Frankly, the quality of my voice, which I relied on so heavily for so many years, embarrasses me.
Bob Shryock I've pretty much lost my voice, a curse of Parkinson's, and see little hope in recapturing it despite the best possible speech therapy provided by Inspira Woodbury's Judy Koza.
This I consider a major setback based on more than a half-century of telephone interviews, toastmaster and guess speaking assignments, and several thousand cable TV sports productions. Frankly, the quality of my voice, which I relied on so heavily for so many years, embarrasses me.
And yet, as recounted on page 152 of my book, I'm able to amuse myself with a plethora of memories, some poignant, some self-effacing.
My first public appearance in Gloucester County was as guest speaker at the Deptford Tigers' midget football banquet at Deptford High.
After a glowing introduction by Stan "The Man" Boody, I got up from my head table chair only to discover my foot was asleep. To the collective gasp from the crowd, I awkwardly tumbled off the back of the stage and fell face-first into a pile of wrestling mats
A quick thinker, I dusted myself off and explained to the crowd I was merely a victim of an old football injury.
When I emceed an appearance by then freeholder director John Maier at a Gloucester County College function, I unintentionally introduced John as "director of the Gloucester County Board of Frozen Cheeseholders. To this day, at least, Maier is pretty much convinced it wasn't deliberate.
One night I was toastmaster of a United Way dinner at Woodbury Country Club when Paul "The Pope" Owens was guest speaker during a snowstorm. Because of all the awards, I wasn't able to introduce Pope until 10:30 p.m., a record, arguably. Owens enjoyed a libation or two while waiting. When I finally was able to introduce him, Paul peered out over the crowd of 250, looked at me, and muttered, "That's the biggest bunch of (censored) I ever heard."
As an aside, that was also the night Owens went looking for his car and after 10 minutes came back inside "because it's snowing and all the cars look the same." I'm not certain what time he got home.
A not-so-memorable guest speaking assignment was at a service club dinner at Tavistock Country Club after my employer had printed an expose on the church. Instead of a chorus of applause, I was treated to resounding boos punctuated by a dinner roll being bounced off my head.
But my two favorite stories happened a year apart when I was a one-man speakers' bureau for a rival South Jersey newspaper.
A gentleman called who said he was the program chair for the Sterling Kiwanis Club, which met at the Silver Lake Inn. He was looking for a guest speaker.
Informed the date suited me, he suggested we meet at the bar for a pre-dinner, get-to-know-each-other drink.
At 6:30, we went upstairs to greet the others.
One Kiwanian was sitting alone at a table in the cavernous room.
"Guess I didn't draw much of a crowd," I said nervously.
"Oh, no, we're all here," my sponsor said.
There were two club members, that's all, and only my host listened.
The other apologized profusely.
"I have another appointment. Gotta leave after I eat."
It doesn't top this one.
A woman who was program chair for the Maple Shade woman's club called and asked if I was available to speak. Let's say she wanted me Sept. 1, 1978 and she was calling March 1, 1975.
"You like planning ahead," I said. "I'll have to check my schedule. Three and a half years isn't much warning."
She called again the next day.
"I forgot to ask you the most important thing, Mr. Shryock. I'm deeply sorry."
"What's that."
"Do you want roast beef or turkey."