1 I was now five, arid still I showed no real sign of intelligence. I showed no apparent interest in things except for my toes — more especially those on my left foot. I used to lie on my back all the time in the kitchen or, on bright warm days, out in the garden, surrounded by a family that loved me and hoped for me and that made me part of it. I was lonely, imprisoned in a world of my own, unable to communicate with others, cut off, separated from them as though a glass wall stood between my existence and theirs. I longed to run about and play with the rest, but I was unable to break loose from my imprisonment.
2 Then suddenly, it happened! In a moment everything was changed, my future life took a definite shape, my mother's faith in me rewarded, and her secret fear changed into open triumph.
3 It happened so quickly, so simply after all the years of waiting and uncertainty, that I can see and feel the whole scene as if it had happened last week. It was the afternoon of a cold, grey December day. It was snowing. The streets outside were all covered with snow.
4 Inside, all the family were gathered round the big kitchen fire that lit up the little room with a warm glow and made giant shadows dance on the walls and ceiling.
5 In a corner Mona, my sister, and Paddy, my brother, were sitting together. They were writing down little sums onto an old slate, using a piece of yellow chalk. I was close to them, propped up by a few pillows against the wall, watching.
6 It was the chalk that attracted me so much. It was a long, slender stick of vivid yellow. I had never seen anything like it before, and I was fascinated by it as much as if it had been a stick of gold.
7 Suddenly, I wanted desperately to do what my sister was doing. Then— without thinking or knowing exactly what I was doing, I reached out and took the stick of chalk out of my sister's hand —with my left foot.
8 I do not know why I used my left foot to do this. It is a puzzle to many people as well as to myself, for, although I had shown a curious interest in my toes at an early age, I had never attempted before this to use either of my feet in any way. They could have been as useless to me as were my hands. That day, however, my left foot reached out and very impolitely took the chalk out of my sister's hand.
9 I held it tightly between my toes, and, acting on an impulse, made a wild sort of scribble with it on the slate. Next moment I stopped, a bit dazed, surprised, looking down at the stick of yellow chalk stuck between my toes, not knowing what to do with it next, hardly knowing how it got there. Then I looked up and became aware that everyone had stopped talking, and was staring at me silently. Nobody stirred.
10 My mother came in. She stopped midway between the table and the fire, feeling the tension flowing through the room. She followed their stare and saw me in the corner. Her eyes looked from my face down to my foot, with the chalk gripped between my toes.
11 Then she crossed over to me and knelt down beside me, as she had done so many times before.
12 "I'll show you what to do with it, Chris," she said, very slowly and in a queer, choked way.
13 Taking another piece of chalk from Mona, she hesitated, then very deliberately drew, on the floor in front of me, the single letter "A. "
14 "Copy that," she said, looking steadily at me. "Copy it, Christy."
15 I couldn't.
16 I looked around at the faces that were turned towards me, tense, excited faces that were at that moment frozen, immobile, eager, waiting for a miracle.
17 The stillness was profound. I could hear the sound of the water tap dripping, the loud ticking of the clock, and the soft hiss and crackle of the logs on the open fire.
18 I tried again. I put out my foot and made a wild stab with the chalk which produced a very crooked line and nothing more. Mother held the slate steady for me.
19 "Try again, Chris," she whispered in my ear. "Again."
20 I did. I stiffened my body and put my left foot out again, for the third time. I drew one side of the letter. I drew half the other side. Then the stick of chalk broke and I was left with a stump. I wanted to throw it away and give up. Then I felt my mother's hand on my shoulder. I tried once more. Out went my foot. I shook, I sweated and tried my best. My hands were so tightly clenched that my fingernails bit into the flesh. I set my teeth so hard that I nearly pierced my lower lip. But — I drew it — the letter "A." There it was on the slate before me. Shaky, with awkward sides and a very uneven center line. But it was the letter "A." I looked up. I saw my mother's face for a moment, tears on her cheeks. Then my father stooped and put me onto his shoulder.
21 I had done it! It had started — the thing that was to give my mind its chance of expressing itself. True, I couldn't speak with my lips. But now I would speak through something more lasting than spoken words — written words.
22 That one letter, scrawled on the slate with a broken bit of yellow chalk gripped between my toes, was my road to a new world, my key to mental freedom.
2014年9月12日星期五
Lesson Fifteen The Letter "A" (Ⅰ) by Christy Brown
1 I was born in the Rotunda Hospital, on June 5th, 1932. Mine was a difficult birth, I am told. Both mother and son almost died. A whole army of relations queued up outside the hospital until the small hours of the morning, waiting for news and praying anxiously that it would be good.
2 It was Mother who first saw that there was something wrong with me. I was about four months old at the time. She noticed that my head fell backwards whenever she tried to feed me. She attempted to correct this by placing her hand on the back of my neck to keep it steady. But when she took it away, back it would drop again. That was the first warning sign. Then she became aware of other defects as I got older. She saw that my hands were clenched nearly all of the time; my jaws would either lock together tightly, or they would suddenly become limp and fall loose. At six months I could not sit up without having a mountain of pillows around me. At twelve months it was the same.
3 Very worried by this, Mother told my father her fears, and they decided to seek medical advice without any further delay. I was a little over a year old when they began to take me to hospitals and clinics, convinced that there was something definitely wrong with me.
4 Almost every doctor who saw and examined me said that I was a very interesting but also a hopeless case. Many told Mother very gently that I was mentally defective and would remain so. That was a hard blow to a young mother who had already reared five healthy children. The doctors were sure of themselves and assured her that nothing could be done for me.
5 She refused to accept this truth, the inevitable truth — as it then seemed— that I was beyond cure, beyond saving, even beyond hope. She had nothing in the world to go by, not a scrap of evidence to support her conviction that, though my body was crippled, my mind was not.
6 Finding that the doctors could not help in any way besides telling her to forget I was a human creature and to regard me as just something to be fed and washed and then put away again, Mother decided there and then to take matters into her own hands. I was her child, and therefore part of the family. No matter how dull and incapable I might grow up to be, she was determined to treat me the same as the others.
7 That was a big decision as far as my future life was concerned. But it wasn't easy for her because now the relatives and friends told her that I should be taken kindly, sympathetically, but not seriously."For your own sake," they told her, "don't look to this boy as you would to the others; it would only break your heart in the end."Luckily for me, Mother and Father held out against the lot of them. But Mother wasn't content just to say that I was not an idiot: she set out to prove it, not because of any rigid sense of duty, but out of love. That is why she was so successful.
8 Four years rolled by and I was now five, and still as helpless as a newly born baby. While my father was out at bricklaying, earning the bread and butter for us, Mother was slowly, patiently pulling down the wall, brick by brick, that seemed to stand between me and the other children, slowly, patiently penetrating beyond the thick curtain that hung over my mind, separating it from theirs. It was hard, heartbreaking work, for often all she got from me in return was a vague smile and perhaps a faint gurgle. I could not speak or even mumble, nor could I sit up on my own without support, let alone walk. But I wasn't inert or motionless. I seemed to be all movement, wild, stiff, snakelike movement that never left me, except in sleep. My fingers twisted and twitched continually, my arms moved backwards and would often shoot out suddenly this way and that, and my head fell sideways. I was a queer crooked little fellow.
9 Mother tells me how one day she had been sitting with me for hours, showing me pictures and telling me the names of the different animals and flowers that were in them, trying without success to get me to repeat them. This had gone on for hours while she talked and laughed with me. Then at the end of it she leaned over me and said gently into my ear:
10 "Did you like it, Chris? Did you like the bears and the monkeys and all the lovely flowers? Nod your head for yes, like a good boy."
11 But I could make no sign that I had understood her. Her face was bent over mine hopefully. Suddenly, my queer hand reached up and grasped one of the dark curls that fell about her neck. Gently she loosened the clenched fingers, though some dark hairs were still clutched between them. Then she turned away from my curious stare and left the room, crying. The door closed behind her. It all seemed hopeless. It looked as though my relatives were right that I was an idiot and beyond help.
12 They now spoke of putting me in a home for idiots.
13 "Never!" said my mother almost fiercely, when this was suggested to her. "I know my boy is not an idiot; it is his body that is crippled, not his mind. I'm sure of that."
2 It was Mother who first saw that there was something wrong with me. I was about four months old at the time. She noticed that my head fell backwards whenever she tried to feed me. She attempted to correct this by placing her hand on the back of my neck to keep it steady. But when she took it away, back it would drop again. That was the first warning sign. Then she became aware of other defects as I got older. She saw that my hands were clenched nearly all of the time; my jaws would either lock together tightly, or they would suddenly become limp and fall loose. At six months I could not sit up without having a mountain of pillows around me. At twelve months it was the same.
3 Very worried by this, Mother told my father her fears, and they decided to seek medical advice without any further delay. I was a little over a year old when they began to take me to hospitals and clinics, convinced that there was something definitely wrong with me.
4 Almost every doctor who saw and examined me said that I was a very interesting but also a hopeless case. Many told Mother very gently that I was mentally defective and would remain so. That was a hard blow to a young mother who had already reared five healthy children. The doctors were sure of themselves and assured her that nothing could be done for me.
5 She refused to accept this truth, the inevitable truth — as it then seemed— that I was beyond cure, beyond saving, even beyond hope. She had nothing in the world to go by, not a scrap of evidence to support her conviction that, though my body was crippled, my mind was not.
6 Finding that the doctors could not help in any way besides telling her to forget I was a human creature and to regard me as just something to be fed and washed and then put away again, Mother decided there and then to take matters into her own hands. I was her child, and therefore part of the family. No matter how dull and incapable I might grow up to be, she was determined to treat me the same as the others.
7 That was a big decision as far as my future life was concerned. But it wasn't easy for her because now the relatives and friends told her that I should be taken kindly, sympathetically, but not seriously."For your own sake," they told her, "don't look to this boy as you would to the others; it would only break your heart in the end."Luckily for me, Mother and Father held out against the lot of them. But Mother wasn't content just to say that I was not an idiot: she set out to prove it, not because of any rigid sense of duty, but out of love. That is why she was so successful.
8 Four years rolled by and I was now five, and still as helpless as a newly born baby. While my father was out at bricklaying, earning the bread and butter for us, Mother was slowly, patiently pulling down the wall, brick by brick, that seemed to stand between me and the other children, slowly, patiently penetrating beyond the thick curtain that hung over my mind, separating it from theirs. It was hard, heartbreaking work, for often all she got from me in return was a vague smile and perhaps a faint gurgle. I could not speak or even mumble, nor could I sit up on my own without support, let alone walk. But I wasn't inert or motionless. I seemed to be all movement, wild, stiff, snakelike movement that never left me, except in sleep. My fingers twisted and twitched continually, my arms moved backwards and would often shoot out suddenly this way and that, and my head fell sideways. I was a queer crooked little fellow.
9 Mother tells me how one day she had been sitting with me for hours, showing me pictures and telling me the names of the different animals and flowers that were in them, trying without success to get me to repeat them. This had gone on for hours while she talked and laughed with me. Then at the end of it she leaned over me and said gently into my ear:
10 "Did you like it, Chris? Did you like the bears and the monkeys and all the lovely flowers? Nod your head for yes, like a good boy."
11 But I could make no sign that I had understood her. Her face was bent over mine hopefully. Suddenly, my queer hand reached up and grasped one of the dark curls that fell about her neck. Gently she loosened the clenched fingers, though some dark hairs were still clutched between them. Then she turned away from my curious stare and left the room, crying. The door closed behind her. It all seemed hopeless. It looked as though my relatives were right that I was an idiot and beyond help.
12 They now spoke of putting me in a home for idiots.
13 "Never!" said my mother almost fiercely, when this was suggested to her. "I know my boy is not an idiot; it is his body that is crippled, not his mind. I'm sure of that."
Lesson Fourteen The Outside Chance by Jan Carew
1 It's a funny thing about money. If you haven't got it, you think it's the most important thing in the world. That's what I used to think, too. I don't any more, though, and I learned the hard way.
2 When I was at school, we had this English master. He was always quoting to us from famous writers. I wasn't very interested, and I don't remember much about it now. But it's funny how things come back to you. He used to say:
3 "When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers."
4 Sounds a bit silly, doesn't it.? Well, I didn't understand it then, either, but I can tell you what it means now. It means if you want something really badly, you'll probably get it. But you'll probably get it in a way you don't expect.
5 I mean, you might have to pay a price you didn't bargain for.
6 It started one rainy day, when I was coming home from work.
7 I'm a motor mechanic, and I like working in the garage. But, I was restless. I'd always had this dream of owning my own business. Nothing big — just something I could build up. I don't mind hard work, you see, if I'm working for myself. That's why I'd left my mum and dad in the North, and come to London. I thought I'd make more money that way.
8 We'd had arguments about it. My dad and I. He didn't see why I should want to leave home when I had enough money to live on.
9 Enough! Enough for what? I used to ask him. To live as he had in a council house all his life, with nothing to look forward to but a gold watch and a pension?
10 Oh, I was fond of him, you see, and it annoyed me to see him so content. He had nothing to show for all those years of work in that noisy factory.
11 Anyway, all this was on my mind, as I walked home that night. The rain didn't help, either. I remember thinking, if only I could get a thousand pounds — just that, just a thousand.
12 I stopped and bought a newspaper outside the Tube. I thought it would take my mind off things on the way home. I could read about other people's troubles for a change. See what films were on.
13 I don't know when I first realised there was something wrong with the paper. It looked ordinary enough. But there was something about it that didn't seem quite right. As if there was a gap in the news. As if it was a jump ahead. So, in the end, I looked at the front page, and instead of Tuesday 22nd November, it said Wednesday 23rd November.
14 "My God," I thought, "it's tomorrow's paper!"
15 I didn't believe it to start with. But it did explain why all the news was different. There couldn't be any other explanation. Somehow, I had bought tomorrow's paper — today!
16 And that was the moment I realised it. The moment I realised that all my prayers could be answered. My hands were shaking so much that I could hardly turn the pages. But they were there. The results of tomorrow's races!
17 I looked at the winners, and chose from them carefully. I picked only the outsiders that had won at prices like 30-1.
18 There was even one at 50-1! A horse I would never have thought of betting on.
19 Next morning, I went to the bank, and drew out just about all I had— ￡ 150. I laid my bets during my lunch hour. I went to several shops. I didn't want anyone to become suspicious.
20 It's a funny thing, but I just knew the horses would win. And — God forgive me — I never stopped to think why I had been given this chance to see into the future.
21 They did win — every one of them. All I had to do was to go round and collect my money, and I couldn't wait to get home and count it. ￡ 4,000 ! !
22 Well, nothing could stop me now! I'd give in my notice at work the next day, and look for a place of my own. Wait till I told Mum and Dad! They'd hardly be able to believe it.
23 I switched on the television, but I couldn't concentrate on it. I kept thinking what I'd do with the money. I hardly heard a word of the programme.
24 Then the news came on.
25 The announcer mentioned Selby. That was where my parents lived. I began to listen.
26 There had been an explosion up there, that afternoon, followed by a fire in a factory. Twenty-two people had been killed, and many more were in hospital. I don't remember the rest — something about a government enquiry.
27 I stopped listening, but I couldn't move out of the chair. I think I must've known then that my dad was dead — even before the telegram came.
28 The newspaper had fallen on the floor. I picked it up, not realising what I was doing. Then, I saw it — in the "Stop Press."FACTORY DISASTER IN SELBY. MANY FEARED DEAD. I hadn't seen it before. I'd been too busy picking winners. I could've saved my dad's life, but I'd been too busy picking bloody winners. I don't often cry, but the words swam in front of me then.
29 There isn't much more to tell. I got my own business, and I'm doing well. As for my Mum, she was paid insurance by the firm that owned the factory, so she's better off than she ever was. The only thing is, she doesn't care if she's alive or dead now my Dad's gone.
30 When the gods wish to punish us, they make a damn good job of it.
2 When I was at school, we had this English master. He was always quoting to us from famous writers. I wasn't very interested, and I don't remember much about it now. But it's funny how things come back to you. He used to say:
3 "When the gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers."
4 Sounds a bit silly, doesn't it.? Well, I didn't understand it then, either, but I can tell you what it means now. It means if you want something really badly, you'll probably get it. But you'll probably get it in a way you don't expect.
5 I mean, you might have to pay a price you didn't bargain for.
6 It started one rainy day, when I was coming home from work.
7 I'm a motor mechanic, and I like working in the garage. But, I was restless. I'd always had this dream of owning my own business. Nothing big — just something I could build up. I don't mind hard work, you see, if I'm working for myself. That's why I'd left my mum and dad in the North, and come to London. I thought I'd make more money that way.
8 We'd had arguments about it. My dad and I. He didn't see why I should want to leave home when I had enough money to live on.
9 Enough! Enough for what? I used to ask him. To live as he had in a council house all his life, with nothing to look forward to but a gold watch and a pension?
10 Oh, I was fond of him, you see, and it annoyed me to see him so content. He had nothing to show for all those years of work in that noisy factory.
11 Anyway, all this was on my mind, as I walked home that night. The rain didn't help, either. I remember thinking, if only I could get a thousand pounds — just that, just a thousand.
12 I stopped and bought a newspaper outside the Tube. I thought it would take my mind off things on the way home. I could read about other people's troubles for a change. See what films were on.
13 I don't know when I first realised there was something wrong with the paper. It looked ordinary enough. But there was something about it that didn't seem quite right. As if there was a gap in the news. As if it was a jump ahead. So, in the end, I looked at the front page, and instead of Tuesday 22nd November, it said Wednesday 23rd November.
14 "My God," I thought, "it's tomorrow's paper!"
15 I didn't believe it to start with. But it did explain why all the news was different. There couldn't be any other explanation. Somehow, I had bought tomorrow's paper — today!
16 And that was the moment I realised it. The moment I realised that all my prayers could be answered. My hands were shaking so much that I could hardly turn the pages. But they were there. The results of tomorrow's races!
17 I looked at the winners, and chose from them carefully. I picked only the outsiders that had won at prices like 30-1.
18 There was even one at 50-1! A horse I would never have thought of betting on.
19 Next morning, I went to the bank, and drew out just about all I had— ￡ 150. I laid my bets during my lunch hour. I went to several shops. I didn't want anyone to become suspicious.
20 It's a funny thing, but I just knew the horses would win. And — God forgive me — I never stopped to think why I had been given this chance to see into the future.
