My introduction to the importance and power of speech began at an early age. My mother and father spoke English correctly and confidently. That is what I heard in my home and was expected to emulate.
The backstory is more interesting. My father was born in Russia and came to the United States through Ellis Island at the age of five. He spoke Russian and Yiddish. My mother's family emigrated from eastern Europe only a few years before she was born. Their primary language was Yiddish. Both parents continued to speak Yiddish with family members, but also understood the need to speak standard American English—and speak it well. Dad became a lawyer; Mom moved from classroom teacher to public school administrator. I was the first of their two daughters, born and brought up in Jersey City, New Jersey where Jerseyness crept into my speech. Even so, I intended to become an actress.
All that began to change when my eighth-grade teacher “volunteered” me to participate in a classroom debate. The topic was: The voting age should be lowered from 21 to 18. I was assigned to the affirmative. John Iachiafano (amazing that I remember his name and how to spell it) was assigned to the negative. I presented my case. John stood and made fun of me and my claims by arguing that if the voting age were lowered to 18, young voters would elect Elvis Presley as president. In my response, I pointed out that that “Elvis can't be elected president. He's not 35 years old!” And that was it. I was hooked. I won the debate, ticked off John, and earned the respect of the other kids.
When I went to high school, my mother urged me to join the debate team, which was coached by the gentleman she had had as an English teacher 30 years before. I vividly remember my first debate tournament. All of my speeches were well prepared in advance—including the rebuttals. The opposing team had legal pads they held sideways and a recipe box filled with information. What on earth? So it began. I went to two high school summer debate institutes where I was mentored by some of the best: Richard Rieke (Ohio State), Herb James (Dartmouth), Bill Reynolds (Georgetown). All men; there were no female coaches at any of these institutes.
I was crushed when Herb and Bill told me that they would recruit me for their teams but neither of their institutions accepted women. Fortunately—and with their help—I received a full debate scholarship at George Washington University under the wise and gentle mentorship of George F. Heningan. Like many obsessive college debaters, I lived and breathed debate, except when I was in, or stage managing, a play. I also discovered that just about all I really needed to know about life, I could learn from debate and theatre. Like many debaters, I crisscrossed the country making what turned out to be life-long friends. I enrolled in what David Zarefsky describes as “the invisible college” of debaters and coaches.
I began my college career as biology major. I was exempted from taking the basic biology course in light of my high school record and was placed into an Advanced Invertebrate Zoology course. But as I struggled to identify the classification of one-cell creatures and worms, my heart belonged to debate. By sophomore year, I switched my major to Speech and Theatre. I passed Voice and Diction under the iron rule of Mrs. Avonelle Lee Sheward Bielski and was introduced to Rhetorical Criticism by Bill Reynolds (who had retired from Georgetown and came to George Washington University). My end-of-term 1968 paper for his course argued that—as absurd as it may have seemed—Ronald Reagan's rhetoric foretold a run for U.S. President.
I graduated in 1969, was engaged to get married and, as a result, turned down several graduate teaching assistantship offers from prestigious but more distant M.A. programs. I earned my master's degree from the University of Maryland where I directed the debate program. No one on the faculty would touch it. At first, there was not much to direct. So I recruited students, several of whom had high school debate experience, and built a strong program. I was beginning to learn a lot about myself and my ability to take almost nothing and make it into something; to take a program on its last legs and build it into a formidable team]
After earning my M.A. and as my husband toiled in medical school, I began working as an assistant instructor at Prince George's Community College for an enormous $9,000 salary. With an annual teaching load of 10 classes, I taught everything: Introduction to speech communication, public speaking, group discussion, interpersonal communication, argumentation and debate, voice and diction, oral interpretation of literature, mass communication, introduction to radio broadcasting, and more.
