5 Things My Father Taught Me About Public Speaking

My father, Warren Bennis, believed that great leaders are made, not born.  And I believe that great speakers are made, not born.  Great speakers are practicing skills and techniques, whether they learned them from acting teachers, by watching others, or through play as a child (and adult!). 

Dad was a wonderful speaker.  Here are a few of the things I learned from him about public speaking.

1)    END EARLY

Dad told me that he always ended every talk 5-10 minutes early.  If the talk was slated to be an hour, he ended 10 minutes before the scheduled time.  If the talk was slated to be half an hour, he talked for 25 minutes.  Why? He said that people tend to start tuning out and thinking about what comes next when they know a talk will be winding down.  In the same way that I ask speakers to LEAP IN to a talk, it’s arresting and riveting when speakers end on a dime.

2)    TELL STORIES

Dad’s talks were full of stories and anecdotes. He knew how to spin a tale and was a delightful and generous speaker.  Humans are animals of story, of narrative, so give our audience the gift of a beautifully spun tale. 

3)    LOVE YOUR AUDIENCE

Dad loved people.  He was curious and believed that everyone was interesting.  He was a fan of his audience—each audience was a new and fascinating adventure.  In theater, I’ve had to fall in love with many characters.  It was my job.  A speaker’s job is to fall in love with their audience.  Only then can a relationship ignite.  And when we are in relationship, rather than simply presenting our text, we have the chance to change hearts and minds.

4)    BREAK THE RULES

Dad told me the story of moderating a panel of Nobel Laureates at Arcosanti in a huge tent.  As he looked out into the audience, he noticed a disconnected, tired, impassive group looking back.  He abruptly rose from his seat and requested that the audience make room for the panelists to join them on the floor in a big circle.  Instead of moderating a panel, he facilitated a conversation.  Remember, the audience is our raison d’etre.  If they can’t see us, we find the light or pull our hair back off of our face.  If they can’t hear us, we speak up or get a new mic.  If they are bored, we wake them up with humor.  If they don’t care about the content, we let it go and move onto something pertinent.  We jump, dance, use the aisles, toss out our slides, ask them what they want to hear about, surprise them! There are no rules.

5)    HAVE A GOOD TIME

Perhaps the most important lesson I’ve ever learned from my father is to play.  He was a physical comedian and played with childlike glee until the day he died. He crawled under tables to nibble my toddler’s dangling ankle like a puppy.  He asked the servers at his local coffee shop to make him “Customer of the Week,” every single day.  He smiled and gave huge waves to strangers along his walk.  He talked his way into theaters long after the show had started then proceeded to crawl over seats to find a good spot.  He “corrected” long mathematical equations with a furrowed brow and pencil between his teeth, knowing nothing about math.  He brought that sense of abandon to his family, friends, strangers, and onto every stage.  There was no boiler plate talk.  He could go off on a tangent at any moment.  The audience was in thrall.  And then, he would end early.  And all of us just wanted more.