21 They did win — every one of them. All I had to do was to go round and collect my money, and I couldn't wait to get home and count it. ￡ 4,000 ! !
22 Well, nothing could stop me now! I'd give in my notice at work the next day, and look for a place of my own. Wait till I told Mum and Dad! They'd hardly be able to believe it.
23 I switched on the television, but I couldn't concentrate on it. I kept thinking what I'd do with the money. I hardly heard a word of the programme.
24 Then the news came on.
25 The announcer mentioned Selby. That was where my parents lived. I began to listen.
26 There had been an explosion up there, that afternoon, followed by a fire in a factory. Twenty-two people had been killed, and many more were in hospital. I don't remember the rest — something about a government enquiry.
27 I stopped listening, but I couldn't move out of the chair. I think I must've known then that my dad was dead — even before the telegram came.
28 The newspaper had fallen on the floor. I picked it up, not realising what I was doing. Then, I saw it — in the "Stop Press."FACTORY DISASTER IN SELBY. MANY FEARED DEAD. I hadn't seen it before. I'd been too busy picking winners. I could've saved my dad's life, but I'd been too busy picking bloody winners. I don't often cry, but the words swam in front of me then.
29 There isn't much more to tell. I got my own business, and I'm doing well. As for my Mum, she was paid insurance by the firm that owned the factory, so she's better off than she ever was. The only thing is, she doesn't care if she's alive or dead now my Dad's gone.
30 When the gods wish to punish us, they make a damn good job of it.
Lesson Thirteen Freedom in Dying by Gerald Corey
1 The process of dying involves fewer and fewer choices available to us. Even in dying, however, we still have choices concerning how we handle what is happening to us. The following account deals with the dying of Jim Morelock, a student and close friend of mine.
2 Jim is 25 years old. He is full of life — witty, bright, honest, and actively questioning. He had just graduated from college as a human services major and seemed to have a bright future when his illness was discovered.
3 About a year and a half ago, Jim developed a lump on his forehead and underwent surgery to have it removed. At that time, his doctors believed that it was not a cancer. Later, more tumors appeared, and more surgery followed. Several months ago, Jim found out that the tumors had spread throughout his body and that even with treatment, he would have a short life. Since that time he has steadily grown weaker and has been able to do less and less; yet he has shown remarkable courage in the way he has faced this loss and his dying.
4 Some time ago Jim came to California, and took part in the weekend seminar that I had with the reviewers of this book. On this chapter, he commented that although we may not have a choice concerning the losses we suffer in dying, we do retain the ability to choose our attitude toward our death.
5 Jim has taught me a lot during these past few months about this enduring capacity for choice, even in extreme circumstances. Jim has made many critical choices since being told of his illness. He chose to continue taking a course at the university, because he liked the contact with the people there. He worked hard at a boat dock to support himself. He decided to undergo treatment, even though he knew that it most likely would not result in his cure, because he hoped that it would reduce his pain. It did not, and Jim has suffered much agony during the past few months. He decided not to undergo chemical treatment because he didn't want to prolong his life if he couldn't really live fully. He made a choice to accept God in his life, which gave him a full sense of peace. Before he became bedridden, he decided to go to Hawaii and enjoy his time in luxury.
6 Jim has always disliked hospitals — so he chose to remain at home, in more personal surroundings. As long as he was able, he read widely and continued to write in his diary about his thoughts and feelings on living and dying. With his friends, he played his guitar and sang songs that he had written. He maintained an active interest in life and in the things around him, without denying the fact that he was dying.
7 More than anyone I have known or heard about, Jim has taken care of unfinished business. He made it a point to gather his family and tell them his wishes, he made contact with all his friends and said everything he wanted to say to them. He dearly stated his desire for cremation; he wants to burn those tumors and then have his ashes scattered over the sea — a wish that reflects his love of freedom and movement.
8 Jim has very little freedom and movement now, for he can do little except lie in his bed and wait for his death to come. To this day he is choosing to die with dignity, and although his body is getting weaker and weaker, his spirit is still very much alive. He retains his mental sharpness, his ability to say a lot in a very few words, and his sense of humor. He has allowed himself to grieve over his losses. As he puts it, "I'd sure like to hang around to enjoy all those people that love me!"Realizing that this isn't possible, Jim is saying good-bye to all those who are close to him.
9 Throughout this suffering, Jim's mother has been truly great. When she told me how remarkable Jim has been in complaining so rarely despite his constant pain, I reminded her that I'd never heard her complain during her months of caring for him. I have been continually amazed by her strength and courage, and I have admired her willingness to honor Jim's wishes and accept his beliefs, even though at times they have differed from her own. She has shown how much she loves him without depriving him of his free spirit and independence. Her acceptance of Jim's dying and her willingness to hide nothing from him have given him the opportunity to express openly whatever he feels. Jim has been able to grieve and mourn because she has not objected to this.
10 This experience has taught me much about dying and about living. Through Jim, I have learned that I don't have to do very much for a person who is dying except to be with him or her by being myself. So often I have felt a sense of helplessness, of not knowing what to say or how much to say, of not knowing what to ask or not to ask, of feeling unable to speak. Jim's oncoming death seems such a loss, and it's very difficult for me to accept it. Gradually, however, I have learned not to be so concerned about what to say or not to say. In fact, in my last visit I said very little, but I feel that we made significant contact with each other. I've also learned to share with him the sadness I feel, but there is simply no easy way to say good-bye to a friend.
11 Jim is showing me that his style of dying will be no different from his style of living. By his example and by his words, Jim has taught me how to evaluate my own life.
2 Jim is 25 years old. He is full of life — witty, bright, honest, and actively questioning. He had just graduated from college as a human services major and seemed to have a bright future when his illness was discovered.
3 About a year and a half ago, Jim developed a lump on his forehead and underwent surgery to have it removed. At that time, his doctors believed that it was not a cancer. Later, more tumors appeared, and more surgery followed. Several months ago, Jim found out that the tumors had spread throughout his body and that even with treatment, he would have a short life. Since that time he has steadily grown weaker and has been able to do less and less; yet he has shown remarkable courage in the way he has faced this loss and his dying.
4 Some time ago Jim came to California, and took part in the weekend seminar that I had with the reviewers of this book. On this chapter, he commented that although we may not have a choice concerning the losses we suffer in dying, we do retain the ability to choose our attitude toward our death.
5 Jim has taught me a lot during these past few months about this enduring capacity for choice, even in extreme circumstances. Jim has made many critical choices since being told of his illness. He chose to continue taking a course at the university, because he liked the contact with the people there. He worked hard at a boat dock to support himself. He decided to undergo treatment, even though he knew that it most likely would not result in his cure, because he hoped that it would reduce his pain. It did not, and Jim has suffered much agony during the past few months. He decided not to undergo chemical treatment because he didn't want to prolong his life if he couldn't really live fully. He made a choice to accept God in his life, which gave him a full sense of peace. Before he became bedridden, he decided to go to Hawaii and enjoy his time in luxury.
6 Jim has always disliked hospitals — so he chose to remain at home, in more personal surroundings. As long as he was able, he read widely and continued to write in his diary about his thoughts and feelings on living and dying. With his friends, he played his guitar and sang songs that he had written. He maintained an active interest in life and in the things around him, without denying the fact that he was dying.
7 More than anyone I have known or heard about, Jim has taken care of unfinished business. He made it a point to gather his family and tell them his wishes, he made contact with all his friends and said everything he wanted to say to them. He dearly stated his desire for cremation; he wants to burn those tumors and then have his ashes scattered over the sea — a wish that reflects his love of freedom and movement.
8 Jim has very little freedom and movement now, for he can do little except lie in his bed and wait for his death to come. To this day he is choosing to die with dignity, and although his body is getting weaker and weaker, his spirit is still very much alive. He retains his mental sharpness, his ability to say a lot in a very few words, and his sense of humor. He has allowed himself to grieve over his losses. As he puts it, "I'd sure like to hang around to enjoy all those people that love me!"Realizing that this isn't possible, Jim is saying good-bye to all those who are close to him.
9 Throughout this suffering, Jim's mother has been truly great. When she told me how remarkable Jim has been in complaining so rarely despite his constant pain, I reminded her that I'd never heard her complain during her months of caring for him. I have been continually amazed by her strength and courage, and I have admired her willingness to honor Jim's wishes and accept his beliefs, even though at times they have differed from her own. She has shown how much she loves him without depriving him of his free spirit and independence. Her acceptance of Jim's dying and her willingness to hide nothing from him have given him the opportunity to express openly whatever he feels. Jim has been able to grieve and mourn because she has not objected to this.
10 This experience has taught me much about dying and about living. Through Jim, I have learned that I don't have to do very much for a person who is dying except to be with him or her by being myself. So often I have felt a sense of helplessness, of not knowing what to say or how much to say, of not knowing what to ask or not to ask, of feeling unable to speak. Jim's oncoming death seems such a loss, and it's very difficult for me to accept it. Gradually, however, I have learned not to be so concerned about what to say or not to say. In fact, in my last visit I said very little, but I feel that we made significant contact with each other. I've also learned to share with him the sadness I feel, but there is simply no easy way to say good-bye to a friend.
11 Jim is showing me that his style of dying will be no different from his style of living. By his example and by his words, Jim has taught me how to evaluate my own life.
Lesson Twelve I Got My B.A. by Sheer Luck by Walter Pauk
1 NOW IT CAN BE TOLD: I got my B.A. by sheer luck. Here is my story.
2 Professor Kolb was especially difficult that year. Exactly 63.6 percent of the class failed Egyptian History. And if it were not for sheer luck, I'd have raised the percentage to 65.4.
3 I remember most vividly the frightening pace of the lectures. No one could take notes as fast as "Old Kolb" talked. I usually missed more than half of each lecture. Without complete notes, it was impossible to study. I was lucky to have gotten even the 38 in one exam. I knew that my only chance for survival was to get fuller notes.
4 That night after the exam grades came out, I thought over my disgraceful grade. Suddenly I hit upon an idea: Why not leave every other line on my note paper blank? Then I could recall the lecture afterward and fill in the missing parts.
5 The next day I tried this plan and it worked! What luck! At first it was difficult to recall the lecture, but as days passed, it became sort of a game. Often in my room I would imitate the professor and try to give the lecture as best as I could without looking at my notes.
6 One evening while reciting the day's lecture to myself, I made an important discovery. In trying to make my presentation as smooth as possible, I used the transitional words "Now that we have discussed the major reason for the success of Pharaoh Hophra, let us look at the minor reasons." At that moment I stopped still, for at no time did the professor ever cut up the lecture into topics and subtopics; however, the topics and subtopics were there, waiting to be discovered.With this secret in mind, I found that I could take better notes during the lecture, and after class I could very easily supply the missing parts.
7 An incident finally convinced me of my intellectual inferiority when I found that the other students just "flipped the pages" of the textbook. But poor me, I had to work on each chapter for hours. I was lucky when, looking in the library for a book on Egyptian religion, I ran across a whole shelf filled with books on Egypt. I spent the rest of the day until 10∶00 p.m. (closing time) reading. I finally picked out three books which were easy enough for me to understand, and I took these back to my room. By first reading these books, I found I could understand better the assigned chapter in the textbook. So with luck I solved the textbook problem.
8 There I was, as the final examination approached, with a notebook about two inches thick, filled with lecture notes. Now, was I to memorize all these notes? And the textbook? Realizing that I couldn't memorize everything in my notes, I decided to review each lecture with one thought in mind: "What is the really important idea here?" As I found the answer, I'd jot the central point on separate sheets which I called "Summary Sheets." When I finished, I had reduced inches of lecture notes to just twelve pages of "main issues."I then did the same with my textbook .
9 I learned these main issues by first reading them over, thinking about them, then without looking at my notes, by trying to recite them in my own words. I went through my summary sheets in the same way, issue by issue.
10 Having mastered these main issues, I composed ten questions —questions that I'd ask if I were the professor. I pretended that I was in the examination room, and I spent the next four hours answering my ten questions. I then corrected my answers by referring to the lecture and the textbook notes, and much to my delight, I had discussed all the facts and ideas accurately. For the first time I felt that I had achieved something. I went to bed at 10∶00 for a good night's sleep, having refused to go to a movie with the rest of the boys.
11 On the way to the examination room the next morning, I knew without question that my luck had run out when I met Jack, who sat next to me. He had not taken a single note all semester; he had not even "flipped" the textbook pages. When I asked why he wasn't nervous, he answered, "This is the semester for Examination Set #4."
12 "What's Examination Set # 4?"
13 Everybody on campus except me, I guess, knew that "Old Kolb" had five sets of examinations (ten questions in every set),which he used in turn over a five-year period. Though "Old Kolb"collected the question sheets from each student, he underestimated their organizing ability. The plan worked like this: Some students were given the task to memorize question # 1, another group to memorize # 2, and so forth. When the students left the examination room, they jotted down these questions quickly from memory. In this way they finally collected all five sets of the examination.
14 I knew my luck had run out. As the examination sheets were passed out, I heard moans of various kinds: "Oh, No ! No !" and hysterical laughter. I thought that perhaps the professor had by mistake given out Exam # 5 instead of the expected # 4.
15 By the time the sheets reached me, I, too, gasped, "Oh! It can't be." They were the same ten questions that I had made up only yesterday! How could that be? One chance in a million, I'm sure. I wrote and wrote and wrote.
16 "Old Kolb" gave me a 100 plus. He wrote a note saying,"Thank goodness for one good scholar in all my years of teaching."But he didn't know what luck I had, and I never told him.
17 Now that twenty years have passed, I think that it is safe to reveal that here is one fellow who got his B.A. by sheer luck.
2 Professor Kolb was especially difficult that year. Exactly 63.6 percent of the class failed Egyptian History. And if it were not for sheer luck, I'd have raised the percentage to 65.4.
3 I remember most vividly the frightening pace of the lectures. No one could take notes as fast as "Old Kolb" talked. I usually missed more than half of each lecture. Without complete notes, it was impossible to study. I was lucky to have gotten even the 38 in one exam. I knew that my only chance for survival was to get fuller notes.
4 That night after the exam grades came out, I thought over my disgraceful grade. Suddenly I hit upon an idea: Why not leave every other line on my note paper blank? Then I could recall the lecture afterward and fill in the missing parts.
5 The next day I tried this plan and it worked! What luck! At first it was difficult to recall the lecture, but as days passed, it became sort of a game. Often in my room I would imitate the professor and try to give the lecture as best as I could without looking at my notes.
6 One evening while reciting the day's lecture to myself, I made an important discovery. In trying to make my presentation as smooth as possible, I used the transitional words "Now that we have discussed the major reason for the success of Pharaoh Hophra, let us look at the minor reasons." At that moment I stopped still, for at no time did the professor ever cut up the lecture into topics and subtopics; however, the topics and subtopics were there, waiting to be discovered.With this secret in mind, I found that I could take better notes during the lecture, and after class I could very easily supply the missing parts.
7 An incident finally convinced me of my intellectual inferiority when I found that the other students just "flipped the pages" of the textbook. But poor me, I had to work on each chapter for hours. I was lucky when, looking in the library for a book on Egyptian religion, I ran across a whole shelf filled with books on Egypt. I spent the rest of the day until 10∶00 p.m. (closing time) reading. I finally picked out three books which were easy enough for me to understand, and I took these back to my room. By first reading these books, I found I could understand better the assigned chapter in the textbook. So with luck I solved the textbook problem.
8 There I was, as the final examination approached, with a notebook about two inches thick, filled with lecture notes. Now, was I to memorize all these notes? And the textbook? Realizing that I couldn't memorize everything in my notes, I decided to review each lecture with one thought in mind: "What is the really important idea here?" As I found the answer, I'd jot the central point on separate sheets which I called "Summary Sheets." When I finished, I had reduced inches of lecture notes to just twelve pages of "main issues."I then did the same with my textbook .
9 I learned these main issues by first reading them over, thinking about them, then without looking at my notes, by trying to recite them in my own words. I went through my summary sheets in the same way, issue by issue.
10 Having mastered these main issues, I composed ten questions —questions that I'd ask if I were the professor. I pretended that I was in the examination room, and I spent the next four hours answering my ten questions. I then corrected my answers by referring to the lecture and the textbook notes, and much to my delight, I had discussed all the facts and ideas accurately. For the first time I felt that I had achieved something. I went to bed at 10∶00 for a good night's sleep, having refused to go to a movie with the rest of the boys.
11 On the way to the examination room the next morning, I knew without question that my luck had run out when I met Jack, who sat next to me. He had not taken a single note all semester; he had not even "flipped" the textbook pages. When I asked why he wasn't nervous, he answered, "This is the semester for Examination Set #4."
12 "What's Examination Set # 4?"
13 Everybody on campus except me, I guess, knew that "Old Kolb" had five sets of examinations (ten questions in every set),which he used in turn over a five-year period. Though "Old Kolb"collected the question sheets from each student, he underestimated their organizing ability. The plan worked like this: Some students were given the task to memorize question # 1, another group to memorize # 2, and so forth. When the students left the examination room, they jotted down these questions quickly from memory. In this way they finally collected all five sets of the examination.
14 I knew my luck had run out. As the examination sheets were passed out, I heard moans of various kinds: "Oh, No ! No !" and hysterical laughter. I thought that perhaps the professor had by mistake given out Exam # 5 instead of the expected # 4.
15 By the time the sheets reached me, I, too, gasped, "Oh! It can't be." They were the same ten questions that I had made up only yesterday! How could that be? One chance in a million, I'm sure. I wrote and wrote and wrote.
16 "Old Kolb" gave me a 100 plus. He wrote a note saying,"Thank goodness for one good scholar in all my years of teaching."But he didn't know what luck I had, and I never told him.
17 Now that twenty years have passed, I think that it is safe to reveal that here is one fellow who got his B.A. by sheer luck.
Lesson Eleven The Emotional Bank Account by Stephen R. Covey
1 The Emotional Bank Account is like a financial bank account in one way: you can make "deposits" — actions that build trust — or you can make "withdrawals" that decrease it. It represents the quality of the relationship you have with other people. If you have a high balance, then communication is open and free.
2 Let me share ideas for "deposits" you can make in your family:
Cultivate kindness.
