclair, NJ specializing in executive speech coaching and public speaking training in order to give accomplished people the knowledge and skill they need to become accomplished speakers. Learn more public speaking tips at www.SimsWyeth.com.

When I was teaching at The New School for Social Research  in New York, I saw a student step up to the lectern with her cards in her hand, bump the edge of the lectern, and drop her cards on the floor.  They weren’t numbered.  It was a while before she was able to begin, and when she did she was beet red and flustered.

Furthermore, 3 x 5s force you to write small, which makes them hard to read, which could cause you to display the top of your head while you speak.

If you write large letters, you can only get a few words on each card, so you’re constantly leafing through your pack.

And while you’re leafing, you’re holding your pack of cards so your hands are not able to gesture, making you look constrained and lacking in expression.

If you choose to use notes, here’s what I suggest.

1. Rehearse until you only need bullet points, or an outline as a safety net.
2. Put the bullet points on one or two pages, that can be spread out on the lectern.
3. I like using a big piece of shirt cardboard from the cleaners to write my notes on.
4. Use different colored markers to write, so your eyes can quickly pick up the info.

With this approach, your hands are free to talk, your eyes can connect with the audience, and they can see your face.  Plus, you’re talking, not reading!

In the short term, reading a script is the safest strategy for the speaker, but in the long term, it’s the most dangerous, because your speeches may be seen as dull and pedestrian.

Warning! When the speech will become a public document, you must read it. But that’s another topic.

Sims Wyeth is a private speech coach in Montclair, NJ specializing in executive speech coaching and public speaking training in order to give accomplished people the knowledge and skill they need to become accomplished speakers. Learn more public speaking tips at www.SimsWyeth.com.

The Constant Contact ads on NPR are annoying me.  They promise great business relationships through email campaigns.  Who are they kidding?
 
Giving a speech is a much better way to build relationships with prospects, and even that doesn’t work all the time. A lot of speakers have a boilerplate talk, and they blast it out regardless of who they’re talking to.

That’s basically what e-mail campaigns are like.  They lack intimacy, which is a pretty basic component of trusting relationships.

I estimate that most e-mail campaigns die in the dust bin of the spam filter.  And some get their senders classified as internet outlaws, as recipients either hit the delete button hard, and harbor resentment, or complain to the authorities about unwarranted email.

Getting spam is like being forced to attend a speech or presentation you don’t want to hear.  I often hear clients at large pharma companies complain that they are expected to attend presentations which have little or no relevance to their work. 
 
E-mail only gets opened if it’s from a trusted source.  People who don’t know this will spend a boat load of dough learning this lesson through experience.

And if the recipient opts in and gets crummy content as a result—content all about how cool the sender’s company and products are—then they will unsubscribe.

I know this from experience, as a sender and as a receiver.

To promise businesses that sending more e-mail is going to win customer loyalty is crazy.  Sending more email is going to drive customers away…unless…
 
…unless senders somehow find a way to connect with the interests of their readers, and Constant Contact isn’t about to teach them how to write well, or market well, or empathize with those on the receiving end of their junk. 

 It’s not about constant contact, it’s about relevant content.

All the world’s a stage, which means Twitter is a stage too, a stage that is new to me, and new to most of us. I’ve been told that I need to tweet for marketing purposes. That I should talk about what I’m doing in my business.

But I’m in conflict. Tweeting feels phoney to me. I have a hugely complicated relationship with what I feel is my hugely complicated job running a public speaking and presenting consultancy. I often feel overwhelmed, understaffed, and out of control.

Then I step onto the Twitter Stage, and I have 140 characters to market myself and my company, to capture a moment, and then another, and another and another, in order tell a story that makes me look good.  It feels one-sided to talk only about the good stuff.  What about the rotten stuff?  The client that postponed the big engagement.  The client who bargained me down to the nub.  The brochure that can’t seem to get itself to the printer.  

Everyone’s trying to make themselves look good.  How refreshing, I think to myself, to actually be honest and talk about the bad stuff.  But then I argue with myself that being negative is not positive.  I think maybe I should follow the advice of my marketing guru, and paint a picture of Sims Wyeth & Co. as a fabulously successful company.  Dish out little bits of information that will make the competition jealous.   

I think my conflict about Twitter comes from the medium itself.   It’s strobe-lit story-telling…in slow motion, like submitting to a publishing house every tenth page of a novel you’ve written. 

Or better, when I’m on the Twitter Stage, I feel like an actor who has been working on his lines backstage behind a curtain, and yet just beyond the curtain is a large audience waiting to catch a glimpse of me.  

When I’m ready, I signal to the stage manager.  He nods, counts down from five, and lifts the curtain.  I feel the heat of the spot light.  I sense  the audience out there in the dark.  I open my mouth to speak my lines in my most positive tone of  voice.  I make the gestures I’ve rehearsed.  I try to end with a dramatic flourish before the spotlight goes dark–careful not to go over the time limit.  And then it’s dark.  The spot light is off.  The stage manager lowers the curtain.

The audience does not respond or applaud, but I feel that I have surgically implanted an image and a thought into their minds.    I have sent them a little snapshot of myself and my business in the hope that it will be interesting or helpful. 

And then I return to my work backstage:  blogging, selling, researching, developing new products, until the thought occurs that I must step onto the Twitter Stage again, to create another strobe-lit pose that will dovetail with the narrative flow I weave for world.

