To Zoom or Not to Zoom, That Is the Question

Eight months ago – which now can be thought of as the ‘Before Time’ – I wrote about attending a talk by horticulturalist Dan Jaffe held at a garden club in a neighboring town.  There, in front of 35 or 40 people, Dan put on a virtuoso performance under the most unimaginable of circumstances: he could not project his presentation onto a screen.  Rather than cancel  as would have been his right (the club had promised a compatible projector), Dan pivoted to a different strategy: he pared his visuals to a minimum and walked the room, holding his modest-sized laptop for groups to see. 

I truly enjoy presentations

I was reminded of that talk twice this week.  Wednesday evening, I again watched Dan (doing a different presentation) speaking to a group numbering more than 300.  The presentation was via Zoom, a computer program that had become our de facto tool for education in a time in which we cannot assemble in groups.

Dan’s topic that evening was about incorporating native plants into landscapes.  He has dazzling visuals for his presentations and he possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of his topic.  But his hour-long talk was marred by technical glitches beyond his control: video freezes and audio that was often hard to hear.  At one point, his audience got a tour of Dan’s home as he moved from an office/study to sit adjacent to his router in a different room.  Further, Dan's slides aren't especially compatible with a small computer screen (see the photo at right).  Most of his slides contain multiple images, which look fine when projected on a six- or eight-foot screen – but were difficult to absorb on a 14-inch monitor.  And, without a laser pointer, deciphering which cultivar he was discussing was sometimes problematic.  Also, in the February presentation, Dan was interrupted every few slides by questions from the audience, which added to everyone's understanding of the presentation, and had the added benefit of forcing Dan to slow down. On Wednesday evening, Dan fairly raced through his slides.  All in all, it wasn’t a disaster; just a disappointment. 

Many of Dan's slides incorporate
 multiple images - hard to see
on a small screen

I can feel for Dan Jaffe because, this week, I did my first Zoom presentation.  It was a fund-raising project for the Central Atlantic Region of National Garden Clubs.  Mine was the kick-off talk of a four-day, seven-speaker event that likely raised close to $10,000 for scholarships.

As much as I genuinely enjoy speaking to groups, I have turned down several dozen remote speaking opportunities since Covid-19 became part of our national language.  I did so because I did not think I could do justice to an audience.  Mine is not a set of canned presentations; a group of lectures that never need vary.  Rather, I continually ‘read’ my audience and adjust as I go.  As a result, no two audiences ever see and hear exactly the same talk. Also, my subject matter is tailored for a live audience.  It is intended as entertainment; to make people laugh (and laughter is infectious), and is ‘educational’ but certainly not 'education heavy'.

Zoom has become the de facto
tool for enabling meetings

In agreeing to do the presentation (the organizer was exceptionally persuasive), I knew I needed to re-think many of my visuals for ‘the small screen’.  I also would need to tailor the talk for an audience that would be viewing in Virginia, Delaware, Pennsylvania, and Maryland (among other states). I also rehearsed multiple times (including in a Zoom call with the conference organizer) and mastered (or so I thought) Zoom’s screen-sharing options.

Those requirements paled next to the elephant in the room: that I would be unable to see or hear my audience.  In my ‘dress rehearsal’ with the organizer, we were one-on-one and I could see and hear her reactions.  I could also see myself.  I knew if I were properly positioned within the camera’s frame and could judge whether my gestures were appropriate. I also had that wonderful crutch offered to all users of PowerPoint: a miniature image of my next slide alongside the current one. When you see a presenter doing effortless segues between topics, it’s because of that ‘preview’ pane on his or her laptop.

A speaker's best friend is the
preview pane (in the lower
right) showing the next slide

All of that disappeared when I presented at four in the afternoon this past Monday. I logged on half an hour early but quickly discovered the ‘dirty little secret’ of Zoom: unless you’re the host (as I had been in my rehearsals), you a) can’t see yourself, b) can’t see or hear your host or the audience, and c) don’t have access to that preview pane.  All I saw was my presentation and a small black rectangle with my name in it, where everyone else would see me speaking.  My audience, according to the Zoom counter visible to me at the bottom of the screen, was 133 strong.  Were they laughing, or were they going to the sideboard for another glass of wine?

I calmed down after a few slides and blew only one transition.  But, in my own estimation, I did a mediocre job.  I move around a fair amount and use hand gestures a great deal.  Because I could not see myself, I rigidly stayed in one position and minimized gestures.  I also went too fast (I know this because Betty kept holding up a sign that read SLOW DOWN!!!!).

Afterward, the organizer offered praise and said comments from attendees were uniformly positive.  I respectfully disagree.  I think I gave the audience less than half of what they deserved.  They got a well-rehearsed talk but there was no spontaneity because I couldn’t see or hear their reactions.  It was a two-dimensional talk that lacked depth and shading.

I enjoy connecting with my
audience (and, yes, selling
 books)

I realize I also failed in one other way:  When I present, I am invariably one of the first people to arrive (I even help set up chairs).  I speak to members as they come in.  I join conversations.  Sometimes, when it is a group with spouses, I even seed the husbands with the answers to arcane horticultural questions, then ask those questions before or during my presentation.  This pre-meeting chatter helps me to better understand my audience, with or without the mischief.

I haven't done a live, in-person presentation of any program since the first week of March - more than 40 presentations have been canceled.  While I miss those audiences, based on my Zoom experience, I'll wait out the pandemic and hope clubs remember me in 2021.