3 Many years ago I spent an evening out with two of my sons. In the middle of the movie, Sean, then four, fell asleep. His older brother Stephen, six, stayed awake, and we watched the rest of the movie together. When it was over, I carried Sean to the car. It was cold, so I took off my coat and gently put it over him.
4 When we arrived home, I carried Sean in, then lay down next to Stephen to talk. Suddenly he asked, "Daddy, if I were cold, would you put your coat around me, too?"
5 Of all the events of our night out together, the most important was a little act of kindness — a showing of love to his brother.
6 In relationships, the little things are the big things. They go a long way toward building trust and unconditional love. Just think about the impact in your family of using words of courtesy such as thank you and please. Or unexpected acts of service, such as taking children shopping for something that's important to them. Or finding little ways to express love, such as leaving a note in a lunch box or briefcase.
Earn an “A”：apologize.
7 Perhaps nothing tests our capacity to initiate change as much as saying "I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends. That was wrong of me."
8 "Sweetheart, I apologize for cutting you off. I was so rude. Please forgive me."
9 Sometimes apologizing is incredibly hard, but the effort says,"Our relationship is very important to me." And that kind of communication builds the Emotional Bank Account.
Learn loyalty.
10 Next to apologizing, one of the most important deposits a person can make is to be loyal to family members when they are not present.
11 In other words, talk about others as if they were there. That doesn't mean you're unaware of their weaknesses. It means, rather, that you focus on the positive — and that if you do talk about weaknesses, you do it in such a way that you wouldn't be ashamed to have the person overhear it.
12 A friend had an 18-year-old son whose habits annoyed his brothers and sisters. When the boy wasn't there, the family often talked about him. At one point, this friend decided to follow the principle of being loyal to those not present. When such conversations developed, he gently interrupted and said something good that he had observed his son doing. Soon the conversation would shift to more interesting subjects.
13 Our friend said he soon felt that the others began to connect with this principle of family loyalty. They realized that he'd also defend them if they were not present. And in some unexplainable manner— perhaps because he started seeing his son differently —this change improved his Emotional Bank Account.
Make — and keep — promises.
14 Over the years people have asked if I had one simple idea that would help others cope with problems, seize opportunities and make their lives successful. I give a four-word answer: "make and keep promises."
15 My daughter, Cynthia, recalls something that happened when she was 12 years old: "Dad promised to take me with him on a business trip to San Francisco. We talked about the trip for months. After his meetings, we planned to take a cab to Chinatown and have our favorite food and see a movie. I was dying with expectation.
16 "The day finally arrived. The hours dragged by as I waited for Dad to finish work. At about 6∶ 30, he arrived with an influential business acquaintance who wanted to take us to dinner. My disappointment was bigger than life.
17 "I will never forget Dad saying to him, ‘I'd love to see you, but this is a special time with my girl. We've got it planned to the minute. ' We did everything. That was just about the happiest time of my life. I don't think any young girl ever loved her father as much as I loved mine that night."
18 I'm convinced that you would be hard pressed to come up with a deposit that has more impact in the family than making and keeping promises.
Don't forget to forgive.
19 For many, the ultimate deposit to the Emotional Bank Account comes in forgiving.
20 When you forgive, you open the channels for trust and unconditional love. You cleanse your heart. You also remove a major obstacle that keeps others from changing — because when you don't forgive, you put yourself between people and their conscience. Instead of spending their energy on work with their own conscience, they spend it defending and justifying their behavior to you.
21 In everything you do for your family, keep in mind the miracle of the Chinese bamboo. After the seed is planted, new, taller shoots appear until the bamboo reaches full height. But the most dramatic growth is underground, where the roots grow very strong. With this support, the bamboo can reach a height of 120 feet!
22 The Emotional Bank Account can be like that. As you begin to make deposits, you may see positive results immediately. More often it will take weeks, months, even years. But results will come, and you will be astonished at the change.
2 Let me share ideas for "deposits" you can make in your family:
Cultivate kindness.
3 Many years ago I spent an evening out with two of my sons. In the middle of the movie, Sean, then four, fell asleep. His older brother Stephen, six, stayed awake, and we watched the rest of the movie together. When it was over, I carried Sean to the car. It was cold, so I took off my coat and gently put it over him.
4 When we arrived home, I carried Sean in, then lay down next to Stephen to talk. Suddenly he asked, "Daddy, if I were cold, would you put your coat around me, too?"
5 Of all the events of our night out together, the most important was a little act of kindness — a showing of love to his brother.
6 In relationships, the little things are the big things. They go a long way toward building trust and unconditional love. Just think about the impact in your family of using words of courtesy such as thank you and please. Or unexpected acts of service, such as taking children shopping for something that's important to them. Or finding little ways to express love, such as leaving a note in a lunch box or briefcase.
Earn an “A”：apologize.
7 Perhaps nothing tests our capacity to initiate change as much as saying "I'm sorry I embarrassed you in front of your friends. That was wrong of me."
8 "Sweetheart, I apologize for cutting you off. I was so rude. Please forgive me."
9 Sometimes apologizing is incredibly hard, but the effort says,"Our relationship is very important to me." And that kind of communication builds the Emotional Bank Account.
Learn loyalty.
10 Next to apologizing, one of the most important deposits a person can make is to be loyal to family members when they are not present.
11 In other words, talk about others as if they were there. That doesn't mean you're unaware of their weaknesses. It means, rather, that you focus on the positive — and that if you do talk about weaknesses, you do it in such a way that you wouldn't be ashamed to have the person overhear it.
12 A friend had an 18-year-old son whose habits annoyed his brothers and sisters. When the boy wasn't there, the family often talked about him. At one point, this friend decided to follow the principle of being loyal to those not present. When such conversations developed, he gently interrupted and said something good that he had observed his son doing. Soon the conversation would shift to more interesting subjects.
13 Our friend said he soon felt that the others began to connect with this principle of family loyalty. They realized that he'd also defend them if they were not present. And in some unexplainable manner— perhaps because he started seeing his son differently —this change improved his Emotional Bank Account.
Make — and keep — promises.
14 Over the years people have asked if I had one simple idea that would help others cope with problems, seize opportunities and make their lives successful. I give a four-word answer: "make and keep promises."
15 My daughter, Cynthia, recalls something that happened when she was 12 years old: "Dad promised to take me with him on a business trip to San Francisco. We talked about the trip for months. After his meetings, we planned to take a cab to Chinatown and have our favorite food and see a movie. I was dying with expectation.
16 "The day finally arrived. The hours dragged by as I waited for Dad to finish work. At about 6∶ 30, he arrived with an influential business acquaintance who wanted to take us to dinner. My disappointment was bigger than life.
17 "I will never forget Dad saying to him, ‘I'd love to see you, but this is a special time with my girl. We've got it planned to the minute. ' We did everything. That was just about the happiest time of my life. I don't think any young girl ever loved her father as much as I loved mine that night."
18 I'm convinced that you would be hard pressed to come up with a deposit that has more impact in the family than making and keeping promises.
Don't forget to forgive.
19 For many, the ultimate deposit to the Emotional Bank Account comes in forgiving.
20 When you forgive, you open the channels for trust and unconditional love. You cleanse your heart. You also remove a major obstacle that keeps others from changing — because when you don't forgive, you put yourself between people and their conscience. Instead of spending their energy on work with their own conscience, they spend it defending and justifying their behavior to you.
21 In everything you do for your family, keep in mind the miracle of the Chinese bamboo. After the seed is planted, new, taller shoots appear until the bamboo reaches full height. But the most dramatic growth is underground, where the roots grow very strong. With this support, the bamboo can reach a height of 120 feet!
22 The Emotional Bank Account can be like that. As you begin to make deposits, you may see positive results immediately. More often it will take weeks, months, even years. But results will come, and you will be astonished at the change.
Lesson Ten Thank You, Ma'am by Langston Hughes
1 She was a large woman with a large purse that had everything in it but hammer and nails. She carried the purse slung across her shoulder. It was about eleven o'clock at night, dark. She was walking alone when a boy ran up behind her and tried to snatch her purse. The purse strap came off, but he pulled so hard that he lost his balance. He fell on his back on the sidewalk, and his legs flew up. The large woman turned around, picked him up by his T-shirt and shook him hard.
2 After that, the woman said, "Pick up my purse, boy. Give it to me." She held him tightly. "Now aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
3 Held up by his T-shirt, the boy said, "Yes'm."
4 The woman said, "What did you do it for?"
5 The boy said, "It was a joke."
6 She said, "You lie!"
7 "Lady, I'm sorry," whispered the boy.
8 "Umn-hum! Your face needs washing. Don't you wash your face at home?"
9 "No'm," said the boy.
10 "Then it will get washed this evening," said the large woman, starting up the street, dragging the frightened boy behind her. He was thin and looked as if he was fourteen or fifteen. He had on tennis shoes and blue jeans.
11 "You should be my boy. I would teach you what is right. All I can do for you right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?"
12 "No'm. I just want you to let me go."
13 "When I get through with you, sir, you are going to remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones."
14 Sweat bathed the boy's face and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones continued to drag him up the street. When she got to her door, she dragged the boy inside, down a hall and into a room at the back of the house. She turned on the light and left the door open. The boy could hear people laughing and talking in the house.
15 She said, "What is your name?"
16 "Roger," answered the boy.
17 "Roger, you go to that wash basin and wash your face," said the woman. She let him go — at last. Roger looked at the door. He looked at the woman. He looked at the door — and then he went to the wash basin.
18 "Let the water run until it gets warm," she said. "Here's a clean towel."
19 "Are you taking me to jail?" asked the boy, bending over the wash basin.
20 "With that face, I would not take you anywhere. Have you been home to eat yet?"
21 "There's nobody at my house," said the boy.
22 "Then we'll eat," said the woman. "I believe you're hungry. So you tried to snatch my purse."
23 "I want a pair of blue suede shoes," said the boy.
24 "Well, you didn't have to snatch my purse to get some suede shoes," said Mrs. Jones. "You could have asked me."
25 "Ma'am?"
26 With water dripping from his face, the boy looked at her. There was a long pause. After he dried his face, he turned around, wondering what to do next. The door was open. He could make a dash for it down the hall. He could run, run, run, run, run!
27 The woman was sitting on the bed. After a while, she said, "I was young once. And I wanted things I couldn't get." There was another long pause. The boy's mouth opened. Then he frowned.
28 The woman said, "Um-hum! You thought I was going to say but, didn't you? You thought I was going to say, but I did not snatch people's purses. Well, I was not going to say that." Pause. Silence. "I've done things, too, which I wouldn't want to tell you. So you sit down while I find us something to eat."
29 In a corner of the room behind a screen was a small gas stove and a refrigerator. Mrs. Jones got up and went behind the screen. She did not watch the boy to see if he was going to run now, nor did she watch her purse, which she left behind her on the bed. But the boy took care to sit on the far side of the room, away from the purse, where he thought she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye. He did not trust the woman not to trust him. And he did not want to be mistrusted now.
30 "Do you need somebody to go to the store.?" asked the boy. "To get some milk or something.
31 "Don't think I do," said the woman. "Unless you want fresh milk yourself. I'm going to make cocoa out of this canned milk I've got here."
32 "That'll be fine," said the boy.
33 She heated some beans and ham, made the cocoa, and set the table. The woman did not ask about where he lived, or about his family, or anything that would embarrass him. Instead, as they ate, she told him about her work in a hotel beauty shop that stayed open late. She told him what the work was like. Then she cut him a half of her ten-cent cake.
34 "Eat some more," she said.
35 When they had finished eating, she got up and said, "Now here, take this ten dollars and buy some blue suede shoes. And next time, don't snatch my purse, nor anybody else's — because shoes got by bad ways will burn your feet. I've got to go to bed now. But from here on, I hope you'll behave."
36 She led him down the hall to the front door and opened it."Good night! Behave yourself!" she said, looking out into the street as he went down the steps.
37 The boy wanted to say something besides, "Thank you, ma'am," to Mrs. Jones. His lips moved, but he could not even say that as he turned at the foot of the steps and looked up at the large woman. Then she shut the door. And he never saw her again.
2 After that, the woman said, "Pick up my purse, boy. Give it to me." She held him tightly. "Now aren't you ashamed of yourself?"
3 Held up by his T-shirt, the boy said, "Yes'm."
4 The woman said, "What did you do it for?"
5 The boy said, "It was a joke."
6 She said, "You lie!"
7 "Lady, I'm sorry," whispered the boy.
8 "Umn-hum! Your face needs washing. Don't you wash your face at home?"
9 "No'm," said the boy.
10 "Then it will get washed this evening," said the large woman, starting up the street, dragging the frightened boy behind her. He was thin and looked as if he was fourteen or fifteen. He had on tennis shoes and blue jeans.
11 "You should be my boy. I would teach you what is right. All I can do for you right now is to wash your face. Are you hungry?"
12 "No'm. I just want you to let me go."
13 "When I get through with you, sir, you are going to remember Mrs. Luella Bates Washington Jones."
14 Sweat bathed the boy's face and he began to struggle. Mrs. Jones continued to drag him up the street. When she got to her door, she dragged the boy inside, down a hall and into a room at the back of the house. She turned on the light and left the door open. The boy could hear people laughing and talking in the house.
15 She said, "What is your name?"
16 "Roger," answered the boy.
17 "Roger, you go to that wash basin and wash your face," said the woman. She let him go — at last. Roger looked at the door. He looked at the woman. He looked at the door — and then he went to the wash basin.
18 "Let the water run until it gets warm," she said. "Here's a clean towel."
19 "Are you taking me to jail?" asked the boy, bending over the wash basin.
20 "With that face, I would not take you anywhere. Have you been home to eat yet?"
21 "There's nobody at my house," said the boy.
22 "Then we'll eat," said the woman. "I believe you're hungry. So you tried to snatch my purse."
23 "I want a pair of blue suede shoes," said the boy.
24 "Well, you didn't have to snatch my purse to get some suede shoes," said Mrs. Jones. "You could have asked me."
25 "Ma'am?"
26 With water dripping from his face, the boy looked at her. There was a long pause. After he dried his face, he turned around, wondering what to do next. The door was open. He could make a dash for it down the hall. He could run, run, run, run, run!
27 The woman was sitting on the bed. After a while, she said, "I was young once. And I wanted things I couldn't get." There was another long pause. The boy's mouth opened. Then he frowned.
28 The woman said, "Um-hum! You thought I was going to say but, didn't you? You thought I was going to say, but I did not snatch people's purses. Well, I was not going to say that." Pause. Silence. "I've done things, too, which I wouldn't want to tell you. So you sit down while I find us something to eat."
29 In a corner of the room behind a screen was a small gas stove and a refrigerator. Mrs. Jones got up and went behind the screen. She did not watch the boy to see if he was going to run now, nor did she watch her purse, which she left behind her on the bed. But the boy took care to sit on the far side of the room, away from the purse, where he thought she could easily see him out of the corner of her eye. He did not trust the woman not to trust him. And he did not want to be mistrusted now.
30 "Do you need somebody to go to the store.?" asked the boy. "To get some milk or something.
31 "Don't think I do," said the woman. "Unless you want fresh milk yourself. I'm going to make cocoa out of this canned milk I've got here."
32 "That'll be fine," said the boy.
33 She heated some beans and ham, made the cocoa, and set the table. The woman did not ask about where he lived, or about his family, or anything that would embarrass him. Instead, as they ate, she told him about her work in a hotel beauty shop that stayed open late. She told him what the work was like. Then she cut him a half of her ten-cent cake.
34 "Eat some more," she said.
35 When they had finished eating, she got up and said, "Now here, take this ten dollars and buy some blue suede shoes. And next time, don't snatch my purse, nor anybody else's — because shoes got by bad ways will burn your feet. I've got to go to bed now. But from here on, I hope you'll behave."
36 She led him down the hall to the front door and opened it."Good night! Behave yourself!" she said, looking out into the street as he went down the steps.
37 The boy wanted to say something besides, "Thank you, ma'am," to Mrs. Jones. His lips moved, but he could not even say that as he turned at the foot of the steps and looked up at the large woman. Then she shut the door. And he never saw her again.
Lesson Nine The English Character
1 To other Europeans, the best known quality of the British, and in particular of the English, is "reserved." A reserved person is one who does not talk very much to strangers, does not show much emotion, and seldom gets excited. It is difficult to get to know a reserved person: he never tells you anything about himself, and you may work with him for years without ever knowing where he lives, how many children he has, and what his interests are. English people tend to be like that.
2 If they are making a journey by bus they will do their best to find an empty seat; if by train, an empty compartment. If they have to share the compartment with a stranger, they may travel many miles without starting a conversation. If a conversation does start, personal questions like "How old are you?" or even "What is your name?" are not easily asked.
3 This reluctance to communicate with others is an unfortunate quality in some ways since it tends to give the impression of coldness, and it is true that the English (except perhaps in the North) are not noted for their generosity and hospitality. On the other hand, they are perfectly human behind their barrier of reserve, and may be quite pleased when a friendly stranger or foreigner succeeds for a time in breaking the barrier down. We may also mention at this point that the people of the North and West, especially the Welsh, are much less reserved than those of the South and East.
4 Closely related to English reserve is English modesty. Within their hearts, the English are perhaps no less conceited than anybody else, but in their relations with others they value at least a show of modesty. Self-praise is felt to be impolite. If a person is, let us say, very good at tennis and someone asks him if he is a good player, he will seldom reply "Yes," because people will think him conceited. He will probably give an answer like, "I'm not bad," or "I think I'm very good," or "Well, I'm very keen on tennis." (i. e. I'm very fond of it. ) Even if he had managed to reach the finals in last year's local championships, he would say it in such a way as to suggest that it was only due to a piece of good luck.
5 The famous English sense of humor is similar. Its starting-point is self-dispraise, and its great enemy is conceit. Its object is the ability to laugh at oneself — at one's own faults, one's own failure, even at one's own ideals. The criticism, "He has no sense of humor" is very commonly heard in Britain, where humor is highly prized. A sense of humor is an attitude to life rather than the mere ability to laugh at jokes. This attitude is never cruel or disrespectful or malicious. The English do not laugh at a cripple or a madman, or a tragedy or an honorable failure.
