Manny, Moe and Jack: A Lesson in Anger Management

The past two days have been General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Over the course of five two-hour sessions, the leaders of the church give instruction to the entire membership, and it always leaves me with a determination to be a better guy. (It’s also a delightful weekend, because it’s broadcast on TV in Utah, so the whole family gets to watch church on television in their pajamas.)

Anyway, the talk that really captivated me was Church President Gordon B. Hinckley’s sermon on anger. I’ve commented on anger and hatred in this blog before, and an anonymous writer has criticized me for my embrace of Ann Coulter, due to her angry ways. President Hinckley’s talk brought me closer in agreement to his/her way of thinking, and I thought I should take a moment to mention that.

The talk also called to mind one of the seminal episodes of my life, which I want to recount here. I’ve changed the names of three of the main characters herein to Manny, Moe, and Jack, not because these three guys are real-life Pep Boys or in any way peppier than the average dude, but because it would be inappropriate to use their real names. This story is much like the one with the girl who harbored a grudge against me for years, except the impact of what I’m about to share with you has been far more significant.

Once upon a time, Manny was a good friend and something of a mentor. We went into business together, and, for reasons that were important then but now matter little almost fourteen years later, I fired him.

I’ve never been divorced. If I were, I imagine the experience would be similar to what happened back then. The split was acrimonious; angry words were exchanged, and the fallout intensified as everyone we knew took sides. I mentally prepared a list of talking points as to why I was in the right and Manny needed to go, and, in turn, Manny and those on his side had their own list, and the battle raged for quite some time thereafter.

This story, however, is not really about Manny. It took awhile, but Manny and I have finally made peace with each other. I ran into him several years after the fact and the encounter was entirely pleasant. After that, he wrote me a very kind note that indicated that, while certainly he wasn’t happy with the way things went down, he harbors no ill feelings toward me. Now, when I think about Manny, I do so only with fondness.

This story is primarily about Moe.

Moe and I were friends, too, but somewhat tangentially. Like me, he went to church at the USC ward, but I showed up there just as he was finishing his degree. Consequently, many of my good friends – including Manny - knew Moe well, but I had relatively little firsthand interaction with him. He was something of a larger-than-life figure and a legend in the USC Ward, and I often regretted that I had missed the opportunity to know him better.

I had one exchange with him, however, that foreshadowed what was to come. Moe had served as a counselor to the USC Ward Bishop, a man who would later have a profound and positive impact on my own spiritual life. Moe, however, used the occasion of a church party to accuse this Bishop of something terrible. He also labeled him “an evil man.” I was somewhat taken aback by this, but Moe’s reputation was such that I accepted his words at face value and was wary of that Bishop for longer than I should have been. In retrospect, I now see that Moe was a fiercely loyal friend, which is why so many people loved him. Conversely, he could be a bitter, bitter enemy.

About eighteen months after I fired Manny, a letter arrived in the mail from Moe. It was fifteen pages, single-spaced, and to say it took me to task for what I had done would be a gross understatement.

It was a full-frontal assault, accusing me of a myriad of real and imagined crimes, comparing me to everyone from Iago to Judas to Satan himself.

Yet this was no Languatronic goofball rant. Moe is a very bright guy, and his letter was exceptionally well-written. He meticulously and brutally assembled the evidence to prove I was a monster, a vindictive destroyer of other people lives. He cited the opinions of scores of nameless people, “more than I knew,” who were disgusted with my tyrannical behavior but, unlike Moe, were too cowardly to call me to account. He ascribed the worst possible motives to every single one of my decisions. And all of it was couched in the language of the Gospel, calling down fire from heaven to punish me for my sins.

It was filled with a cold fury the likes of which I have never seen before or since.

I responded to the letter as dispassionately as possible, trying to dispel some of the more ludicrous accusations and feebly attempting to get Moe to think better of me. It was troubling to me to think that I had an enemy, someone who took pleasure in my failures and actively sought my destruction. Even worse, I was sure Moe had persuaded a large number of people I thought were my friends that I was, indeed, evil, and that, while some of what he said was clearly preposterous, much of it was rooted in the truth.

It took some sleepless nights and plenty of soul searching, but I determined that the only way to rebut his accusations would be to live my life as honorably as I could. No one who wanted to believe the worst of me would be persuaded otherwise by a letter or a debate or a confrontation. In retrospect, the letter has proved to be a blessing, as it toughened my skin and gave me the strength to live well, regardless of what others thought of me. It was, however, a very painful way to learn a valuable lesson.

It was also not the end of the story.

A little over a year ago, I met Jack and his family. Jack is a business partner with my brother-in-law, and his family and my sister’s family are very close. We were at Aspen Grove Family Camp, and I had the opportunity to get to know Jack, and I found him to be a bright, engaging, fun-loving guy.

So I was pretty startled when, one afternoon, Jack took me aside and said, “we need to have a discussion about Moe.”

Back in California, Jack and Moe had been in the same church congregation in the intervening years, and they had become good friends. Because of Jack’s association with my family, however, Moe took occasion to tell Jack about the letter, even quoting from it at length. (Thankfully, I destroyed the letter shortly after receiving it, so I would have been unable to do the same.) Not too long ago, he told Jack how proud he was to have sent it, and, according to Jack, Moe is still convinced that I'm a demon, and his rage toward me has not diminished with time. If anything, over the course of more than a decade, it has intensified.

I asked what I could do. My options were limited. Unlike my relationship with Manny, there was little or no prior friendship to repair. There was nothing to apologize for, because the situation at issue had nothing to do with him. Jack told me there was nothing I could do. Moe wore his anger as a badge of honor. All I could do was live my life and hope for the best.

If I were to talk to Moe, all I could say is that I forgive him for hating me. And that would probably make him even angrier.

I wish I could resolve this. Moe has since moved to Utah and now lives about a half hour from where I live.