Orson Welles in the 1948 film Macbeth, of which he was director and star. With him is Jeanette Nolan as Lady Macbeth. (Folger Shakespeare Library Digital Image Collection / Wikimedia)

Today, my Impromptus begins with a note about honorifics. Touchy subject, sometimes. Recently, President Trump was complaining that the New York Times referred to him as “Mr.,” instead of “President.” The Times’s convention is to refer to the president as “President Joseph Blow” (let’s say) on first mention and as “Mr. Blow” thereafter.


Most publications have dispensed with “Mr.” — and “Mrs.,” “Ms.,” and “Miss” — altogether. They go last name only. The Times is old-fashioned in this sense, and I kind of like it.

As I mention in my column, I wrote a piece back in 2002 on the honorific “Dr.” That piece was called “Is There a Dr. in the House?” I don’t believe I have ever received so many responses to a piece as to that one. A touchy, touchy subject.

Care for some reader mail?

Two weeks ago, I had a piece called “Staggering Cornucopias: On books to read and music to listen to — or not.” A reader from London — a college undergrad — writes,

There are various sit-coms to binge-watch during self-isolation (which I’m not at all opposed to!). In a similar vein, I thought you and your readers would be interested in some possible binge-listening: radio productions of Shakespeare by Orson Welles — here.

Good stuff. Talented dude, Welles (and Shakespeare).

A different reader had a response to something I wrote in an Impromptus on Tuesday. I will quote, from that column:

I don’t envy the governors, for the decisions they have to make. What kind of lockdown should they impose, if any? The governor of Michigan, Gretchen Whitmer, is knocked for being too strict. [Florida governor Ron] DeSantis is knocked for being too lax. What side are you going to err on? I think you’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t. This is an excruciating period. When I made this point on Twitter, lots of people responded, “You err on the side of freedom! Freedom, dammit! This is America! Freedom!” Great. But what if your personal decisions affect the health of others? If you want to take risks, fine and dandy. If you want to engage in dangerous rock climbing — and risk tumbling to your death — who am I to stop you? But what if the risks you take put others in jeopardy? This is why this situation is so tricky, even diabolical.

Our reader writes,

In my Southwest Ohio town, it is traditional that the 8th-graders take a class trip to Washington, D.C. . . . My older son lost his trip to D.C. because it was originally scheduled for (what turned out to be) the immediate aftermath of 9/11, and the school was unable to reschedule. Very sad. I’m ashamed to say as a parent that he’s still never been. The next year it was his younger brother’s turn. His trip was scheduled for about the time the D.C. sniper was active. What to do? The school gathered all the 8th-grade parents together and we he had a discussion and took a vote. My reasoning went something like this: There are a lot of people in the D.C. area; the number of people targeted is relatively small. (low weight) We won’t defeat terrorism by allowing fear to dominate our lives. (low weight) The shootings have not occurred in the tourist parts of the city. They have generally been in the suburbs, at stores and bus stops and gas stations. (high weight) The class will be spending most of their time inside — tours, meals, etc. — not outside. (medium weight) I thought the case to “stay calm and carry on” was quite strong at the end of the day. I ended up (perhaps without enough charity) being very disappointed in my fellow parents. The vote, while not overwhelming, was also not razor-thin and the trip was canceled. But . . . I had several discussions at the time, and have continued to wonder: Was I trying to show courage by sending my son into danger? I think I would still cast the same vote today. But life is seldom black and white.

One more note, please. In an Impromptus earlier this month, I quoted one of my critics — there are many to choose from — who’d said, “Go polish your wingtips and move another company to China.” (My comment: “Wingtips! She should take a look at my closet.”)

A reader writes,

Can I tell a quick wingtip story? I have a very soft spot in my heart for wingtip shoes. I do not know what genetics caused it — my brothers have never shared the trait — but I have always liked to dress up. One of my earliest memories is of dressing up in a three-piece suit and a clip-on bowtie. I loved it. Anyway, I grew up middle-class, no higher, but my father had a job that required him to wear a suit every day. Every several years, he would go to a local men’s store to get a couple of suits, plus slacks and sport coats. . . . At any rate, my father often wore wingtip shoes. To me, those were men’s shoes. They represented sophisticated manliness (nothing against “clod-hopper” work shoes, which I’ve owned and worn with pride too). I was very pleased, as a young married man and father, to purchase my first pair of wingtip shoes for my adult working life (I was a high-school teacher at the time). People who sneer at wingtip shoes need to get a life (in my not-so-humble opinion)!