Professor Duke was a notable at Duke University, a distinguished biology professor. Most of the pre-med students had his classes. He was not one of the Dukes, not one of the Buch’ Duke or James B. Duke, or old Wash’ Duke clan—he was from Heber City, Utah, and I suppose that he would be kin to Kathryn Duke. He had snow white hair and a white goatee on a full and pleasant face. He was a member of the Durham Ward, and had volunteered much of his life in Scouting, in the Church, but even more in the community. He was always quite affable, and admired by everyone.

 

His laboratory classroom had a little office space behind a partition, a bit like a carrel in the library, and above the desk, which abutted the partition, on the wall, under a bookshelf that was just over the desk, was a neatly lettered—if not printed—sign, five-by-seven, that said, “People are no damn good.”

 

I laughed when I saw it. I thought it was humorous—and profound. The most humorous thing about it was that it was put there by a man who was universally considered one of the nicest, kindest, most generous men of his time. Even though a transplant to the South, he was the epitome of a Southern gentleman: a generation earlier would have called him “colonel.” So very few people knew about the sign. I don’t believe I ever told anyone in the Durham Ward about it. But later, as occasion would arise, I would tell the story of a man I once knew—the name didn’t matter—who was not only perceived as saintly, he was indeed saintly; but he had a sign….

 

I was taken aback by people’s reception of my account. They didn’t laugh, or smile. They didn’t think it was funny. I thought they would think it was funny. They were struck by the tragic flaw in an otherwise good person. They were saddened that a good man had gone bad. They just didn’t get it. They didn’t see the humor in it, in the paradox. He had not gone bad. He didn’t have a tragic flaw. He had a sense of humor, along with a wise perspective on humanity.

 

Maybe I didn’t convey how the sign had not changed Brother Duke, Professor Duke, how it was a humorous expression, a paradox, from a wise, generous, kind, saintly man. I suppose it was my fault that people didn’t see the humor. I did. I still do. But beyond the anomaly of the sentiment on the wall of a saint, I saw and still do, a profound verity: People are no damn good, in general, even if in particular there are so many who are, like Brother Duke, good. Mir ekeln die Menschen. Where do you find the highest concentration of good people? In the United States? Why have they voted in a President and a Congress so bound to decimate our core values? Why do people support by their money and their consent the concupiscence of modern entertainment? And is there a more virtuous nation on the earth today? God gave Abraham the chance to save a city if He could find fifty—or twenty—or even ten good people. But they were not to be found. There must be some good people left in this country.