Scatman John's friendship saved my life

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Gina with Scatman John memorabilia

When Gina Waggott heard 'Scatman', the song about stammering, for the first time, something clicked. Here she tells us how the popstar responded when she reached out, and the friendship that developed between them.

"Of course you can't," the careers advisor said. "Not with a speech impediment."

My heart sank. We had been discussing my desire to be an English teacher. I hardly stammered overtly, so I thought I could 'get away with it' as I had at school. I loved words — when I didn't have to say them aloud, that is — and wanted to pass my enthusiasm on to others.

I'd conveniently forgotten how I'd skipped all English classes that involved reading out loud. If I wanted to teach, I'd have to stammer overtly. Apparently, that wasn't an option. This was the early '90s and stammering was something to be fixed, 'cured' or ignored. Being told I couldn't do something because of it wasn't new. 

I avoided not just tricky words but entire situations and conversations, reducing my comfort zone to a tiny bubble as my anxiety boiled over.

That moment reinforced my fears and drove me further into my shell. Covert stammering flings you down a strange, third path unfamiliar to both fluent people and those who stammer overtly. You have what you think is a choice: stammer, or don't. Sounds simple, doesn't it? In the '80s and '90s, society most definitely said "don't". So I didn't. I avoided not just tricky words but entire situations and conversations, reducing my comfort zone to a tiny bubble as my anxiety boiled over. I was fluent! Hurrah. I was also a mess, driven to the point of suicide.

"There's nothing wrong with you", my family insisted. "You don't stammer." My teachers knew something was wrong, but they never identified it. All my reports said the same: "Knows the answers but won't voice her opinion". I even pretended I couldn't hear the teachers — a ruse so convincing that I was moved to the front of the class and scheduled for ear surgery before I admitted I just didn't want to speak.

Cry for help

I was totally isolated. I didn't know a single other person who stammered. A popstar — of all people — burst that bubble later in my teens. In 1995, I heard Scatman John rapping about stuttering in the lyrics to his worldwide hit 'Scatman'. 

Back then, there was no escaping Scatman John. This balding, 52-year-old bloke in a suit was everywhere, performing on Top of The Pops, belting out his jazz-pop anthem about stuttering (watch the video below). I had never labelled what 'happened' to my speech as stammering, because I wasn't overt. I heard that song, and something clicked.

I found out Scatman's real name was John Larkin, that he was Californian, and that he stammered — overtly, frequently, and to my young ears, fearlessly. I loved him. In despair, I wrote to him. To my surprise, he wrote back.

Imagine that — you're an angst-filled teenager and your favourite popstar calls your house and demands that you start to look your stammering "straight in the eye".

John recognised the cry for help my letter really was. Had I been in touch with the British Stammering Association? he asked. No, I said, wrongly thinking that they wouldn't like how fluent I was. Then John called me. Imagine that — you're an angst-filled teenager and your favourite popstar calls your house and demands that you start to look your stammering "straight in the eye". John stammered an awful lot on that phone call. I hung onto every word. I let out one little stammer, because I felt brave. He jumped on it. "Ah!" I could hear him grinning down the phone. "It's so beautiful to hear you stutter." I felt like I was walking on air.

That feeling, he said, will be replicated if you go to a support group. I did, and started to come out of my shell and re-enter the 'real world', but this time with a community at my back. That was 25 years ago.

• See if there's a stammering support group near you.

Mentor

John and I became good friends and we emailed and phoned each other for years. He became my mentor and took me through many difficult times in my life. In fact, you can read the article I've written for this year's International Stuttering Awareness Day Online Conference called 'Every kid should have a John Larkin'. (Note: Gina's article is available to read until 31st October).

John's friendship saved my life. I don't say that lightly. I'd love to tell you that it was all smooth sailing from then on, but my fellow stammerers know it's rarely that easy. My career and job choices were and still are influenced by my stammering. "The work takes years," John told me.

When John died of cancer in 1999, I relapsed. I've always been involved in the stammering community, working to create the kind of support system I wish I'd had as a teenager. But I just couldn't bring myself to stammer in front of fluent people. I spent over a decade in a high-pressure job at the BBC, managing to keep my stammer hidden. On paper, it looked like success, but it was eating me up inside.

It's been thirty years since Scatman John sang about not letting stammering hold you back. Recently, I decided it's time to look my stammering 'straight in the eye' again and be true to myself, so I'm returning to my old friend, the written word. As an author who now stammers overtly, I get to embrace the full, rich experience of language.

My first book? John's biography. Because sometimes, all it takes to change a life is one voice saying, "I understand, and you're not alone". By sharing his story, I hope it inspires the next generation to embrace their voices, just as John helped me find mine.

We'll share details of Gina's book when it's published. Until then, be sure to read her brilliant article on isad.live, which delves deeper into her friendship with Scatman John.

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