6 Since reserve, a show of modesty and a sense of humor are part of his own nature, the typical Englishman tends to expect them in others. He secretly looks down on more excitable nations, and likes to think of himself as more reliable than they. He doesn't trust big promises and open shows of feelings, especially if they are expressed in flowery language. He doesn't trust self-praise of any kind. This applies not only to what other people may tell him about themselves orally, but to the letters they may write to him. To those who are fond of flowery expressions, the Englishman may appear uncomfortably cold.
7 Finally, sportsmanship. Like a sense of humor, this is an English ideal which not all Englishmen live up to. It must be realized that sport in its modern form is almost entirely a British invention. Boxing, rugby, football, hockey, tennis and cricket were all first organized and given rules in Britain. Rules are the essence of sport, and sportsmanship is the ability to practice a sport according to its rules, while also showing generosity to one's opponent and good temper in defeat. The high pressure of modern international sport makes these ideals difficult to keep, but they are at least highly valued in Britain and are certainly achieved there more commonly than among more excitable peoples. Moreover, sportsmanship as an ideal is applied to life in general. This is proved by the number of sporting terms used in ordinary speech. Everybody talks of "fair play" and "playing the game" or "playing fair." Borrowed from boxing, "straight from the shoulder" is used to describe a well-aimed, strong criticism and "below the belt" is used to describe an unfair one. One of the most elementary rules of life is "never hit a man when he's down" — in other words, never take advantage of a person's misfortune. English schoolboys often show this sense of sportsmanship to a surprisingly high degree in their relations with each other.
2 If they are making a journey by bus they will do their best to find an empty seat; if by train, an empty compartment. If they have to share the compartment with a stranger, they may travel many miles without starting a conversation. If a conversation does start, personal questions like "How old are you?" or even "What is your name?" are not easily asked.
3 This reluctance to communicate with others is an unfortunate quality in some ways since it tends to give the impression of coldness, and it is true that the English (except perhaps in the North) are not noted for their generosity and hospitality. On the other hand, they are perfectly human behind their barrier of reserve, and may be quite pleased when a friendly stranger or foreigner succeeds for a time in breaking the barrier down. We may also mention at this point that the people of the North and West, especially the Welsh, are much less reserved than those of the South and East.
4 Closely related to English reserve is English modesty. Within their hearts, the English are perhaps no less conceited than anybody else, but in their relations with others they value at least a show of modesty. Self-praise is felt to be impolite. If a person is, let us say, very good at tennis and someone asks him if he is a good player, he will seldom reply "Yes," because people will think him conceited. He will probably give an answer like, "I'm not bad," or "I think I'm very good," or "Well, I'm very keen on tennis." (i. e. I'm very fond of it. ) Even if he had managed to reach the finals in last year's local championships, he would say it in such a way as to suggest that it was only due to a piece of good luck.
5 The famous English sense of humor is similar. Its starting-point is self-dispraise, and its great enemy is conceit. Its object is the ability to laugh at oneself — at one's own faults, one's own failure, even at one's own ideals. The criticism, "He has no sense of humor" is very commonly heard in Britain, where humor is highly prized. A sense of humor is an attitude to life rather than the mere ability to laugh at jokes. This attitude is never cruel or disrespectful or malicious. The English do not laugh at a cripple or a madman, or a tragedy or an honorable failure.
6 Since reserve, a show of modesty and a sense of humor are part of his own nature, the typical Englishman tends to expect them in others. He secretly looks down on more excitable nations, and likes to think of himself as more reliable than they. He doesn't trust big promises and open shows of feelings, especially if they are expressed in flowery language. He doesn't trust self-praise of any kind. This applies not only to what other people may tell him about themselves orally, but to the letters they may write to him. To those who are fond of flowery expressions, the Englishman may appear uncomfortably cold.
7 Finally, sportsmanship. Like a sense of humor, this is an English ideal which not all Englishmen live up to. It must be realized that sport in its modern form is almost entirely a British invention. Boxing, rugby, football, hockey, tennis and cricket were all first organized and given rules in Britain. Rules are the essence of sport, and sportsmanship is the ability to practice a sport according to its rules, while also showing generosity to one's opponent and good temper in defeat. The high pressure of modern international sport makes these ideals difficult to keep, but they are at least highly valued in Britain and are certainly achieved there more commonly than among more excitable peoples. Moreover, sportsmanship as an ideal is applied to life in general. This is proved by the number of sporting terms used in ordinary speech. Everybody talks of "fair play" and "playing the game" or "playing fair." Borrowed from boxing, "straight from the shoulder" is used to describe a well-aimed, strong criticism and "below the belt" is used to describe an unfair one. One of the most elementary rules of life is "never hit a man when he's down" — in other words, never take advantage of a person's misfortune. English schoolboys often show this sense of sportsmanship to a surprisingly high degree in their relations with each other.
Lesson Eight The Great Idea of Mr. Budd (Ⅱ) by Dorothy L. Sayers
1 Mr. Budd finished drying the man's head and began to comb the hair which nature had never, never made such a deep red.
2 "Be as quick as you can, won't you?" said the man pleasantly, but a little impatiently. "It's getting late. I'm afraid that I'll keep you late."
3 "Not at all, sir," said Mr. Budd. "It doesn't matter in the least."
4 No — if he tried to rush out of the door, this terrible man would jump on him, drag him back and break his head open as he had done to his aunt.
5 But Mr. Budd was certainly in a position of advantage. A determined man would be out in the street before the man could get out of the chair. Mr. Budd began to move round cautiously towards the door.
6 "What's the matter?" said the man.
7 "I was just going outside to look at the time, sir," said Mr. Budd, pausing obediently.
8 "It's twenty-five minutes past eight," said the man. "I'll pay extra for keeping you late."
9 "Certainly not, sir," said Mr. Budd. It was too late now. He couldn't make another attempt. Was it really too late? He could take a razor, go up quietly behind the unsuspecting man and say in a firm, loud voice: "William Strickland, put up your hands. Your life is in my hands. Stand up until I take your gun away. Now walk straight out to the nearest policeman. But Mr. Budd couldn't seriously believe that the attempt would succeed. If he held the razor to the man's throat and said, "Put up your hands." the man would probably seize him by the wrist and take the razor away.
10 Mr. Budd told himself that he didn't have to arrest the man."Information which results in the arrest" — those were the words. It was at this moment that Mr. Budd had his Great Idea.
11 As he fetched a bottle from the glass-fronted case, he remembered with great clearness, an old wooden paper-knife that had belonged to his mother. On the handle had been painted the words "Knowledge is Power."
12 Mr. Budd experienced a strange feeling of freedom and confidence. He made light conversation as he skilfully dyed the man's hair dark brown.
13 The streets were less crowded when Mr. Budd let him out. He watched the tall figure cross the square and get onto a bus.
14 The man at the police headquarters didn't take Mr. Budd seriously at first when he demanded to see "somebody very important."But when the little barber continued so earnestly to say that he had information about the Manchester murder, and that there was no time to waste, he allowed him to pass through.
15 Mr. Budd told his story to an important-looking officer, who listened very politely and made him repeat the bits about the tooth which was filled with gold, the thumbnail and the hair which had been black before it was grey or red and which was now dark brown.
16 He crushed his soft hat into a ball as he leaned across the table and explained the Great Idea that he had had.
17 "Tzee—z-z-z—tzee—z-z—tzee—z-z—."
18 The message flashed to ships all round the coast of Britain, to harbours and police centres in England, France, Holland, Germany, Denmark and Norway, and the people in them heard, with laughter and excitement, the story of Mr. Budd's Great Idea.
19 The Miranda reached Ostend at 7 a.m. A man burst into the cabin where the radio officer was just finishing his work.
20 "Here!" he cried, "you're to send this message. Something's happening, and the Captain's sent for the police."
21 The officer turned to his radio. A message started on its way to the English police.
22 "Man described by police is on board. Has locked himself in cabin and refuses to come out. Is demanding that a hairdresser be sent to him. We have been in touch with Ostend police. Waiting for orders."
23 The captain, with five sailors, went to first-class cabin number 36. The passenger inside could be heard walking up and down the narrow cabin, moving things and knocking them over. Soon, six Belgian policemen arrived.
24 "Are you ready?"
25 "Yes."
26 The captain knocked at the door.
27 "Who is it?" cried a hard, sharp voice.
28 "The hairdresser that you sent for is here, sir."
29 "Ah!" The voice was full of relief. "Send him in alone, please, I — I have had an accident."
30 "Yes, sir."
31 At the sound of the lock being turned, the captain stepped forward. The door opened a little and was quickly pushed to again, but the captain had stuck his boot between it and the doorpost. The policemen rushed forward. There was a shout and a shot, which went harmlessly through the window, and the passenger was brought out.
32 "Good heavens!" shouted the cabin boy. "He's gone green in the night."
33 Green!
34 Mr. Budd had not wasted the years which he had spent studying the be haviour of dyes. "Knowledge is Power." The knowledge of Mr. Budd had given him the power to put a mark on his man which made him different from every other person in the world. A murderer could hide himself nowhere when ever hair on his head was bright green.
35 Mr. Budd got his five hundred pounds. The Evening Messenger printed the full story of his Great Idea. But Mr. Budd was afraid. Surely no one would ever come to him again.
36 The next morning a large blue car stopped outside his door. A lady, wearing many jewels and an expensive fur coat, walked into the little shop.
37 "You are the great Mr. Budd? You're wonderful. And now, dear Mr. Budd, you must do me a favour. You must dye my hair green, at once. Now. I want to be able to say that I'm the first to be done by you. I'm the Duchess of Winchester and Lady Melcaster is following me down the street, because she wants to be the first!"
2 "Be as quick as you can, won't you?" said the man pleasantly, but a little impatiently. "It's getting late. I'm afraid that I'll keep you late."
3 "Not at all, sir," said Mr. Budd. "It doesn't matter in the least."
4 No — if he tried to rush out of the door, this terrible man would jump on him, drag him back and break his head open as he had done to his aunt.
5 But Mr. Budd was certainly in a position of advantage. A determined man would be out in the street before the man could get out of the chair. Mr. Budd began to move round cautiously towards the door.
6 "What's the matter?" said the man.
7 "I was just going outside to look at the time, sir," said Mr. Budd, pausing obediently.
8 "It's twenty-five minutes past eight," said the man. "I'll pay extra for keeping you late."
9 "Certainly not, sir," said Mr. Budd. It was too late now. He couldn't make another attempt. Was it really too late? He could take a razor, go up quietly behind the unsuspecting man and say in a firm, loud voice: "William Strickland, put up your hands. Your life is in my hands. Stand up until I take your gun away. Now walk straight out to the nearest policeman. But Mr. Budd couldn't seriously believe that the attempt would succeed. If he held the razor to the man's throat and said, "Put up your hands." the man would probably seize him by the wrist and take the razor away.
10 Mr. Budd told himself that he didn't have to arrest the man."Information which results in the arrest" — those were the words. It was at this moment that Mr. Budd had his Great Idea.
11 As he fetched a bottle from the glass-fronted case, he remembered with great clearness, an old wooden paper-knife that had belonged to his mother. On the handle had been painted the words "Knowledge is Power."
12 Mr. Budd experienced a strange feeling of freedom and confidence. He made light conversation as he skilfully dyed the man's hair dark brown.
13 The streets were less crowded when Mr. Budd let him out. He watched the tall figure cross the square and get onto a bus.
14 The man at the police headquarters didn't take Mr. Budd seriously at first when he demanded to see "somebody very important."But when the little barber continued so earnestly to say that he had information about the Manchester murder, and that there was no time to waste, he allowed him to pass through.
15 Mr. Budd told his story to an important-looking officer, who listened very politely and made him repeat the bits about the tooth which was filled with gold, the thumbnail and the hair which had been black before it was grey or red and which was now dark brown.
16 He crushed his soft hat into a ball as he leaned across the table and explained the Great Idea that he had had.
17 "Tzee—z-z-z—tzee—z-z—tzee—z-z—."
18 The message flashed to ships all round the coast of Britain, to harbours and police centres in England, France, Holland, Germany, Denmark and Norway, and the people in them heard, with laughter and excitement, the story of Mr. Budd's Great Idea.
19 The Miranda reached Ostend at 7 a.m. A man burst into the cabin where the radio officer was just finishing his work.
20 "Here!" he cried, "you're to send this message. Something's happening, and the Captain's sent for the police."
21 The officer turned to his radio. A message started on its way to the English police.
22 "Man described by police is on board. Has locked himself in cabin and refuses to come out. Is demanding that a hairdresser be sent to him. We have been in touch with Ostend police. Waiting for orders."
23 The captain, with five sailors, went to first-class cabin number 36. The passenger inside could be heard walking up and down the narrow cabin, moving things and knocking them over. Soon, six Belgian policemen arrived.
24 "Are you ready?"
25 "Yes."
26 The captain knocked at the door.
27 "Who is it?" cried a hard, sharp voice.
28 "The hairdresser that you sent for is here, sir."
29 "Ah!" The voice was full of relief. "Send him in alone, please, I — I have had an accident."
30 "Yes, sir."
31 At the sound of the lock being turned, the captain stepped forward. The door opened a little and was quickly pushed to again, but the captain had stuck his boot between it and the doorpost. The policemen rushed forward. There was a shout and a shot, which went harmlessly through the window, and the passenger was brought out.
32 "Good heavens!" shouted the cabin boy. "He's gone green in the night."
33 Green!
34 Mr. Budd had not wasted the years which he had spent studying the be haviour of dyes. "Knowledge is Power." The knowledge of Mr. Budd had given him the power to put a mark on his man which made him different from every other person in the world. A murderer could hide himself nowhere when ever hair on his head was bright green.
35 Mr. Budd got his five hundred pounds. The Evening Messenger printed the full story of his Great Idea. But Mr. Budd was afraid. Surely no one would ever come to him again.
36 The next morning a large blue car stopped outside his door. A lady, wearing many jewels and an expensive fur coat, walked into the little shop.
37 "You are the great Mr. Budd? You're wonderful. And now, dear Mr. Budd, you must do me a favour. You must dye my hair green, at once. Now. I want to be able to say that I'm the first to be done by you. I'm the Duchess of Winchester and Lady Melcaster is following me down the street, because she wants to be the first!"
Lesson Seven The Great Idea of Mr. Budd (Ⅰ) by Dorothy L. Sayers
1 ￡ 500 REWARD
2 The Evening Messenger has decided to offer the above reward to any person who gives information which results in the arrest of William Strickland, who is wanted by the police in connection with the murder of Emma Strickland in Manchester.
3 DESCRIPTION OF THE WANTED MAN
4 This is the official description of William Strickland: Age forty-three; height about six feet one inch; thick silver-grey hair, which may be dyed; full grey beard, but may now have been shaved off; light grey eyes; large nose; strong white teeth, of which some are filled with gold; left thumbnail damaged by a recent blow.
5 Mr. Budd read the description carefully. There were hundreds of barbers' shops in London. It was unlikely that William Strickland would choose his small shop for a haircut, a shave or even to have his hair dyed. Three weeks had passed since the murder, and it seemed very probable that William Strickland had already left the country. But in spite of this Mr. Budd memorised the description as well as possible. There was a chance. These were difficult times for Mr. Budd, and he was attracted by any opportunity of making money.
6 It may seem strange that, in an age when it was fashionable for ladies to have their hair styled, Mr. Budd should search for opportunities of making money. But recently a new "Ladies Hairdressing Department" had opened opposite. The result was an endless stream of young ladies who hurried there to make appointments. Day after day, Mr. Budd watched them going in and out of the rival shop and hoped that some of them would come over to him; but they never did. And yet Mr. Budd knew that he was the better hairdresser. He had studied especially the art of hair-dyeing, and it made him quite angry to see the careless way in which his rival did this particular branch of his work.
7 Mr. Budd put the newspaper down and, as he did so, caught sight of his face in the mirror. He was not the sort of man who catches a violent murderer by himself. Even with a razor, he would be no match for William Strickland, who had murdered his old aunt so violently. Mr. Budd shook his head doubtfully and walked towards the door to watch the busy shop opposite. As he did so, he nearly ran into a large man who suddenly came in through the doorway.
8 "I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Budd politely, not wanting to lose any money. "Would you like a shave, sir?"
9 The large man quickly took off his coat.
10 "Are you ready to die?" he asked fiercely.
11 The question was so close to Mr. Budd's thoughts about murder that for a moment he was quite frightened.
12 "I beg your pardon, sir," he managed to say at last.
13 "Do you dye hair?" said the man impatiently.
14 "Oh!" said Mr. Budd, feeling relieved, "yes, sir, certainly."
15 This was a stroke of luck. He could get a good price for dyeing."Good," said the man, sitting down and allowing Mr. Budd to put a cloth about his neck. "The fact of the matter is that my young lady doesn't like red hair. I thought that perhaps it could be changed to something less noticeable. Dark brown is the colour that she would like. What do you think?"
16 Mr. Budd, in the interests of business, agreed that dark brown would be very nice. Besides, it was very likely that there was no young lady. When a man is going to do something foolish he prefers, if possible, to put the responsibility on to someone else.
17 "Very well, then," said the man, "carry on. And I'm afraid that the beard must go. My young lady doesn't like beards."
18 The man sat back, and Mr. Budd noticed strong, well-kept teeth, one of which was filled with gold.
19 "I see that you have used a dye before, sir," said Mr. Budd."Could you tell me —?"
20 "Eh?" said the man. "Oh, yes — well the fact is that my young lady is much younger than I am. You can see that my hair began to go grey early in my life and so I had it dyed. But she doesn't really like the colour. I should change it to a colour she does like, eh?"
21 Mr. Budd got from the man the name of the dye which had been used before and decided that he would have to be careful. Some dyes do not mix well with other dyes. He shaved off the beard. He washed the hair and then began to dry it. Meanwhile, he talked about sport and politics, and passed on naturally to the Manchester murder.
22 "The police seem to have given up in despair," said the man.
23 "Perhaps the reward will help," said Mr. Budd who was still thinking of the subject.
24 "Oh, there's a reward, is there? I hadn't seen that."
25 "It's in this evening's paper, sir. Would you like to have a look at it?"
26 "Thanks, yes, I would."
27 Mr. Budd fetched the Evening Messenger. The stranger read the article carefully and Mr. Budd, watching him in the mirror, saw him suddenly pull back his left hand, which had been resting carelessly on the arm of the chair. But not before Mr. Budd had seen the misshapen thumbnail.
