The Pearl Family

It was some years ago, right after the end of the Toastmasters meeting, when Esmond, the club founder, called me to the back of the room to meet the Pearl family. Mr. Pearl, portly, balding, and looking vaguely like the commander on "Third Rock from the Sun," stood at the left end, next to Mrs. Pearl whose dense, curly red hair almost looked like a wig. Three children were in tow, two girls and a boy. "Ed," said Esmond, "meet the Pearl family. They attend almost all of our meetings."

That morning, I had given a speech, a pretty good one, I thought, and had really worked the entire audience with eye contact, but I had not seen them. Nor had I seen the Pearl family, even once, in the several years I had been in the club, despite what Esmond said.

They were all wearing white sweatshirts, clean but not new, each with a big red letter on the front. Mr. Pearl's letter was a "P," Mrs. Pearl's was an "E," and the kids wore the "A," "R," and "L," in order. I made an innocuous comment that it was neat that their family name fit on their sweatshirts in such a fashion.

"You're wrong," said Mr. Pearl, brusquely but not angrily. "You're a journeyman Toastmaster, having finished your ATM. You know what 'P' stands for, don't you?" Embarassed, I stammered something, but Mr. Pearl continued. "It stands for 'Personal.'

"I remember hearing a speech once in this very club. The speaker had been the singer with the United States Marine Corps Band, and had a spectacular voice, knew how to use it, any way he wanted, for whatever purpose he wanted. His gestures were polished, he was handsome, his speeches were grammatically correct, well worded and well structured. The speech I remember was about a charity he wanted us to support, and he told us what the charity was, did, and stood for. He told us everything about that charity, but he never said that he had any involvement with it. He never said that he gave to it, worked for it, saw it in action, or knew anybody who did.

"In other words, he said that he hadn't touched that charity with a ten foot pole, and wouldn't, but he wanted us to. That textbook perfect, otherwise fabulous speech was a total flub because he didn't make it Personal. That's what the 'P' stands for, 'Personal.'

"When I hear a speech that isn't personal, you know what I do? I get up and leave. There's books to read, music to perform, my family to spend time with, chores for the house and the cars, my own projects, some extra reading for work, goings on at church, sometimes something good on TV. No, when a speech isn't personal, I get up and leave."

He stopped speaking and eyed me. I avoided his stare and moved on to Mrs. Pearl. "Do you know what the "E" stands for?" she asked.

"Enthusiasm, I suppose."

"There's nothing more tedious than a person whose emotional state is stuck in 'enthusiastic,' " she stated in the same slightly indignant tone as her husband. "Enthusiasm is one of the important emotions to communicate, hard to learn and harder yet to control, but so are empathy, sensitivity, and purposefulness.

"No, the "E" stands for 'Excellence.' When I attend a meeting that isn't excellent, where people don't take themselves seriously enough to do just everything well, who don't think it's important to help make the club they belong to good by doing even the little things well, and who don't respect my time enough to do a good job, you know what I do? I get up and leave.

"There's a household to run for my family, with cooking and cleaning and shopping, and volunteer work to do and quilts to sew and friends to keep up with. No, when a meeting isn't excellent, or when the new members aren't at least trying to be excellent, I get up and leave."

Further embarassed, I moved on to the older girl, about 10, wearing the "A." "Mister," she said, "I bet you don't know what the 'A' stands for."

"Attitude" I mumbled.

"No," she replied with her 10 year old's emphaticness. "It stands for attendance. Toastmasters is a participatory organization, and attendance has several parts. It means that people are acknowledged as important to the club, and the club expects people to do all the jobs in rotation. When a club doesn't make members responsible for doing all those roles, the club sends a clear message that the club can get along just fine without them, and that those members aren't important. Attendance means showing up to give speeches that are excellent and personal, and it also means showing up to enjoy the company of people who give that kind of speech. It also means that at every meeting, everybody participates, and that Table Topics always includes everybody who won't otherwise speak."

