THE SPEED READER
I went to a speed-reading workshop at the Somerset Inn. Somebody there was pitching the Evelyn Wood method. No thanks. Too expensive.
DIY was my style. I got on a self-improvement kick. I was 23, living with my parents, and I sped-read Exodus and Herzog and all the other blue classics lying around my parents’ apartment.
I could even speed-read stop signs. You see STOP, but you don’t subvocalize it. You let the world imprint itself on your brain. It’s hard to speed-read longer signs, like “Brainard-Cedar, Next Right.”
I wish I could read faster but I can’t.
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Bert – We’re all cheated here. You could have spared at least two more paragraphs. I “speed-read” that itsy-bitsy little thing in two seconds flat! That’s because I took a speed-reading course in Rochester, probably the summer before college in 1966. It was in a former mansion on Portsmouth Terrace, off East Avenue, and there was what I considered a revolutionary-looking kid (wire-rimmed glasses, for one thing) in the class who was going to Berkeley. I’ve still got the book from College Skills Center, in NYC, and recall some of the readings. Come to think of it, I took some kind of a reading class in high school too – probably 12th grade.
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