28 The man looked up sharply and Mr. Budd saw his eyes watching him closely in the mirror. He was examining Mr. Budd's face to find out how much he knew.
29 "I've no doubt," said Mr. Budd, "that the man is safely out of the country by now. They've offered the reward too late, I think."
30 The man laughed.
31 "I think they have," he said. Mr. Budd wondered whether many men who had a damaged left thumb also had an upper tooth filled with gold.
2 The Evening Messenger has decided to offer the above reward to any person who gives information which results in the arrest of William Strickland, who is wanted by the police in connection with the murder of Emma Strickland in Manchester.
3 DESCRIPTION OF THE WANTED MAN
4 This is the official description of William Strickland: Age forty-three; height about six feet one inch; thick silver-grey hair, which may be dyed; full grey beard, but may now have been shaved off; light grey eyes; large nose; strong white teeth, of which some are filled with gold; left thumbnail damaged by a recent blow.
5 Mr. Budd read the description carefully. There were hundreds of barbers' shops in London. It was unlikely that William Strickland would choose his small shop for a haircut, a shave or even to have his hair dyed. Three weeks had passed since the murder, and it seemed very probable that William Strickland had already left the country. But in spite of this Mr. Budd memorised the description as well as possible. There was a chance. These were difficult times for Mr. Budd, and he was attracted by any opportunity of making money.
6 It may seem strange that, in an age when it was fashionable for ladies to have their hair styled, Mr. Budd should search for opportunities of making money. But recently a new "Ladies Hairdressing Department" had opened opposite. The result was an endless stream of young ladies who hurried there to make appointments. Day after day, Mr. Budd watched them going in and out of the rival shop and hoped that some of them would come over to him; but they never did. And yet Mr. Budd knew that he was the better hairdresser. He had studied especially the art of hair-dyeing, and it made him quite angry to see the careless way in which his rival did this particular branch of his work.
7 Mr. Budd put the newspaper down and, as he did so, caught sight of his face in the mirror. He was not the sort of man who catches a violent murderer by himself. Even with a razor, he would be no match for William Strickland, who had murdered his old aunt so violently. Mr. Budd shook his head doubtfully and walked towards the door to watch the busy shop opposite. As he did so, he nearly ran into a large man who suddenly came in through the doorway.
8 "I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Budd politely, not wanting to lose any money. "Would you like a shave, sir?"
9 The large man quickly took off his coat.
10 "Are you ready to die?" he asked fiercely.
11 The question was so close to Mr. Budd's thoughts about murder that for a moment he was quite frightened.
12 "I beg your pardon, sir," he managed to say at last.
13 "Do you dye hair?" said the man impatiently.
14 "Oh!" said Mr. Budd, feeling relieved, "yes, sir, certainly."
15 This was a stroke of luck. He could get a good price for dyeing."Good," said the man, sitting down and allowing Mr. Budd to put a cloth about his neck. "The fact of the matter is that my young lady doesn't like red hair. I thought that perhaps it could be changed to something less noticeable. Dark brown is the colour that she would like. What do you think?"
16 Mr. Budd, in the interests of business, agreed that dark brown would be very nice. Besides, it was very likely that there was no young lady. When a man is going to do something foolish he prefers, if possible, to put the responsibility on to someone else.
17 "Very well, then," said the man, "carry on. And I'm afraid that the beard must go. My young lady doesn't like beards."
18 The man sat back, and Mr. Budd noticed strong, well-kept teeth, one of which was filled with gold.
19 "I see that you have used a dye before, sir," said Mr. Budd."Could you tell me —?"
20 "Eh?" said the man. "Oh, yes — well the fact is that my young lady is much younger than I am. You can see that my hair began to go grey early in my life and so I had it dyed. But she doesn't really like the colour. I should change it to a colour she does like, eh?"
21 Mr. Budd got from the man the name of the dye which had been used before and decided that he would have to be careful. Some dyes do not mix well with other dyes. He shaved off the beard. He washed the hair and then began to dry it. Meanwhile, he talked about sport and politics, and passed on naturally to the Manchester murder.
22 "The police seem to have given up in despair," said the man.
23 "Perhaps the reward will help," said Mr. Budd who was still thinking of the subject.
24 "Oh, there's a reward, is there? I hadn't seen that."
25 "It's in this evening's paper, sir. Would you like to have a look at it?"
26 "Thanks, yes, I would."
27 Mr. Budd fetched the Evening Messenger. The stranger read the article carefully and Mr. Budd, watching him in the mirror, saw him suddenly pull back his left hand, which had been resting carelessly on the arm of the chair. But not before Mr. Budd had seen the misshapen thumbnail.
28 The man looked up sharply and Mr. Budd saw his eyes watching him closely in the mirror. He was examining Mr. Budd's face to find out how much he knew.
29 "I've no doubt," said Mr. Budd, "that the man is safely out of the country by now. They've offered the reward too late, I think."
30 The man laughed.
31 "I think they have," he said. Mr. Budd wondered whether many men who had a damaged left thumb also had an upper tooth filled with gold.
Lesson Six Another School Year—What For? by John Ciardi
1 Let me tell you one of the earliest disasters in my career as a teacher. It was January of 1940 and I was fresh out of graduate school starting my first semester at a university. A tall boy came into my class, sat down, folded his arms, and looked at me as if to say:"All right, damn you, teach me something." Two weeks later we started Hamlet. Three weeks later he came into my office with his hands on his hips. "Look," he said, "I came here to be a pharmacist. Why do I have to read this stuff?" He pointed to the book which was lying on the desk.
2 New as I was to the faculty, I could have told this boy that he had enrolled, not in a technical training school, but in a university, and that in a university students enroll for both training and education. I tried to put it this way. "For the rest of your life," I said,"your days are going to average out to about twenty-four hours. For eight of these hours, more or less, you will be asleep, and I suppose you need neither education nor training to get you through that third of your life."
3 "Then for about eight hours of each working day you will, I hope, be usefully employed. Suppose you have gone through pharmacy school — or engineering, or law school, or whatever — during those eight hours you will be using your professional skills. You will see to it during this third of your life that the cyanide stays out of the aspirin, that the bull doesn't jump the fence, or that your client doesn't go to the electric chair as a result of your incompetence.These involve skills every man must respect, and they can all bring you good basic satisfactions. Along with everything else, they will probably be what provides food for your table, supports your wife, and rears your children. They will be your income, and may it always be sufficient."
4 "But having finished the day's work, what do you do with those other eight hours — with the other third of your life? Let's say you go home to your family. What sort of family are you raising? Will the children ever be exposed to a profound idea at home? We all think of ourselves as citizens of a great civilization. Civilizations can exist, however, only as long as they remain intellectually alive. Will you be head of a family that maintains some basic contact with the great continuity of civilized intellect? Or is your family life going to be merely beer on ice? Will there be a book in the house? Will there be a painting? Will your family be able to speak English and to talk about an idea.? Will the kids ever get to hear Bach?"
5 That is about what I said, but this boy was not interested."Look," he said, "you professors raise your kids your way; I'll take care of my own. Me, I'm out to make money."
6 "I hope you make a lot of it," I told him, "because you're going to be badly in need of something to do when you're not signing checks."
7 Fourteen years later, I am still teaching, and I am here to tell you that the business of the college is not only to train you, but to put you in touch with what the best human minds have thought. If you have no time for Shakespeare, for a basic look at philosophy, for the fine arts, for that lesson of man's development we call history then you have no business being in college. You are on your way to being the mechanized savage, the push-button savage.
8 No one becomes a human being unaided. There is not time enough in a single lifetime to invent for oneself everything one needs to know in order to be a civilized human.
9 Any of you who managed to stay awake through part of a high school course in physics knows more about physics than did many of the great scientists of the past. You know more because they left you what they knew. The first course in any science is essentially a history course. You have to begin learning what the past learned for you.
10 This is true of the techniques of mankind. It is also true of mankind's spiritual resources. Most of these resources, both technical and spiritual, are stored in books. When you have read a book, you have added to your human experience. Read Homer and your mind includes a piece of Homer's mind. Through books you can acquire at least fragments of the mind and experience of Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare — the list is endless. For a great book is necessarily a gift; it offers you a life you have not time to live yourself, and it takes you into a world you have not the time to travel in literal time. A civilized mind is one that contains many such lives and many such worlds. If you are too much in a hurry, or too proud of your own limitations, to accept as a gift to your humanity some pieces of the minds of Aristotle or Einstein, then you are neither a developed human nor a useful citizen of a civilization.
11 I say that a university has no real existence and no real purpose except as it succeeds in putting you in touch, both as specialists and as humans, with those human minds your human mind needs to include.
2 New as I was to the faculty, I could have told this boy that he had enrolled, not in a technical training school, but in a university, and that in a university students enroll for both training and education. I tried to put it this way. "For the rest of your life," I said,"your days are going to average out to about twenty-four hours. For eight of these hours, more or less, you will be asleep, and I suppose you need neither education nor training to get you through that third of your life."
3 "Then for about eight hours of each working day you will, I hope, be usefully employed. Suppose you have gone through pharmacy school — or engineering, or law school, or whatever — during those eight hours you will be using your professional skills. You will see to it during this third of your life that the cyanide stays out of the aspirin, that the bull doesn't jump the fence, or that your client doesn't go to the electric chair as a result of your incompetence.These involve skills every man must respect, and they can all bring you good basic satisfactions. Along with everything else, they will probably be what provides food for your table, supports your wife, and rears your children. They will be your income, and may it always be sufficient."
4 "But having finished the day's work, what do you do with those other eight hours — with the other third of your life? Let's say you go home to your family. What sort of family are you raising? Will the children ever be exposed to a profound idea at home? We all think of ourselves as citizens of a great civilization. Civilizations can exist, however, only as long as they remain intellectually alive. Will you be head of a family that maintains some basic contact with the great continuity of civilized intellect? Or is your family life going to be merely beer on ice? Will there be a book in the house? Will there be a painting? Will your family be able to speak English and to talk about an idea.? Will the kids ever get to hear Bach?"
5 That is about what I said, but this boy was not interested."Look," he said, "you professors raise your kids your way; I'll take care of my own. Me, I'm out to make money."
6 "I hope you make a lot of it," I told him, "because you're going to be badly in need of something to do when you're not signing checks."
7 Fourteen years later, I am still teaching, and I am here to tell you that the business of the college is not only to train you, but to put you in touch with what the best human minds have thought. If you have no time for Shakespeare, for a basic look at philosophy, for the fine arts, for that lesson of man's development we call history then you have no business being in college. You are on your way to being the mechanized savage, the push-button savage.
8 No one becomes a human being unaided. There is not time enough in a single lifetime to invent for oneself everything one needs to know in order to be a civilized human.
9 Any of you who managed to stay awake through part of a high school course in physics knows more about physics than did many of the great scientists of the past. You know more because they left you what they knew. The first course in any science is essentially a history course. You have to begin learning what the past learned for you.
10 This is true of the techniques of mankind. It is also true of mankind's spiritual resources. Most of these resources, both technical and spiritual, are stored in books. When you have read a book, you have added to your human experience. Read Homer and your mind includes a piece of Homer's mind. Through books you can acquire at least fragments of the mind and experience of Virgil, Dante, Shakespeare — the list is endless. For a great book is necessarily a gift; it offers you a life you have not time to live yourself, and it takes you into a world you have not the time to travel in literal time. A civilized mind is one that contains many such lives and many such worlds. If you are too much in a hurry, or too proud of your own limitations, to accept as a gift to your humanity some pieces of the minds of Aristotle or Einstein, then you are neither a developed human nor a useful citizen of a civilization.
11 I say that a university has no real existence and no real purpose except as it succeeds in putting you in touch, both as specialists and as humans, with those human minds your human mind needs to include.
Lesson Five The Day I Was Fat by Lois Diaz- Talty
1 I was never in great shape. As a child, I was always called "plump." I could never sit Indian-style the way other kids did, and when I made the cheer-leading squad in eighth grade it was because I had a big mouth and a great smile, not because I could do the splits or perform elegant cartwheels. Although I maintained a respectable weight throughout high school, there was always a fat person inside of me just waiting to burst onto the scene.
2 Adulthood, marriage, and settling down had bad effects on my weight: I blew up! The fat lady had finally arrived, saw the welcome mat, and moved right in. No one in my family could tell me I was fat. They knew that I had gained weight, I knew that I had gained weight, and I knew that they knew that I had gained weight. But to discuss the topic was out of the question. Once, my mother said,"You're too pretty to be so heavy"; that was the closest anyone had ever come to calling me fat. Later, my husband teased me because we couldn't lie on the couch together anymore, and I just cried and cried. He never dared to mention it again, but I didn't stop eating.
3 I had just given birth to my first child and was at least fifty pounds overweight. Nonetheless, I remember feeling that that time was the greatest time in my life. I had a beautiful new baby, new furniture, a great husband, and a lovely house. What more could anyone want? Well, I knew what else I wanted: I wanted to be slim and healthy. I just didn't care enough about myself to stop my eating. I tried to lose weight every day, but I couldn't get started.Diets didn't last through lunch, and I got bigger by the day.
4 One summer afternoon in 1988, as I was headed to the pool with my sister-in-law and our children, I got into an argument with a teenager who was driving fast and tailing our car. When he nearly ran us off the road, I turned around and glared at him to show my disapproval and my concern for our safety. Suddenly, we began shouting at each other. He was about 18, with an ugly, red, swollen face. The few teeth he had were yellow and rotten. He followed us to the pool and, as he pulled into the parking lot behind us, our argument became heated.
5 "What's your problem, bitch?" he screamed.
6 "You drive like an idiot! That's my problem, okay?"
7 When I got out of the car and walked around to get the baby, he laughed to his friend, "Ah, look at her. She's fat! Go to hell, fat bitch." And then they drove away.
8 Once inside the gates to the pool, my sister-in-law advised me to forget the whole incident.
9 "Come on," she said. "Don't worry about that boy! Did you see his teeth? He was rude."
10 But I couldn't get his words out of my mind. They stung like a whip. "I'm fat," I thought to myself. "I haven't just put on a few pounds. I can't get rid of my weight easily. I'm just plain fat."Nobody had ever called me fat before, and it hurt terribly. But it was true.
11 On that very day, as I sat at the pool hoping that nobody would see me in my bathing suit, I promised myself that no one would ever call me fat again. The hideous 18-year-old idiot had spoken the words that none of my loved ones had had the heart to say even though they were true. Yes, I was fat.
12 From then on, I was committed to shedding the weight and getting into shape. I started a rigorous program of running and dieting the very next day. Within months, I joined a gym and managed to make some friends who are still my workout buddies. However, in the past seven years, I've done more than lose weight: I've reshaped my attitude, my lifestyle, and my self-image. Now, I read everything I can about nutrition and health. I'm even considering becoming an aerobics instructor. I cook low-fat foods — chicken, fish, lean meats, vegetables — and I serve my family healthy, protein-rich meals prepared with dietetic ingredients. The children and I often walk to school, ride bikes, roller-blade, and run. Health and fitness have become essential to our household and our lives. But what's really wonderful is that, sometime between that important day in 1988 and today, my self-image stopped being about how I look and began being about how I feel. I feel energetic, healthy, confident, strong, and pretty. Ironically, the abuse I endured in the parking lot has helped me regain my self-esteem, not just my figure. My body looks good, but my mind feels great!
13 I hope that the kid from the pool has had his teeth fixed because I'm sure they were one source of his misery. If I ever see him again, I won't tell him that he changed my life in such a special way. I won't let him know that he gave me the greatest gift he could ever give me just by being honest. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that the day he called me fat was one of the best days of my life.
2 Adulthood, marriage, and settling down had bad effects on my weight: I blew up! The fat lady had finally arrived, saw the welcome mat, and moved right in. No one in my family could tell me I was fat. They knew that I had gained weight, I knew that I had gained weight, and I knew that they knew that I had gained weight. But to discuss the topic was out of the question. Once, my mother said,"You're too pretty to be so heavy"; that was the closest anyone had ever come to calling me fat. Later, my husband teased me because we couldn't lie on the couch together anymore, and I just cried and cried. He never dared to mention it again, but I didn't stop eating.
3 I had just given birth to my first child and was at least fifty pounds overweight. Nonetheless, I remember feeling that that time was the greatest time in my life. I had a beautiful new baby, new furniture, a great husband, and a lovely house. What more could anyone want? Well, I knew what else I wanted: I wanted to be slim and healthy. I just didn't care enough about myself to stop my eating. I tried to lose weight every day, but I couldn't get started.Diets didn't last through lunch, and I got bigger by the day.
4 One summer afternoon in 1988, as I was headed to the pool with my sister-in-law and our children, I got into an argument with a teenager who was driving fast and tailing our car. When he nearly ran us off the road, I turned around and glared at him to show my disapproval and my concern for our safety. Suddenly, we began shouting at each other. He was about 18, with an ugly, red, swollen face. The few teeth he had were yellow and rotten. He followed us to the pool and, as he pulled into the parking lot behind us, our argument became heated.
5 "What's your problem, bitch?" he screamed.
6 "You drive like an idiot! That's my problem, okay?"
7 When I got out of the car and walked around to get the baby, he laughed to his friend, "Ah, look at her. She's fat! Go to hell, fat bitch." And then they drove away.
8 Once inside the gates to the pool, my sister-in-law advised me to forget the whole incident.
9 "Come on," she said. "Don't worry about that boy! Did you see his teeth? He was rude."
10 But I couldn't get his words out of my mind. They stung like a whip. "I'm fat," I thought to myself. "I haven't just put on a few pounds. I can't get rid of my weight easily. I'm just plain fat."Nobody had ever called me fat before, and it hurt terribly. But it was true.
11 On that very day, as I sat at the pool hoping that nobody would see me in my bathing suit, I promised myself that no one would ever call me fat again. The hideous 18-year-old idiot had spoken the words that none of my loved ones had had the heart to say even though they were true. Yes, I was fat.
12 From then on, I was committed to shedding the weight and getting into shape. I started a rigorous program of running and dieting the very next day. Within months, I joined a gym and managed to make some friends who are still my workout buddies. However, in the past seven years, I've done more than lose weight: I've reshaped my attitude, my lifestyle, and my self-image. Now, I read everything I can about nutrition and health. I'm even considering becoming an aerobics instructor. I cook low-fat foods — chicken, fish, lean meats, vegetables — and I serve my family healthy, protein-rich meals prepared with dietetic ingredients. The children and I often walk to school, ride bikes, roller-blade, and run. Health and fitness have become essential to our household and our lives. But what's really wonderful is that, sometime between that important day in 1988 and today, my self-image stopped being about how I look and began being about how I feel. I feel energetic, healthy, confident, strong, and pretty. Ironically, the abuse I endured in the parking lot has helped me regain my self-esteem, not just my figure. My body looks good, but my mind feels great!
