I remember the precise moment when the revelation struck me. It came as a lightning bolt, unexpected but irresistible. The year was 1978. I was standing outside the Jayhawk Food Mart at Ninth and Illinois talking to an old friend I’d run into. I can’t remember if any supernatural events accompanied the epiphany. But an inner voice spoke clearly, commanding me: Move to Lawrence. I heard and obeyed.

There were some persuasive reasons. My wife-to-be was going to school here. I’d grown up in Kansas City and wanted to escape the straitjacket of my past. But until the voice spoke, I hadn’t given a thought to pulling up stakes. Nevertheless, I promptly packed my bags and settled in Lawrence for over 20 years.

Larrytown suited me. Like an old comfortable jacket, it was a perfect fit. I liked the scale of the town. You could take it in, get a feel for it in an hour, unlike sprawling, disheveled Kansas City. Also, I had the vain and childish illusion that in Lawrence I could pull off a personality change, get a fresh start.

I treasured the walks around our Old West Lawrence neighborhood that sometimes stretched to an hour due to extended chats. I remember the night when the Jayhawks won the basketball championship and my neighbors poured forth from their houses in a moment of glorious, celebratory delirium. I remember impromptu paroxysms of fireworks at the corner of Seventh and Indiana on the Fourth of July and Sunday brunches at the Paradise and much more.

About the time of the Millennium, on a hillside in rural Douglas County, another epiphany struck, and the next thing I knew we’d moved to the country. It wasn’t due to any disillusionment with Lawrence, just a powerful tug in another direction, perhaps having something to do with age.

I sympathize with those who fear that Lawrence is threatened with change and the possible loss of its charm. I dread the inevitable spoiling of the bucolic countryside I enjoy today. But isn’t this the way it goes with every place we love? Somehow, it was perfect when we discovered it and it’s gone downhill ever since. Part of this is due to the fact that we change too. The sense of regret has something to do with the loss of youth.

Lawrence has lost some of the quaint, small town charm it had when I first moved here. Proliferation of apartment complexes and retail strips have made parts of Lawrence indistinguishable from most other American towns. But there’s been a personality change too. Lawrence doesn’t seem as laid-back and easy-going as it did 30 years ago. Passionate animosities inflame many of its most vocal citizens. Arguments about growth and change are taking on a bitter, adversarial aspect that may poison Lawrence in the long run and do as much damage as overdevelopment might.

The Internet response to a recent letter in this paper showcased this unfortunate trend. The letter argued that the proposed Wal-Mart store at Sixth and Wakarusa should be a “land use” issue rather than a “corporate vendetta.” It was hardly an endorsement of Wal-Mart. “If our process is clear, consistent and generally applied, no large box store will ever be located at Sixth and Wakarusa,” it said. The letter sounded fairly rational and temperate – but what a frothy tempest it stirred up.

The evil specter of Nazi propagandist Goebbels was evoked, along with the hobgoblins of Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh. Wal-Mart was characterized as “the most rapacious corporate plunderer in American history” and its apologists were scorned for selling out their town “for discount marshmallows and sweatshop blue jeans.” “Fat cats!” “Profiteers!” “Bribery!” were a few of the inflammatory epithets thrown around.

One writer summoned up Wal-Mart heir John Walton, who plunged to his death in an ultralight aircraft, “on a Monday afternoon when most ordinary people were working.” The writer sardonically wondered if he was thinking, “Gee, I wish I’d made more money?” Of course, there were also cheap shots from the other side, such as a reference to “Pot Smoker and his two stooges.”

I can’t pass judgment on these outbursts, because I’ve been known to raise my own voice in argumentative moods. (According to my wife, I “scream.”) But hyperbolic ranting seems to be on the rise in Lawrence. Newly elected city commissioners have already been demonized. The mere mention of certain issues is enough to provoke foaming at the mouth. It would be unfortunate if the town became known as a polarized cauldron boiling with rabid animosities and if strident, humorless rhetoric became its official tone of voice.

I have no love for Wal-Mart. But I can’t believe that a second Wal-Mart would be the utter ruination of Lawrence’s quality of life, the end of all happiness, the equivalent of Armageddon. Differences of opinion are the spice of life and there can be no true progress without them. But when they’re driven by seething hatred and fundamentalist fervor, all bets are off. There might have been an opportunity to negotiate with Wal-Mart to build the ultimate “green” store on the planet here. But negotiation and compromise aren’t even considerations. This is a jihad. Wal-Mart must die.

Once the dust has settled on this divisive issue, it would be good to see the energy devoted to stopping Wal-Mart put to more positive, creative uses. To retain its vitality, Lawrence has to move into the future with a grander vision than “no growth, no change.” Its attractive features must be preserved. But it must aspire to a more exciting identity than, “Another town that said ‘no’ to Wal-Mart.” Boldness and ingenuity are called for rather than doomsday negativism. Inspired leadership will be necessary to guide inevitable growth and change towards destinations that enrich the lives of all citizens rather than dividing them into enemy camps.