
Welcome to From Insults To Respect.
Today, I present a brief story that asks the question, How would someone people respect handle the challenging situation of being insulted?
The story is an abbreviated section from my novel, Fights In The Streets, Tears In The Sand. The story’s setting, 1965, Brooklyn’s lower middle class section of Brighton Beach. Jeff Star, one of the two major character’s of the novel and its narrator has begun his second day at Lincoln High, and he is intrigued and jealous as he begins to hear about a classmate some students refer to as “Cool Steve.”
The Story
My second day as a student at Lincoln High, at lunch I spot an open seat at a table. A couple of guys that I recognize from my gym class are sitting there. One of the guys is reading a story in Sports Illustrated with a great shot of Mickey Mantle.
The Mick’s neck and forearms are bulging as he’s clobbering a monster home run. There’s another guy sitting next to Cliff, two very nice to look at girls are there as well. I’ll give this a try.
“Anybody got this seat?” I ask while preparing myself for rejection.
The guy reading the sports magazine checks me out for a couple of seconds, then replies, “Sit down. I’m Cliff Schweitzer.” The two girls give me a friendly smile and resume a conversation they’re having about what they did over the summer. The other guy at the table completely ignores me.
“Hey, who do you have for Social Studies?” Cliff asks,
After checking my schedule card, I answer, “Mr. Lofton.”
“Is he any good?”
“I don’t know. I have him for the first time a couple of periods from now.”
“I got stuck with Mr. Putzmeister,”Cliff says mournfully.
“Putzmeister,” I reply with a smile.
“Yeah. I got to get out of there. He’s major league boring.”
“You only had him for one period,” I reply. “Maybe he’ll get better. You’re interested in history?”
“Well, to me, a branch of history is ‘The world of sports,’ and I love sports. In fact, I’m writing a column for the school newspaper. It’s called the ‘Sports Scene.’ The first issue comes out on Friday. Check it out. Let me know what you think.”
While we’re talking, we hear a kid from a nearby table, yelling, “I bet you wouldn’t do that ta Cool Steve!”
I turn to Cliff. “That’s the second time I heard this name, Cool Steve. You wouldn’t happen ta know him?”
“Yeah, from Cunningham,” he answers, referring to one of the junior highs that feed into Lincoln. “I guess most of the kids who know him, know him from there.”
“There seems to be some kind of respect thing connected to him.”
“Respect? Steve? Well, yeah.”
“You respect him?”
“Sure.”
“How come?”
“Well, I guess for me it’s got something to do with the fact that he’s a pretty decent athlete. In stickball he’s got explosive power and a rocket arm, and in football he’s got lightning speed and incredible hands. He’s… he’s history in the making!
But, um… I got a feeling people would respect Steve even if he wasn’t so great in sports.” Then Cliff’s voice trails off and he looks like he’s searching for a more complete answer but ends up shrugging his shoulder and resumes reading his article.
Hmmm. I bet this guy Cool Steve is a real jerk. Everybody thinking he’s such a cool dude. I hate people like that.
As I begin to eat my lunch, I wait for a break in the two attractive girls’ conversation so I could introduce myself. After several minutes pass, without a single conversational pause, one of the two girls at my table begins to check me out. And then she introduces herself.
“I’m Jane.”
“We actually call her Mysterious Jane,” says Cliff.
“Mysterious Jane?” I ask.
“Well, we call Mysterious Jane, Mysterious Jane, because she’s strange,” he explains.
She might be strange, I think to myself, but she’s mighty fine–long, straight, glossy black hair that slightly covers her prominent cheekbones, voluptuous body. Her green, almond shaped eyes have a thin line of black mascara and perhaps within these glimmering eyes there is a hint of some sort of mysteriousness.
“I’m Sandy,” says the other girl. She’s cute, with a peachy complexion, and long, wavy, sandy-blond hair. She glances at me and smiles.
After a quick sandwich, we all go sit on the steps of Lincoln’s main entrance. It’s warm and the sun is shining. Suddenly something catches Sandy’s attention, and she cries, “Who’s that gorgeous guy?”
Mysterious Jane turns with her large green eyes in the direction that Sandy is looking—down the steps and off to the right. She lets out a long sigh. “Oh, that’s Steve Marino.”
“That’s the guy the guys call Cool Steve,” says Cliff.