13 I hope that the kid from the pool has had his teeth fixed because I'm sure they were one source of his misery. If I ever see him again, I won't tell him that he changed my life in such a special way. I won't let him know that he gave me the greatest gift he could ever give me just by being honest. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that the day he called me fat was one of the best days of my life.
Lesson Four The Trashman by John Coleman
Saturday, April 7
1 Steve and I hauled trash for four solid hours without a break of any sort, except for about five minutes when we stopped to talk. We got eight hours of pay for cleaning up our route no matter how little time it took.
2 My shoulder hurt badly each time I put another full barrel on it, and my legs occasionally shook as I started out to the street. But all the rest of me said, “Go, trashman, go.”
3 I could not have guessed that there would be joy in this. Dump. Lift. Walk. Lift. Walk. The hours went by quickly.
4 Saturday meant that most adults were at home on the route. So were school-age children. I thought this might mean more talk back and forth as I made the rounds today. There were many people outdoors, working in their gardens. Most of them looked friendly enough. While I wouldn't have time to talk at length, there was time to exchange the greetings that go with civilized ways.
5 That is where I got my shock.
6 I said hello in quite a few yards before the message sank in that this wasn't the thing to do. Occasionally, I got a straight man-to man or woman-to-man reply from someone who looked me in the eye, smiled, and asked either “How are you?” or “Isn't this a nice day?” I felt human then. But most often the response was either nothing at all, or a look of surprise that I had spoken and used familiar words, or a friendly hello.
7 Both men and women stared at me and said nothing. A woman in a housecoat was startled as I came around the corner of her house. At the sound of my greeting, she gathered her housecoat tightly about her and moved quickly indoors. I heard the lock click. Another woman had a strange, large animal in her yard. I asked her what kind of dog it was. She gaped at me. I thought she was hard of hearing and asked my question louder. She seemed a little frightened before she turned coldly away.
8 The nice response came from women alone. From the way they replied and asked after my health, I knew that at the day's end when they listed the nice things they had done, there would be a place on the list for “I spoke to the trashman today.”
9 Steve spoke spontaneously about these things on the long ride to the dump.
10 “The way most people look at you, you'd think a trashman was a monster. Say hello and they stare at you in surprise. They don't know we're human.
11 “One lady had put ashes from the fire in her trashcan. I said we couldn't take them. She said, ‘Who are you to say what goes? You're nothing but a trashman. ' I told her, ‘Listen, lady, I've got an I. Q. of 137, and I graduated near the top of my high school class. I do this for the money, not because it's the only work I can do. '
12 “I want to tell them, ‘Look, I am as clean as you are, ' but it wouldn't help. I don't tell anyone I'm a trashman. I say I'm a truck driver. My family knows, but my in-laws don't. If someone comes right out and asks, ‘Do you drive for a trash company?' I say yes. I believe we're doing a service that people need, like being a police officer or a fire fighter. I'm not ashamed of it, but I don't go around boasting about it either.
13 “A friend of my wife yelled at her kid one day when they were running out to meet a trash truck. ‘Stay away from those trashmen. They're dirty. ' I was angry with her. ‘They're as good as we are, 'I told her. ‘You seem to have a lot of sympathy for them, ' she said.‘Yes, I do.' But I never told her why.”
14 Our truck was packed full before noon. We drove to the dump, were back on the route by 1∶00, and had finished for the day by 2∶00.
15 I had planned to stay at this job for only two days. But now I'm going to stay. The exercise is great. The lifting gets easier with every load, even if my left shoulder stays sore. I become faster and neater as time goes by. I'm outdoors in clean air. And, contrary to what people think, I don't get dirty on the job.
16 I have made up my mind, too, to go on saying hello in backyards. It doesn't do any harm, and it still feels right. Frankly, I'm proud. I'm doing an essential task, “like a police officer or a fire fighter.” I left this country a little cleaner than I found it this morning. Not many people can say that tonight.
17 John Gardener has said that a society which praises its philosophers and looks down on its plumbers is in for trouble. “Neither its pipes nor its theories will hold water,” he warns. He might have gone a step further and called for respect for both our economists and our trashmen; otherwise they'll both leave trash behind.
1 Steve and I hauled trash for four solid hours without a break of any sort, except for about five minutes when we stopped to talk. We got eight hours of pay for cleaning up our route no matter how little time it took.
2 My shoulder hurt badly each time I put another full barrel on it, and my legs occasionally shook as I started out to the street. But all the rest of me said, “Go, trashman, go.”
3 I could not have guessed that there would be joy in this. Dump. Lift. Walk. Lift. Walk. The hours went by quickly.
4 Saturday meant that most adults were at home on the route. So were school-age children. I thought this might mean more talk back and forth as I made the rounds today. There were many people outdoors, working in their gardens. Most of them looked friendly enough. While I wouldn't have time to talk at length, there was time to exchange the greetings that go with civilized ways.
5 That is where I got my shock.
6 I said hello in quite a few yards before the message sank in that this wasn't the thing to do. Occasionally, I got a straight man-to man or woman-to-man reply from someone who looked me in the eye, smiled, and asked either “How are you?” or “Isn't this a nice day?” I felt human then. But most often the response was either nothing at all, or a look of surprise that I had spoken and used familiar words, or a friendly hello.
7 Both men and women stared at me and said nothing. A woman in a housecoat was startled as I came around the corner of her house. At the sound of my greeting, she gathered her housecoat tightly about her and moved quickly indoors. I heard the lock click. Another woman had a strange, large animal in her yard. I asked her what kind of dog it was. She gaped at me. I thought she was hard of hearing and asked my question louder. She seemed a little frightened before she turned coldly away.
8 The nice response came from women alone. From the way they replied and asked after my health, I knew that at the day's end when they listed the nice things they had done, there would be a place on the list for “I spoke to the trashman today.”
9 Steve spoke spontaneously about these things on the long ride to the dump.
10 “The way most people look at you, you'd think a trashman was a monster. Say hello and they stare at you in surprise. They don't know we're human.
11 “One lady had put ashes from the fire in her trashcan. I said we couldn't take them. She said, ‘Who are you to say what goes? You're nothing but a trashman. ' I told her, ‘Listen, lady, I've got an I. Q. of 137, and I graduated near the top of my high school class. I do this for the money, not because it's the only work I can do. '
12 “I want to tell them, ‘Look, I am as clean as you are, ' but it wouldn't help. I don't tell anyone I'm a trashman. I say I'm a truck driver. My family knows, but my in-laws don't. If someone comes right out and asks, ‘Do you drive for a trash company?' I say yes. I believe we're doing a service that people need, like being a police officer or a fire fighter. I'm not ashamed of it, but I don't go around boasting about it either.
13 “A friend of my wife yelled at her kid one day when they were running out to meet a trash truck. ‘Stay away from those trashmen. They're dirty. ' I was angry with her. ‘They're as good as we are, 'I told her. ‘You seem to have a lot of sympathy for them, ' she said.‘Yes, I do.' But I never told her why.”
14 Our truck was packed full before noon. We drove to the dump, were back on the route by 1∶00, and had finished for the day by 2∶00.
15 I had planned to stay at this job for only two days. But now I'm going to stay. The exercise is great. The lifting gets easier with every load, even if my left shoulder stays sore. I become faster and neater as time goes by. I'm outdoors in clean air. And, contrary to what people think, I don't get dirty on the job.
16 I have made up my mind, too, to go on saying hello in backyards. It doesn't do any harm, and it still feels right. Frankly, I'm proud. I'm doing an essential task, “like a police officer or a fire fighter.” I left this country a little cleaner than I found it this morning. Not many people can say that tonight.
17 John Gardener has said that a society which praises its philosophers and looks down on its plumbers is in for trouble. “Neither its pipes nor its theories will hold water,” he warns. He might have gone a step further and called for respect for both our economists and our trashmen; otherwise they'll both leave trash behind.
Lesson Three Detective on the Trail by J. Jefferson Farjeon
1 Bob Sugg read only certain bits of the papers he sold. Robberies, killings, and things like that. And that was funny, too, because he didn't like crime and meant to stop it whenever he could. Already in his free time he had helped catch several wrongdoers.
2 Bob's favourite part of the newspaper was the page of personal advertisements. The one he was reading right now said: "Remember Aunt Mary on next Sunday. Quarrel upsetting all. Report evening 25th. N.E. Cross."
3 "That's a funny one," Bob thought. He reread the notice. Why pay more money to say "on next Sunday" when "next Sunday"would have been enough? "Cross. Cross." Bob felt sure he had come upon that name in the personals before. But he didn't remember those initials. What did N. E. stand for?
4 For some reason that advertisement haunted Bob Sugg. Here was a mystery he wanted to solve.
5 Four days later, a headline about a burglary caught his eye. He quickly read the story. A few minutes later, the man in charge of the newspaper files saw an excited boy rush into the room. "May I see the back number files, sir?" the boy asked. The man motioned toward a wide shelf. Bob intently studied a paper.
6 "Look! These two personals," Bob was breathless with excitement. "They appeared on different dates, but it's the same advertiser, Cross."
7 "Wait," the man interrupted. "The initials aren't alike. One is W. Cross and the other is S.W."
8 "Here's another Cross that was in the paper last Thursday. Now, who sent in these three ads?" asked Bob.
9 "We can't give you that information," the man said.
10 "Well," said Bob, "if you don't get this very question from the police inspector today, my name's not Bob Sugg."The next moment he was gone.
11 Bob hurried into Inspector Hamelin's office, and showed him the headline in the paper. "It's about this burglary in Ramon Square," he said. "I can tell you the number of the house, though it isn't in the paper. Number 25. The burglar's Mr. N.E. Cross this time. Before, he was W. Cross, and before that, S.W. Cross. ‘Remember Aunt Mary on next Sunday. Quarrel upsetting all. Report evening 25th.' Mr. Hamelin, the first letters of the words spell ‘Ramon Square. '"
12 "And the initials N.E. stand for North East?"
13 "That's right," said Bob. "25, Ramon Square, North East; that was the address. And Sunday was the day chosen for the job!"
14 "Smart work. Congratulations!" Hamelin said.
15 "I found two more ads in the news files, from weeks ago. Read them, sir !" Bob urged.
16 Inspector Hamelin did so. The first one ran: "Friday. Reasons of safety take Lewis away North England 30th. S.W. Cross."
17 The second ran: "Meet usual spot early unless Mary rings on Wednesday 5th. W. Cross."
18 Bob pointed a forefinger at each word in turn.
19 "The first spells out 30, Frost Lane, South West. The second is 5, Museum Row, West. When it gives the day of the week, that's the day for the burglary."
20 "Bob," Hamelin said, "you've given us the key to something. There were burglaries in both Frost Lane and Museum Row on the dates you've noted here. Both crimes still unsolved. Lieutenant, call the paper and find out exactly where these advertisements came from !"
21 The lieutenant learned that Mr. Cross had mailed the ads to the paper with payment. The city directory showed no such return address as the advertiser had left.
22 "Well, the only way to get him is to watch the papers," said the inspector.
23 "There'll be another ad signed ‘Cross.' Then we'll trip him up!"
24 The following week Bob saw the ad he wanted: "Susan. Awaited letter eight months, can't rest, eat, sleep. Come early next Thursday 8th. N. Cross."
25 "8, Salem Crescent, North," Bob said.
26 When Bob reached Inspector Hamelin's office, the police already got the information, and Bob was told to return to his job and read about what was going to happen in the newspaper.
27 But for Bob Sugg, that was too uninteresting a way of learning the news. After dark on Thursday night he made his way to Salem Crescent, and hid himself. Every little while he peeked out and looked at Number 8. Now and then he saw men walking along the street. Then they disappeared in the dim shadows. They must be plain-clothes men, Bob decided, who would hide until the time was ripe to swoop down on the criminals.
28 Hour after hour Bob waited. Now a distant clock was striking one. Then a voice asked, "What are you doing here?"
29 It was a man in police uniform.
30 "I'm just hanging around Salem Crescent to see the fun," Bob answered. "But there isn't going to be any because the crooks have got on to it. Why haven't you gone home with the rest of the police?" he went on.
31 "Who said the rest had gone home?" asked the man.
32 "The inspector told me," Bob lied. "He said Mr. Cross had learned we're on to him, and put that last ad in just to mislead us."
33 "That's right," nodded the man. "So why didn't you go home, too?"
34 Bob looked intently at the man. "I thought I'd stay in case Mr. Cross does turn up."
35 "It's lucky for you I'm the one you met," the man said, smiling. "If it had been that criminal with no police around, he'd probably have twisted your neck."
36 Suddenly Bob clapped his hand against his jacket pocket. "It's gone! The inspector's money belt! I found it, and now I've mislaid it! I must have dropped it!"
37 Quickly the man looked down. The next instant he received a hard kick that sent him flying. Then Bob Sugg yelled, and dim figures came running and surrounded the man.
38 "The rest of you were in plain clothes," Bob explained afterwards to the inspector. "So I thought, 'Why isn't this one?' Maybe Mr. Cross had put that last ad in as a test and might come along later to see if he'd been found out. He thought being dressed like a policeman would make him safe. But he looked like a liar to me."
2 Bob's favourite part of the newspaper was the page of personal advertisements. The one he was reading right now said: "Remember Aunt Mary on next Sunday. Quarrel upsetting all. Report evening 25th. N.E. Cross."
3 "That's a funny one," Bob thought. He reread the notice. Why pay more money to say "on next Sunday" when "next Sunday"would have been enough? "Cross. Cross." Bob felt sure he had come upon that name in the personals before. But he didn't remember those initials. What did N. E. stand for?
4 For some reason that advertisement haunted Bob Sugg. Here was a mystery he wanted to solve.
5 Four days later, a headline about a burglary caught his eye. He quickly read the story. A few minutes later, the man in charge of the newspaper files saw an excited boy rush into the room. "May I see the back number files, sir?" the boy asked. The man motioned toward a wide shelf. Bob intently studied a paper.
6 "Look! These two personals," Bob was breathless with excitement. "They appeared on different dates, but it's the same advertiser, Cross."
7 "Wait," the man interrupted. "The initials aren't alike. One is W. Cross and the other is S.W."
8 "Here's another Cross that was in the paper last Thursday. Now, who sent in these three ads?" asked Bob.
9 "We can't give you that information," the man said.
10 "Well," said Bob, "if you don't get this very question from the police inspector today, my name's not Bob Sugg."The next moment he was gone.
11 Bob hurried into Inspector Hamelin's office, and showed him the headline in the paper. "It's about this burglary in Ramon Square," he said. "I can tell you the number of the house, though it isn't in the paper. Number 25. The burglar's Mr. N.E. Cross this time. Before, he was W. Cross, and before that, S.W. Cross. ‘Remember Aunt Mary on next Sunday. Quarrel upsetting all. Report evening 25th.' Mr. Hamelin, the first letters of the words spell ‘Ramon Square. '"
12 "And the initials N.E. stand for North East?"
13 "That's right," said Bob. "25, Ramon Square, North East; that was the address. And Sunday was the day chosen for the job!"
14 "Smart work. Congratulations!" Hamelin said.
15 "I found two more ads in the news files, from weeks ago. Read them, sir !" Bob urged.
16 Inspector Hamelin did so. The first one ran: "Friday. Reasons of safety take Lewis away North England 30th. S.W. Cross."
17 The second ran: "Meet usual spot early unless Mary rings on Wednesday 5th. W. Cross."
18 Bob pointed a forefinger at each word in turn.
19 "The first spells out 30, Frost Lane, South West. The second is 5, Museum Row, West. When it gives the day of the week, that's the day for the burglary."
20 "Bob," Hamelin said, "you've given us the key to something. There were burglaries in both Frost Lane and Museum Row on the dates you've noted here. Both crimes still unsolved. Lieutenant, call the paper and find out exactly where these advertisements came from !"
21 The lieutenant learned that Mr. Cross had mailed the ads to the paper with payment. The city directory showed no such return address as the advertiser had left.
22 "Well, the only way to get him is to watch the papers," said the inspector.
23 "There'll be another ad signed ‘Cross.' Then we'll trip him up!"
24 The following week Bob saw the ad he wanted: "Susan. Awaited letter eight months, can't rest, eat, sleep. Come early next Thursday 8th. N. Cross."
25 "8, Salem Crescent, North," Bob said.
26 When Bob reached Inspector Hamelin's office, the police already got the information, and Bob was told to return to his job and read about what was going to happen in the newspaper.
27 But for Bob Sugg, that was too uninteresting a way of learning the news. After dark on Thursday night he made his way to Salem Crescent, and hid himself. Every little while he peeked out and looked at Number 8. Now and then he saw men walking along the street. Then they disappeared in the dim shadows. They must be plain-clothes men, Bob decided, who would hide until the time was ripe to swoop down on the criminals.
28 Hour after hour Bob waited. Now a distant clock was striking one. Then a voice asked, "What are you doing here?"
29 It was a man in police uniform.
30 "I'm just hanging around Salem Crescent to see the fun," Bob answered. "But there isn't going to be any because the crooks have got on to it. Why haven't you gone home with the rest of the police?" he went on.
31 "Who said the rest had gone home?" asked the man.
32 "The inspector told me," Bob lied. "He said Mr. Cross had learned we're on to him, and put that last ad in just to mislead us."
33 "That's right," nodded the man. "So why didn't you go home, too?"
34 Bob looked intently at the man. "I thought I'd stay in case Mr. Cross does turn up."
35 "It's lucky for you I'm the one you met," the man said, smiling. "If it had been that criminal with no police around, he'd probably have twisted your neck."
36 Suddenly Bob clapped his hand against his jacket pocket. "It's gone! The inspector's money belt! I found it, and now I've mislaid it! I must have dropped it!"
37 Quickly the man looked down. The next instant he received a hard kick that sent him flying. Then Bob Sugg yelled, and dim figures came running and surrounded the man.
