More negatives write than call. It's a cheap shot for me to go

When John Hall declared, “More negatives write than call. It's a cheap shot for me to go on the air with the critical letters or E-mail I get because the reaction of the listeners is always an instantaneous expression of sympathy for me and contempt for the poor critic,” he revealed a truth about the strange balance of criticism, sympathy, and power. His words uncover how easily the scales tilt when the one with the microphone or the pen chooses to expose the voice of dissent. For in the public eye, the critic is often outnumbered, stripped of presence, while the host stands shielded by familiarity, authority, and the affection of the crowd.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the ancient struggle between ruler and subject, artist and audience, speaker and listener. Throughout history, those in positions of influence have held the power to shape the narrative. The king who mocks his enemies in the court gathers laughter on his side, while the accused is silenced. The poet who responds in verse to his critic wins admiration, while the critic is forgotten. Hall understood this imbalance, and thus refused to take the “cheap shot” of turning the voices of dissent into fodder for easy praise. He recognized that true strength lies not in crushing criticism beneath public favor, but in bearing it with humility.

Consider the story of Abraham Lincoln, who was fiercely criticized during his presidency, mocked in newspapers and caricatured by opponents. Yet he seldom used his position to humiliate his critics. In fact, he often read their words carefully, sometimes drawing wisdom from them. By refusing to weaponize criticism for applause, he demonstrated the greatness of a leader who sees beyond the temporary comfort of public sympathy. Here is the same spirit Hall describes—the refusal to humiliate the critic simply to bask in the glow of supportive listeners.

The meaning of Hall’s words is deeply moral: to ridicule the critic in public is to strike unfairly, for the critic cannot defend themselves in that moment. The audience will almost always side with the familiar voice they know—the one speaking before them—leaving the critic isolated and scorned. What looks like victory is in truth a hollow triumph, bought not with courage but with imbalance. Hall calls this what it is: a “cheap shot.” And in naming it, he warns us that the applause of the crowd is not always the measure of justice.

The lesson is that criticism, however sharp, deserves dignity. To dismiss it mockingly, to parade it for easy pity, is to silence dialogue and weaken one’s own character. The noble response to criticism is not to exploit it for sympathy, but to weigh it, to discern its truth or falsehood, and to let it refine the spirit. Even the harshest words may contain wisdom, and even false accusations can strengthen resolve. The one who handles criticism with patience and restraint earns a deeper respect than the one who basks in shallow applause.

What, then, should you do? First, when criticized, resist the temptation to rally others to your defense through mockery of your detractor. Second, listen carefully: does the criticism hold truth, however painful? If so, let it instruct you. If not, let it pass without bitterness. Third, remember that sympathy gained through the humiliation of another is fleeting, but growth gained through humility is lasting. Do not seek to appear strong by belittling others—seek to become strong by rising above them.

Thus, let John Hall’s words echo as a teaching: real strength is not found in silencing critics, but in mastering oneself before them. To turn criticism into fuel for easy applause is to rob oneself of true growth. But to endure criticism without the shield of pity, to face it with wisdom and dignity—this is the mark of one who leads not only with voice, but with character. And the lesson for all is this: choose the higher path, for the cheap shot may win the crowd, but patience wins eternity.