$10-Million Challenge: Test Your Integrity by Reading This

I talked to a Chapman University honors class last Wednesday night on “integrity” and then left town Thursday morning. Only the most cynical reader would assume a connection.

I’m writing this column a few hours before class, so I can’t tell you what happened. But, sure, I have expectations: Rising as one, the students burst into tumultuous applause upon my introduction. Gum-chewing ceases, and they sit spellbound for two hours. At the end of the session, a number of students come forward, pump my hand and tell me that my remarks have changed their lives. Four students walk me to my car.

Then again, not likely.

However, assuming I’m not booed off the stage, I expect the evening to be a success if only because the informal outline for the class, conceived by professor Richard Doetkott, raises some tantalizing questions.

The class is about integrity in society and, over the course of the semester, various people have been invited to offer thoughts. The subject matter, though, is universal and involves issues about which we can all quiz ourselves.

Allow me to pose a few for this fine Sunday morning:

* What is the state of integrity in America these days? Is it less prevalent than in yesteryear?

* Do you consider yourself a person of integrity and, if so, when was it formed?

* Cite a couple of instances when you faced a challenge to your integrity. How did you respond?

Those kind of questions can make even the nicest person squirm, and I expect to do my fair share in front of the class.

Because I was told to prepare to discuss from where my notions of integrity came, I had to dip into the yellowing files of my life. I’ve never considered myself a bad person or lacking integrity, but, drat, what about those examples that indicate the contrary?

One too-clear memory goes back to eighth grade. I was trying to make friends with a new group of classmates, and the nicest and smartest girl in class was Janet Handleman. We became friends, and I always treated her well and liked her a lot.

However, my closest male friend continually made fun of Janet. The source of his “humor” was that she was Jewish. I never joined in his jokes, but I committed the age-old crime of silent acquiescence. Mind you, I had all the info I needed to act: It was obvious the jokes made Janet uncomfortable. She was a friend of mine. I knew my male friend was wrong in poking fun at her. It was no borderline decision.

When integrity was called for, I produced sweaty palms. The Old Scorekeeper likely will register that as my first knowing failure to act with integrity.

It’s not as though I still lash myself for inaction at 13, but obviously the moment hasn’t been purged from my memory bank. In retrospect, I see it as the residue of not doing the right thing at the moment of truth: It leaves a crummy taste in your mouth. My worst fear about that long-ago episode is that somewhere today, no matter how successful she probably became, middle-aged Janet still remembers some junior-high boys goofing on her.

Oh, well.

The idea is to learn from our mistakes. With that in mind, I’ve racked my brain thinking of a current integrity-tester.

Here’s what I came up with. Feel free to play along at home:

Suppose you and your best friend are heading out for a weekend camping trip. Before leaving the city Friday night, your friend buys a lottery ticket. That night, while in his sleeping bag, he’s eaten by a bear. The bear mulls it over, but leaves you unharmed.

You see your friend’s lottery ticket among his belongings on the ground and, without giving it any real thought, put it in your pocket. The next day, it proves to be a winning ticket worth $10 million. Your buddy has a wife and three kids. In fact, he tells you it’s the first ticket he’s ever bought, so there’s no record of him being a lottery player.

Do you cash in the ticket and claim the $10 million for yourself or give it to his family? Just to muddle things, you happen to know he has a million-dollar life insurance policy on himself.

I know. I don’t want to think about it, either.

I think I know what I would do, but would I do it because I have integrity or because I’d be consumed by guilt otherwise?

Some of you are probably scoffing at my hand-wringing. I can almost hear you saying:

If you have $10 million, who needs integrity?

Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or calling (714) 966-7821.