38 "The rest of you were in plain clothes," Bob explained afterwards to the inspector. "So I thought, 'Why isn't this one?' Maybe Mr. Cross had put that last ad in as a test and might come along later to see if he'd been found out. He thought being dressed like a policeman would make him safe. But he looked like a liar to me."
Lesson Two In the Laboratory by Samuel H. Scudder
1 I entered Professor Agassiz's laboratory, and told him I had enrolled my name in the Scientific School as a student of natural history.
2 "When do you wish to begin?"
3 "Now," I replied.
4 This seemed to please him, and with an energetic "Very well!" he reached from a shelf a huge jar of specimens in yellow alcohol."Take this fish," he said, "and look at it; by and by I will ask what you have seen." With that he left me. I was disappointed, for gazing at a fish did not seem to be challenging enough to an eager student, and the alcohol had a very unpleasant smell. But I said nothing and began to work immediately.
5 In ten minutes I had seen all that could be seen in the fish, and started to look for the Professor — who had, however, left. Half an hour passed — an hour — another hour; the fish began to look disgusting. I turned it over and around; looked it in the face — ghastly; from behind, beneath, above, sideways — just as ghastly. I must not use a magnifying glass, nor instruments of any kind. Just my two hands, my two eyes, and the fish: it seemed a most limited field of study. With a feeling of desperation again I looked at that fish. I pushed my finger down its throat to feel how sharp the teeth were. I began to count the scales in the different rows, until I was convinced that was nonsense. At last a happy thought struck me — I would draw the fish; and now with surprise I began to discover new features in the creature. Just then the Professor returned.
6 "That is right," said he, "a pencil is one of the best of eyes." With these encouraging words, he added, "Well, what is it like?"
7 He listened attentively to my brief description. When I finished, he waited as if expecting more, and then, with an air of disappointment.
8 You have not looked very carefully; why," he continued more earnestly, "you haven't even seen one of the most visible features of the animal, which is as plainly before your eyes as the fish itself; look again, look again!" and he left me to my misery.
9 I was hurt. Still more of that wretched fish ! But now I set myself to my task with a will, and discovered one new thing after another,until I saw how just the Professor's criticism had been. The afternoon passed quickly; and when, towards its close, the Professor inquired, "Do you see it yet?"
10 "No,"I replied, " I do not, but I see how little I saw before."
11 "That is next best," said he earnestly, "But I won't hear you now; put away your fish and go home; perhaps you will be ready with a better answer in the morning. I will examine you before you look at the fish."
12 This was disconcerting. Not only must I think of my fish all night, studying, without the object before me, what this unknown but most visible feature might be, but also, without reviewing my discoveries, I must give an exact account of them the next day.
13 The friendly greeting from the Professor the next morning was reassuring. He seemed to be quite as anxious as I that I should see for myself what he saw.
14 "Do you perhaps mean," I asked, "that the fish has symmetrical sides with paired organs?"
15 His thoroughly pleased "Of course!" repaid the wakeful hours of the previous night. After he had talked most happily and enthusiastically — as he always did — upon the importance of this point, I asked what I should do next.
16 "Oh, look at your fish!" he said, and left me alone again. In a little more than an hour he returned, and heard my new list.
17 "That is good, that is good!" he repeated, "but that is not all; go on." And so for three long days he placed that fish before my eyes, forbidding me to look at anything else, or to use any artificial aid. "Look, look, look," was his repeated instruction.
18 The fourth day, a second fish of the same group was placed beside the first, and I was told to point out the similarities and differences between the two; another and another followed, until the entire family lay before me.
19 This was the best lesson I ever had. It has influenced the way I have studied ever since. It was something the Professor gave me, which we could not buy, with which we could not part.
20 While training the students in the method of observing facts and their orderly arrangement, Professor Agassiz urged them not to be content with just facts. "Facts are stupid things," he would say,"until brought into connection with some general law."
2 "When do you wish to begin?"
3 "Now," I replied.
4 This seemed to please him, and with an energetic "Very well!" he reached from a shelf a huge jar of specimens in yellow alcohol."Take this fish," he said, "and look at it; by and by I will ask what you have seen." With that he left me. I was disappointed, for gazing at a fish did not seem to be challenging enough to an eager student, and the alcohol had a very unpleasant smell. But I said nothing and began to work immediately.
5 In ten minutes I had seen all that could be seen in the fish, and started to look for the Professor — who had, however, left. Half an hour passed — an hour — another hour; the fish began to look disgusting. I turned it over and around; looked it in the face — ghastly; from behind, beneath, above, sideways — just as ghastly. I must not use a magnifying glass, nor instruments of any kind. Just my two hands, my two eyes, and the fish: it seemed a most limited field of study. With a feeling of desperation again I looked at that fish. I pushed my finger down its throat to feel how sharp the teeth were. I began to count the scales in the different rows, until I was convinced that was nonsense. At last a happy thought struck me — I would draw the fish; and now with surprise I began to discover new features in the creature. Just then the Professor returned.
6 "That is right," said he, "a pencil is one of the best of eyes." With these encouraging words, he added, "Well, what is it like?"
7 He listened attentively to my brief description. When I finished, he waited as if expecting more, and then, with an air of disappointment.
8 You have not looked very carefully; why," he continued more earnestly, "you haven't even seen one of the most visible features of the animal, which is as plainly before your eyes as the fish itself; look again, look again!" and he left me to my misery.
9 I was hurt. Still more of that wretched fish ! But now I set myself to my task with a will, and discovered one new thing after another,until I saw how just the Professor's criticism had been. The afternoon passed quickly; and when, towards its close, the Professor inquired, "Do you see it yet?"
10 "No,"I replied, " I do not, but I see how little I saw before."
11 "That is next best," said he earnestly, "But I won't hear you now; put away your fish and go home; perhaps you will be ready with a better answer in the morning. I will examine you before you look at the fish."
12 This was disconcerting. Not only must I think of my fish all night, studying, without the object before me, what this unknown but most visible feature might be, but also, without reviewing my discoveries, I must give an exact account of them the next day.
13 The friendly greeting from the Professor the next morning was reassuring. He seemed to be quite as anxious as I that I should see for myself what he saw.
14 "Do you perhaps mean," I asked, "that the fish has symmetrical sides with paired organs?"
15 His thoroughly pleased "Of course!" repaid the wakeful hours of the previous night. After he had talked most happily and enthusiastically — as he always did — upon the importance of this point, I asked what I should do next.
16 "Oh, look at your fish!" he said, and left me alone again. In a little more than an hour he returned, and heard my new list.
17 "That is good, that is good!" he repeated, "but that is not all; go on." And so for three long days he placed that fish before my eyes, forbidding me to look at anything else, or to use any artificial aid. "Look, look, look," was his repeated instruction.
18 The fourth day, a second fish of the same group was placed beside the first, and I was told to point out the similarities and differences between the two; another and another followed, until the entire family lay before me.
19 This was the best lesson I ever had. It has influenced the way I have studied ever since. It was something the Professor gave me, which we could not buy, with which we could not part.
20 While training the students in the method of observing facts and their orderly arrangement, Professor Agassiz urged them not to be content with just facts. "Facts are stupid things," he would say,"until brought into connection with some general law."
Lesson One The Story of an Hour by Kate Chopin
1 They knew that Louise Mallard had a weak heart. So they broke the bad news gently. Her husband, Brently, was dead.
2 “There was a train accident, Louise,” said her sister Josephine, quietly.
3 Her husband's friend, Richards, brought the news, but Josephine told the story. She spoke in broken sentences.
4 “Richards… was at the newspaper office. News of the accident came. Louise… Louise, Brently's name was on the list. Brently…was killed, Louise.”
5 Louise did not hear the story calmly, like some women would.She could not close her mind or her heart to the news. Like a sudden storm, her tears broke out. She cried, at once, loudly in her sister's arms. Then, just as suddenly, the tears stopped. She went to her room alone. She would not let anyone follow her.
6 In front of the window stood a large, comfortable armchair. Into this she sank and looked out of the window. She was physically exhausted after her tears. Her body felt cold; her mind and heart were empty.
7 Outside her window she could see the trees. The air smelled like spring rain. She could hear someone singing far away. Birds sang near the house. Blue sky showed between the clouds. She rested.
8 She sat quietly, but a few weak tears still fell. She was young, with a fair, calm face that showed a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes. She looked out of the window at the blue sky. She was not thinking, or seeing. She was waiting.
9 There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it with fear. What was it? She did not know. It was too subtle to name. But she felt it creeping out of the sky. It was reaching her through the sound, the smell, the color that filled the air.
10 Slowly she became excited. Her breath came fast; her heart beat faster. She was beginning to recognize the thing that was approaching to take her. She tried to beat it back with her will, but failed. Her mind was as weak as her two small white hands. When she stopped fighting against it, a little word broke from her lips.
11 “Free,” she whispered. “Free, free, free!” The dull stare and look of fear went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her heart beat fast, and the blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. A sudden feeling of joy held her.
12 She did not ask if her joy was wrong. She saw her freedom clearly and could not stop to think of smaller things.
13 She knew that she would weep again when she saw her husband's body. The kind hands, now dead and still. The loving face, now fixed and gray. But she looked into the future and saw many long years to come that would belong to her alone. And now she opened and spread her arms out to those years in welcome.
14 There would be no one else to live for during those years. She would live for herself alone. There would be no powerful will bending hers. Men and women always believe they can tell others what to do and how to think. Suddenly Louise understood that this was wrong and that she could break away and be free of it.
15 And yet, she had loved him — sometimes. Often she had not.What did love mean now? Now she understood that freedom is stronger than love.
16 “Free! Body and soul free!” she kept whispering.
17 Her sister Josephine was waiting outside the door.
18 “Please open the door,” Josephine cried. “You will make yourself sick. What are you doing in there, Louise? Please, please, let me in !”
19 “Go away. I am not making myself sick.” No, she was drinking in life through that open window.
20 She thought joyfully of all those days before her. Spring days, summer days. All kinds of days that would be her own. She began to hope life would be long. It was only yesterday that life seemed so long !
21 After a while she got up and opened the door. Her eyes were bright; her cheeks were red. She didn't know how strong and well she looked — so full of joy. They went downstairs, where Richards was waiting.
22 Someone was opening the door. It was Brently Mallard, who entered, looking dirty and tired, carrying a suitcase and an umbrella.He was not killed in the accident. He didn't even know there had been one. He stood surprised at Josephine's sudden cry. He didn't understand why Richards moved suddenly between them, to hide Louise from her husband.
23 But Richards was too late.
24 When the doctors came, they said she had died of heart disease — of joy that kills.
2 “There was a train accident, Louise,” said her sister Josephine, quietly.
3 Her husband's friend, Richards, brought the news, but Josephine told the story. She spoke in broken sentences.
4 “Richards… was at the newspaper office. News of the accident came. Louise… Louise, Brently's name was on the list. Brently…was killed, Louise.”
5 Louise did not hear the story calmly, like some women would.She could not close her mind or her heart to the news. Like a sudden storm, her tears broke out. She cried, at once, loudly in her sister's arms. Then, just as suddenly, the tears stopped. She went to her room alone. She would not let anyone follow her.
6 In front of the window stood a large, comfortable armchair. Into this she sank and looked out of the window. She was physically exhausted after her tears. Her body felt cold; her mind and heart were empty.
7 Outside her window she could see the trees. The air smelled like spring rain. She could hear someone singing far away. Birds sang near the house. Blue sky showed between the clouds. She rested.
8 She sat quietly, but a few weak tears still fell. She was young, with a fair, calm face that showed a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes. She looked out of the window at the blue sky. She was not thinking, or seeing. She was waiting.
9 There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it with fear. What was it? She did not know. It was too subtle to name. But she felt it creeping out of the sky. It was reaching her through the sound, the smell, the color that filled the air.
10 Slowly she became excited. Her breath came fast; her heart beat faster. She was beginning to recognize the thing that was approaching to take her. She tried to beat it back with her will, but failed. Her mind was as weak as her two small white hands. When she stopped fighting against it, a little word broke from her lips.
11 “Free,” she whispered. “Free, free, free!” The dull stare and look of fear went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her heart beat fast, and the blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body. A sudden feeling of joy held her.
12 She did not ask if her joy was wrong. She saw her freedom clearly and could not stop to think of smaller things.
13 She knew that she would weep again when she saw her husband's body. The kind hands, now dead and still. The loving face, now fixed and gray. But she looked into the future and saw many long years to come that would belong to her alone. And now she opened and spread her arms out to those years in welcome.
14 There would be no one else to live for during those years. She would live for herself alone. There would be no powerful will bending hers. Men and women always believe they can tell others what to do and how to think. Suddenly Louise understood that this was wrong and that she could break away and be free of it.
15 And yet, she had loved him — sometimes. Often she had not.What did love mean now? Now she understood that freedom is stronger than love.
16 “Free! Body and soul free!” she kept whispering.
17 Her sister Josephine was waiting outside the door.
18 “Please open the door,” Josephine cried. “You will make yourself sick. What are you doing in there, Louise? Please, please, let me in !”
19 “Go away. I am not making myself sick.” No, she was drinking in life through that open window.
20 She thought joyfully of all those days before her. Spring days, summer days. All kinds of days that would be her own. She began to hope life would be long. It was only yesterday that life seemed so long !
21 After a while she got up and opened the door. Her eyes were bright; her cheeks were red. She didn't know how strong and well she looked — so full of joy. They went downstairs, where Richards was waiting.
22 Someone was opening the door. It was Brently Mallard, who entered, looking dirty and tired, carrying a suitcase and an umbrella.He was not killed in the accident. He didn't even know there had been one. He stood surprised at Josephine's sudden cry. He didn't understand why Richards moved suddenly between them, to hide Louise from her husband.
23 But Richards was too late.
24 When the doctors came, they said she had died of heart disease — of joy that kills.
Lesson Sixteen Remembering Tracy Bill by Polly Bannister
1 This year, my husband David and I celebrated the 22nd birthday of a man we had never met. His name was Tracy Bill Marsh, a tall handsome young man who worked in a pizza shop. Last summer, he was supposed to have been best man at his brother's wedding. But on the night of December 8, 1992, Tracy got off work and stood in the pizza shop's parking lot talking to friends. Tracy jumped up on the hood of a friend's car, as they had done a hundred times before. This time, though, Tracy lost his balance and fell. His head struck the pavement, hard.
2 One of his friends rushed inside to call an ambulance, then he phoned Tracy's father, Bill Marsh. Bill raced to the hospital, where he was joined by Tracy's mother, Cory. She knew from the way the doctors talked that there was little hope. Tracy had a broken skull —one doctor said he had never seen one so bad.
3 Standing next to her son, Cory remembered that Tracy had once mentioned organ donation. Maybe I can spare another family this sorrow, she thought. When the time came, she and Bill signed the forms permitting his organs to be taken out.
4 Tracy Bill Marsh died the next day. Twenty-four hours later, in a Boston hospital, Tracy's liver was transplanted into my husband, David, who was suffering from an incurable liver disease.
5 Months after his operation, David and I sent our unknown donor family letters in care of the New England Organ Bank. As information about donors was kept secret, we could not know where and to whom to send our thanks. But the donor's parents wished to meet someone who had gained life through the gift of their son's organs, so the organ bank agreed — for the first time — to bring together two families linked by the most bittersweet relationship.
6 We were to meet Bill and Cory Marsh in a hotel room about halfway between our homes. David and I arrived an hour before the meeting. I placed fresh flowers, drinks, cheese and crackers on a table.
7 When the door opened, my heart stopped. We saw a middle-aged couple. For a few seconds, we stood staring at one another. Then Cory and I hugged. Bill held out his hand to shake David's. His grip was electric, and David could feel that he didn't want to let go. Bill's first words to David were “Are you okay?”
8 I hugged Bill and saw tears behind his glasses. “That's it for the tears,” he said, smiling. But it wasn't.
9 We talked for 3 hours and a half. The Marshes showed us a picture of Tracy Bill. We learned for the first time how he had died — and something of how he had lived. He was a generous, goodhearted young man who loved the outdoors and was never happier than when he was working under the hood of his car. Evenings, Tracy and his friends would set up floodlights in the garage, and Bill and Cory would go to sleep listening to the boys' laughter as they repaired cars. Carved on Tracy's gravestone is a car rolling down a mountain road.
10 We learned something about Bill and Cory, too. Cory can't bring herself to throw out Tracy's best-loved pair of blue jeans, and she avoids the supermarket aisles that carry his favorite foods. Every morning, as she gets in her car for work, she says good morning to Tracy.
11 Bill and Tracy shared a love of stock-car racing. I said that David, while recovering from his operation, had renewed an old interest in stock-car racing. I mentioned that recently David got this crazy idea of taking a course somewhere down south where he could learn to drive a stock-car. Bill said instantly, “Tracy Bill would have loved that.”
12 When it was time to leave, we felt awkward. Enough had been disclosed about our lives to stay in touch. Now David and I know where to send our prayers. For the Marshes, seeing David and knowing he was well seemed to ease their suffering. I'll never forget seeing the tall David bending over Cory, her arms stretched around his waist as a mother would hug a son. For a long time they held each other tight. It was hard to know if she was saying hello or goodbye.
13 Maybe she was saying both.
Lesson Fifteen Unreality of TV by Art Buchwald
1 Dr. Heinrich Applebaum recently completed a study on the effects of television on children. It is not about violence, but about how television gives children a false sense of reality.
2 Dr. Applebaum told me, “The greatest danger of television is that it presents a world to children that doesn't exist, and leads them to expect things that never happen.”
3 “I don't understand, Doctor,” I said.
4 “Well, let me give you one example. Have you ever seen a television show where a person in a car doesn't immediately find a parking place on the very first try?”
5 “Come to think of it,” I said, “I haven't.”
6 “Not only is there always a parking place, but the driver doesn't even have to back into it. There are two parking spaces for him when he needs one. Children are being led to believe that when they grow up they will always be able to find a parking place available when and where they want it. You can imagine how bad they will feel when they discover that in real life they can drive around a block for three hours and still can't find a place to park their car.”
7 “I never thought of it, but it's true. What else do they show on television which gives a distorted picture of the real world?”
8 “Have you noticed that whenever a person walks out of a restaurant or office building and says to the doorman, ‘Get me a taxi,' the taxi immediately arrives? I have never seen a TV show where the doorman has said, ‘I'm sorry. I can't get you a taxi. You'd better take the bus.'”
