Part Two In A Nutshell 19 страница

me has been for ever different after that. I suppose that not a day has passed that I

have not repeated it to myself. Many have come to me for counseling during these

years, and I have always sent them away with this sustaining sentence. Ever since that

hour when my eyes fell upon it, I have lived by this sentence. I have walked with it and I

have found in it my peace and strength. To me it is the very essence of religion. It lies

at the rock bottom of everything that makes life worth living. It is the Golden Text of

my life.

~~~~

I Hit Bottom And Survived

Ted Ericksen

16, 237 South Cornuta Avenue, Bellflower, California Southern California Representative

National Enameling and Stamping Company

I used to be a terrible " worry wart". But no more. In the summer of 1942, I had an

experience that banished worry from my life-for all time; I hope. That experience made

every other trouble seem small by comparison.

For years I had wanted to spend a summer on a commercial fishing craft in Alaska, so in

1942 I signed on a thirty-two-foot salmon seining vessel out of Kodiak, Alaska. On a craft

of this size, there is a crew of only three: the skipper who does the supervising, a No. 2

man who assists the skipper, and a general work horse, who is usually a Scandinavian. I

am a Scandinavian.

Since salmon seining has to be done with the tides, I often worked twenty hours out of

twenty-four. I kept up that schedule for a week at a time. I did everything that nobody

else wanted to do. I washed the craft. I put away the gear. I cooked on a little wood-

burning stove in a small cabin where the heat and fumes of the motor almost made me

ill. I washed the dishes. I repaired the boat. I pitched the salmon from our boat into a

tender that took the fish to a cannery. My feet were always wet in rubber boots. My

boots were often filled with water, but I had no time to empty them. But all that was

play compared to my main job, which was pulling what is called the " cork line". That

operation simply means placing your feet on the stem of the craft and pulling in the

corks and the webbing of the net. At least, that is what you are supposed to do. But, in

reality, the net was so heavy that when I tried to pull it in, it wouldn't budge. What

really happened was that in trying to pull in the cork line, I actually pulled in the boat. I

pulled it along on my own power, since the net stayed where it was. I did all this for

weeks on end It was almost the end of me, too. I ached horribly. I ached all over. I

ached for months.

When I finally did have a chance to rest, I slept on a damp lumpy mattress piled on top

of the provisions locker. I would put one of the lumps in the mattress under the part of

my back that hurt most-and sleep as if I had been dragged. I was drugged by complete

exhaustion.

I am glad now that I had to endure all that aching and exhaustion because it has helped

me stop worrying. Whenever I am confronted by a problem now-instead of worrying

about it, I say to myself: " Ericksen, could this possibly be as bad as pulling the cork

line? " And Ericksen invariably answers: " No, nothing could be that bad! " So I cheer up

and tackle it with courage. I believe it is a good thing to have to endure an agonising

experience occasionally. It is good to know that we have hit bottom and survived. That

makes all our daily problems seem easy by comparison.

~~~~

I Used To Be One Of The World's Biggest Jackasses

Percy H. Whiting

Managing Director, Dale Carnegie and Company 50 East 42nd Street, New York, New

York

I have died more times from more different diseases than any other man, living, dead,

or half dead.

I was no ordinary hypochondriac. My father owned a drug-store, and I was practically

brought up in it. I talked to doctors and nurses every day, so I knew the names and

symptoms of more and worse diseases than the average layman. I was no ordinary hypo-I

had symptoms! I could worry for an hour or two over a disease and then have practically

all the symptoms of a man who was suffering from it. I recall once that, in Great

Barrington, Massachusetts, the town in which I lived, we had a rather severe diphtheria

epidemic. In my father's drug-store, I had been selling medicines day after day to people

who came from infected homes. Then the evil that I feared came upon me: I had

diphtheria myself. I was positive I had it. I went to bed and worried myself into the

standard symptoms. I sent for a doctor. He looked me over and said: " Yes, Percy, you've

got it. " That relieved my mind. I was never afraid of any disease when I had it-so I

turned over and went to sleep. The next morning I was in perfect health.

For years I distinguished myself and got a lot of attention and sympathy by specialising

in unusual and fantastic disease-I died several times of both lockjaw and hydrophobia.

Later on, I settled down to having the run-of-mill ailments-specialising on cancer and

tuberculosis.

I can laugh about it now, but it was tragic then. I honestly and literally feared for years

that I was walking on the edge of the grave. When it came time to buy a suit of clothes

in the spring, I would ask myself: " Should I waste this money when I know I can't possibly

live to wear this suit out? "

However, I am happy to report progress: in the past ten years, I haven't died even once.

