Lecture By norman bowen The youth stared, wondered, dreamed in interrupted reverie. Functioning were his juvenile sentiments: curiousity: deep, characteristic; awe: inspiring, captivating; ambition: infinite, Utopian. Unbroken and unseeing was his stare fixed on a prominent, shinning bald pate occupying the paramount position on the wide stage. Property of the present speaker. Unnoticed were the wild gestures and voice variances of the speaker as he gesticulated and expostulated, now wildly enthusiastic, now gentle and soothing. Unnoticed was the attractive pattern of variously-hued and shaped silk-clad expanses of feminine legs predominating in the foremost row of dignitaries on the stage. Unnoticed was the fact that the speaker, rambling on, already (but not without belligerance on the part of the bored minority had exceeded his allotted time ten minutes. Complementary to the intenseness of his stare, our subject's attitude and body bespoke utmost concern. His posture was the personification of tenseness; alert, upright and set; as if he were waiting upon the next words of the speaker and yet fearing that they would be the last. Revealing his true emotions were his eyes fixed, indeed, but the index to internal raging fires. Inwardly, he was sublimely happy. Happiness varying between mere pleasantness and radiant glory, according to the extravagancies of his imagination. The speaker was distant, unheard . . . the same speaker, curiously enough, who was the instigator of his present state. He whose challenges, inspirations, and arguments had fired his imagination into its present rampages. His imagination was running the gauntlet of its hidden desires. He was no longer average, commonplace. Instead, he occupied his proper and natural position of eminence. A degree of glory whose eventual attainment he had taken for granted, perhaps passively, since birth. He was supreme. As if he, himself, could be otherwise! Others could be born to be mediocre he was born for great things. Such was his endowment from God. He was the principal figure on the stage of life . . . the axis around which all others revolved. He wondered absurdly if not all other people existed only to provide background for his progress and triumph. His zeal dominated his saneness. . . . Excitedly he raced on. Obstacles and inconsistencies were considered only in the light of the greater glory to be won in overcoming them. His mind was a maelstrom of changing and whirling desires, ambitions, incredulities. He became dizzy, in an elated state of fascination. . . And again I say to you, you, our leaders of tomorrow, that there are still frontiers, frontiers to be conquered. Your sole requisite the will to conquer ..." Intruding into the haze of his mind had pierced the words of the speaker, ringing words, prophetic words. Words that creased his face in a happy smile of acceptance. Vaguely familiar words. Unpleasantly he remembered how they had stirred him then in much the same way as now. Unpleasantly, too, he remembered that their result had been nil. Words that disturbed him from his passive state. His gaze became animate, grasping. He noticed for the first time that steam seemed to be rising from the brow of the gleaming baldness of the perspiring and now concluding orator. Steam, only it was the hot glare of the stage lights. Of a sudden, this shadow had blighted his paradisiacal state. He had dreamed of triumph. Eventually glory, certainly, definitely. But now he was faced with the method of attainment. Heretofore, he had evaded and dismissed the query with a shrug of the shoulders and with an empty expression of the hands. Some day he would merely concentrate on his calling (after first deciding), give it everything he had, and success would come, deservedly, in surpassing quantity. Come cataclysmic. Come overnight, with ridiculous ease. Such was his theory. Only not stated, not looked at in the hard, cold light of actuality. Now that he did, its fallacy and impossibility was overwhelmingly significant. He found of his former reverie little left but a feeling of uncomfortableness. Descent to realism was jolting cruel. How could he possibly succeed? His limited talents, preparation, self-confidence, will power. He shuddered in thinking of the inevitable competition he would meet wherever he would turn. Crestfallen, he returned to the speaker. Envy and desire appeared on his face as he listened, admired. If he could only become as noteworthy. If he could express himself, could sway audiences, could convince people! What a talent! What satisfaction and joy of achievement would come to the speaker at the conclusion of his address. An objective achieved, a task well done, an impression. deeply made. If only he could accomplish as much. How absolute would then reign his happiness! His logic was reasonable now, the path of achievement outlined and clear. The urge, the yearn, was all-consuming. The goal infinite. . . . So much lay before him. . . . The speech was finished with one final dramatic outburst, and its deliverer returned triumphantly to his seat. He acknowledged the glance of appreciation and approval bestowed upon him by the master of ceremonies and the complimentary smiles and nods of his friends and colleagues. Straightforth he settled himself in his seat, assumed his best senatorial position, and centered his attention upon the next speaker. Inwardly, he glowed.' Smug satisfaction was countenanced upon his face. Self-assurance was bespoken by his composure. He had put across his ideas well. He had even injected a bit of humor into his presentation when he had temporarily mislaid his brief and had had to camouflage with a story. He was pleased with his appeal, his delivery, his reception, his influence. Yes, he sighed, he had been at his best. The next speaker was hefty, jovial. Waves of merriment swept the house. The audience was responsive, alive. Its every sentiment was attributed to the slightest whim of the speaker, his very personification. Great were his wielded powers. (Continued on page 20) Page Fourteen