The Day a Ceremony Was Turned Upside Down at the Last Minute

This is Smith.

Today I shall speak of the ceremonial field — what we are thinking as we move behind a splendid occasion. It will be a somewhat blunt account; do bear with me.

Let me state it plainly first. A ceremony proceeding exactly as planned is the rarer thing — anyone without this much resolve should not take on the task of overseeing.

It happened at a certain reception. Just before the start, word came flying in that the roster of attending countries would change. Do you see what that means? The seating order changes. The order of raising the flags changes. The route of the welcome changes. In short, nearly all the arrangements built up until then are returned to blank. The time remaining: a mere thirty minutes.

At such a moment, if everyone rushes to act at once, the field will always collapse. The first thing to do is to break the problem apart in your head.

<What must be changed> — the seating, the flags, the running order.

<What need not be changed> — the order of service, the manner of welcome, the route of departure.

You make this sorting in an instant, and concentrate your people only on what must change. It is trying to fix everything at once that brings on panic. Lay hands even on what need not change, and you will only breed new failures.

And then, do not mistake your priorities. If you have but thirty minutes, the first thing to take up is whatever, gotten wrong, would be the gravest discourtesy. The seating order and the order of raising the flags — these two bear directly on the standing of the guests. Secure them first of all, and the fine touches on the tables may wait. Try to treat everything with the same weight, and your hands will never reach what matters most. What to abandon and what to guard: that very discernment is an overseer's nerve.

And one more thing. Never let your subordinates see you flustered. If the one overseeing loses their footing, that agitation spreads through the whole floor in an instant. However much you are rushing within, keep the voice low and the movements quiet. What I gave the most care to in those thirty minutes was, in truth, perhaps this — my own composure.

Next, instructions must come from a single mouth. If several people give orders in a scene of confusion, the floor is caught in the middle and cannot move. I called all the staff together once and told them the new placement plainly, one time only. I do not repeat. Because there is no time to repeat. Therefore you choose words that land in one telling. This, too, is among an overseer's skills.

When the guests arrived, the hall stood in order as if nothing had happened. The host later told me it was "like watching magic," but reveal the trick and it is no magic at all. Break it apart, sort it, give orders from one mouth. I merely did just that, without panic.

The unexpected will always occur. What is tested is whether you can keep a cool head in that instant. That is all.

Let us meet again.