THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, April 17, 1995 TAG: 9504170119
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Elizabeth Simpson
LENGTH: Medium: 69 lines
You have to hear Art Dwyer's voice on the tape to truly appreciate the Chesapeake vice mayor's tumble from integrity.
There's titillation in his voice. That tone that comes in passing on a story to someone close, of waiting for the expectant ``Really?'' and plunging on to feed the flame of gossip.
It's a coffee-klatch tone we've all heard. We've been on the receiving or telling end of it. Relaying those little stories about friends and colleagues that seem so innocent when we're telling one person but so destructive when someone else finds out.
The difference with Dwyer was that he had something a lot of us don't.
Power.
His small talk with the woman who taped their conversation was more than just trying to make a friend or swing a date. He was using power that we gave him to impress someone who had nothing to do with running the city.
Sure, we've seen worse scandals.
We've had politicians accepting bribes. Embezzling money. Falsifying documents.
But Dwyer embezzled our trust.
As cynical and jaded as journalists can be, deep down I still have this kernel of an idea that a leader ought to be great. It's what keeps me going to the voting booth.
Dwyer turned out to be small. Whether he demanded sexual favors or not, he acted in a small-minded way.
It didn't matter so much whether his tales about free airplane trips and buddy-buddy relationships with developers were true, but that he thrived on the thrill of the notion.
I want a leader to be above gossip instead of a master of it. Who uses his wits instead of wheeling and dealing. Who respects his colleagues instead of calling them blockhead and redneck, dumb ass and woman hound.
His words made me cringe. But know what? I also wondered, ``Gee, wonder who he called a redneck? Who was the woman hound? Wonder which councilman talked about getting in someone's pants?''
It says something about the insidious nature of gossip.
That over-the-fence conversation can be seductive. We all want to play. It's the glue that binds close friends, the chat that builds confidence with a newcomer, the racy dialogue that makes for a stimulating exchange.
We want to open our souls, to vent our feelings, to share our innermost secrets with someone we trust. And get back some of the same juice.
Trouble is, it's too often at the cost of someone else, or the cost of truth.
We've all had the experience of our words coming back to haunt us, of being left with the soul-shrinking feeling of ``Why did I say that?''
It's like seeing a snapshot of yourself and realizing you don't look as good as you thought.
Because even if we don't have the power to change the course of civic life, gossip manipulates in other ways.
We use it to make someone like us. To better our positions at work. To make ourselves seem better than someone else.
It's only when we hear it outside the circle of confidence that we realize it grinds down our integrity.
And makes us small.
Dwyer's finding that out in a big way. ILLUSTRATION: Arthur L. Dwyer
by CNB