I'm going to share with you some "secrets" of professional speech writing. Well, actually, the things I'll be discussing are not secrets at all. They're proven techniques that speech writers use to make their speeches more interesting, more meaningful, and more dramatic. You can find them not only in well-written speeches but in many kinds of writing, from ad copy to fiction.

The Rule of Three

Churchill's famous "blood, toil, tears, and sweat" has been widely misquoted as "blood, sweat, and tears." Although I would never presume to edit the writing of Churchill, I must admit that the misquoters have a point in their favor. There's something almost mystical about the number three. It's as if two are not enough and four are too many.

Also See in TVR: Getting the Words Right by Tracy Lee Simmons

Writers, especially speech writers, have long recognized this phenomenon and often use a rhetorical device called a triad. Or, as some prefer to express it, "the rule of three." The rule of three is something of a misnomer because there's no rule involved, just a principle. That principle is that the human ear has a peculiar affinity for triplets. Writers with a good ear for cadence use triads routinely.

A triad is the expression of related thoughts or ideas in a group of three, often with the initial words or sounds the same for all three, and almost always with each element of the triad using the same grammatical form. The elements of a triad can be single words — nouns, adjectives, adverbs, or verbs. They can also be phrases, clauses, even sentences. Some examples will serve better than my definition. Here are some well-known triads:

From the Bible: And now abideth faith, hope, and charity, but the greatest of these is charity.

From the Declaration of Independence: ... [W]e mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.

Julius Caesar: Veni, vidi, vici. [I came, I saw, I conquered.]

Franklin Delano Roosevelt: I see one-third of a nation ill-housed, ill-clad, ill-nourished.

Sir Walter Scott: Unwept, unhonored, unsung.

Abraham Lincoln: ... [T]hat government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

And here's one of my own: A triad can give force to our ideas, eloquence to our words, and rhythm to our sentences.

If you read the examples carefully, you probably noticed that with the exception of faith, hope, and charity, each has words or sounds that are repeated in each element of the triad, but not always the initial sounds.

In the quotation from the Declaration of Independence, our appears as the first word in each element: our lives, our fortunes, our sacred honor." It's worth noting also that the last part of the triad is "our sacred honor." Writers know that the end of a sentence, not the beginning, is the point of greatest emphasis. The authors of the Declaration, being men who placed the highest value on honor, put honor above, which is to say after, both life and fortune. If they had said, "our sacred honor, our lives, our fortunes," the emphasis would have shifted and the effect diminished. It would have left the impression that their fortunes were more important than their sacred honor.

In the Julius Caesar triad, the repeated sounds are the w sound at the beginning of each element and long-e sound at the end — WAYnee, WEEdee, WEEkee. In the FDR quotation, there's the repetition of ill, in ill-housed, ill-clad, ill-nourished. In the Sir Walter Scott quotation, it's the prefix un- that repeats — unwept, unhonored, unsung. In the Lincoln quotation, the repeated words are the people at the end of each prepositional phrase — of the people, by the people, for the people. The three parallel grammatical forms give the triad its wonderful cadence. (In my triad about triads, the repeated phrase comes in the middle of each element — to our, as in force to our ideas.)

General Douglas MacArthur was a fine orator and rhetorician. In his speech delivered to the Cadet Corps at West Point on May 12, 1962, MacArthur used two triads to play on "Duty, Honor, Country," the motto, also a triad, that appears on the West Point coat of arms:

"Duty ... honor ... country" — those three hallowed words reverently dictate what you want to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your rallying point to build courage when courage seems to fail, to regain faith when there seems to be little cause for faith, to create hope when hope becomes forlorn.

Notice how effectively the Old Soldier uses contrast to build up to his main point in the triad "what you want to be, what you can be, what you will be." In the second triad, he begins each element with an infinitive — to build ... to regain ... to create. The effect is heightened by repetition of the object of each infinitive — "to build courage when courage seems to fail" ... "to regain faith when there seems little cause for faith" ... "to hope when hope becomes forlorn."

I'm not sure anybody really knows why triads have such ear appeal. Possibly it's for the same reason that a musical triad, a three-note chord, pleases the ear. Of course, a chord cannot be composed of just any three notes. The three notes of the chord must blend in the right way. The same is true of a speech triad. The elements of the triad must follow a certain pattern to create the desired tone and cadence. Unfortunately, there's no formula for creating a speech triad as there is for a musical one.

One point is certain: ideas grouped in threes are more memorable, which may explain why the Churchillian phrase is so often misquoted. No matter how many times we hear "blood, toil, tears, and sweat," we tend to remember it as "blood, sweat, and tears." Such is the unique power of the triad.

As I've already noted, a triad can be composed of single words, phrases, sentences, or even paragraphs. Here is one composed of complete sentences. It's from a speech I wrote on the challenges facing American business:

We don't need protectionism.

