Honesty requires dishonesty

By Alan Linda | The Daily Journal

Published Tuesday, October 23, 2007

In 1998, Dr. Susan Block was one of the four finalists for the Great American Think-Off. She brought with her a lot of California cleavage and an accompanying overdose of personal ego.

She was, if I remember correctly, a Los Angeles celebrity for her late-night televised sexual counseling out there. Among other things, all this celebrity made her her own biggest fan, and she sallied into our small town in the manner of a queen with her gaggle of supporters as if we must have been waiting for her our whole lives.

Well, all that cleavage was exciting. You don’t see much of that down at the farmer’s elevator. Or at the local Lutheran bake sale, either. I am reminded of a woman who, after a grueling sacrifice of both her ample breasts during her late thirties to cancer, still had the humor to later remark: “Finally. Men look at my eyes when they’re talking to me.” It was difficult to talk to Dr. Susan’s bodice, but most males in town persevered. That low-cut feat of engineering which she wore so boldly turned even the most taciturn and silent male in town into a jabbermouth.

Except for me, of course.

Anyway, I found amongst my stuff the other day Dr. Susan’s 10 Commandants of Dishonesty, all fancily printed up in a Martin Luther sort of edict. I wonder that she didn’t march around town and nail it to our walls. I certainly would not bet that she hadn’t thought about doing so. Well, not her. Her posse well could have, though.

The Think-Off question that year was “Is honesty always the best policy.” Her approach was that it was not; that honesty requires a certain amount of dishonesty. Her chest aside, there wasn’t a husband or boyfriend in town that didn’t subscribe to her philosophy regarding this. Alas. She didn’t make it into the final round. Had she, she’d have carried half the audience, at least. Here are her commandments.

1. Thou shalt always tell the truth, except under certain critical circumstances. (I think back here to all the people in the history of truth-telling who looked at their significant other in a swim suit after a hard winter of below-zero carbohydrate loading and said with a straight face: “It looks great on you, honey.” And of course there is the corollary to this: “Don’t worry. It happens to all men sometimes, dear.”)

2. Thou shalt lie to save lives. (Usually, the life we lie to save is our own, and often the chance to do so comes during that class reunion, when you find yourself and your wife seated across from your old high school steady girl friend, Ms. Thin, Single and Gorgeous. Charity starts at home, they say; “What, honey? Oh she does not look one bit thinner than you do, don’t be silly!” Then, later: “Yes. You’re right. She certainly is a slut.” Congratulations. You’ve just saved a life—your’s.)

3. Thou shalt sometimes lie to protect yourself, thy loved ones, etc., etc., from evil, madness and mayhem. (I suppose if one is to say to one’s significant other: “I’m as crazy about you as I ever was,” then the ‘madness’ clause kicks in and covers you. As far as the mayhem, I remember thinking at the time that that push-up bra that Dr. Susie squeezed herself into would qualify, if one were a breast.)

4. Thou shalt sometimes lie to help the needy. (Uh huh. Ain’t no body needier that I am when I’m in the groove and cruising garage sales on a crisp Saturday morning: “I just saw one of these down the street and it was half this price.” Or, of course, there’s always the line: “I wish I had enough money on me for this, but all I’ve got is…” If you think that’s bad, you don’t even want to be around when I’m shopping for a car. It ain’t pretty being needy.)

5. Honor life over truth. Beware of truth mongering zealots. (“Nope. No doubt about it. These tires are shot. You need new ones, bad!” What the heck, your car mechanic is doing you a favor, right? Yeah, maybe he is four hundred bucks on the other side of zealous, but he’s worried about your life, for sure.

Well, there isn’t room enough for the other five. But don’t worry. They’re coming. In the meantime, I’m going to frame them and hang them where I can study number 8, which deals with writers.

Alan Linda writes from his home in New York Mills.