November-December 2005

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“Thank You Very Much. That’s All the Time You Have”

Keeping that conference session running smoothly is easy, if you're willing to be a Procrustean chair.

By Timothy J. Madigan

One of my favorite episodes of The Mary Tyler Moore Show was “The Dinner Party,” during which Sue Anne Nivens prepares her famous “Veal Prince Orloff” with just enough portions for everyone at the table. Mr. Grant is served first and, not realizing the gravity of the situation, takes a heaping three portions for himself. Mary Richards, who is hosting, is forced to call him aside and beg him to put two portions back into the plate, which he does, much to the consternation of the other shocked guests.

I often think of this episode when attending academic conferences. You know the scene: with three or more people on a panel, the first speaker goes over the allotted time, which causes a chain reaction, leaving the final speaker with almost no time at all. Audience members who hoped to discuss the presentations have to do so in the hallway afterward.

If Mary had only alerted her guests beforehand to the fact that there was only one portion for each guest, no one would have made a fuss. But she wanted to be a nice person and not offend anyone. She just hoped for the best. It didn’t work. And it doesn’t work for session chairs at conferences.

At conferences, to be sure, presenters are usually aware of the time they have been given to speak, but it is easy—as Einstein ably demonstrated—to experience time in an extremely subjective way.

In Greek mythology, Procrustes was an innkeeper who had only one bed. If travelers were too short to fit into it, he’d stretch them out on a rack; if they were too tall, he’d lop off their feet or legs. Not surprisingly, the term “Procrustean bed” has a negative connotation—it is often used to describe situations in which people must adapt themselves in ways they find hurtful. When it comes to conferences, however, it might be good to remember the wicked old innkeeper in a more positive light. He was harsh, but he was fair—no one was left without a place to sleep, although a pleasant night’s sleep was by no means guaranteed.

Procrustean Chair

Chairs of sessions must be followers of Procrustes. If there are three or more speakers on a panel, each should have exactly the same amount of time to speak. Everyone on the panel is in the same boat. No one likes the fact that the time allotted is so short, usually twenty minutes or less. But in today’s academic world, in order to get funding from one’s department to attend a conference, it is usually necessary to be on a panel, either as a chair or as a speaker. This necessity increases the number of panelists. No one likes it, but that’s the way it is. So here are some helpful hints for chairs.

1. Give each presenter a signal, preferably a public one, such as holding up a sign, when there are five minutes left to speak. When a speaker’s time is up, make it clear by rising and saying words to the effect of “Thank you very much. That’s all the time you have.”

2. Let presenters know that the time allotted, which they think is too short, is probably going to be even shorter than they anticipate. Twenty minutes is usually the maximum, not the minimum. Sessions seldom start exactly on time, and they often end early, when people start beating on the door to get in for the next session. Also, remember that if the introductions mention every academic institution everyone’s ever attended, every book and article written, and every  award received, that time comes right out of the presentations. A one-sentence description should suffice for such occasions. Modesty is a virtue. Presenters may have practiced their talks over and over again to time them precisely. But in the heat of the moment, they will inevitably be astonished that they still have several pages left at the five-minute warning. “Ums” and “ers,” off-the-cuff remarks, and asides take up precious seconds.

3. Encourage presenters to test their technology ahead of time. If they can’t do so, let them know that testing it on the spot counts as part of the allotted time. If the equipment doesn’t work, as is often the case, they should have handouts at the ready, use notes, or summarize. If they can’t give the talk without the equipment, then they must admit defeat and sit down. Let them know that they should feel free to mutter Heideggerian imprecations against technology on their way back to their seats.

4. If they want to deliver a written paper, they need to understand that, no matter how short they think it is, the odds are against their finishing it. They need a conclusion they can jump to when they get the five-minute warning. That conclusion must be brief. Rather than reading a full paper, it’s better to summarize it and have copies of the full paper available. Presenters could also tell attendees that they will send copies to those who want them. Tell the presenters this: when you get the five-minute warning, do not take that to mean you must read the rest of the paper at double or triple normal reading speed. No one in the audience will be able to follow it, and you will probably hurt yourself.

5. Do not allow the five-minute warning to be an approximation. Saying “I’m almost done—just a few more points” should not buy speakers more time. “Time’s up” means time’s up. If the speaker continues to talk, start applauding and encourage the audience to do so as well. If that doesn’t work, call security.

6. If you are not only the chair of the session but also a participant, speak last rather than first. This will give you a wonderful incentive to watch the time, and, should things somehow get out of whack, you can bring everything to a proper close by practicing what you preach and bringing the session in on time through shortening your own talk.

7. Finally, tell the audience members that they are expected to ask a question, not deliver another lecture. Interrupt after a minute or two by asking, “Do you have a question?” If they do not, ask them to please step aside to give a chance to those who do. Also, forbid multipart questions that would take a good twenty minutes to answer; make it clear that if audience members want an extended exchange with the speakers, they can arrange one after the session is over. Urge questioners to be charitable to the speakers who, given their time restraints, almost always must omit vital parts of their arguments.

Had we but world enough and time, each speaker would be able to explicate a position at length and questioners would be able to engage in true Socratic dialogue for as long as necessary. But, alas, such is not the reality of modern-day conferencing. That’s why God invented coffee breaks.

A Tough Job, but . . .

Ideally, it would be nice if there were a professional chair society that conference organizers could use, much like the referee system in professional sports. But until the Procrustean Chair Association, dedicated to impartial timekeeping and equal arbitration, is established, most chairs will continue to be chosen from the ranks of the academic organization sponsoring the conference. It can be awkward to cut off colleagues in mid-sentence, scold long-winded questioners, and keep one’s eye on the clock rather than concentrating on the rich intellectual fare being offered. But nobody said chairing was easy. Perhaps, just as on airplanes where people sitting in emergency rows must agree that they have the wherewithal to operate the doors in case of an emergency, those chairing should accept the fact that there are real responsibilities involved and demur if they do not feel up to the challenge. Chairing is an opportunity to make conference presenting a mutually rewarding opportunity for all. If you are successful in running a tight ship, everyone—speakers, questioners, and audience members—will appreciate your work. And, if nothing else, remember—Procrustes would be proud of you.

Timothy J. Madigan teaches philosophy at St. John Fisher College and, for his sins, attends far more conferences than one man should.