I had no intention of staying at a community college when there were “real” colleges out there searching for debate coaches and prospective doctoral students. But like many of my female colleagues at the community college, we stayed because our spouses were still in school or had been recruited and hired by nearby universities, corporations, or government organizations. I loved coaching forensics and debate, especially at a two-year college. My students were unlike anything I had imagined in a college classroom: 15-year-old geniuses and an 80-year-old African American World War II pharmacist who had been part of the medical team administering to high-ranking Nazi prisoners. Even in the early 1970s, most of my students worked, had clear educational goals, were brilliant but the products of less-than-brilliant public school systems, and were more than willing to challenge ideas, policies, and course content. A perfect breeding ground for the forensics program, I (again) was assigned to build and direct. I loved teaching and knew that forensics would and did make a huge difference in my students’ lives as well as in their future careers. I had a mission and a career trajectory worth pursuing. Although I taught at other colleges (Fitchburg State in Massachusetts, the graduate program in community college education at George Mason University, and the arts and sciences school at what is now Monash University in Melbourne, Australia, to name a few), Prince George's Community College was my incubator and garden of delight. When I began at Prince George's in 1971, most of my students were young, White males. Slowly, as the county's demographics changed, so did the college. By the 1990s, the college was predominantly female, the average age was about 30, and more than 90% of the students were non-White.
At Prince George's Community College, I began my career as an assistant instructor and became a tenured full professor in short order. I also served as an administrator in the capacity of director for Faculty Development and Assessment, assistant vice president for Instruction, and then vice president for Advancement and Planning. The vice presidency called upon all of my communication instincts and skills. I directed the college's strategic planning process as well as the offices of institutional research, public relations and marketing, fundraising and grants, and a variety of special projects. Again, my ability to make something out of nothing came in handy. I took the only-on-paper college foundation, served as its president until it was healthy enough to recruit, and be turned over to a new board of directors. A colleague of mine in History and I wrote, and were awarded, a major grant from the National Endowment for the Humanities that focused on the uniquely American musical form we call the blues. That project spawned a Blues Festival that celebrated its 20th anniversary in 2012. I learned to write strong grant proposals and award applications, 90% of which were funded or awarded. My secret was no secret to anyone who knew me. It was the same as writing a first affirmative for a debate and a good persuasive speech. Finally, I told the president that I wanted to move back up to the faculty for my last few years at Prince George's Community College, a deeply satisfying, full circle.
My personal life took a few twists and turns—a divorce, a robust social life, and then the love of my life and now husband joined me. Allan Kennedy and I may have seemed an unlikely pair, but our shared values and interests have made life together a continuing adventure. We met as debate coaches when he tracked me down because he had heard I had the best mailing list of East Coast community colleges with forensics programs. His university wanted to be the first four-year eastern college to sponsor a community college forensics tournament. My kind of guy. As of this date, it has been 38 glorious years.
Becoming a Professional
The chair of the department at Prince George's Community College—Darlyn Wolvin—encouraged me to become more involved in the speech profession—even though we never received the kind of financial support that other colleges offered. Within two years, I would become a member of the Speech Communication Association (now the National Communication Association), the Eastern Communication Association, the American Forensics Association, and Phi Rho Pi (founded in 1939 as a home for forensics students and coaches from two-year colleges), and founded FORCE (Forensic Organization of Regional Colleges in the East), an organization dedicated to building two-year college forensic programs closer to home.
I went to my first Speech Communication Association convention in 1973, and there I was radicalized. I attended programs where my voice, as a young female and community college instructor, was either ignored or repudiated. When highly respected debate coaches described debate as an activity for the best, brightest, and most elite students, my blood boiled.
At that convention, a small group of community college faculty members met in a tiny hotel room to decry our second-class treatment. We quickly decided that complaining to one another served no purpose unless we turned our protest outward and called for action. Thus was born the idea of creating a community college division. And predictably, the plan was rejected because the section was not “scholarly.” Then we proposed the creation of a unit (to be called a section) that would focus on pedagogy and the scholarship of teaching. And so the battle was joined: two-year colleges vs. four-year colleges and universities; older vs. younger; publishing vs. teaching; traditionalists vs. activists. Colleagues who are now close friends spoke against the proposal. Generally, their objections came from ignorance about the nature, mission, and growth of community colleges in higher education. Finally, SCA decided to create similar sections for K-12, four-year colleges, and students. That way, we would not stand alone as an isolated unit.
