Wrong Again, Les

My friends help me learn a lesson.

Earlier this week, I texted my baseball buddies to wish them a happy new year and to offer condolences to the Cub fans among us on the reported death of Billy Williams, the Hall of Fame, sweet-swinging outfielder from the 1960s.

The replies arrived almost immediately.

“I just looked him up. Wikipedia says he’s alive.”
“Are you sure you don’t mean Billy Dee Williams? Or Billy Wilder?”

Soon the conversation wandered, as our conversations often do, but the message behind the teasing was unmistakable: I had probably gotten this one wrong.

So I went back to the source, a Facebook post I had taken at face value. There was no satire label, no obvious punchline, no reason to doubt it. And yet, there it was: false, simple as that. The mistake was not in the story. The mistake was in my response to it.

“Trust, but verify” has long been one of my guiding principles. When something sounds implausible or a little too dramatic, I normally check it against a reputable source before sharing the story or writing about it. Most of the time, that habit serves me well.

But this time I did not pause. I did not verify. I passed the story along. Not out of carelessness, exactly, but out of familiarity. A known name, a nostalgic figure, a post that felt believable. Sometimes the things that feel the most plausible are the ones we question the least.

That is what unsettled me.

This was not satire or parody, and it was not a scam angling for clicks or money. It was a small, needless distortion of reality, the kind that drifts quietly across social feeds, gathering momentum simply because no one stops it soon enough.

And in that moment, I helped it along.

We live in a world where truth has become something we negotiate rather than assume. AI-generated voices, fabricated images, convincing imitations, all of these blur the line between what appears real and what is real. The challenge is not that we cannot know the truth, but that knowing now requires effort, patience, and a willingness to slow down.

In that sense, the lesson for me was not about technology or deception. It was about discipline.

Verification is not a slogan. It is a habit we have to practice, even, and perhaps especially, when the story feels harmless, familiar, or emotionally resonant. I did not meet that standard this time, and I owe my friends, and myself, better judgment than that.

I write because I want to tell stories grounded in honesty and respect for the people who read them. When I fall short of that, I am reminded how easy it is to be swept along by the currents of everything we see, hear, and forward without thinking.

So I will keep the motto, but with a quieter, deeper awareness behind it.

Trust, verify, and when in doubt, take one more breath before pressing “send.”

Published by lesterraff8998

Hi! I'm Les. Empty-nesting family man, pathologist, PSA pusher and blogger. View all posts by lesterraff8998

Published January 3, 2026