How did I stop dying? By kidding myself out of my ridiculous imaginings. Every time I felt

the dreadful symptoms coming on, I laughed at myself and said: " See here, Whiting, you

have been dying from one fatal disease after another now for twenty years, yet you are

in first-class health today. An insurance company recently accepted you for more

insurance. Isn't it about time, Whiting, that you stood aside and had a good laugh at the

worrying jackass you are? "

I soon found that I couldn't worry about myself and laugh at myself at one and the same

time. So I've been laughing at myself ever since.

The point of this is: Don't take yourself too seriously. Try " just laughing" at some of your

sillier worries, and see if you can't laugh them out of existence.

~~~~

I Have Always Tried To Keep My Line Of Supplies Open"

Gene Autry

The world's most famous and beloved singing cowboy

I figure that most worries are about family troubles and money. I was fortunate in

marrying a small-town Oklahoma girl who had the same background I had and enjoyed

the same things. We both try to follow the golden rule, so we have kept our family

troubles to a minimum.

I have kept my financial worries to a minimum also by doing two things. First, I have

always followed a rule of absolute one hundred per cent integrity in everything. When I

borrowed money, I paid back every penny. Few things cause more worry than

dishonesty.

Second, when I started a new venture, I always kept on ace in the hole. Military experts

say that the first principle of fighting a battle is to keep your line of supplies open. I

figure that that principle applies to personal battles almost as much as to military

battles. For example, as a lad down in Texas and Oklahoma, I saw some real poverty

when the country was devastated by droughts. We had mighty hard scratching at times

to make a living. We were so poor that my father used to drive across the country in a

covered wagon with a string of horses and swap horses to make a living. I wanted

something more reliable than that. So I got a job working for a railway-station agent and

learned telegraphy in my spare time. Later, I got a job working as relief operator for the

Frisco Railway. I was sent here, there, and yonder to relieve other station agents who

were ill or on vacation or had more work than they could do. That job paid $150 per

month. Later, when I started out to better myself, I always figured that that railroad

job meant economic safety. So I always kept the road open back to that job. It was my

line of supplies, and I never cut myself off from it until I was firmly established in a new

and better position.

For example, back in 1928, when I was working as a relief operator for the Frisco

Railway in Chelsea, . Oklahoma, a stranger drifted in one evening to send a telegram. He

heard me playing the guitar and singing cowboy songs and told me I was good-told me

that I ought to go to New York and get a job on the stage or radio. Naturally, I was

flattered; and when I saw the name he signed to his telegram, I was almost breathless:

Instead of rushing off to New York at once, I thought the matter over carefully for nine

months. I finally came to the conclusion that I had nothing to lose and everything to

gain by going to New York and giving the old town a whirl. I had a railroad pass: I could

travel free. I could sleep sitting up in my seat, and I could carry some sandwiches and

fruit for my meals.

So I went. When I reached New York, I slept in a furnished room for five dollars a week,

ate at the Automat, and tramped the streets for ten weeks-and got nowhere. I would

have been worried sick if I hadn't had a job to go back to. I had already worked for the

railway five years. That meant I had seniority rights; but in order to protect those

rights, I couldn't lay off longer than ninety days. By this time, I had already been in New

York seventy days, so I rushed back to Oklahoma on my pass and began working again to

protect my line of supply. I worked for a few months, saved money, and returned to

New York for another try. This time I got a break. One day, while waiting for an

interview in a recording-studio office, I played my guitar and sang a song to the girl

receptionist: " Jeannine, I Dream of Lilac Time". While I was singing that song, the man

who wrote it-Nat Schildkraut- drifted into the office. Naturally, he was pleased to hear

anyone singing his song. So he gave me a note of introduction and sent me down to the

Victor Recording Company. I made a record. I was no good-too stiff and self-conscious.

So I took the advice of the Victor Recording man: I went back to Tulsa, worked for the

railway by day, and at night I sang cowboy songs on a sustaining radio programme. I

liked that arrangement. It meant that I was keeping my line of supplies open- so I had

no worries.

I sang for nine months on radio station KVOO in Tulsa. During that time, Jimmy Long and

I wrote a song entitled " That Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine". It caught on. Arthur

Sattherly, head of the American Recording Company, asked me to make a recording. It

clicked. I made a number of other recordings for fifty dollars each, and finally got a job

singing cowboy songs over radio station WLS in Chicago. Salary: forty dollars a week.

After singing there four years, my salary was raised to ninety dollars a week, and I

picked up another three hundred dollars doing personal appearances every night in

theatres.

Then in 1934, I got a break that opened up enormous possibilities. The League of

Decency was formed to clean up the movies. So Hollywood producers decided to put on

cowboy pictures; but they wanted a new kind of cowboy-one who could sing. The man

who owned the American Recording Company was also part owner of Republic Pictures.

" If you want a singing cowboy, " he said to his associates, " I have got one making records

for us. " That is how I broke into the movies. I started making singing-cowboy pictures for

one hundred dollars a week. I had serious doubts about whether I would succeed in

pictures, but I didn't worry. I knew I could always go back to my old job.

My success in pictures exceeded my wildest expectations. I now get a salary of one

hundred thousand a year plus one half of all the profits on my pictures. However, I

realise that this arrangement won't go on for ever. But I am not worried. I know that no

matter what happens-even if I lose every dollar I have-I can always go back to Oklahoma

and get a job working for the Frisco Railway. I have protected my line of supplies.