I wish I could say that the battle was won. Instead, skirmishes continue to this day. Fortunately, community college members have made inroads and a place for themselves in the communication studies profession. I am proud that I played a role in advancing the visibility and credibility of the colleges that serve half of all undergraduates. “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers” (quote by Henry V in Shakespeare's Henry V. Shakespeare, William, Henry V, Act IV Scene iii 60) and sisters are now an integral part of the National Communication Association. We have written many basic textbooks, earned doctorates that focused on communication education, and published in NCA and non-NCA journals. Three of us have become NCA presidents (Anita Taylor, Sharon Ratliffe, and yours truly).
Now back to my own story. In the context of the changes that took place in higher education and within NCA in late 1960s and 1970s, I laid claim to a professional career in community college education. Beginning as an officer in Phi Rho Pi, I discovered the pleasure of working with like-minded colleagues from other institutions. From there, I became active in the American Forensic Association and the Eastern Communication Association. In NCA, I served on more committees than I can remember and a series of presidentially appointed task forces, and was elected to serve on the legislative assembly numerous times. I chaired the community college section in both ECA and NCA. And all that would have been a satisfying professional career for me. But the tale was not at its end.
Serving the Profession
Three other significant endeavors posed new and intriguing challenges, two of which began in the 1980s.
The first was my decision to earn a doctorate, the indispensable coin of the academic realm. I could not find a graduate program, however, in speech communication that warmed to my choice of topic: community college education. Fortunately, I found a perfect fit in the School of Education at Boston University where I could design my own program in community college and adult higher education. And I could do my residency in absentia by signing up for courses with enlightened professors who believed in a new and daring initiative called distance learning. I took two full summers’ worth of courses and did the rest of the course work and dissertation on my own. I flew up to Boston for my dissertation orals, was approved the same day, and went out to celebrate with a lobster dinner and a split of champagne before flying home late that night.
The second endeavor began with discovering that I could write and loved writing. I began by trying my hand at journal articles. And, much to my surprise, I was published, although many articles appeared in noncommunication outlets. That led to an epiphany. I had been reviewing textbook manuscripts for several publishers and had produced reviews that were often longer than the sample I reviewed. I remember telling a publisher, “I could write a book just as good as the ones I review” and she said, “Well, I'm calling your bluff. Do it!” So I did. I sat down and began writing The Principles of Public Presentation.Footnote1 No footnotes, endnotes, asterisks, or references. Just what I had learned and developed after years of teaching public speaking, coaching debate, and working as a speaking coach and a consultant with area professionals, businesses, and organizations.
My timing, however, could not have been worse. Just as the first run of the book came off the press, the publisher's speech list was acquired by a larger company. I was told that they had too many public-speaking books so mine and a couple of others would not be marketed. It was as though my horse was scratched. I did not even make it to the gate. At least they gave me back my copyright.
Since then, I have learned a lot more about textbook writing (although I still love my first book and think it is more accessible than most on the market today). Working in Groups by Engleberg and Wynn is now in its sixth edition.Footnote2 The Challenge of Communicating, also by Engleberg and Wynn, has been transformed into THINK Communication, now in its third edition.Footnote3 And the third edition of Presentations in Everyday Life by Engleberg and Daly, has been reborn as THINK Public Speaking (which I would prefer to call THINK Presentations or at least THINK Presentation Speaking, but publishing is about marketing, and that is that).Footnote4 And, oh yes, I also wrote one of the first short handbooks, Pocket Keys for Speakers, with coauthor Ann Raimes, published by the English group at Houghton Mifflin (now Wadsworth) that I cannot liberate from their copyright clutches.Footnote5 Finally, there are a bunch of chapters and articles in other books published by a variety of publishing houses ranging from Sage to the Harvard Business School Press. Although the business of academic publishing can be a minefield, I still love researching, composing and organizing content, and even marketing my books.
