The themeless pudding speech

My friend and fellow speechwriter, James Humes, loves to tell the story of how Winston Churchill summoned a waiter to his table during dessert and said, "Pray sir, take away this pudding. It has no theme."

I think of that story each year as I watch the State of the Union—the quintessential themeless pudding speech. It's a no-win situation for both the President and his speechwriters, and all the more so when it follows, as tonight's speech did, the winged words of an inaugural address less than two weeks earlier.

Problem is, there's no way—even in the compass of an hour-long speech—to treat any issue more than once over lightly (though the President did a passable job tonight with Social Security and the withdrawal from Iraq). A speech needs to tell a story, and the State of the Union is a laundry list, so the result is most often unedifying and unmemorable.

The speech's format dates back to George Washington, so it would be hard to revamp it significantly. Presidents neatly sidestepped the problem for better than a century by sending it up to Congress in written form, but Wilson—always the idealist—resurrected the idea of delivering it in person, and Presidents have been stuck with the thankless chore ever since.

President Reagan came up with the biggest State of the Union innovation in modern memory, when he introduced "heroes in the gallery." These unsung Americans gave Reagan, the master storyteller, living illustrations for his parables.

President Bush borrowed the Great Communicator's gambit again this evening, introducing Safia Taleb al-Suhail—an Iraqi woman whose father was killed in 1996 by Saddam Hussein's secret service and who voted in Sunday's election—and Janet and Bill Norwood of Pflugerville, Texas—whose son, 25-year-old Marine Corps Sgt. Byron Norwood, was killed in combat in Iraq during November's assault on Falluja.

What the President couldn't have planned on, of course, was that Janet Norwood would be overcome with emotion, nearly to the point of collapse, or that Ms. al-Suhail would comfort her with a heartfelt embrace. The drama of that moment effectively upstaged the President, but it reinforced his message about freedom in a way that words alone could not.

Certainly, it lent an added poignancy to the peroration that followed:

In these four years, Americans have seen the unfolding of large events. We have known times of sorrow, and hours of uncertainty, and days of victory. In all this history, even when we have disagreed, we have seen threads of purpose that unite us. The attack on freedom in our world has reaffirmed our confidence in freedom's power to change the world. We are all part of a great venture: To extend the promise of freedom in our country, to renew the values that sustain our liberty, and to spread the peace that freedom brings.

As Franklin Roosevelt once reminded Americans, "Each age is a dream that is dying, or one that is coming to birth." And we live in the country where the biggest dreams are born. The abolition of slavery was only a dream—until it was fulfilled. The liberation of Europe from fascism was only a dream—until it was achieved. The fall of imperial communism was only a dream—until, one day, it was accomplished. Our generation has dreams of its own, and we also go forward with confidence. The road of Providence is uneven and unpredictable—yet we know where it leads: It leads to freedom.

There hasn't been such a moment of raw emotion in the 215-year history of the State of the Union—and it's unlikely there will ever be again.

It gave the "themeless pudding speech" an unexpectedly powerful flavor.