“Ain’t he built!” Sandy squeals. “You know him?”
“Yeah, from Cunningham,” Jane replies. “All the girls were nuts about him because, well, a lot of the girls say it’s because he’s so cute. And he is cute, especially his eyes. I l-o-o-v-e his eyes.” This is followed by a moan, and she then drifts off into another dimension.
Sandy pokes Jane, returning her back to Earth.
Jane looks over to Sandy, lowers her voice to an eerie whisper and says, “If you want to know the truth, the real reason all the girls are crazy about Steve is because he moves with the grace and power of a large panther, but he has far more power than any panther you’ve ever seen.”
I think to myself, that Mysterious Jane, she’s strange!
Watching Steve down the steps, I can’t notice him moving in any special way. He’s tall with dark eyes and hair, like me. But compared to me,
Steve is broader and has more of a Paul Newman nose. Mine ain’t nothing to be proud of.
Anyway, the guy’s gotta be some kind of jerk. People thinking he’s cool, what a jerk. I notice in my innards a sense of jealousy. In junior high, I was far from the most respected kid there, getting into fights and cursing out anyone who looked at me in a way that provoked me even when later I couldn’t figure out why it had. Oh, I had problems at home, my parents were divorced, I was teased about it, and I had an awful relationship with stepdad, but I sense that being jealous of this guy, Cool Steve, who I had not even yet met, made no sense, but still I had crazy angry feelings toward him.
I’m walking out the south side exit of Lincoln heading home. Images of how I had treated my friend Leroy disrespectfully earlier in the day flashed through my mind. Hey, I don’t give a crap about this respect garbage!
Suddenly I hear, “Hey, Jeff Star!”
I turn to my left and spot Cliff calling after me and he’s with Steve Marino. “Jeff, that guy Steve you were asking about, here he is.”
As I walk over, I’m feeling a completely unfamiliar nervousness. And then, when I open my mouth, I find myself saying in a loud tough voice, “So you’re Steve Marino. I’ve been hearing about you. The word is you’re a jerk!”
As I glare at Steve, my heart pounds furiously. From the corner of my eye, I notice Cliff watching on, his mouth closed so tight he seems to have no lips. His words from yesterday come to mind—”Steve’s the best athlete I’ve ever personally known. Big shit!
I’m waiting for an angry come on, or a quick jab from his right. My muscles are as tight as a hangman’s noose.
I notice several students who were walking home from school have put on their brakes and their eyes are darting back and forth between me and Steve.
Steve’s eyes lower, his forehead creases. Then his eyes look into mine and I see, instead of fury, sadness. “I guess,” he begins to say haltingly, “well… I was hoping… you know… starting a new school here… well, I was hoping the kids would like me.”
Those dark, glimmering eyes of his….
“Jeff,” says Cliff, “why did you say that?”
My eyes dart to him and back to Steve. Cold perspiration beads up on my forehead. The students looking on are almost drooling.
In junior high, whenever I started to put someone down, I had the favor returned with cries of “Fuck you!” and blood splattering fistfights. Such reactions would turn me into a raving lunatic as we would go at each other screaming and swinging until one of us had nothing left to offer but thoughts of revenge. Now, uncomfortably, I look into Steve’s eyes…the sadness there…eyebrows down. He looks directly into my eyes, then down, and then back up into mine.
“Listen Steve,” I find myself saying, “I… I don’t know why I said that… everyone I talked with said you were okay.” I take a quick glance at Cliff and the other students watching on…and hurry away.
A few minutes later, I’m pushing the elevator button in my apartment lobby. Jeez, I guess I just made a great impression, a hell of a great impression. Steve’s eyes… man, who is this guy?
*. *. *
Well, that’s my story for the day. I’m wondering how my readers think Cool Steve handled the insulting situation. Any views on how Steve or Jeff could have handled the situation better?
My Best.
Jeff









In several previous post we discussed suggestions for responding to insults in a positive manner. For example, we discussed Abe Lincoln’s wise approach (see 










Recently, I happened to be listening to Paul McCartney’s fine album, Egypt Station, and my emotions were stirred up by the straight away rocker, “Who Cares.” The first stanza, with its driving beat, sets up its theme:
With “Who Cares”, I was thinking about a song where you actually are talking to the people who may listen to it. And in my case I was imagining young fans, or young people who might hear this, and who are going through some sort of problem where they’re being picked on, being put on.
