If ever candy begged to be taken from a baby, it’s that sweet little motto of the Boy Scouts: Be Prepared.
It doesn’t move you, does it? Too bad. We’ve heard it so early and so often, it’s lost its fizz. It was the first wisdom to limp to the elephant graveyards of our minds and become Cliche 001.
If, as a celebrated wit once observed, youth is too important to waste on children, then Be Prepared is too important to waste on Boy Scouts. Dredge it up. Resurrect it. Give it mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and let it lift your life.
Most of us have a censor-sensor in the brain that annihilates incoming facts that don’t interest us. The hostess tells you who’s going to be at the party, sometimes verbally and in writing, but that crisp, efficient, all-business mind of yours weeds that out. All you want to know is where and when and some general idea of what pleasures to expect. The people? You’ll take care of them when you get there.
Pretend it’s a board game. You may score the big life lifting connection just by walking aimlessly down the street. The knights of the Round Table encountered damsels in distress aplenty, and young Horatio Alger kept impressing millionaires he happened to meet randomly. But don’t you obviously stand a better chance of scoring those connections at a meeting, a luncheon, or with a group? And don’t those chances soar at parties and larger gatherings?
I hope I never have to prove it, but I am “prepared.” In my Boy Scout handbook, it clearly stated we were to take deliberate note, when we entered a theater or some other enclosed public place, of the best exit to escape through if there were a fire. If there were a public panic, the handbook assured us, you would panic, too—but you would panic in the right direction!
So, Rule One of Preparing Your Brief is: Dismantle your blocking system.
Give your censor-sensor the day off when the hostess, the invitation, the mailgram, the press release, or any source whatever is giving you information on Who’s Going to Be There. C Listen. Try to care.
That may do the trick right there.
If written, notice carefully the names of the honored guests and their affiliations. Embed them in your mind. What does that organization or firm they head or belong to mean to you? What might it mean to you? Be broad about it. Let your mind wander.
If verbal, ask questions. Make sure you have a clear picture of who’s who and who hunkers in where—as clear a picture as you can glean without getting caught on an inflamed-curiosity rap.
Now you’re ready for Rule Two: Do some basic research.
Nobody expects you to demand an unabridged guest list in time for you to hire a college student to comb through Who’s Who to see who’s there and prepare abbreviated dossiers on all those you’re likely to meet at the party.
Nobody expects you to call your sorority sister who now works for the FBI to enlist her help in coming up with some good tidbits on those expected to attend the ball. That doesn’t mean you have to operate under a blackout. There’s usually someone connected with every party—generally the host or hostess or an employee or social secretary or a friend of the host or hostess—who not only might be persuaded to tell you a little bit about some of the guests who are coming, but who quite literally can’t be shut up on the subject!
If you do nothing but pay attention (for a change) to what information is volunteered about the guests by those with an emotional vested interest in the success of the party, you will have done Basic Research.
Anything that does not interest us tends to disinterest us deeply. Before I discovered the human fires that could be ignited by knowing certain things about the people I was meeting, I deliberately let precious information splash down the drain. I remember my annoyance and impatience with the hostess who called to invite me and gushed on and on in detail sufficient to numb the lower limbs about the incredible accomplishments and virtues of those with whom I was soon to share fellowship.
I also remember later wanting to use those numb lower limbs of mine to kick myself aft for not having paid attention and taken notes so I could have treated those people to the Flattery of Knowing, or at least spared them the Insult of Not & Knowing.
What I don’t remember is why it took me so many years to make the connection and start thirsting for raw material with which to weave—not witty talk that might make them laugh, but meaningful conversation pertinent to them. We’re all prisoners of those who ask us non annoying, intelligent questions that evidence effort and concern for our interests, our works, and us.
Richard Brookheiser, managing editor of National Review, begins his powerful book about the 1984 Reagan-Mondale campaign, The Outside Story, by recounting what an unnoticed teenager saw in 1960 on an almost empty deck of the Staten Island Ferry.
