“Though no man is an island, it takes one to run New York City,” said this prospective candidate, practicing his stump speech. “I am Tyrell Eiland and I'm running for mayor.”

Tyrell Eiland sat down at a small conference table in the front of the classroom and clutched his notes. Up on the blackboard behind him, the words “um,” “like,” and “you know” were written—reminders of what not to say.

The 30-year-old mayoral hopeful with a background in grant writing was dressed in a blue, striped collared shirt, a Star-of-David pendant on a gold necklace peeking out between the buttons. He started his closing argument in the mock debate. The class of 20 other would-be candidates stared back at him.

“I believe in a city that takes care of its homeless, low-income families and youth at risk,” he said in a quiet voice while reading from the notes. “I believe in a society that can progress without unnecessary taxes and assessments.”

About a minute later, after pledging to create 100,000 units of affordable housing, Eiland looked up for the first time.

So far no “ums,” “likes” or “you knows.”

He smiled.

“Though no man is an island, it takes one to run New York City,” he said. “I am Tyrell Eiland and I'm running for mayor.”

The audience applauded.

Laura Altschuler, debate coordinator for the League of Women Voters, asked them for feedback.

The collective wisdom was that Eiland was not loud enough. He should have made eye contact. He should have spoken on fewer topics. And not enough people had heard him ask for their votes.

Altschuler offered other public speaking tips: Do not bring an entire speech to an event. Use note cards. Become an expert on one issue. Do not come off like a policy wonk. No props, unless you are Rev. Al Sharpton. Ladies, wear long skirts and pants. Men, watch out for navy and black sock combinations.

“When you run for office you will not be a rock star,” she warned. “You will be perhaps on Queens cable—where the equipment is good, but it is not the same as a studio's.”

Experience always helps, too. And that is what the $50, two-day League of Women Voters'“How to Run for Public Office” course for first-time candidates is meant to provide.

The program covers how to get on the ballot, campaign finance law, and explores methods of get-out-the-vote drives. Since first offering the course last year, the League has tweaked their courses six times, in part to also appeal to those who do not intend to run for public office. Many of the 126 people who have taken past courses have indicated that their goal is not to be candidates, but to have staff positions on campaigns or in government offices, said Alison Alpert, the League's director. So far, none has run for office.

Between term limits and expanded public financing, there are more frequent opportunities for new people to get into politics, Alpert said, but at the same time, fewer people have joined political clubs than in past years, decreasing the number of candidates coming up though traditional ranks.

The latest course, held at York College in Queens, was full of political newcomers, many of whom had stumbled across a notice for the course on the League's website or heard about the event from a friend.

And they took to the seminar in different ways. A janitor from East New York seemed to doze off during a lecture on the finer points of in-kind contributions but spoke passionately about stopping violence in his neighborhood. An internet entrepreneur took the course for the second time to motivate himself for a run at Assembly, even though that campaign process required different rules than those for seeking city office, which are the focus of the course.

Then there was Carlene Thorbs, a retired police officer and current church minister. She had not planned to run for office, but signed up out of curiosity about how politicians got into power. Of all the volunteers to go before the class and speak about why they were running for office, though, her speech was a class favorite. As she spoke about regenerating her community through maintaining schools and sewers, she paused between sentences and worked the room, seeming to look each person in the eye.

The stump skill alone won over Linda Solomon, a seminar organizer in the room.

“I don’t have to hear the specifics. I heard the love,” Solomon said after Thorbs finished.

Thorbs remained uncommitted to a race. But she saw and heard enough during the course to say she would pray about whether to change her mind and run for Council.

First, though, there were other questions to answer. The nuts and bolts of campaigning took up the last part of the afternoon.

Did running for office mean a candidate should carry make-up everywhere in case of an impromptu press conference?

No.

What if you used your own copy machine to make campaign fliers?

The expense would have to be reported.

Then there was the briefer on the Campaign Finance Board (CFB).

Eric Joerss, chief of candidate's services for the CFB, said in the past candidates were caught using campaign funds for trips to Las Vegas, the Dominican Republic and Napa.

“Your campaign can't buy a car, pay for tuition or a child,” he scolded.

“What about call girls from other states?” joked John Heyer, 25, who plans to run for the seat of term-limited Council Member Bill de Blasio (D-Brooklyn).


John Heyer writes his practice closing argument in the “How to Run for Public Office” course.

Toward the end of the session, League volunteer Adrienne Kivelson told the class they need not wait for next year's elections to start acting like elected officials. She advised helping neighbors file complaints and directing the unemployed to job training programs.

“This isn't rocket science and it isn't brain surgery,” she said. “Most of what your constituents will ask you can be solved with common sense.”