While we Americans enjoy complaining — about the weather, taxes, politics and most anything else — I fear we are losing the “art” of complaining. It seems fewer folks these days have the ability to express feelings of pain, dissatisfaction or resentment in a manner which allows both parties to retain a sense of dignity.

Even after years in retirement, multiple experiences of “unskilled complainers” remain in my memory.

Some years ago I read a magazine article on the art of complaining. It listed positive ways to deal with businesses, public agencies and individuals when service, merchandise or other factors are not satisfactory. A short time later, a disgruntled individual who obviously had not read that magazine article pushed me, I’m ashamed to admit, past the boiling point.

A few weeks later a couple came to my office to point out an error in an article in our newspaper. They were calm and civil and stated their case courteously — no name-calling, no threats. They were right; we were wrong. Though we all would have preferred that the error had not happened in the first place, the matter was resolved amicably. When they left the office I felt respect for them; I hope the feeling was mutual.

During my four decades in the news business, I dealt with scores of angry people ranging from prostitutes to politicians to preachers. I’ve been screamed at, cussed out, called names and threatened with violence and lawsuits. I’ve been chewed out on the phone, in my office, while grocery shopping and in a church parking lot. I’m happy to be retired.

Judging from conversations with others who have dealt with the public, my experience is not unique.

I’ve also had the pleasure of dealing with kind and decent people, people who have a legitimate reason to complain and who do so with manners and integrity. They practice the “art” of complaining. What a pleasant contrast they are to the hot-heads.

As I recall the hot-heads I’ve encountered over the years, I have come to see some of them in an almost pathetic light. I’ll never forget the hot-headed drunk who came to the radio station where I began my career and rattled the windows over something she thought she had heard while listening to a telephone-talk program I hosted. Though I had been the object of a woman’s anger before, this was my first encounter with an angry, intoxicated woman with a foul mouth! My boss finally got her calmed down, and by the time she left I doubt she remembered why she was angry in the first place.

In my years at the Sioux City Journal, I had to deal with a variety of hot-heads. There was the massage parlor madam who taught me a few new words when we refused to publish her illustrated ad. There was the psychiatrist (later convicted of defrauding Medicare) who angrily complained that our ad rates were higher than the New York Times’ and then blew up when I tactfully showed him proof to the contrary.

Then there was the strange fellow who heatedly protested having to pay in advance for an extremely bizarre personal classified ad. Unable to appease him, my mild-mannered boss and I finally escorted him to the front door. On his way to the door the fellow loudly assured us that Jesus loved us all. Then, when my boss gave him a gentle push out the door, he screamed, “But I hope you all burn in hell!”

When I moved to Creston I was heartened by the friendly people I met and by the outpouring of hospitality I experienced. I knew, however, the honeymoon had to end and in about a month it did.

After confirming that I was “the new guy” at the newspaper, a telephone caller irately suggested, “Someone ought to run your ass out of town.” (The caller didn’t realize how large my backside is!) The conversation went downhill from there. He was angry with me for the full 12 years of my tenure.

It amazes me that people who complain with fits of rage think they can effect positive change. I learned a long time ago that honey draws more flies than vinegar.

Arvid Huisman can be contacted at huismaniowa@gmail.com. ©2026 by Huisman Communications.