A bleary-weary Senator John F. Kennedy, surrounded by aides, stormed aboard. There was no time to rest. Those few minutes sailing across New York harbor were needed to brief the candidate about “the people on the other side,’’ the Brooklyn politicos whose support was so crucial to the young senator’s candidacy. His aides competed with each other to impress upon Kennedy’s tired faculties a snapshot and a few facts about the people waiting to greet them.
This one likes to be called Jimmy, that one owns a roller rink, this one’s decided to run for city council, that one’s wife just passed a civil service exam. (I’ve departed from Brookheiser in the details, but never mind.)
We understand the power of a British monarch conferring knighthood upon a worthy subject. We can understand the power of the Dalai Lama singling out a Tibetan priest for inclusion into the Potala. Those who’ve never been close to front-line politics, however, may not be able to understand, or even believe, the power of a national candidate recognizing, knowing the name of, and even knowing something about one of his supporters waiting there on the shore of Brooklyn to greet him as he makes his triumphant landfall from Staten Island.
You would understand it if you’d been there when Kennedy greeted the first four people with:
“Hi, there, Jimmy. I was looking forward to seeing you.” “Al! Who’s watching the rink?”
“Marv, I gotta tell you, I think it’s great you’re going to run for the city council.”
And …
“Vito, I can’t tell you how relieved I am now that Mildred’s passed that exam!”
Listen to some party talk. Analyze it. It may be jovial. It may be rich. A lot of it may even be worth quoting. But,_
underneath it all is the message. It usually says, “Look, I don’t care about you. You don’t care about me. So what’s the big deal? Let’s have a drink.” J
I have a friend, Bob Eliot, who’s an executive of a media consulting firm whose clients include over three hundred of the Fortune 500 companies. The instant he sees me, his face takes on an expression that seems to say, “At last now, I can get the information I’ve been craving on how my friend Barry is getting along.”
He then asks me for a brief report on how all my various projects and enthusiasms are faring. He doesn’t do it in a challenging way that gives the choice of lying or admitting failure in the case of a project that isn’t doing, too well. He invites me to testify about Whichever of my projects I enjoy discussing; each time, precisely where I left off the time before.
Does my friend do it like John F. Kennedy was caught doing it on the Staten Island Ferry? Does he review my particulars on 3x5-inch cards when his datebook tells him we’re likely to be in proximity?
Does he want something from me?
If so, he’s got it!
Magicians don’t admire other magicians only when they pull off absolute black magic. A well-executed trick will do.
Bob executes his “trick” supremely well.
Is he an “opportunist”?
I certainly hope so. It would be a waste of good talent if he weren’t. What is the opposite of opportunist, anyhow? Is it opportunity avoider?
Rule Three: Pick berries.
Whatever you have as preparation when you arrive at the party is your pr
epared lunch. Be sure to go “berry-picking” once you’re there.
People will tell you things about other people present. For those not consciously out to enlarge and strengthen their network of active allies, such information might be over-the-counter sleeping potion. Not for you. Drink it in!
Does the accountant you’re talking to lean closer to you and report admiringly that the tall, well-dressed man who just brushed by with a smile and a hello was a cheese distributor four years ago whose teenage son taught him to tinker with a home computer, and between the two of them they worked out a program that increased sales and simplified deliveries and they just sold the whole package to General Foods for four and a half million dollars? Our instinct—whether inspired by jealousy, apathy, or awe—is to say, “Really?” and let it go.
You can blast a hole in the Great Wall of China with less dynamite than that! Modest dogs miss much meat. Seek that man out and come on to him with something like, “Excuse me for interrupting. Let me introduce myself. I just heard that marvelous story about you and your son. Tell me, if a gypsy had told you five years ago that you’d make a fortune in the software business, would you have paid him his two dollars?” He’ll talk. Believe me, he’ll talk. And if you ever need him for a reasonable favor, he’ll listen.
