I just watched Kurt Johnson raise $120,000 in two hours. We’re at a fundraiser for DeLeSalle High School, and I’m hoping to get some insight into the trade before I make my debut as an auctioneer next week. Kurt has the crowd totally engaged, cheering them on as he rattles off numbers and the bids go higher and higher. He’s so effective at getting his audience riled up that by the last item—despite the fact that I only have $7 in my pocket and have no desire to go fishing with the DeLeSalle football coach (no offense, Mr. Weinberger)—even I’m dying to make a bid.

“The difference between a good auctioneer and an amateur can mean raising $20,000 more for the charity,” Kurt tells me with the kind of self assurance that is essential to succeeding at the craft. “It’s all about confidence up there. You may be struggling to get people to bid, but you can never show it. As soon as you give the slightest hint that the ship is going down, there’s nothing left to do but sink.”

Kurt would spend the rest of the evening and much of the next week giving me advice like this, preparing me for my role as auctioneer at a benefit for Home for Life—a no-kill pet shelter for special-needs animals in Stillwater. His advice: Despite the profession’s stereotype for being motor-mouthed, saying bid amounts accurately and clearly is more important than saying them with speed. He gives me a couple of counting exercises and a list of near-impossible tongue-twisters (“rubber baby buggy bumper”) to improve my annunciation. And he drives home the most important point: Stay confident and positive at all times on stage. Of course, with all these things to remember, not only am I completely lacking confidence, but the only thing I’m positive about is that being an auctioneer is much more difficult than it looks.

“Only one percent of people who attend auctioneer school actually become successful auctioneers,” confirms Kurt, who would know. He is also an instructor at the World Wide College of Auctioneering in Mason City, Iowa.

Knowing I face long odds, I practice hard throughout the week. Maybe it was those long hours reciting tongue-twisters and practicing my auctioneering cadence. Or maybe it was my rental tuxedo, which made me look the part of an auctioneer. But when I step onto the stage at the Home for Life benefit, I’m full of confidence as I introduce the first of two items I would be selling: a golf outing for three with KFAN’s “Common Man” Dan Cole.

“We’ll start the bidding at 100 dollars. Who will give me 100?”

A hand goes in the air, and I’m off and running.

“I’ve got 100, now who will give me 150?” Immediately another person signals. Excited now, I continue with my auctioneer’s chant, remembering to concentrate on the surprisingly difficult task of counting in multiples of 50.  

“150! Now who will give me 200? 200-now-who-will-give-me-250?”

The hands keep flying until we get to $350, just above what the charity is hoping for. With no further bids, I yell, “Sold!” and silently congratulate myself. Look, Mom! I’m an auctioneer.

The second item I have to sell is a glass doghouse designed by a local architecture firm. As I open the bidding to a silent crowd, I begin to think that there might be a reason why the glass doghouse market had gone untapped until now. Why would anyone want this?