If you can't say something nice. don't say anything at all.

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The Shipley side of my family has a habit of saying, “Well…”, in a thoughtful, drawling sort of way as a catch-all response to almost any kind of conversational interlude. Occasionally this will be followed by an actual sentence. More often though, it’s just allowed to linger in the air as a vague, noncommittal space filler. With subtle shifts of intonation, it can be made to imply nearly anything.

It might mean: “You-sure-are-right-about-that”, or , “Maybe-so-I’ll-think-about-it”, or, “That’s-ridiculous-but-I’m-too-polite-to-tell-you-so”, or, “Yeah-I-could-if-you-would-but-you- won’t”. The possibilities go on and on. Of course, the most common usage is, “ Uh-huh-I’m- listening-keep-on-talking”.

My Grandma Ollie was past master at it, and she passed the skill on to her children. Whether she pioneered this use of the expression or inherited it, I don’t know. But if it wasn’t for, “Well…”, Grandma Ollie would have had a lot of uncomfortable moments in the course of many conversations. She was staunchly dedicated to the principle: If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

People being what they are, “Well…”, was often the only option she would allow herself other than total silence. True to her gentle nature, Grandma’s, “Well…”, was generally intoned sympathetically. Every now and then, it could also imply astonishment, as when she was thinking something like, ”I-can’t-believe-anyone-could-do-something-so-cruel-and-stupid-but- mine-is-not-to-judge-and-if-God-can-forgive-you-certainly-I-can-too”.

Grandma Ollie was walking proof that living your life like Christ is more than a theoretical possibility.

I guess my Uncle Roscoe’s use of, “Well…”, pretty much represents the state-of-the art. One of his most memorable performances has actually been captured on video tape. The occasion for this was his and my Aunt Maxine’s Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary.

I don’t know who directed the video, but it was obviously done in slavish imitation of the style made famous by the late, great Andy Warhol. The technique is deceptively simple. Mount the camera on a tripod, aim it at the center of the action, turn it on, and walk away. The effect is literally stunning. It pulls the viewer into a world of virtual reality where time has no meaning. In this case, although the anniversary video is no more than 3 ½ to 4 hours long, the Warhol technique tricks you into believing the event will be endless. And, Uncle Roscoe’s laconic reading of his role adds just the perfect sense of ennui to tie it all together. As the guests walk on and off camera, in singles and groups, their various comments, congratulations, and jokes test the boundaries of a response limited to, “Well…”. But Uncle Roscoe is more than equal to the task.

He doesn’t even break a sweat.

Intonations in wonderful profusion flow effortlessly from every, “Well…”, he drawls. Each is different from the last, and each is sincere, graceful, and appropriate.

It was the work of a master. I doubt it will ever be equaled.

By K. L. Shipley

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