National Communication Association
Finally, I come to my years of service to the National Communication Association as an officer. Because I had served on numerous committees and task forces for NCA and was a vocal advocate in legislative councils, I applied for a seat on the Educational Policies Board of NCA and was chosen to serve. I loved it because it focused on what I knew best and cared about. I also took part in the once-a-year meetings of the NCA boards and NCA officers where I met some of my heroes—women and men who knew more, worked harder, were more dedicated, and were more politically savvy than I was. I learned a great deal from Ken Andersen, David Zarefsky, Sharon Ratliffe, Rod Hart, James Chesebro, Judith Trent, John Daly, Orlando Taylor, Judee Burgoon, Jo Sprague, Jim Applegate, Bill Balthrop, and Judy Pearson.
Then, in a daring move and encouraged by two-year college colleague Sharon Ratliffe, who was then an NCA officer, I brazenly applied to chair the Research Board. When I asked Sharon what the board did, her answer was “not much.” I said, “Well, I can do that!” “No,” she responded, “You are incapable of doing nothing—you'll make or break it.” Again, I nominated myself. After an internal and highly political debate, I was nominated and elected. Here, too, I called on my ability to take almost nothing and make it into something; in this case to transform a moribund Research Board into a productive NCA resource. Of course, none of this would have been possible without the help of two colleagues who joined the board after I was appointed—Brant Burleson (Purdue University) and Anita Vangelisti (University of Texas at Austin). Not only did we reengineer the Research Board, but we became close friends. I will never forget the night the three of us snuck off to a blues club in Chicago to imbibe, relax, and absorb the stress-free music.
As a Board Director, I became part of NCA's Executive Committee. What I now miss most in my professional life is the extraordinary camaraderie, support, collective wisdom, and friendships of these colleagues.
After my tenure as Research Board chair, I devoted more attention to my textbooks and my job. I was happy but a bit restless. Then came what had been unthinkable. I was at a meeting of the Maryland Communication Association when Mel Cummings (Howard University and chair of the NCA Nominating Committee) approached me and said, “Isn't it about time you ran for NCA President?” I gave it about a nanosecond of thought and said “Yes, I think now is the time.” I thoroughly enjoyed campaigning. At one point, as my worthy opponent and friend (Gerald Hauser) and I rode together from the Central States Communication Association convention to the Southern States Communication Association, I joked that one side of the car had a sign that said “Vote for Engleberg” and the other side displayed a “Vote for Hauser” poster. The low point was being told that three men were overheard complaining that if I were elected, it would mean two women presidents in a row! How good it felt when I was elected to follow Judi Pearson as president, and Martha Watson was elected to follow me.
Like most president-elects, I arrived with a series of personal goals I hoped to accomplish. They were not that different from the presidents who came before and after me. My time as an officer, however, proved more difficult than I had imagined. There was little help or support from my college—no grad students or colleagues as part of a convention-planning team. I also was courageous or foolish enough to decide that it was time to put convention planning online. I did the best I could to prepare the planners and myself for what proved to be an ordeal. The system kept crashing. The problems were multitudinous. In desperation, I moved into the carriage house behind the NCA building in Washington and spent three months nursing the convention planning process. Many planners woke up to my 3 a.m. emails explaining how to overcome the latest technical glitch. Living in Washington, however, was a treat and gave me time and opportunity to raise about $50,000 in cash and in-kind donations to enhance the quality and novelty of the convention. We launched our publishing partnership with Taylor & Francis (now Routledge), held the first all-inclusive reception for Caucus members, and set standards that have been evident in subsequent conventions. It also helped being in Miami where the weather cooperated and the gaiety of South Beach beckoned.
All this happened during and after the departure of Jim Gaudino, the NCA Executive Director, and several other staff members who were key convention planners. I was left with a new events planner who was climbing a very steep learning curve. What saved me was a supportive husband, the world's best Executive Committee, and several unheralded NCA staff members. Anyone who thinks that an officer can do it alone is both arrogant and foolish. Despite your best intentions and desire to meet your own goals, there are members to serve, other officers whose trust, experience, and advice are invaluable, and NCA staff members to support to keep the organization functioning.
