Neither a jelly donut nor a womanizer be

Beyond the steady babble  and the occasional expletives that spewed from my often-unbridled tongue as a youngster, my introduction to public speaking really didn’t occur until I was in second grade at Harwood Elementary School in Evansville, Ind. It was a time, you see, when great public orations were being made.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King had electrified many Americans with his “I Have a Dream” speech on that late August day on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Earlier, President John Fitzgerald Kennedy had delivered a moving and brief speech in West Berlin, which was surrounded by the Soviet military juggernaut, and uttered a final sentence proclaiming, “I am a Berliner!” A well-intentioned phrase and one of great meaning, but one that literally translated into the German language, “I am a jelly donut.”

Kennedy, incidentally, was no fluffy donut, though history revisionists would have you believe otherwise.

Many schools then – and I hope they continue with this tradition to this day – periodically would set aside a time in classrooms for an exercise called “Show-and-Tell.” It was an opportunity for youngsters to bring a favorite object to school, perhaps a photo, toy, family memorabilia, anything of special interest to a student of which they would give an impromptu explanation about the item. The intent, I suppose, was to help you feel more self-confident.

The original stand and deliver situation.

My teacher, Miss Harper, was a large woman in her early 60s, and she had a tightly curled mane of hair the color of a backyard, summer bonfire. But she had a gentle and encouraging nature. A real old-school teacher, so to speak, when it came to motivating our class. She endured our childish behavior; she was there to comfort us when the news of JFK’s murder was announced over the school intercom on that chilly November afternoon. And she seemed to be truly interested in what we thought and what we had to say. Thus, her passion for providing us with the opportunity to exercise our right to free speech and expression

Show-and-Tell wasn’t a daily thing. Only a few times a week, and we went in alphabetical order according to spelling of our last names. Given my last name, I had plenty of time during the school year to ponder what fancy I would reveal when it was my turn. And after great deliberation, I decided my subject would be one of the multimedia variety.

Two things led to my decision: My Mom and Dad kept a collection of scratchy albums and 45 rpm vinyls. That old record player surely was used much, and my brother George and I, and my sister Kris were exposed to a range of music. Most of it we didn’t like and preferred our own loud rock tunes. But there was one particular record my parents loved, one featuring country singer Jimmy Dean, today better known for making more sausage than Congress does silly laws. He had a hit tune that buzzed the radio stations called “Big Bad John.” A ballad about a heroic Louisiana redneck whose brute strength saved the lives of miners trapped far below the earth’s surface.

However, I preferred the song on the flip side of that 45, one I suspect that never made the charts. It had a bouncy tempo. The lyrics were lively, though I didn’t grasp all of their implications, but they had meaning and clear message. And in some circles, it would have been considered a love song.

All I knew was this: I liked that damn song. It probably sparked my interest a few years later to pick up a guitar and play in a garage band or two. Perhaps why I still “swing an ax” in a praise band at my church.

Well, my day had arrived. I sneaked the record out of the house that morning and took it to school. I explained to Miss Harper that I wanted to play a particular tune and comment on it before and after it was played. And God bless her, she agreed without even questioning me.

I’ve heard it said every good speech or oration has a good intro, a few morsels of substance in the center of it, and concludes either with a bang or some vague allusion to the intro. I muttered a few words as I placed the record onto the turntable, turned it on and let it play, stomped my leg in time with the song. And when it was over, I mumbled a few other words.

My classmates stared at me with curiosity, and Miss Harper, standing at the side of room, had eyeballs the size of hard-boiled eggs and her lower jaw hung at a level that easily could have snared a Mickey Mantle line drive. She stuttered a quick thanks and quickly encouraged me to sit down.

I’ll spare you the verses but the repetitive chorus goes like this:

“Well, I won't go huntin' with you Jake but I'll go chasin' wimmin'
So put them hounds back in the pen and quit your silly grinnin'
Well, the moon is bright and I'm half tight my life is just beginnin'
I won't go huntin' with you Jake but I'll go chasin' wimmin'.”

I suppose my first public speech had made some small impact.

Listen to that musical classic HERE