The Importance of Being a Gentleman
G Corwin Stoppel
My father believed the two highest accolades a man could earn were these — be known as a steady worker, and always be a gentleman. “When you work for someone, work. Show them you are a steady worker.” As for being a gentleman, it had nothing to do with the color of his skin, accent, the clothes he wore, the work he did, education, age, or anything else. It was something on the inside that radiated out. Father could spot it in a matter of minutes.
When I was in school and mentioned a classmate, Father would listen for just so long before he interrupted, “but his he a gentleman?” In other words, did he respect himself and others. Was he honest in word and deed. Was he modest and kind? When I went off to university he reminded me to associate with gentlemen, and avoid all others.
His ethos has stayed with me for six decades. During the recent election someone asked if I would be voting for Mr. Trump or Mr. Biden. When I said it would be the latter, the pollster wanted to know my reason. I said, “Because I would welcome him as a next door neighbor.” Good neighbors respect one another; good Presidents make good neighbors with the rest of the world.
I could never say that about Mr. Trump. We saw him shout down people and belittle them, humiliate a reporter with a handicapping condition, openly treat women like objects — and worse. We saw his constant barrage of messages on subjects that had nothing to do with his responsibilities as an American President. He boasted that he knew more about every subject than anyone else. In all, he tweeted some 56,000 times over four years. Between the time spend sending messages and golfing, I don’t believe my father would say he was much of a steady worker, either. One of the worst moments of his bad behavior was when he pouted that a young Swedish environmentalist was on the cover of Time Magazine as their person of the year, instead of himself. A true gentleman would have sent congratulations.
All of this, time and again, has appealed to the worst attributes of human nature. People believed that if it was alright for the President to bully, lie, rage, and more, then they could do it, too. A gentleman would have set a good example; he was found wanting.
He behaved like an errant child. Near the end of Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby, his narrator Nick Caraway spoke of Tom and Daisy Buchan. They hurt people, broke things up, and worse. Then they casually absolved themselves of all responsibility and retreated back into their wealth.
Mr. Trump had so much going for him — wealth, name recognition, even a certain personal charisma and magnetism. He charmed people at times, often because they were fascinated at his atrocious behavior. Others were drawn to him, perhaps believing that if they imitated him they too could be wealthy and powerful.
Now it has all come crashing down. Instead of swallowing hard and admitting that the loss hurt, and then graciously conceding defeat, he perpetuated the great lie that it was stolen. Someone else did it. He foolishly believed that if he told the lie long and lout enough, everyone would believe him.
At the beginning of his term he fussed and fumed when people said his predecessor’s inauguration had larger attendance. At least he can take cold comfort that no other American President had a bigger mob of insurrectionists invade the Capitol.
His inability to embrace and exemplify the virtues of a gentleman will haunt him for the rest of his life.
We Americans have always had more admiration, tolerance, and even love for our former Presidents than when they were in the office. I don’t see that happening with Mr. Trump. His bad behavior and extreme egotism are self-destructive. I find it hard to see any corporate or non-profit board of directors wanting him in their midst. Nor will any reputable college or university. He is simply too toxic; his vitriol has made him unacceptable.
I met only one other politician like him. Long out of office, the former governor of Georgia, Lester Maddox, was reduced to peddling his racist literature and autographed ax handles in a tiny little corner shop in Underground Atlanta. No one, at least while I was in the shop, bought anything. They looked at the relics of a fallen and broken man, shook their head, and left.
I take no pleasure in seeing this happen to anyone, and yet there is something reassuring in knowing that my father’s emphasis on the virtue and value of being a gentleman is still true. If nothing else, because there truly is nothing else left, Mr. Trump served as an important, albeit painful lesson, for those who have no moral substance and bottom.