Editor’Note:  This column first appeared in the Vero Beach Newsweekly two years ago, soon after the introduction of that publication.  Now that I am involved in the launch of this new online news magazine with a companion print edition, the school yard lesson I wrote about two years ago seems worth remembering.  

MARK SCHUMANN

Spike’s fist striking the side of Glenn’s head made a sharp cracking sound. Glenn’s head jerked violently to one side.  As his attacker drew back for another punch, I could see a cut on Glenn’s forehead, just above the temple.   He stumbled backward, dazed.

In what seemed like no more than a fraction of a second, Spike landed a flurry of punches.  Glenn made a brave attempt to stand his ground, but he was no match for this angry street fighter who had recently moved to Vero Beach.

Bleeding from his mouth, his nose, and from the cut on his forehead, Glenn went down hard, as all the rest of us stood by doing nothing, either out of fear, or because we believed we shouldn’t get involved in someone else’s fight, or for whatever other reasons we may have had for staying out of it.

Often it is for convoluted reasons that we do what we do, and for just as complex reasons we sometimes do nothing.  I’ll never know why my feet kept me safely on the sidelines that day.

Spike had moved to Vero Beach and enrolled in 9^th grade only a month before he used his street fighting skills to bring Glenn down.  I didn’t know exactly where Spike moved from, but I remember thinking that he must have come from a rough neighborhood.  Spike seemed always to be angry, picking fights, starting arguments, constantly finding ways to be disagreeable.

As Coach dragged Spike away, he shouted to the rest of us to go back in the gym.  When he returned from the office, Coach was about as angry as I had ever seen him.  How could we all have stood by while one of our friends was beat to a pulp by a virtual stranger?  It was beyond Coach’s understanding why not one of Glenn’s friends stood up for him that day.

I didn’t so much as move a muscle to help Glenn defend himself, and whenever I have had occasion to remember that January day in 9^th grade gym class, I think of the ways we as adults sometimes face similar choices to speak out, or to remain silent.

It occurs to me now that Spike used his sharp elbows and lightning quick fists much the same way some adults employ their command of the language, punching hard and fast, with jabs, barbs, and innuendos, harsh insults seemingly coming from nowhere, and sometimes drawing blood.   The kind of mean-spirited attacks I am eluding to have appeared with some frequency on one island publication.

This brand of attack dog journalism may be a titillating distraction, but it does nothing to forward a conversation about building a better community.  As much as it is our duty to inform, it is also our responsibility to employ a tone of voice that promotes civil discourse. Wiser decisions, both public and private, tend to be formulated in an atmosphere of trust and respect.

Now just a month into this effort to provide the Vero Beach community an alternative newspaper voice, I am particularly mindful of the responsibility we all have to choose our words carefully, wisely and, yes, even compassionately.  Particularly for those whose words are widely disseminated, either through the Internet, or in print, there is, it seems to me, a responsibility to check our motives, and to consider the consequences of what we say and of how we choose to say it.

Spike may have come from a rough neighborhood where street fighting was the way to survive.  I only wish for his sake that when he moved to Vero Beach he could have settled in to another way of being.  Regardless of how some might choose to cast it, Vero Beach is not a dangerous place, and there are no naked emperors running around town.