I attended a family wedding last weekend, and the sister of the bride gave a great toast.

I heard her round up her brothers as the cake was being served, saying, “Now is the time. Somebody has to say something.” They looked glum and stricken, and left their wine glasses on the table as they followed her to the center of the tent.

I thought to myself, “This is going to be hard. There are a hundred people yammering and drinking. Music is playing. Some people are dancing.” But I was wrong.

Lizzy tapped a wine glass with a fork. The crowd came to a hush. Somebody turned the music off, and Lizzy said what was on her mind.

It wasn’t fancy, clever, prepared, or eloquent. Just real. Sincere. Simple. Felt. She was happy for her sister and happy that so many family members had come to witness and support the marriage.

She stood still. She projected her voice. She was able to think while she was speaking, and she seemed completely comfortable.

The brothers didn’t need to say a thing. Any more would have been overkill. We clapped. The music returned, and I went back to work on my piece of cake, impressed with Lizzie’s grace, her sentiment, and the fact that her remarks were brief and unadorned.

I attended my high school reunion over the weekend, where the organizers had asked each returning alumnus (we were an all-boys school) to prepare a short talk on our best and worst moments as students.

I had trouble with the assignment. My life in high school was a blur of memories, and the more I tried to remember, the more trivial my recollections became.

Pressing on, I remembered the times I cried in high school, and thought to myself, “Well that’s an honest approach. I’ll lose points for being serious, but I’ll be real.”

And so that’s what I did. I watched my classmates read prepared texts and generate laughter, until they demanded I take my turn. I spoke about the times I cried in school–tears of joy and sadness– and sat down.

I’ve been re-thinking it ever since, wishing I had done something different, or devising more clever ways I might have presented the same material.

What’s the best way to respond to post-speech remorse? I suggest (to myself and others):
1. Do a quick rewrite after you fantasize about what you might have said.
2. Ask a trusted ally who was in the audience what worked and what could have been better.
3. Make a promise to yourself not to wing it when you have the slightest chance to prepare.

As far as I’m concerned, presentations are never finished, only abandoned, and every effort can be improved and re-purposed for the next talk. 

If I had rehearsed and polished my talk, I would not have apologized for it.  Instead, I would have explained that memories attach to moments of emotion, and then told my stories as vividly as possible.

Susan Boyle has brought the issue of appearance to the fore.  Bottom line?  It’s hard to make it in this world without good looks and good clothes.

One thing you can control is your hair. 

I have  many female clients who don’t know what to do with their hair,  so they fiddle with it while speaking to groups.    Not good.

Your hair should not be drawing attention to itself when you’re presenting your ideas for consideration.  If your hair wants attention, let it get all prettied up at night when you go out.    When you’re presenting, you want your intelligence and your character to get attention, not your hair.

Therefore, fix your hair so that it does not shimmer, wiggle, wave, or otherwise transfix the average dude.  Make it a non-issue.  Hillary used a hairband.  Now she’s got her “do” lacquered down with ValSpar.

I remind you that being in business in akin to being in the military.  We all wear quasi-uniforms, we all take orders from the boss, and we all need to march together.  There’s not a lot of leeway for tucking your hair behind your ear 6 times a minute.

I like the bumper sticker philosophy that you see on pick-up trucks:  “Git ‘er done!”  Gals, git yer do “done” and then git up there and show us what yer made of:  good sense and guts!

Girls of a certain age expose their stomachs, and boys expose their underwear.  Those of us who are too old to seek this kind of social status based on sex appeal are more concerned about dressing to project power, authority, and stability.

We select our clothes even more carefully when we are going to present.  Do we dress like the audience?  Do we dress in our finest?  Or do we calculate what the audience will wear and dress slightly more formally?

We agonize over such questions because clothing is one of the languages we speak.  Our first (or second) language is English.  Then we have the specialized language of our industry or profession, which in some cases takes years to master.  We also speak body language, over which we have little control and which communicates volumes about who we are.  Then there is para-linguistics, which amounts to the  impact of our speaking voice (nasal? whiney? fast? sonorous? deep? Brooklynese? Old New England?)

But not to be neglected is what social science calls “Symbolic Communication.”  We choose our clothes, grooming, and accessories to show the world who we want to be.  Thus, in adolescence, soon after the hormones kick in, we drop our drawers and raise our shirts to say, “I have the power of sex appeal.”

And when that phase is over, we climb into our power suits and power ties, wear a lot of black, and keep our hair neat and tidy so as not to suggest anything too playful.

We choose our watches and our cars as accessories, in order to tell others that we are successful and in-demand.  We locate our businesses at prestigious addresses in order to appeal to the social aspirations of our potential customers.  Such choices are forms of symbolic communication.

We do this to earn the trust and respect of others, so that they will give us responsibility and money, and we will therefore be prosperous, respectable, and secure.

I find it fascinating that it is difficult to trust somebody who is not dressed properly.  We want airline pilots, judges, and doctors to wear uniforms.  And those of us in business create our own uniform code of attire.  Blue suits, red ties, skirts at the knee, cleavage in storage.

We don’t want our heart surgeons and pilots to wear torn blue jeans and ripped T-shirts.  We don’t want our bankers to dress like Jimi Hendrix or Elton John.

Clothes make the man.  I think Beau Brummel said that. 

Deep down, we’re all shallow.  Oscar Wilde said that.

I say clothes are either about sex or power.  Guess which type presenters wear?