"You know what I do when club attendance and attendance policies are weak? I go home and do my homework, or I water color."

Zero for three, I moved on to the boy with the "R." "Results is what that stands for, I bet."

"Wrong again, mister." said the boy in an increasingly familiar vocal pattern. "It stands for 'Rewards.'

"Lots of clubs give meaningless awards instead of providing satisfying rewards. Sometimes it's an award for filling in as 'ah counter' at the last minute, just before the meeting starts. That's dumb. It's easy to be 'ah counter' at the last minute, and it only deserves a polite thank you. When clubs give out meaningless awards, it means that the rewards that should have meaning, like winning Best Speaker, are tarnished. People are hungry for satisfying rewards, and trying to feed that hunger with more and more, easier to achieve awards is like being in a life raft and drinking salt water.

"When I'm in a club with 10 members who give great evaluations, any one of whom could win the Area contest with an everyday evaluation, and I win Best Evaluator, that means something -- it's the reward of winning that counts to me, not the ribbon that is the award. When I go to a speech contest and it takes longer to thank all the volunteers than it does to run the contest, the contest winner awards are depreciated. You know what I do when I they give out meaningless awards?"

"I bet you go home."

My reply was met by an incredulous stare. "No, mister, I just pull out my Game Boy. I'm pretty good at Donkey Kong."

Quickly, I turned to the youngest, a girl of perhaps five. "Mister, do you know what the 'L' stands for?"

"That can't stand for 'Littlest' or 'Last,' it's got to stand for 'Leadership.'"

My attempt at humor got me another good glare. "No, mister, you're wrong again. It stands for 'Life,' as in, 'get a life.'

"The people who give personal speeches and pursue excellence always have a life outside of Toastmasters. Toastmasters is like a school, a training course, and it's preparation for life, and a fun part of life, but it's not life, and it's not a substitute for life. Almost always, the real leaders, whether they hold elected office or not, have a life. When I hear people talk only about Toastmasters and never talk about anything else, you know what I do?"

"What?"

"I go home and color, or play house, or have a friend over. I've got a life, you know."

Embarassed, reeling, and put down, I shuffled back to Mr. Pearl.

"Esmond says you folks come to almost all our meetings, but I don't think I've ever even seen you before," said I.

"Well, we usually come in disguise," said Mr. Pearl with a slight depth of warmth in his voice. "Often we come as guests, or as former members, but sometimes we come as new members, or as  members who have just completed a goal."

"And your standards are challenging, no, daunting," I added.

Mr. Pearl actually smiled. "No, and you're now oh for 6, journeyman Toastmaster. Our standards are actually very common standards, standards that everybody uses, only most people aren't nearly so up front about it.

"When a guest shows up and the meeting participants don't make it personal, that guest is likely not to return. If a new member, after a few meetings, realizes that the meetings aren't at least laced with excellence, they'll feel, at least subconsciously, that they won't learn much in that environment and they'll quit long before compleeting their CTM. If a member has just reached a goal and is wondering if Toastmasters is worth belonging to when between goals, they'll find something else to do if Pearl family standards aren't met. When meaningless awards replace satisfying rewards, just about everybody will daydream and think about something else, and they won't need a GameBoy to help them do it. And when a former member comes back to see how the club is doing, if the people in the club don't have a life, that former member will go find some people who do have a life.

"Actually, the Pearl family standards are extremely common. Any time somebody decides whether to attend a Toastmaster meeting when there is something else they could be doing instead, they will use the Pearl family standards."

Mrs. Pearl continued. "This isn't just true for Toastmasters, either. When you're talking to City Council, or a meeting of your project team at work, or a neighborhood group, or the PTA, or your kids on a camping trip, they'll all use the Pearl family standards, although they might not tell you about it or even know it themselves."

Mr. Pearl suddenly smiled brightly, grabbed my hand, and shook it. Shaking his enormous, warm hand was like shaking hands with a catcher's mitt. "We liked your club meeting today. Did you notice? We all stayed!"

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