When I finished speaking recently at Jacksonville University I took a walk across the campus to inspect a flowering cherry blossom tree. It was a cold afternoon by north Florida standards, the breezy mid-fifties. I have lived in Colorado for eleven years and the mid-fifties is balmy; but all around me Floridians were bundled up like arctic seal hunters. I was in search of this particular tree because I had it planted a few years ago in honor of my friend Margaret.
I found Margaret’s tree and it was in bloom, pink flowers on every branch. Stabbed in the ground at its base is a distinguished brass plaque that reads, “In Honor of Margaret Dees, A Great Alum.”
Margaret, mind you, is very much alive (which came as a great surprise to someone she recently met). Upon hearing her name he said, “I thought you were dead.”
“I thought you were dead” is not as warm or impactful as, “Nice to meet you.” Then again, perhaps it is; “I thought you were dead” is catchy and memorable.
I bought that tree, had it planted on that spot, and plunked over the cash for the memorial plaque because Margaret got shafted by her boss. She was and is a fabulous person, a smart and charismatic personality. She was also a real and legitimate threat to her boss’s job, doubly so since a new college president had just been hired.
Because of that, the toad canned her. Culling the strong protects the weak, especially when the weak is insecure.
I was on the college’s board of governors at the time and though Margaret’s termination without cause was the most chicken-poop maneuver I had seen since the OJ verdict. There wasn’t anything I could do to reverse the decision, nor could I enlist enough cartoon characters to shove an ACME safe off the top of the Founder’s Building and splat-flatten the knucklehead who did it.
So I did the next best thing: I bought a beautiful sapling and had it planted near a main walkway where students would pass by every day. The cherry blossom has taken root, as has my pride in having done it.
All of us know someone unfairly victimized at some point in his or her career. The bitterness of a raw deal’s unfairness often stings worse than the forced change that’s suddenly jammed down our throat. When it happens to someone we like and admire, and we’re witness to the unfairness, we have a choice: We can take the ostrich approach (saying and doing nothing) or we can take the initiative to demonstrate support for the aggrieved by taking high-road action. Actions need not be dramatic. But large or small, doing anything is better than nothing at all.
Too often people do nothing other than pity the victim and shrug their shoulders. It’s not us, right? But when our turn comes, we wonder where our friends are.
Claiming “tight money” as an excuse to have alligator arms and do nothing is disrespectful. Do something. Take the high road and do the right thing.
Margaret’s crime was she that was too good. Then as now, I still believe the world needs more crooks like her. It needs more cherry blosssoms, too.