We don't need central economic planning.

We don't need a so-called industrial policy.

To again use a musical analogy, that triad seems to cry out for resolution. The thrice-repeated negative phrase "we don't need," like a suspended chord, leaves listeners unsatisfied. I resolved the suspense in the next sentence, closing the circle, so to speak, by using a positive phrase, "what we do need":

What we do need is the will to make our system function as it has in the past and as we know it can function in the future.

If you harbor any doubt about the effectiveness of triads, take a couple of the examples and remove or add one element. In the Biblical quotation, instead of "faith, hope, and charity," say "Now abideth faith and charity" or "Now abideth faith, love, hope, and charity." The first has too few elements, the second too many. Drama and rhythm are gone from both.

Now let's take another one and alter the repeated sounds. Suppose that Roosevelt, instead of saying "ill-clad, ill-housed, ill-nourished" had said, "ill-clad, poorly housed, and undernourished." Quite a difference, don't you agree?

And, as another example, try removing the parallel grammatical construction from the selection from the Lincoln quotation. Make it, "That government of the people, which the people themselves created, and which is intended to serve the people, shall not vanish from the earth." A bit jarring to the ear, no? The sentiment expressed is the same as in the original, but the drama is missing.

So, in summary, well-constructed triads add drama, interest, and rhythm to a speech. They also emphasize important points and make them stick in the minds of listeners.

Anaphora: Repetition That Doesn't Bore

My triad that begins with "We don't need" provides an example of anaphora, another device professional speech writers use often. Anaphora is nothing more than the repetition of a word or words at the beginning of successive phrases, clauses, or sentences. Speech writers often combine triads with anaphora, but anaphora is also used when more than three elements are needed. For example, the keynote speaker at the 1928 Democratic convention used a sort of double anaphora very effectively to compare the philosophy of Alexander Hamilton with that of Thomas Jefferson, whose philosophy was said to have been the foundation for the ideals of Democrats. This was the convention, by the way, that nominated New York Governor Al Smith to face Republican Herbert Hoover in a contest to succeed Calvin Coolidge.

The keynoter, one Claude Bowers, stated his thesis this way:

To understand the conflicting views of these two men on the functions of government is to grasp the deep significance of this campaign.

Then he supported it with no fewer than six sentences in which he repeated the name Hamilton at the beginning of each and the name Jefferson at the beginning of a second clause in each.

Now, Hamilton believed in the rule of an aristocracy of money; and Jefferson in a democracy of men.

Hamilton believed that governments are created for the domination of the masses; and Jefferson that they are created for the service of the people.

Hamilton wrote to Morris that governments are strong in proportion as they are made profitable to the powerful; and Jefferson knew that no government is fit to live that does not conserve the interest of the average man.

Hamilton proposed a scheme for binding the wealthy to the government by making government a source of revenue to the wealthy; and Jefferson unfurled his banner of equal rights.

Hamilton would have concentrated authority remote from the people; and Jefferson would have diffused it among them.

Hamilton would have injected governmental activities into all the affairs of men; and Jefferson laid it down as an axiom of freedom that government is best which governs least.

The effectiveness of the keynote speech evidently did not carry forward into the campaign, for Hoover and the Republicans prevailed in the election.

Here is another fine example of anaphora:

Today, twenty-seven million Americans, one in five — more than the entire population of Canada — are functional illiterates. That means, basically, they can exist. Like turtles on the beach. They are there. Period.

They can write their names — maybe.

They can't read a street sign.

They can't look up a phone number.

They can't count change.

They can't follow directions on a medicine bottle.

They can't fill out a job application, to say nothing of reading a newspaper or Huckleberry Finn.

They are lost, just lost.

The speaker began eight consecutive sentences with they. The last one, "They are lost, just lost" gives the listener the feeling of despair that an illiterate person must feel being unable to do all those things.

In his most famous speech, Martin Luther King, Jr. began eight sentences with "I have a dream." Not only did the phrase echo and re-echo throughout the speech, it continues to echo throughout American society today. For good reason, "I have a dream" is the most remembered part of the speech.

Although anaphora is defined as repetition at the beginning of successive phrases, clauses, or sentences, I have heard speeches in which key phrases are repeated with several sentences or even several paragraphs between them. This device was used to good effect in a commencement address at the Southwest Texas State University several years ago. The inspirational speech was titled "Living With Abandon." The speaker used "If you would live with abandon, you must ..." five times during her speech — for example, "If you would live with abandon, you must have a self you respect," and "If you would live life with abandon, you must learn to enjoy life's processes, not just life's rewards." Each such use introduced a related discussion ranging in length from a half to more than one full page of typewritten text.

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