Iconoclasts on Parade

Whenever anyone doesn't agree with us, our first instinct is to defend ourselves. If we have nothing at stake, like a familial relationship or friendship, we typically just blow these pesky people off and try to avoid being around them anymore. As a student of human behavior (albeit admittedly on the amateur level), I've always taken for granted that we surround ourselves with those who basically believe as we do. The church says we should seek fellowship with those who share the faith. Cocktail parties usually go far more smoothly when the participants, especially after a certain point of alcohol ingestion, think similarly about life in general. Then there's the pariah of social intercourse, politics and religion. We try to avoid them like the plague.

Growing up in suburban Atlanta in the 50's and 60's, I had a neighbor across the street that became a close friend. He was an "oops" baby born late to a man who spent his life with the National Forestry Service and a woman who gave her life to education, specifically as a science teacher in the public school system. My friend, Rhond Roth, had a genius-level I. Q. and for that reason alone, was considered a nerd by most of my other friends. It was a weird friendship. I helped him negotiate the normal things most kids do like sports and social interaction, and he was a mentor to me in all things academic and cerebral. It was a symbiotic relationship that probably benefited me more than it did Rhond.

One of the most important features of our friendship growing up was Rhond's firm insistence that I not get lazy intellectually. We debated almost everything, from the latest Chevrolet vs. Chrysler models' superiority to why the Selective Service System (the military draft) was unconstitutional. While I lazed away in my Southern Baptist roots, Rhond read volumes by everyone from Plato to Edgar Cayce. We so enjoyed our conversations on religion that we created a church in his basement for the kids in the neighborhood to attend after they had already been to their respective churches those Sunday mornings. We switched off. I would preach one Sunday and he would play the antique organ for musical accompaniment and the next Sunday, we would change places. Rhond was gifted at music. I was not. He had to teach me some rudimentary chords and melodies so that I could be the Music Director while he preached. It was fairly lame. But, on the other hand, through some friend of Mrs. Roth's, "Look" magazine was thinking of doing a piece on this church until one of Rhond's and my debates precipitated one of several "spats" during our childhood that had us giving each other the evil eye in the corridors of our school. Look magazine never did the piece. Rhond and I did restore our friendship, however.

That friendship with Rhond helped motivate me to take a position with the school newspaper, the debate team, the honor society and make friends with those I ordinarily would never have known. In short, he dragged me kicking and screaming into situations that helped me grow.

Fast Forward: Rhond flew through Emory University with honors, as he did the Richard B. Russell Law School at the University of Georgia. He took a position with the International Trade Commission in Washington, D. C. and was considered to be a stellar employee. His was a resume that many of us were in awe of.

Upon graduation from high school, as Rhond headed for Emory and I headed for boot camp, he wrote in my annual: "Don't ever let your thoughts crystallize." It was this note, written 38 years ago, upon which I built my outlook for all things debatable. Now, as a self-proclaimed social iconoclast, I realize that I am somewhat impatient with those that take positions for life, safely tucking them into the folds of their coffins when they pass on to the next plane. Their only passion is to cultivate and reaffirm that which they already know. While a life built on principle is to be admired, surrendering one's curiosity and sense of wonder is tragic. We defer deliberative judgment and inspiration simply to assuage the fears that we refuse to face. We stunt our enormous capacity for learning to simply filling in the blanks of our paint-by-numbers life. We tend to confuse optimism with emotional weakness, open-mindedness with lack of principle.

A conversation with Rhond would invariably lead to the participants becoming red-faced and militant, or, occasionally stimulated to become more interested in the things outside of their comfort zone. Unconsciously, in a somewhat diminished capacity, I tend to do the same with friends and family. I am impatient with those I love becoming trapped in complacency, being intellectually lazy.

Rhond passed away quite tragically at the age of 36. He died of the same ailment that took Jim Henson's life. I never knew his wife nor his child. I guess if I ever was able to return the favor, as it were, it was when Rhond and I reconnected during the holidays one year and he grew interested in my modest success in real estate in Houston. He did indeed leave the ITC and began to invest in real estate in the D. C. area. He was fairly successful at it.

I still champion his view of what our lives can be, if we only allow ourselves the chance.