Rule Four: Do homework.
You don’t have to do much homework. In fact, the kind of homework that would have earned you nothing better than an F in college could earn you a huge win in the real world. A simple, superficial scan job before you enter the fray will make you the best-prepared person at the party, except for those in the field, profession, industry or endeavor you just scanned. And they don’t count. If a group of Chinese are speaking Chinese and another Chinese comes over and joins the conversation in Chinese, that’s no headline. If, however, an American comes over and starts speaking Chinese, that’s big news!
If you’re from outside the industry, the field, the purview of those you’re talking to and have some general knowledge of that area nonetheless, congratulations, you’re speaking Chinese!
The party, let’s say, is convened to celebrate a professor whose work in hydroponic farming was just honored by the government of Malta. Don’t go crazy. Don’t cancel plans, order books, comb through the Reader’s Guide to Periodical Literature for relevant articles, and hire a consultant recently retired from the State Agricultural Commission.
Read what’s handy. If an article on hydroponic farming happens to be in the newspaper you’re about to throw away, that’s a nice coincidence, but far from supernatural. A Persian proverb tells us, “Good fortune favors the industrious.” Do you recall an article on that, or some similar topic, in one of the papers or news magazines you haven’t thrown away yet? Go pearl-diving for it!
By the way, even though you’re not a public library, a data bank, or a network newsroom, there’s nothing wrong with keeping your own informal “clip” service. Clip articles that seem to provide handy payloads of information in easy-to-grasp, interesting language on subjects that might come across your windshield later on; mark the highlights with yellow felt pen, and file them alphabetically in one of those inexpensive accordion files for tax papers they sell in dime stores.
Devastatingly effective.
“Hydroponic” is merely the bull’s-eye here. You get a lot of points if your dart lodges in one of the outer concentric circles, too—i.e., Israeli drip irrigation, drought, world hunger, new fertilizers, soybean futures, stock trends in agribusiness, wheat storage, the effect of radiation leaks on brussels sprouts, or techniques of farm repossession by Iowa marshals.
Any little scrap of knowledge on any of these or many other related and vaguely related subjects gives you the power ‘ to trigger some good talk with those present. With even your “scrap of knowledge,” they’ll perceive you as talking like “one of us”—rather than like a “civilian” smiling lamely when introduced to the hydroponics professor and saying, “That sounds interesting.”
In what other university except the Real World do you get A’s and Honors with nothing but a little scrap of knowledge!
Rule Five: The latest news—don’t leave home without it.
It’s bullying and annoying to have friends and associates ask you before ten in the morning if you’ve read a certain piece in that morning’s paper. Especially when they ask in that challenging tone of voice that leaks the fumes of “I’ve got you now!”
Being current is an important quality. ‘‘Gee, I haven’t seen a paper in days” relegates you to the same netherworld as “I’m no good until I’ve had my coffee” and “Thank God it’s Friday.” Not hanging crimes, mind you. Just crimes.
Being prepared for winning conversations demands you no more leave home without the latest news than without shave, coiffure, cash, or credit card.
Being “up” on the latest books, movies, plays, restaurants, discos, exhibitions—and the reviews of all the above— is nice. Just nice, that’s all. That kind of homework can betray a kind of insecurity, an anxiety-riddled deliberation if trafficked in conversation the least little bit awkwardly. Being up on the latest news, however, is essential.
I have twice—only twice—in my entire life gone into my day unbriefed by the latest news. One late-spring morning toward the latter part of World War Two, I overslept. I was a boy eager to make good in his very first school vacation job, and I didn’t want to get my employer, Mr. Davidson, down at the auto supply shop angry by coming in late.
On the way downtown on the bus I spotted our good friend Chester Brown walking to his car carrying a radio. I figured it was broken and he was taking it in for repair. Then I saw Mr. Shelley, the stockbroker, also carrying a radio. Were radio breakdowns epidemic?
