The sad story of Roger

Consider this scenario: Roger is a busy professional, and he's the program chairman for his service club. In that capacity, he has invited Mr. Maxwell Smythe, a British-born author of several books, including a Pulitzer Prize winner, to address the club. Because Mr. Smythe is much in demand as a speaker, Roger thinks it is a real coup to have him as a speaker. He has spread the word, and members of the club are anticipating a fine program. Attendance is certain to be near 100 percent, and the publicity chairman has invited the press. He thinks the local newspaper, at least one TV station, and a couple of radio stations will cover the speech.

So far, so good.

Roger doesn't know Mr. Smythe. He's even unsure how Mr. Smythe pronounces his name. Is the y in Smythe pronounced eye or as the i in the more familiar Smith?

Roger just happened to learn that the author would be in the city for a book signing. He contacted Smythe through his publisher and was pleasantly surprised when the author accepted the invitation. It would be Smythe's only appearance in the city, except for the book signing. No one else in the club knows Smythe either, so it will be up to Roger to make the introduction.

Now, less than a week before the scheduled speech, Roger begins to consider what he might say. No problem, he thinks. I'll just get some information from the jacket of one of Smythe's books, none of which, incidentally, Roger has gotten around to reading.

He goes to a bookstore to do his research. But he's disappointed to find that the book-jacket information is sketchy and doesn't include much information suitable for introducing a distinguished author. No problem, he thinks. I'll get information from the publisher. This time he strikes pay dirt. Someone in the publisher's PR department faxes Roger a bio sheet. Roger glances at the sheet, determines that it contains a lot of good information, and stuffs it into his coat pocket.

Fast forward now to the day of the speech. It's about three hours till show time. Roger has had a busy few days and he just hasn't had time to give much thought to the introduction. He has a couple of important appointments before it's time to leave for the meeting. No problem, he thinks, the publisher's bio has everything I need. I can wing it. He finds the sheet, still in the pocket of the coat he was wearing when he received it, and transfers it to the pocket of the suit he'll wear to the meeting.

Fast forward once again to the meeting and catch Roger's introduction:

In the interest of time, we have to go ahead with our program, so if you haven't finished your dinner, please continue.

Our speaker for this evening is Mr. Maxwell SmEYEthe . . . er, Smith ... Mr. Smythe was born in Watford, a suburb of London, England, in 1933, the son of an engineer and a school teacher. When Maxwell was only five years old, his father accepted a job with an American firm, and the family moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Maxwell attended public schools in Philadelphia, excelling in both athletics and academics and graduating a year ahead of his class.

At the age of 17 he enrolled in the University of Pennsylvania as a student majoring in electrical engineering. After a year of engineering school, he abruptly changed his major to English, disappointing his father, who had expected the son to follow in the father's footsteps. He announced that he intended to become a writer. After another year, he dropped out of school and enlisted in the Army. After basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia, he was promoted to private first class.

He was then sent to Korea, where he served with the U.S. Eighth Army, winning the Bronze Star medal. He returned from Korea in 1954 and was discharged from the Army shortly afterward.

In 1955, while working as a salesman in Philadelphia, he met Miss Peggy Manning, who was visiting Philadelphia from Birmingham, Alabama. They were married on Christmas Day in 1955.

Maxwell held a succession of jobs for the next five years, spending all his spare time writing. At the age of 27, he published his first novel, The Freshman, a story about college life. It was a critical success but brought little financial reward to the young novelist and his growing family, which by then consisted of his wife, a baby daughter, and twin boys, age four.

Since then he has published seven novels, all best sellers, two volumes of poetry, and a biography of General William T. Sherman. His most recent novel, Spring Forth in Spring, was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for literature last year.

He and his wife make their home in Mountain Brook, Alabama, a suburb of Birmingham.

It is a distinct honor to present our speaker for today, Mr. Maxwell Smythe.

Roger had simply read word for word from the sheet the publisher had furnished. That way, he reasoned, he could be certain it was accurate. But, try to imagine how the audience—and the speaker—must have reacted to Roger's introduction.

Dull, dull, dull

The thing is, if I heard that introduction today it would not be the worst introduction I ever heard. What's wrong with it? It's dull, dull, dull. It has too many irrelevant details. It has no punch. It does not relate to the subject of Smythe's talk. In fact, it doesn't even mention the subject. It tells something of the accomplishments of Maxwell Smythe the famous author, but almost nothing of Max Smythe the person. It is, in short, a canned introduction. It sounds like a canned introduction.

Think about a couple of things: Here was a young man, evidently burning with the desire to be a writer. Why did he drop out of engineering and subsequently out of college? Why did he enroll in engineering school in the first place? He won a bronze star in Korea. How? What does he do when he's not writing? Curious minds want to know such things about their guest speaker.

Suppose that Roger had started his introduction something like this:

Max Smythe flunked college algebra twice when he was a freshman engineering student at the University of Pennsylvania more than 40 years ago.

Today, he'll tell you that was the best thing he ever did. And there's good reason to agree, because if he had passed algebra, he might have become an engineer and the world would have been deprived of a body of literary works that includes a volume of poetry, a biography of General Sherman, and several excellent novels, five of which were bestsellers and one of which was a Pulitzer Prize winner.

Max never wanted to be an engineer anyway. That was what his father wanted for him. And even today, the elder Smythe, who brought his family to the U.S. from England when Max was five years old, suspects his only son flunked algebra on purpose. He's probably right.

How much more interesting that would be—in both tone and content—than the dry recitation of biographical information in the canned introduction.

Roger made several mistakes. First, he waited until just a few days before the speech to begin thinking about the introduction. With a little more time, he almost surely could have gotten some anecdotal information about Smythe. A phone call to the author's agent probably would have produced plenty of material. Besides, there's usually a lot of published material available on well-known people. Even with nothing except the publisher's bio sheet, he could have done a better job on the introduction. He could have tightened it up, organized it better, and omitted the least interesting details. He certainly could have skimmed through a couple of Smythe's books and constructed an introduction based on one of his stories or characters. He might have found something quotable from one of his poems.

In short, Roger failed to take the job seriously.

Smythe's mistake

Roger's mistakes were bad enough, but Smythe also made a mistake. His was failing to insist that his publisher have an imaginative, well-written introduction to go along with the bio sheet. Anyone who does a lot of public speaking, especially if public speaking is important to his livelihood, ought to have something prepared to send out to people who request it.

If you're writing a speech for a client, get in touch with the person who will introduce the speaker—that is, if your speaker doesn't object. Some speakers prefer to handle all contacts with the organization or the introducer. In companies that have public relations staffs, this is often a PR function. But as the speech writer, you have a vested interest in everything related to the speech you're writing. Make it your business to find out what the introducer needs and be sure that he gets it. You might even volunteer, tactfully of course, to write a suggested introduction. I stress suggested because the last thing you want is to give the impression that the introducer must use what you send. Nine times out of ten, the introducer will be grateful and will use your introduction word for word. That's what Roger did when he introduced Smythe. The difference is the introduction you provide will be well-crafted because you will have written it, whereas Smythe's was written by someone who didn't realize its importance.

Providing an introduction will do three things. First, it will ensure that your speaker receives an introduction that is worthy of the speaker and of the speech that the two of you have labored over. Second, it will ensure the accuracy of the information in the introduction. Third, it will almost certainly relieve the introducer of a burden.

The Rogers of the world are great in number. They need your help.