A reader who published an article that attracted comments from a few trolls says he made the mistake of trying to argue with them and asked whether I have any advice on the best response--or whether it's better not to respond at all.
Essayist and newspaper columnist Alexander Woollcott used to respond, "Dear Sir/ Madam, You may be right."
Maybe I'm not as generous as he was, so I suggest something even simpler:
"Thanks for sharing your opinion."
That works well for constructive as well as destructive comments.
Trolls will be disappointed that you didn't rise to their bait; if they add more, ignore them. They'll soon move on to people willing to engage with them.
ALEXANDER WHO?
Would you care to join me on a little digression about the gentleman I quoted above?
Alexander Woollcott is largely forgotten now but had immense success in his day. Here's an excerpt from the Wikipedia entry about him:
"Alexander Humphreys Woollcott (January 19, 1887 – January 23, 1943) was an American critic and commentator for The New Yorker magazine, a member of the Algonquin Round Table, an occasional actor and playwright, and a prominent radio personality.
He was the inspiration for Sheridan Whiteside, the main character in the play The Man Who Came to Dinner (1939) by George S. Kaufman and Moss Hart,[1] and for the far less likable character Waldo Lydecker in the film Laura (1944). Woollcott was convinced he was the inspiration for his friend Rex Stout's brilliant, eccentric detective Nero Wolfe, an idea that Stout denied.
Woollcott was one of the most quoted men of his generation. Among Woollcott's classics is his description of the Los Angeles area as "Seven suburbs in search of a city"—a quip often attributed to his friend Dorothy Parker. Describing The New Yorker editor Harold Ross, he said: "He looks like a dishonest Abe Lincoln." He claimed the Brandy Alexander cocktail was named for him.
Woollcott was renowned for his savage tongue. He dismissed Oscar Levant, the notable wit and pianist, by observing, "There is absolutely nothing wrong with Oscar Levant that a miracle can't fix."
Woollcott was primarily a storyteller, a retailer of anecdotes and superior gossip, as many of his personal letters reveal. His letters also reveal a warm and generous heart and a self-effacing manner distinct from his waspish public persona, and his many lasting and close friendships with the theatrical and literary elite of his day.
He was buried in Clinton, New York, at his alma mater, Hamilton College, but not without some confusion. By mistake, his ashes were sent to Colgate University in Hamilton, New York. When the error was corrected and the ashes were forwarded to Hamilton College, they arrived with 67¢ postage due."
I think he would have loved that last bit.
