Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, March 24, 1993 TAG: 9303240263
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Beth Macy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
TALK ABOUT YOUR BASIC DREAD FEARS
OK, so I didn't die.OK, so I didn't even have a behind-the-podium panic attack, either. No diarrhea, no freezing up, no heart palpitations. Nothing.
Although I must say, I was so nervous driving to my first public-speaking gig in eight years, I had to take deep breaths the whole way there - to get rid of the gnawing chest pains.
I'm so nervous even right now, just reliving the events leading up to the event, that my fingers are st-st-st-stuttterrring on my computer keyboard.
See, I've had MP-SP - Major Public-Speaking Phobia - for as long as I can remember. Back to even fourth grade, when I had to recite that perennial favorite, Shel Silverstein's "Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out."
I would probably be a high-school English teacher right now, were it not for this fear of talking in front of groups.
I would probably be up in front of a high-school class rattling a piece of sheet metal - just like Ms. Tabor, my favorite 11th-grade teacher, did - simulating the background thunderstorm for the witches' scene in "Macbeth," while dramatically reciting the prose like my very job depended on it.
But my job doesn't depend on it. I saw to that in college when I majored in journalism instead of English education - because journalism majors didn't have to take speech class, whereas education majors did.
Only there was still no getting around talking in front of groups, even then. I remember interviewing in front of a 12-member faculty panel for editorship of the campus magazine. I was up against a space cadet named Marcy, whom everyone thought I'd beat, including Marcy, who suggested beforehand that whichever of us won should name the other person managing editor, second-in-command.
Luckily, I took her up on it. I looked pretty smart in my first and only business suit, too. My recommendations were good, my clippings in order.
But when I opened my mouth, my voice shook so much it sounded like I was talking through a window fan. About the most coherent sentence I managed to get out went something like, "My name is, uh, um, My name is um, My name is BETH. Excuse me . . . Marcy. My name is Beth Marcy, um, I mean, MACY."
Needless to say, Marcy got the job, and I became managing editor.
MP-SP pretty much stayed with me from that point on. An editor once suggested I confront my fear by attending a Toastmasters luncheon - so I wouldn't refuse every time she asked me to speak to a journalism workshop or class.
I did go to Toastmasters once, and the food was great. But I was so scared someone would call on me for an impromptu speech - wherein they even count the number of times you "um" and "uh" - I couldn't digest it.
And though I greatly admire those people who can talk about ear wax and make it interesting - without uttering a single "um" or "uh" to boot - I never went back.
Then last October a friend of mine, an artist, asked me to be one of six instructors for the Blue Ridge Arts Council's annual Center Scholars program for high-school students. Talk about writing for two hours, she said. Give them writing exercises. You have four months to prepare. You can do it.
I said yes without even pausing; I don't know why. It was like an out-of-body experience. One minute we were chattering away over sandwiches, the next I saw myself nodding yes to something I knew in my heart would end in my premature death.
The night before, I dreamed I was standing in front of them, naked. I'd forgotten to bring my notes from home. And one of the students wasn't a high-school student at all; he was one of my least favorite people, and he kept standing up in the middle of my assignments shouting, "Geez, Macy, this is a STUPID exercise! Why don't you GET A LIFE!"
OK, so they turned out to be 25 of the smartest, funniest, nicest, most creative high-school kids I've ever quivered in front of. (One kept working "CHiPS" actor Erik Estrada into his creative musings, which I admired - "a retro thing," he acknowledged.)
OK, so they not only laughed at me, they laughed with me, too. They made it easy. In another eight years, I'll be ready to talk before an audience again.
Seriously, it wasn't that bad once I got started.
At the end, a young woman came up with something she called her "celebrity autograph notebook." She said WDBJ-TV weatherman Robin Reed was "the most exciting person in it so far," and asked me to sign it - MY FIRST AUTOGRAPH REQUEST!
Which I did, of course. With a flourish.
Anyway, I think Robin Reed is pretty good company to be in, a real public-speaking pro.
He's probably never even had anxiety dreams about giving the weather report in the buff.