Writers Write
Farewell, Captive Audience
If what follows sounds familiar, you probably read my July substack column or saw my announcement on Facebook. So, here we go again: I will be speaking on Sunday, August 28, 2022, from 4:00 p.m. to 5:00 p.m. at the Warr Acres Library in OKC as part of the Metropolitan Libraries’ LitFest. Check the sites below for more information:
https://www.metrolibrary.org/event/litfest-murder-follows-me-around-true-crime-stories
https://www.metrolibrary.org/litfest
Why am I telling you this (again)? Here’s the deal: I’m not afraid to speak publicly about my life and my writing (despite Seinfeld’s recognition that public speaking is a number one fear among most people).
I do suffer, however, from an extreme fear that no one will attend my speech. I do not want to talk to a brick wall or to the hand because no one is listening. (Note to self: way to use a dated phrase, Izzie). By the way, there are several different theories for the source of that 90’s reference I just used:
https://www.funtrivia.com/askft/Question129472.html
https://literarydevices.net/talk-to-the-hand/
https://www.slanglang.net/slang/talk-to-the-hand/
Even so, I make these statements with a firm conviction in the Bible verse of Ecclesiastes 1:9, which states, “There is nothing new under the sun.”
There is more, though. The verse also says, “The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing.” So, you can relieve my fear of no audience by coming to see me on August 28th and having something fill your ears. If you cannot be there, I’ll still love you anyway, though. My love for my readers is unconditional.
And, because I already used one 90’s reference, here’s another one about unconditional love:
What’s one of your favorite songs about unconditional love? Please let me know in the comments.
Perhaps my dread about having no one attend the event and/or listen to my speech stems from the fact that a literal captive audience once walked out on me. Yes, you heard that right. A literal captive audience left in the middle of my speech. They were captive because the audience consisted of prisoners.
I was one of five speakers invited to speak at Lexington Correctional Center, an Oklahoma mid-level prison. Previously, I had won awards for the humorous speech I was giving. I felt happy about having been asked to participate.
The convicted men, all dressed in gray uniforms with number patches on the left side to reflect their prison identifications, were seated in rows of folding chairs in a mid-sized room right next to the prison entry. The place was full, no doubt because any unusual event would draw a crowd in a place where daily life tends to be mundane.
As I was speaking, I was happy to see that all the prisoners were laughing in the right spots. They certainly seemed to be enjoying the speech. Then, while I was still speaking, I noticed that they began to stand up and leave, one by one and in an orderly fashion. Talk about a Debbie Downer situation (yet another dated reference).
If you watch this clip all the way to the end, you will notice that the cast members end up leaving the presence of Debbie Downer. The watch is worth the laughter!
In the prison, there were no more smiles, no more laughter, no more lively eyes. Instead, there were just institutionalized faces lacking in any emotion whatsoever. With heads up and eyes straight ahead, the identically-clad men looked more like robots than individuals as they walked out.
What was happening? My confidence plummeted as I wondered why everything had soured. This entire scenario reminded me of the famous “Farewell” symphony by Hayden, where the players walk out one by one, and (in the olden days) each snuffing their candle as they leave. Below is a link to the story behind the creation of that particular symphony.
Check out a portion of that symphony here, where the musicians chew up the scenery as they begin to leave, and the knowing audience laughs because they are in on the joke in this day and age. Slide forward to the 3:19 mark if you want to see the first musician (on your far left) leave, then watch as the mayhem continues.
At the end of this piece, the audience bursts into applause. Well, I heard no applause as the prisoners left during my speech. I was as confused as was the audience in 1772 when the “Farewell” symphony was first performed.
Now, in a 2K year, the prisoners walked out single file, in some kind of weird, previously-set formation and at a clipped pace, as if they had all done this before. (They had).
Why was this happening? I had ensured ahead of time that my speech involved nothing that was politically incorrect or inappropriate for speaking to prisoners. Before my self-esteem sunk all the way to the floor, one of the prisoners (who had been privileged to act as the emcee for the event) quickly stepped out of line to approach me and explain, “There was a prison fight in another area, so we all have to go back to our cells.” Just as quickly, a guard prodded the emcee back into place in the rigid line leaving the building. An eerie quiet settled over the room as all of us who were not prisoners watched those who were prisoners march out.
After the prisoners had left, the warden gave us a full explanation. The emcee/prisoner had been telling the truth. Whenever there is a fight anywhere in prison, all the prisoners, no matter where they may be, have to immediately return to their cells for a full lockdown, per the prison rules. I just happened to be the one speaking in the middle of when this happened.
How can I ever have any fear of public speaking after this walk out? I think the chances are low of this ever happening again, and especially so at a public library. You, my literary friends, are all invited to attend my speech, and you are also free to leave whenever you want. You, not prison rules, get to make that decision.
Who doesn’t love freedom? Speaking of freedom, all attendees will receive a free, pocket-sized U.S. Constitution.
Of course, my gift to you is not on the same level as receiving a car, but most importantly, you will not owe anything to receive your gift. Those who received a car on the Oprah show had to pay gift taxes of $6,000 to $7,000 (depending on where they lived).
Also, my books ($10 per book) will be for sale, and there will be one (or more) give-away drawings (sans gift taxe). I’m not sure of any of this shameless self-promotion sweetens the attempt to lure any of you to the event, but I hope to see you there if you are in the area!
What a story about the prisoners. It was kind of the emcee to drop from line when he knew it would get him in trouble simply to help you feel better. Hope your talk went well!