When I got to work, Mr. Davidson didn’t scold me for not knowing General Eisenhower’s troops had invaded Normandy earlier that morning. He just assumed I was as apathetic as any” other boy who was looking forward to a career assembling battery cables for the wholesale distributor.
Even at that age, I was too proud to beg Mr. Davidson to believe that that was the only morning since babyhood that I’d left home unbriefed and that I was really a “with it” kind of guy who knew and cared about things like wars and invasions. I bit my lip and swallowed my lesson.
And I didn’t do anything that gross and disqualifying until July 4,1976. My Manhattan apartment faced the Hudson River at Eighty-sixth Street, the best vantage point from which to watch the tall ships as they paraded past. It was Op-Sail day, the pinnacle celebration of the Bicentennial, and I had two huge terraces on the twentieth floor with an unobstructed view. My apartment is where Mussolini would have watched his navy parade if the war had worked out differently. I invited seven hundred people to a rooftop party.
This called for somewhat more food and drink allocation than usual, so I abandoned my normal day plan, which included careful attention to the headlines. I managed to hear only nine words of news before the guests arrived. They were,
“The hostages cheered when they saw the Israeli soldiers.”
As I smashed open crates of cheese and sausages that morning, I thought about that sliver of news. It was great. Obviously there had been some kind of break in the Entebbe hijacking and hostage crisis. Secret negotiations must have been going on for days between Israel, Uganda, and whoever seized and was holding the hostages. They must have agreed on a deal for their release. And part of the deal must have been for Israeli soldiers in uniform to fly to Entebbe to receive the hostages as they were released.
Good old Israel, I thought, strong and shrewd they are to insist on the right to show their flag and their force as part of the settlement. Other countries would have wimpishly let the Swiss Red Cross do it. I was proud I’d managed to infer so much of the story from so few words of news. Too many hundreds of hot dogs needed thawing for me to dwell upon it.
One of the first guests to arrive was press attached of the Israeli Consulate, Azaria Rappaport, who jubilantly asked if I’d heard t
he news.
“Yes, yes,” I assured him, “I certainly did. We can all be glad that’s over.”
I’d give quite a nice sum to have a tape of the rest of that conversation between me and Azaria. He knew the story of the dramatic commando rescue at Entebbe. And I was under the delusion that they’d been freed because of some quiet negotiation in some embassy somewhere. Our enthusiasm levels didn’t match. We were “missing” each other. Our dialogue was like tum-of-the-century drawing room farce.
When Gabe Pressman and a Channel 4 TV crew arrived to tape news interviews with Azaria and some of the other guests, it began to dawn upon me.
By nightfall I, of course, knew and had actually begun to believe the facts of Israel’s rescue at Entebbe.
I’m not yet beginning to believe that, after being caught not knowing about D-day on June 6, 1944,1 could let them catch another pass behind my back.
In the same lifetime!
even it you can t stop your forward momentum, can’t sink into a newscast, and can’t peruse the morning papers and the weekly news journals during commercials, there’s a way to defend yourself that takes no longer than fifteen seconds.
Just watch or listen to the first fifteen seconds of any TV or radio newscast. It won’t tell you about a library extension dispute in the city council, go to a commercial, cover a parade, and offer jiffy recipes—and then tell you about a Soviet amphibious invasion of Denmark.
The Denmark item will be first.
So if you can’t take time to find out what’s happened, at least take fifteen to find out what hasn’t happened.
If they start out by talking about libraries and parades—or even congressional quarrels and indictments—you know well within fifteen seconds that the map of the world and the state of the world are pretty much the way you left them, and, thank God, there’s been no war, assassination, plane crash, or crowded commuter train plunging off a trestle into a turbulent, flood-swollen river.
“Offensive” listening is preferred.
Making People Talk Page 3