Singular or plural

An editor friend and former co-worker e-mailed the following question:

We are having a problem with this sentence. Can you help?
"But he was just fascinating, one of those really intense and rare men who listen as well as they talk, and we had a great time."
I think it should be "... one of those really intense and rare men who listens as well as he talks ..."

So which is it, "listen ... talk" or "listens ... talks"?

Answer: Writer's choice.

The antecedent of "who" can be either "one" or "men."

This is from Bartleby.com:

1. When constructions headed by one appear as the subject of a sentence or relative clause, there may be a question as to whether the verb should be singular or plural. The sentence "One of every ten rotors was found defective" is perfectly grammatical, but sometimes people use plural verbs in such situations, as in "One of every ten rotors have defects." In an earlier survey, 92 percent of the Usage Panel preferred the singular verb in such sentences.

2. Constructions such as "one of those people who" pose a different problem. Many people argue that "who" should be followed by a plural verb in these sentences, as in "He is one of those people who just don’t take 'no' for an answer." Their thinking is that the relative pronoun who refers to the plural noun people, not to one. They would extend the rule to constructions with inanimate nouns, as in "The sports car turned out to be one of the most successful products that were ever manufactured in this country."

3. But the use of the singular verb in these constructions is common, even among the best writers. In an earlier survey, 42 percent of the Usage Panel accepted the use of the singular verb in such constructions. It’s really a matter of which word you feel is most appropriate as the antecedent of the relative pronoun—one or the plural noun in the "of" phrase that follows it. Note also that when the phrase containing one is introduced by the definite article, the verb in the relative clause must be singular: "He is the only one of the students who has (not have) already taken Latin."


Also, I forgot that I promised earlier to post the column on a particularly eventful week in early June. Below is the column:

Celebrating Thanksgiving on Father's Day

The topic is "Favorite Memory of Dad," a spontaneous Father's Day dinner discussion on the order of Thanksgiving's "What I'm Most Thankful for ... ." It would be more accurate to call this discussion "Dad's Weirdest Behavior," since it quickly devolves into an oral catalog of those past behaviors of mine the kids find most amusing.

Their stories don't quite match my recollections. But on this Father's Day, I don't mind the embellishments. Watching the faces of my wife and children, laughing at one another's remembrances of me, I silently compile my own list, more suited to Thanksgiving.

First, there is Erin, my oldest, sitting across the table, who recounts the day I got the family geared up for hiking a long, rugged trail in Missouri that turned out to be only a half mile long — and partially paved. With enough drinks, jerky and trail mix for a weekend trek, we were finished in 20 minutes.

Whatever tale she might tell, I give thanks that she is even at the table this night. It was exactly a week earlier when I had answered the phone and could barely make out her faint words, "I'm in a hospital ... I was hit ... the car didn't stop." A social worker in ER took the phone from her and explained that Erin had been struck by an SUV crossing the street in a crosswalk.

I threw some clothes into a bag and headed for Chicago, taking my son Sam along to keep me awake for the all-night drive. We arrived early the next morning at a Chicago trauma center to find Erin in the surgery ICU wing, pale and sporting a neck brace, surrounded by monitors, with all kinds of IV tubes and lines connected to her bruised and scraped body. She could not talk but managed a weak smile when we entered. Peg, her friend and co-worker who had spent the night at her side, gave us a progress report: fractured skull, brain hemorrhages, other injuries not yet known. Despite Erin's agony, the trauma team could not allow her any pain meds during the first 24 hours after the accident, during which they also had to keep her awake. She would undergo four CT scans in the first 36 hours to monitor changes in two subdural hematomas.

With people praying for her across the country, she left ICU on the third day and the hospital a day later as I drove her to Paducah to convalesce surrounded by family.

We tease her about picking an inconvenient time to fracture her skull. Had Sam and I not been in Chicago, we would have been with my wife at the airport in Nashville two days after the accident to welcome home my son Pete from Iraq for his mid-deployment leave.

Fortunately, she didn't have to greet him alone. Jay was there. "Jay" — for Janelle — is now his bride; they were married in a brief, intimate ceremony at our church a week ago. Erin, whose recovery is slow but steady, was able to attend.

Pete and Jay are also sitting at that table this Father's Day, and poor Jay is forced to endure an endless string of Dad stories that are, frankly, even starting to bore me. But I am thankful for my son's safe return and proud of Pete and Jay, both lieutenants in the United States Army, for their willing service to their country. I am especially thankful after hearing his stories and seeing photos of his outpost near Baghdad, which is apparently more of a hot spot than he had led his parents to believe.

While in Kentucky they plan to visit a Fort Campbell widow whose late husband, a member of Pete's unit, was killed in Iraq. Pete and Jay, who met at a West Point Sunday school teachers' retreat, knew their fallen comrade first as a fellow Sunday school teacher.

My middle son, Will, home from college, is at the table too. He shares a funny story (with only the thinnest connection to actual events), then a serious and touching memory that momentarily breaks the mood before the "Weird Dad" tales resume.

And Sam, the only one still living at home, has some fresh stories to share. He has the most vivid imagination and the most embellished stories.

The only one missing is Maggie, who is studying in Italy. The family Eeyore, she calls from across the pond to wish me happy Father's Day and complain about how touristy Florence is — on her first day there. It is classic Maggie, and we all get a chuckle. As the conversation shifts to Maggie stories, I give thanks that she could join us, even if only by cell phone, for this special day.

At the other end of the table, my wife smiles, knowing my heart is full. I think of the words she has spoken to me often when surrounded by our healthy and happy and capable children: my cup runneth over.