The chief glory of every people arises from its authors.
Dr. Samuel Johnson
On December 8, 1980, as a writing conference director, I sent a letter to Alex Haley, the renowned author—not really expecting a response. My letter began this way:
Dear Alex,
A can of sardines and a few pennies left to your name—wow, that’s a scary thought. Thanks for hanging in there and eventually bringing us Roots, Alex, because you and your story have become an inspiration to struggling writers everywhere. That’s my purpose in writing you.
Then, realizing this was a very long shot, I asked him if he would deliver a conference keynote address for me:
Since there are many other scared, aspiring writers out there who need all the encouragement they can get, would you please take time out of your very busy schedule to share your personal story with 400 beginning and advanced writers at the 20th California Writers Club Conference to be held at Mills College in Oakland, California, on June 27, 1981, at 8:00 P.M.?
Then I appealed to his emotional side.
We need you, Alex, as our keynote speaker—to infuse us, to enlighten us, to inspire us, to guide us. You are more than just a writer, you are legend.
I could hardly believe it; my persuasive letter worked. Three weeks later, Alex called me.
“Hi, Buuuuuuud. Your letter got me, man. I’m yours. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Wow, Alex, you’ve given me the greatest Christmas present possible. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
We talked for nearly an hour about the details of the conference and a variety of other things. Then I got an idea.
“Alex, my daughter Lori is home for the holidays from the University of California at Davis, California, where she’s a pre-med student. In the spirit of Christmas, would you mind saying ‘Hi’ to her?”
“Sure. I’d love to, Buuuuuuud. Put her on.”
I left my home office and found Lori watching TV in the family room.
“Telephone, Lori. Take it on my office phone.”
“Who is it, Dad?”
“It’s Alex Haley, the author of Roots. He wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah, right, Dad.”
“I’m serious, Lori. Come on, Mr. Haley is waiting.”
Still not believing me, she barked into my phone, “Who is this?”
I watched her eyes grow wider and her face turn beet red the instant she recognized his famous voice.
“Oh, Mr. Haley, I’m so sorry. I thought my dad was playing a trick on me.”
They talked for a few minutes, Lori sputtering and blinking. When I came back on the line, she silently mouthed “I’m sorry,” then tore down the hall to tell her mother what had happened.
I was really touched by his graciousness. “Thanks, Alex, for talking to Lori and for agreeing to be our keynote speaker. I think I love you.”
“I love you too, Buuuuuuud.”
When I got the word out that the great Alex Haley had agreed to be our CWC Conference keynoter, the registration soared. In fact, we had to cut it off at 425 registered participants, the largest group ever assembled for a CWC Conference in forty years. I was on cloud nine all spring and into June.
Then about a week before the conference, I got the bad news that the airline controllers were threatening to strike any day. If they did strike, Alex, Eve Bunting, Lois Duncan, Walt Morey, Robert Silverberg and many other top author/teachers would not make it to the conference. I was on pins and needles and got very little sleep during this time.
By June 26, the day the conference began, I was feeling somewhat better. All my author/teachers had arrived— except Alex. I had my fingers crossed. If the controllers could hold off just one more day, Alex would be here.
Then I got a phone call that shattered my hopes.
Jackie Niapo, Alex’s office manager, called me at Mills College to report that Alex had flown to New York to meet with a GEO editor and wouldn’t be flying into Oakland from Los Angeles as planned, but coming into San Francisco International Airport about 3:00 P.M. the next day.
I was devastated. When I hung up, I felt like I’d just been stabbed in the gut. I feared the worst: that the controllers would strike or that Alex would get hung up and not arrive on time to address our sold-out conference crowd, which had now swelled to more than 500 participants, teachers and guests.
I felt sick. What would I tell the conferees, many of whom had traveled a couple thousand miles to hear Alex speak? I was literally a basket case.
The next day, Mac McCall and Ivan Hafstrom, staff assistants, and I nervously waited at the San Francisco airport as 279 passengers departed from the airplane Alex was supposed to be aboard. When the last passenger walked by, I panicked. Alex had missed his plane!
I slowly turned toward Mac and Ivan in total disbelief. “What are we going to do now?” I asked in a weak voice.
Just then Mac smiled and pointed toward the off ramp. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, standing in the doorway, was one of the most beautiful sights I’d ever seen: It was Alex Haley, wearing a tan suit, enveloped in sunlight like some god.
“Fooled ya, didn’t I Buuuuuuud?” He’d planned to be the last to deplane just to bug me.
I fought back tears of relief. “Yep, you got me good, Alex.”
We embraced, quickly jumped into Mac’s car, and raced back to Mills College.