9 “Of course,” I said, “I never noticed that. There is always a yellow taxi waiting somewhere off the TV screen.”
10 “Now,” said Applebaum, “have you ever said to a taxi driver,‘Follow that car and don't lose him'?”
11 “Not really.”
12 “Well, if you had, the driver would have told you not to talk nonsense. No taxi driver wants to follow another car because that means he's going to get into trouble. But on TV every taxi driver looks as if he had nothing better to do than to drive 90 miles an hour through rain-swept street trying to keep up with a carful of gangsters. And the worst thing is that the kids believe it.”
13 “What else have you discovered?”
14 “Kids have a false sense of what emergency wards of hospitals are really like. On TV shows they take a kid to an emergency ward and four doctors come rushing down to bandage his leg. In a real life situation the kid would be sitting on the bench for two hours before he even saw a nurse. On TV there always happens to be a hospital bed available when a kid needs it. What the kids in this country don't know is that sometimes you have to wait three days to get a hospital bed and then you have to pay 500 dollars down before they give it to you.”
15 Applebaum said the cruelest lie of all is when TV shows a lawyer defending someone innocent of a crime.
16 “On the screen the lawyer spends day and night looking for evidence to prove the person is innocent. In real life the lawyer says to the defendant, ‘Look, I've got 20 minutes. Tell me your story and then I'11 plead you guilty and make a deal with the D. A. ' The defendant might say, ‘But I' m innocent. ' The lawyer would say,‘So what? I can't afford to find that out. I'm not Perry Mason. '”
17 “Then what you're saying, Dr. Applebaum, is that it isn't the violence on TV but the unreality that is doing harm to children.”
18 “Exactly. Even the advertisements are harmful. Children are led to believe that when they grow up if they use a certain mouthwash they'll find the mate of their dreams. When they don't find him or her after washing their mouth all night, they fall into a difficult situation and many of them never come out of it.”
2 Dr. Applebaum told me, “The greatest danger of television is that it presents a world to children that doesn't exist, and leads them to expect things that never happen.”
3 “I don't understand, Doctor,” I said.
4 “Well, let me give you one example. Have you ever seen a television show where a person in a car doesn't immediately find a parking place on the very first try?”
5 “Come to think of it,” I said, “I haven't.”
6 “Not only is there always a parking place, but the driver doesn't even have to back into it. There are two parking spaces for him when he needs one. Children are being led to believe that when they grow up they will always be able to find a parking place available when and where they want it. You can imagine how bad they will feel when they discover that in real life they can drive around a block for three hours and still can't find a place to park their car.”
7 “I never thought of it, but it's true. What else do they show on television which gives a distorted picture of the real world?”
8 “Have you noticed that whenever a person walks out of a restaurant or office building and says to the doorman, ‘Get me a taxi,' the taxi immediately arrives? I have never seen a TV show where the doorman has said, ‘I'm sorry. I can't get you a taxi. You'd better take the bus.'”
9 “Of course,” I said, “I never noticed that. There is always a yellow taxi waiting somewhere off the TV screen.”
10 “Now,” said Applebaum, “have you ever said to a taxi driver,‘Follow that car and don't lose him'?”
11 “Not really.”
12 “Well, if you had, the driver would have told you not to talk nonsense. No taxi driver wants to follow another car because that means he's going to get into trouble. But on TV every taxi driver looks as if he had nothing better to do than to drive 90 miles an hour through rain-swept street trying to keep up with a carful of gangsters. And the worst thing is that the kids believe it.”
13 “What else have you discovered?”
14 “Kids have a false sense of what emergency wards of hospitals are really like. On TV shows they take a kid to an emergency ward and four doctors come rushing down to bandage his leg. In a real life situation the kid would be sitting on the bench for two hours before he even saw a nurse. On TV there always happens to be a hospital bed available when a kid needs it. What the kids in this country don't know is that sometimes you have to wait three days to get a hospital bed and then you have to pay 500 dollars down before they give it to you.”
15 Applebaum said the cruelest lie of all is when TV shows a lawyer defending someone innocent of a crime.
16 “On the screen the lawyer spends day and night looking for evidence to prove the person is innocent. In real life the lawyer says to the defendant, ‘Look, I've got 20 minutes. Tell me your story and then I'11 plead you guilty and make a deal with the D. A. ' The defendant might say, ‘But I' m innocent. ' The lawyer would say,‘So what? I can't afford to find that out. I'm not Perry Mason. '”
17 “Then what you're saying, Dr. Applebaum, is that it isn't the violence on TV but the unreality that is doing harm to children.”
18 “Exactly. Even the advertisements are harmful. Children are led to believe that when they grow up if they use a certain mouthwash they'll find the mate of their dreams. When they don't find him or her after washing their mouth all night, they fall into a difficult situation and many of them never come out of it.”
Lesson Fourteen The Mystery of the Silver Box by Jacques Futrelle
1 The Thinking Machine turned to the worried businessman,"State your problem."
2 "It isn't a crime —— that is, a crime that can be punished by law," Mr. Grayson said, "but it has cost me millions, perhaps as much as ten million dollars! Briefly, there is an information leak at my office. My business plans have become known to others almost as soon as I have made them. My plans are large; I have millions of dollars at stake, and the need for secrecy is great. For years my plans have been safe, but half a dozen times in the last eight weeks they have become known to my competitors —— in the smallest detail, and in time for them to steal my customers."
3 "Tell me more please," said The Thinking Machine.
4 "I make machines and tools used in factories. Recently I sent my salesmen to a new industrial area out West to demonstrate some new machines. At first this was a great success; the factory owners truly liked this on-the-spot service and bought everything the salesmen demonstrated."
5 "But suddenly my staff there reported that wherever they went, they were too late. My biggest business competitor had already sent their salesmen out to demonstrate their products at a lower price!"
6 The Thinking Machine walked to the window. "So now you want to know how — and when — information is leaking from your office. Well, to whom do you tell your business plans?"
7 "No one, except my personal secretary, Evelyn Winthrop. She has been with me for six years; more than five years before this leak began. I have always trusted her."
8 "And she is the only one who knows your plans?"
9 "Well, she hears of my plans only a few minutes or so before I give orders to carry them out. This week, for instance, I planned to send salesmen to Oklahoma with new oil drills. My district manager didn't know this plan. Miss Winthrop heard of it only on the morning they were to go out. Then I dictated to her in my office some letters of instructions to my district managers. That is all Miss Winthrop knew of my Oklahoma plan."
10 "You outlined the plan in those letters?"
11 "No. They merely told my managers which salesmen I wanted for Oklahoma and the costs of the various drills."
12 "But a careful person, knowing the content of all those letters, could have worked out what you intended to do?"
13 "Yes, but no one person knew the contents of all the letters. Miss Winthrop and I were the only two human beings who knew what was in them all. Neither Miss Winthrop nor I left the office all day. Yet before the day ended, I received phone calls from two managers telling me of the unbeatable offers from my competitor."
14 "What is your business competitor's name?"
15 "Ralph Matthews," said Mr. Grayson.
16 The Thinking Machine went to a desk, addressed an envelope, got a sheet of paper and placed it inside, and sealed the envelope. Then he turned back to Mr. Grayson, “Let us go to see Miss Winthrop now,” he said.
17 From the office door, The Thinking Machine went straight to Miss Winthrop's desk and handed her the envelope. "Mr. Ralph Matthews asked me to give you this," he said.
18 The young woman glanced up at his face frankly, took the envelope, and turned it curiously in her hand. "Ralph Matthews,"she repeated the name as if it sounded strange to her, "I don't think I know him." Nevertheless, she opened the envelope and took out the paper. "Why, it's a blank sheet!" she remarked, puzzled.
19 The detective turned suddenly to Mr. Grayson who had looked on with frank astonishment. "May I use a telephone, please?" asked The Thinking Machine.
20 He picked the receiver of Miss Winthrop's phone and held it to his ear a moment. “It's busy,” he said. He hung up, pausing for a moment to admire a beautiful silver box right beside the telephone."Thank you, Miss Winthrop," he said as he left the room.
21 Back in Mr. Grayson's office, the detective told him to ask Miss Winthrop to take some dictation the next morning at 9∶45. And that night, he arranged for a secret extension to be attached to Miss Winthrop' s phone. The next morning he was at the extension, pencil in hand, while Mr. Grayson carried out his orders. A little later, he asked the businessman to go with him to the secretary's desk.
22 "So you did know Ralph Matthews after all," he said, throwing onto her desk a sheet of paper he had brought with him.
23 The girl stopped her noisy typing and rose from her chair, trembling. “What do you mean, sir?” she demanded weakly.
24 "And you might as well remove the silver box ," The Thinking Machine continued. "There is no further need of the telephone connection."
2 "It isn't a crime —— that is, a crime that can be punished by law," Mr. Grayson said, "but it has cost me millions, perhaps as much as ten million dollars! Briefly, there is an information leak at my office. My business plans have become known to others almost as soon as I have made them. My plans are large; I have millions of dollars at stake, and the need for secrecy is great. For years my plans have been safe, but half a dozen times in the last eight weeks they have become known to my competitors —— in the smallest detail, and in time for them to steal my customers."
3 "Tell me more please," said The Thinking Machine.
4 "I make machines and tools used in factories. Recently I sent my salesmen to a new industrial area out West to demonstrate some new machines. At first this was a great success; the factory owners truly liked this on-the-spot service and bought everything the salesmen demonstrated."
5 "But suddenly my staff there reported that wherever they went, they were too late. My biggest business competitor had already sent their salesmen out to demonstrate their products at a lower price!"
6 The Thinking Machine walked to the window. "So now you want to know how — and when — information is leaking from your office. Well, to whom do you tell your business plans?"
7 "No one, except my personal secretary, Evelyn Winthrop. She has been with me for six years; more than five years before this leak began. I have always trusted her."
8 "And she is the only one who knows your plans?"
9 "Well, she hears of my plans only a few minutes or so before I give orders to carry them out. This week, for instance, I planned to send salesmen to Oklahoma with new oil drills. My district manager didn't know this plan. Miss Winthrop heard of it only on the morning they were to go out. Then I dictated to her in my office some letters of instructions to my district managers. That is all Miss Winthrop knew of my Oklahoma plan."
10 "You outlined the plan in those letters?"
11 "No. They merely told my managers which salesmen I wanted for Oklahoma and the costs of the various drills."
12 "But a careful person, knowing the content of all those letters, could have worked out what you intended to do?"
13 "Yes, but no one person knew the contents of all the letters. Miss Winthrop and I were the only two human beings who knew what was in them all. Neither Miss Winthrop nor I left the office all day. Yet before the day ended, I received phone calls from two managers telling me of the unbeatable offers from my competitor."
14 "What is your business competitor's name?"
15 "Ralph Matthews," said Mr. Grayson.
16 The Thinking Machine went to a desk, addressed an envelope, got a sheet of paper and placed it inside, and sealed the envelope. Then he turned back to Mr. Grayson, “Let us go to see Miss Winthrop now,” he said.
17 From the office door, The Thinking Machine went straight to Miss Winthrop's desk and handed her the envelope. "Mr. Ralph Matthews asked me to give you this," he said.
18 The young woman glanced up at his face frankly, took the envelope, and turned it curiously in her hand. "Ralph Matthews,"she repeated the name as if it sounded strange to her, "I don't think I know him." Nevertheless, she opened the envelope and took out the paper. "Why, it's a blank sheet!" she remarked, puzzled.
19 The detective turned suddenly to Mr. Grayson who had looked on with frank astonishment. "May I use a telephone, please?" asked The Thinking Machine.
20 He picked the receiver of Miss Winthrop's phone and held it to his ear a moment. “It's busy,” he said. He hung up, pausing for a moment to admire a beautiful silver box right beside the telephone."Thank you, Miss Winthrop," he said as he left the room.
21 Back in Mr. Grayson's office, the detective told him to ask Miss Winthrop to take some dictation the next morning at 9∶45. And that night, he arranged for a secret extension to be attached to Miss Winthrop' s phone. The next morning he was at the extension, pencil in hand, while Mr. Grayson carried out his orders. A little later, he asked the businessman to go with him to the secretary's desk.
22 "So you did know Ralph Matthews after all," he said, throwing onto her desk a sheet of paper he had brought with him.
23 The girl stopped her noisy typing and rose from her chair, trembling. “What do you mean, sir?” she demanded weakly.
24 "And you might as well remove the silver box ," The Thinking Machine continued. "There is no further need of the telephone connection."
Lesson Thirteen Hobbyist by Fredric Brown
1 “I heard a rumor,” Sangstrom said, “that you —” He turned his head and looked about him to make absolutely sure that he and the druggist were alone in the tiny drugstore. The druggist was a little man who could have been any age from fifty to a hundred. They were alone, but Sangstrom dropped his voice just the same.“— that you have a completely undetectable poison.”
2 The druggist nodded. He came around the counter and locked the front door of the shop, then walked toward a doorway behind the counter. “I was about to take a coffee break,” he said. “Come with me and have a cup.”
3 Sangstrom followed him around the counter and through the doorway to a back room ringed by shelves of bottles from floor to ceiling. The druggist plugged in an electric coffee pot, found two cups and put them on a table that had a chair on either side of it. He motioned Sangstrom to one of the chairs and took the other himself.“Now,”he said. “Tell me. Whom do you want to kill, and why?”
4 “Does it matter?” Sangstrom asked. “Isn't it enough that I pay for —”
5 The druggist interrupted him with an upraised hand. “Yes, it matters. I must be convinced that you deserve what I can give you. Otherwise —”he shrugged.
6 “All right,” Sangstrom said. “The whom is my wife. The why —” he started the long story. Before he had quite finished, the coffee pot had finished its task and the druggist briefly interrupted to get the coffee for them. Sangstrom finished his story.
7 The little druggist nodded. “Yes, I occasionally give out an undetectable poison. I do so freely; I do not charge for it, if I think the case is deserving. I have helped many murderers.”
8 “Fine,” Sangstrom said. “Please give it to me, then.”
9 The druggist smiled at him. “I already have. By the time the coffee was ready I had decided that you deserved it. It was, as I said, free. But there is a price for the antidote.”
10 Sangstrom turned pale. But he had expected — not this, but the possibility of a double-cross or some form of blackmail. He pulled a pistol from his pocket.
11 The little druggist chuckled. “You daren't use that. Can you find the antidote” — he waved at the shelves — “among those thousands of bottles? Or would you find a faster, more deadly poison? Or if you think I'm bluffing, that you are not really poisoned, go ahead and shoot. You'll know the answer within three hours when the poison starts to work.”
12 “How much for the antidote?” Sangstrom growled.
13 “Quite reasonable. A thousand dollars. After all, a man must live. Even if his hobby is preventing murders, there's no reason why he shouldn't make money at it, is there?”
14 Sangstrom growled and put the pistol down, but within reach, and took out his wallet. Maybe after he had the antidote, he'd still use that pistol. He counted out a thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills and put them on the table.
15 The druggist made no immediate move to pick them up. He said: “And one other thing — for your wife's safety and mine. You will write a confession of your intention — your former intention, I hope— to murder your wife. Then you will wait till I go out and mail it to a friend of mine in the police. He'll keep it as evidence in case you ever do decide to kill your wife. Or me, for that matter.
16 “When that is in the mail it will be safe for me to return here and give you the antidote. I'll get you paper and pen...
17 “Oh, one other thing —— although I do not absolutely insist on it. Please help spread the word about my undetectable poison, will you? One never knows, Mr. Sangstrom. The life you save, if you have any enemies, just might be your own.”
2 The druggist nodded. He came around the counter and locked the front door of the shop, then walked toward a doorway behind the counter. “I was about to take a coffee break,” he said. “Come with me and have a cup.”
3 Sangstrom followed him around the counter and through the doorway to a back room ringed by shelves of bottles from floor to ceiling. The druggist plugged in an electric coffee pot, found two cups and put them on a table that had a chair on either side of it. He motioned Sangstrom to one of the chairs and took the other himself.“Now,”he said. “Tell me. Whom do you want to kill, and why?”
4 “Does it matter?” Sangstrom asked. “Isn't it enough that I pay for —”
5 The druggist interrupted him with an upraised hand. “Yes, it matters. I must be convinced that you deserve what I can give you. Otherwise —”he shrugged.
6 “All right,” Sangstrom said. “The whom is my wife. The why —” he started the long story. Before he had quite finished, the coffee pot had finished its task and the druggist briefly interrupted to get the coffee for them. Sangstrom finished his story.
7 The little druggist nodded. “Yes, I occasionally give out an undetectable poison. I do so freely; I do not charge for it, if I think the case is deserving. I have helped many murderers.”
8 “Fine,” Sangstrom said. “Please give it to me, then.”
9 The druggist smiled at him. “I already have. By the time the coffee was ready I had decided that you deserved it. It was, as I said, free. But there is a price for the antidote.”
10 Sangstrom turned pale. But he had expected — not this, but the possibility of a double-cross or some form of blackmail. He pulled a pistol from his pocket.
11 The little druggist chuckled. “You daren't use that. Can you find the antidote” — he waved at the shelves — “among those thousands of bottles? Or would you find a faster, more deadly poison? Or if you think I'm bluffing, that you are not really poisoned, go ahead and shoot. You'll know the answer within three hours when the poison starts to work.”
12 “How much for the antidote?” Sangstrom growled.
13 “Quite reasonable. A thousand dollars. After all, a man must live. Even if his hobby is preventing murders, there's no reason why he shouldn't make money at it, is there?”
14 Sangstrom growled and put the pistol down, but within reach, and took out his wallet. Maybe after he had the antidote, he'd still use that pistol. He counted out a thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills and put them on the table.
15 The druggist made no immediate move to pick them up. He said: “And one other thing — for your wife's safety and mine. You will write a confession of your intention — your former intention, I hope— to murder your wife. Then you will wait till I go out and mail it to a friend of mine in the police. He'll keep it as evidence in case you ever do decide to kill your wife. Or me, for that matter.
16 “When that is in the mail it will be safe for me to return here and give you the antidote. I'll get you paper and pen...
17 “Oh, one other thing —— although I do not absolutely insist on it. Please help spread the word about my undetectable poison, will you? One never knows, Mr. Sangstrom. The life you save, if you have any enemies, just might be your own.”
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