We like to tell ourselves that bullies don't win. We say "hurt people hurt people," as if cruelty is necessarily the product of insecurity or misery. We assure our kids that the loud one on the playground, the kid who mocks and intimidates, is probably a coward who, in the end, will be exposed as a loser.

But if you've spent any time in a newsroom--or politics, or business--you know that story doesn't always hold up. Time and again I've watched men (yes, mostly men) who seemed to thrive on belittling others rise into corner offices and become legends. We shake our heads at their behavior in private, but when the stories are retold, the cruelty has somehow been edited out, replaced with talk about toughness and high standards. The bully is remembered not as a tyrant but as a leader.

There was one editor I refused to work for, despite his iconic status. His reputation for berating reporters was legendary. People still toast him in tones of nostalgia, as if their suffering under his thumb were a kind of badge of honor. What they don't mention as often is that some of them were deeply damaged by him, maybe even crippled as writers. He kept them from achieving their potential. He diminished them. And yet many of them would still raise a glass to him, still call their time under him the good old days.

I did, however, work for another editor who was equally feared by some. I respected him, even admired him more than I should have. My experience was not intimidation but robust conversation. We argued. Our debates weren't always genteel, but they sharpened me. Some of my colleagues thought of........

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