“Hey, Buuuuuuud, I’m beat,” said Alex as we left the airport. “I need a nap, man.”
Alex explained that he had flown to New York to meet with the GEO editor the day before under the pretense of fine-tuning the overdue article he was writing for them. The truth was, Alex hadn’t even started the piece and flew to New York to buy some time. He had lunch with the editor, then dashed to his hotel room and wrote all night long. The next morning, he grabbed a cab, delivered his finished article to the GEO office and made a mad dash to the airport. He was the last passenger to board; the stewardess literally slammed the airplane door on his heels.
“Buuuuuud, you didn’t answer me. I said I need a nap bad, Buuuuuuud.”
“Alex, I hate to break this to you, but the minute we arrive back at Mills College about 5:00 P.M., we have 100-plus media folks, including two TV stations, all set to interview you. Then, at 6:00 P.M., we have 110 copies of Roots for you to autograph. We eat dinner at 7:00 P.M., and your speech is scheduled at 8:00 P.M. sharp.”
I held my breath.
“Okay, Buuuuuuud. You’re the boss. Then I’ll just have to gear down.”
The press conference went well. Alex, standing in front of the old administration building that had been moved to Mills College in the 1800s on log rollers, was magnificent. Where did he find the energy? I thought.
During the book signing, Alex delighted everyone by signing more than 107 copies of Roots. “I’ve done so many book signings of late,” he said jokingly, “that you’ll have a tough time finding a copy of Roots in America without my signature in it.”
Just then the unexpected happened. Alex was down to the last three books when the lawn sprinklers came on. Alex and the few remaining participants scattered, avoiding the spewing water.
On our way to dinner a few moments later, Alex couldn’t resist.
“What a stroke of genius, Buuuuuuud,” he said, pulling my leg. “That was brilliant.”
“I didn’t do that, Alex. I had nothing to do with the sprinklers coming on.”
“Sure you did, Buuuuuuud. You saw how tired I was and got me out of there. You’re a genius, man. Good job!”
All through dinner, my efforts to convince him of my innocence fell on deaf ears.
Promptly at 8:00 P.M. in the theater, Alex Haley delivered the greatest speech—”A Chat with Alex Haley”—I’ve ever heard. In the fifteen years I’ve been a member of the National Speakers Association (NSA), a worldwide group of professional speakers, I’ve heard the best of the best: Zig Ziglar, Norman Vincent Peale, Anthony Robbins, Brian Tracy, Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Jim Rohn, and hundreds of other great speakers. But this night, Alex, as the kids say today, was totally awesome.
After I introduced him, you could hear a pin drop as Alex began telling how as a starving writer, he’d hopped apartments in Greenwich Village, New York, because he couldn’t pay his rent. Then he hit the jackpot:
He got a $20,000 advance to write The Autobiography of Malcolm X, which freed him to write books full-time.
Then he launched into his famous story of Kunta Kinte, his ancient ancestor, how he researched and wrote Roots for twelve years, how it was turned down by many publishers, and how his life drastically changed when Roots finally came out.
I sat there mesmerized as Alex unfolded story after story. I was so engrossed, I almost missed my cue. Because Alex was so exhausted from being up all night and a full day more, he’d commanded me earlier: “Don’t leave me out there.” He insisted that I let him know when he’d spoken for an hour and a half by tugging on his coat. I agreed.
He’d been talking for exactly ninety-two minutes, when I reached over and tugged his coat. He stopped speaking, looked down at me (we were the only two people on the stage), waved me off, then began speaking again. I waited about ten more minutes and then tugged his coat a second time. This time he not only stopped speaking, he smiled at me, then put on a serious face and turned to the audience.
“Buuuuuuud’s trying to get me to stop. Do you want me to stop?”
The audience exploded! “Booooooo! Let him talk! Leave Alex alone!” Imagine the sound of 500 people screaming at you. I got the picture fast: Alex was having a ball. I didn’t tug his coat again. He spoke for two and a half hours with no break. He finished to a standing ovation that was deafening. Then he bowed and made a quick exit out the back door to get some well-deserved sleep. The audience kept cheering after he’d gone.
Looking back on this exciting experience, I feel blessed to have met and enjoyed the late Alex Haley, one of the truly great authors of our time. And I learned a great lesson from him: A positive attitude determines a positive result. I’d almost driven myself crazy worrying about what could go wrong, instead of focusing on what I wanted to go right. Since then, I’ve followed Alex’s sage advice: “Your attitude is everything. Believe in yourself and trust your material. To be a successful writer, write every single day whether you feel like it or not. Never, never give up, and the world will reward you beyond your wildest dreams.”
Bud Gardner