Cool Hand Mike?
A Road Not Taken
Did I ever tell you the story about how I came thaaaaat close to becoming a Hollywood movie legend?
It began in Athens, Ohio, when I was a freshman at Ohio University. The university had a requirement that all freshmen must take a semester course simply titled “Speech.” I imagine it’s called something impressive today like Vocal Architecture, Strategic Media Relations or Discourse, Dialogue and Parlance Enhancement.
I put off taking the course until the second semester. I’d had an identically titled class in high school and either thought I knew it all or hated taking it then and expected I’d feel the same about it now. It was required so I signed-up.
At the first class the professor kept it short. She handed out the syllabus along with instructions to come to the next class meeting prepared to deliver a five-minute speech. Subject was up to us.
After receiving a few pointers from a guy in the dorm room next to mine who had already taken the course and was definitely a talker, I decided to call my forced address, Pitfalls of Giving a First Speech. I figured a catchy title would get me through the ordeal regardless of what I actually said.
Armed with his insight, I put together a vague, sketchy script, practiced my delivery a couple of times, then called it “Good enough.”
On the day of my speech I managed to get the bed off my back earlier than usual, anticipating that the classroom would be filled chock-a-block as the first meeting had been. Apparently, everyone else had the same plan. Today the best I could do was a vacant desk smack in the center of the room. I squirmed, sheepishly in my place, trying not to draw attention to myself. The professor had been casually conversing with a few students before eyeing what I concluded was a list of students’ names. Please, please, please don’t look in this direction.
“Mr. Sopronyi. Michael. Where are you?” Game, set, match! I had to raise my hand. Glancing toward me, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did I pronounce that correctly?” She didn’t. No one ever did. I wasn’t going to spend any more time on the subject of my name so I acknowledged that she had.
“Alright. Why don’t you start us off?”
The wooden desks were jammed together leaving little space for a pathway to the front of the room where the lectern was situated. I wriggled my way between the seats, scrunching my one-page script in my sweaty right hand. I was at the embryonic stage of becoming a hippy. Longish hair covered my ears and was inching closer to my shoulders. It was combed and clean as were my blue shirt and tan corduroy pants. It took until my junior year to routinely don the more disreputable attire of a near fully-formed hippy worthy of being told to “get back under the rock you crawled out from!”
I was uncharacteristically calm when I reached the lectern. I had somehow convinced myself that being the first speaker might not be such a bad thing. No one had gone before me so there was no high standard to be compared to. I wasn’t going to be judged critically, and that reassuring thought boosted a confidence I hadn’t felt until I began smoothing my crinkled speech paper.
I wasn’t paying much attention to the professor while she explained to us that she would be in the classroom listening to each presentation. She would also be observing such components as the speaker’s movements, posture, and voice control while speaking. Her colleague was in another room listening and recording the speech. That person would not have the added benefit of correlating the student’s movements to the words, intonation or voice. She motioned me to begin as soon as she stopped talking.
I stared with sudden trepidation at the motley, wide-eyed, ears-perked mob staring back at me waiting to fix on my every word. The confidence I had recently mustered dissipated, but, to my grateful surprise, quickly reconstituted itself. Looking squarely at my audience, I began by outlining the inordinate amount of time and tension expended preparing to give the speech. Should I wear a coat and tie? Should I get my hair cut? Try being cute and funny, fully aware I’m neither? What if I need to pee in the middle?
I began my discussion of the insecurities that often do not crop up until it’s too late. For example, the height of insecurity every male experiences as soon as he begins his speech. I asked myself softly yet loud enough to be heard, “Did I zip up?” then furtively glanced down at my crotch to find the answer. A subtle expression signaled to the audience that I had indeed zipped-up. I had not expected my brief comedic interlude to generate the few titters and smiles on some faces, including the professor’s.
I went on pointing out additional things that have occurred during speeches before a live audience. Most of the illustrations were of my own experience.
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I concluded my speech by thanking everyone for their time and attention.
I slunk back to my seat, glad that it was over. I sat through the rest of the orations, mostly oblivious. My attention was piqued from time to time by students whose presentations were markedly better than mine. Honestly, that didn’t bother me. I’d survived. I felt that I hadn’t embarrassed myself too badly. All in all, it wasn’t the excruciating experience I’d expected.
The final speaker, a very good one, returned to her desk. The room was hot, close and still while the professor examined her notes and spoke to someone on the phone. Apparently satisfied by what she heard, she turned toward us.
“I want to congratulate all of you on the excellent speeches we heard today. Given their high quality I doubt I will have much to teach you this semester. Nevertheless, you are expected to attend every class.” More than a few groans were heard among the freshmen. Unfazed by the identical response in every class she’d taught for many years, she dismissed them, but not before asking, “Miss Gathers, Mister Tenola and Mister Sopronyi, would you mind staying behind for just a minute?”
The three of us, strangers, looked quizzically at each other before walking to where the professor was leaning against her desk. “The three of you did exceptionally well. So well that I don’t think this course would benefit you at all. I am giving each of you a waiver to the school’s requirement to complete this course.” We must have had the same blank expression on our faces, so she elaborated on her statement. “I have the discretion to select students who deserve to satisfy the requirement for completing this course without attending any more classes. The three of you certainly meet that standard.”
I was dumbfounded by her decision. Speechless. I think the others were, too. And just as appreciative. The professor indicated the conclave was over when she began stuffing papers into her attache case. The three of us exchanged congratulations and thank yous as we left the room. The professor and I walked together toward the stairs leading outside the building.
“Michael,” she said, “have you ever thought about acting?”
Shocked doesn’t begin to describe how I reacted. I spluttered out a startled, “No.”
“Well,” she replied, “my grad student was recording your speech and told me how hard she laughed when you became concerned about being unzipped in front of the class. She thought you did a wonderful job of expressing yourself and she only heard you. She couldn’t see how you handled it in front of an audience.”
My feelings were a jangle of embarrassment, appreciation, confusion, disbelief and a touch of fear. Me act? What was she talking about? I’m was glad I just made it through a lousy five-minute speech!
“I saw what she could only visualize. That’s a talent. My husband is a professor in the Drama School. I think you should go up to the theater and talk to him.”
“That’s not something I ever thought about. I couldn’t do that in front of people. I’d make a fool of myself. I mean I appreciate what you’re saying, but that’s not me. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Go, talk to him,” she countered. “You never know. You might decide to try it. Maybe like it.”
“I don’t think so. I’ll think about it.”
We reached the bottom of the stairs and went our separate ways. I did think about what she said all the way back to Perkins Hall. My view of myself. My impressions of acting and actors flitted through my mind for a few days. I toyed with the idea of taking up her offer. That was as far as it went. I never talked to her husband.
It’s impossible for most, if not all, people to resist the urge to look back on their life and wonder: What might have been? How would my life be now if I’d gone down a different path? Would I have been better or worse off? Would I be living the dream? Or be distraught at failing to achieve what I most wanted to accomplish in life?
I too have thought about the road not taken. I have wondered what might have been if I had spoken to the professor’s husband and gone on to become a Hollywood star? Is that even possible? Could it happen to me? Are you kiddin’ me?
Why not?
A kid from Shaker Heights, Ohio, did it and he too went to Ohio University. You may have heard of him. Cool Hand Luke. Paul Newman.