Now it just so happens that this blog has extensively discussed ways to skillfully respond to this type of experience (see
Who cares what the idiots say
For example, I once worked in a juvenile correctional facility and some of those confined there had, when feeling they had been insulted, violently attacked the insulter. Both of the parties in the exchange ended up physically hurt. Moreover, their physical violence led to the costly consequences of dealing with the justice system. So, relative to the violent approaches, Sir Paul’s is, in my opinion, way preferable.
Although, better than some strategies, here at From Insults To Respect, I’ve been advocating that readers add another tool to their resolving conflicts toolbox to deal with insults. What I mean by this is that I’m not suggesting throwing out of your toolbox the approach Paul’s song describes, for you may, after considering the situation, decide it is the one that makes the best sense. However, by adding to your toolbox the following approach, you may discover that many situations can be handled in a far better manner.
Consider the possible benefits of not concluding right off the bat that the insulter is an idiot. Instead, you seek to transform any disrespect the insulter might have for you into him or her liking and respecting you. This involves taking up the attitude of a detective seeking to find out why the person had decided to seek to insult you, and then using some easy to learn techniques to skillfully respond to what you find out.
The first thing you do with this alternative approach is to shift into your detective attitude. You notice the guy doesn’t appear truly angry, and maybe he has a little twinkle in his eye. You then recall he throws out similar insults to others in a similar manner.
The detective in you now guesses that this guy likes to throw out insults in a playful way to light a little spark in his relationships. Now that you have this theory in mind, instead of walking away with the attitude that this guy is an idiot, you smile at him, showing him you can gracefully take a little kidding without getting defensive. He ends up also smiling.
Consider another example. This time when you receive the insult, the detective in you recognizes that you have angered the person because you did make some type of mistake. Rather than walking away with the attitude that the insulter is an idiot, you decide, instead, to agree in a caring manner that you did make a mistake, express that you are sorry, and ask if there is some way you can make it up to the person. The insulter ends up appreciating that you are willing to take the responsibility for making a mistake, and respects you more for having done so.
Then, listening in a caring manner to the insulter, and then summarizing what is said shows the insulter you care enough to take seriously what the issues are, and by doing so you can often quickly turn an angry fellow into someone who greatly likes and respects you.
‘Cause you’re worth much more
We have all experienced name calling, insults and teasing, even the greatest presidents, the most talented athletes, and every member of your favorite band. If someone insults you, calls you names, or teases you, it does NOT mean that you are a bad person.
Now, as I was wondering what to write about for this week’s post, I noticed C-SPAN had just announced the results of its 

“Did Stanton say I was a d–d fool?” asked Lincoln at the close of the recital.
he inference is erroneous. Lincoln, so far as I could discover, was in every respect the actual head of the administration, and whenever he chose to do so, he controlled Stanton as well as all the other Cabinet ministers.” Fry related a conflict between President Lincoln and Secretary Stanton which concluded with the following dialogue in Stanton’s office. Stanton said: “Now Mr. President, those are the facts, and you must see that your order cannot be executed.” The President cordially replied: “Mr. Secretary, I reckon you’ll have to execute the order.” Stanton objected: “Mr. President, I cannot do it. The order is an improper one, and I cannot execute it.” The President stared down the shorter Stanton and firmly issued an order: “Mr. Secretary, it will have to be done.” And indeed it was.

As for the Gettysburg Address—one of the most powerful speeches in human history, one that many American schoolchildren can recite by heart (Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth …) and a statement of national purpose that for some rivals the Declaration of Independence—a Pennsylvania newspaper reported, “We pass over the silly remarks of the President. For the credit of the nation we are willing that the veil of oblivion shall be dropped over them, and they shall be no more repeated or thought of.” A London Times correspondent wrote, “Anything more dull and commonplace it wouldn’t be easy to produce.”
I think Alexander Hamilton Stephens, who had served as the Vice President of the Confederacy, well expressed what many who had an opportunity to get to know Lincoln came to feel about him. Thus, in a speech several years after the war, Stephens recalled getting to know Lincoln when they both served together in the House of Representatives prior to the war. “He was warm hearted; he was generous; he was magnanimous, ‘with malice toward none, with charity for all.'”
If you can keep your head when all about you