Looking Back and Forward
Now I am retired and loving every minute. It is like being a kid again, but with a bigger allowance. Still, I attend every NCA convention and the annual get-together of past NCA presidents. Yet my heart is still with the community college section. We still hold our two business meetings at 7 in the morning, and these are attended by 80 and 100 members. The younger members are proud to be community college educators. I look at them as a grandparent might look at grandchildren who have a greater chance of professional success than many of my colleagues did when we were community college pioneers in the 1970s. Their extraordinary energy, enthusiasm, and professionalism bode well for communication education.
My husband and I do a lot of traveling—all over the world. If we had the resources of billionaires, we would arrange for more teachers and students to travel internationally. We have been to more than 80 countries and better understand, respect, and adapt to the people we meet. How in the world, I wonder, can you teach intercultural communication without interacting with and learning from people whose cultures and countries are different from yours? Despite the tragedies, dangers, and challenge on this earth, it is a wonderful world out there.
I do not want to sound like a Pollyanna. I despair when I encounter Americans who are so individualistic that they make no room or allowances for anyone else but themselves and their opinions. I am pleased if you have good health insurance and a great doctor, but what about those who do not? I lose heart when people either pay no attention to the news or only rely on highly partisan sources. I howl when some people see nothing wrong with the United States having the highest per capita number of prisoners in jail and the highest percent of gun (and assault weapon) owners. I recoil when I hear racist, sexist, homophobic, and other ignorant pronouncements about others from seemingly educated people. At least, I have the courage to speak up and denounce such intolerance.
As I reread what I have written so far, five things stand out. The first is something I have left out—my athletic and music calling. I was swimming by the age of two and played most sports; was better at volleyball than baseball; loved camping and horseback riding. Just about all of my major injuries are sports-related: gymnastics and horseback riding accidents; torn rotator cuff from being wiped out by another skier; a torn meniscus from dog mushing in the Alaskan wild (much harder than I had imagined). Music is less dangerous but just as invigorating. I played the piano and French horn. When needed, I could pick up a trumpet and do a poor job of filling in for someone else. I love music—classical, folk, rock & roll, jazz, the blues, and especially opera. My singing is best left undiscussed.
The second standout item is demographic. Being from a Jewish, New York/New Jersey family and a female with a career in community college education was a challenge. I did not think of it as an ordeal. It was just the way things were.
Third was my experience as a debater and coach. I worry that debate is no longer as integrated into the National Communication Association as it once was. I am saddened that debate is no longer available at many high schools and colleges. Debate is Wonder Bread—it builds strong communicators in numerous ways. I can think of no better way to become a responsible and responsive professional, and citizen of this world.
Fourth is my long list of professional mentors—from the alpha-male debate coaches and the exceptional women who helped me move through a diverse and satisfying career to my students and community college colleagues.
Fifth, I treasure my early and continued exposure to the richness of diversity among friends, colleagues, and travel acquaintances.
I am fortunate. I work in a profession that matters well beyond the confines of a classroom. I share my life with a loving husband who is ready to pack up and head out for a new adventure whenever possible. And I can count hundreds of colleagues who have enriched my life and continue to do so. Simply splendid.
Notes
[1] Isa N. Engleberg, The Principles of Public Presentation (New York, NY: HarperCollins, 1994).
[2] Isa N. Engleberg and Dianna Wynn, Working in Groups (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 2000); Isa N. Engleberg and Dianna Wynn, Working in Groups, 6th ed. (Boston, MA: Pearson, 2013).
[3] Isa N. Engleberg and Dianna Wynn, THINK Communication, 3rd ed. (Boston, MA: Pearson, 2015).
[4] Isa N. Engleberg and John A. Daly. Presentations in Everyday Life, 3rd ed. (Boston, MA: Pearson, 2009); THINK: Public Speaking (Austin, TX: University of Texas, 2012).
[5] Isa N. Engleberg and Ann Raimes, Pocket Keys for Speakers (Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin, 2002).