~~~~

I Heard A Voice In India

E. Stanley Jones

One of America's most dynamic speakers and the most famous missionary of his

generation

I have devoted forty years of my life to missionary work in India. At first, I found it

difficult to endure the terrible heat plus the nervous strain of the great task that

stretched before me. At the end of eight years, I was suffering so severely from brain

fatigue and nervous exhaustion that I collapsed, not once but several times. I was

ordered to take a year's furlough in America. On the boat returning to America, I

collapsed again while speaking at a Sunday-morning service on the ship, and the ship's

doctor put me to bed for the remainder of the trip.

After a year's rest in America, I started back to India, but stopped on the way to hold

evangelistic meetings among the university students in Manila. In the midst of the strain

of these meetings, I collapsed several times. Physicians warned me that if I returned to

India, I would die. In spite of their warnings, I continued on to India, but I went with a

deepening cloud upon me. When I arrived in Bombay, I was so broken that I went

straight to the hills and rested for several months. Then I returned to the plains to

continue my work. It was no use. I collapsed and was forced to return to the hills for

another long rest. Again I descended to the plains, and again I was shocked and crushed

to discover that I couldn't take it. I was exhausted mentally, nervously, and physically. I

was completely at the end of my resources. I feared that I would be a physical wreck for

the balance of my life.

If I didn't get help from somewhere, I realised that I would have to give up my

missionary career, go back to America, and work on a farm to try to regain my health. It

was one of my darkest hours. At that time I was holding a series of meetings in

Lucknow. While praying one night, an event happened that completely transformed my

life. While in prayer-and I was not particularly thinking about myself at the time-a voice

seemed to say: " Are you yourself ready for this work to which I have called you? "

I replied: " No, Lord, I am done for. I have reached the end of my resources. "

The Voice replied " If you will turn that over to Me and not worry about it, I will take

care of it. "

I quickly answered: " Lord, I close the bargain right here. "

A great peace settled into my heart and pervaded my whole being. I knew it was done!

Life-abundant life-had taken possession of me. I was so lifted up that I scarcely touched

the road as I quietly walked home that night. Every inch was holy ground. For days after

that I hardly knew I had a body. I went through the days, working all day and far into

the night, and came down to bedtime wondering why in the world I should ever go to

bed at all, for there was not the slightest trace of tiredness of any kind. I seemed

possessed by life and peace and rest-by Christ Himself.

The question came as to whether I should tell this. I shrank from it, but I felt I should-

and did. After that it was sink or swim before everybody. More than a score of the most

strenuous years of my life have gone by since then, but the old trouble has never

returned. I have never had such health. But it was more than a physical touch. I seemed

to have tapped new life for body, mind, and spirit. After that experience, life for me

functioned on a permanently higher level. And I had done nothing but take it!

During the many years that have gone by since then, I have travelled all over the world,

frequently lecturing three times a day, and have found time and strength to write The

Christ of the Indian Road and eleven other books. Yet in the midst of all this, I have

never missed, or even been late to, an appointment. The worries that once beset me

have long since vanished, and now, in my sixty-third year, I am overflowing with

abounding vitality and the joy of serving and living for others.

I suppose that the physical and mental transformation that I have experienced could be

picked to pieces psychologically and explained. It does not matter. Life is bigger than

processes and overflows and dwarfs them.

This one thing I know: my life was completely transformed and uplifted that night in

Lucknow, thirty-one years ago, when at the depth of my weakness and depression, a

voice said to me: " If you will turn that over to Me and not worry about it, I will take care

of it, " and I replied: " Lord, I close the bargain right here. "

~~~~

When The Sheriff Came In My Front Door

Homer Croy

Novelist, 150 Pinehurst Avenue, New York, New York

The bitterest moment of my life occurred one day in 1933 when the sheriff came in the

front door and I went out the back. I had lost my home at 10 Standish Road, Forest Hills,

Long Island, where my children were born and where I and my family had lived for

eighteen years. I had never dreamed that this could happen to me. Twelve years before,

I thought I was sitting on top of the world. I had sold the motion-picture rights to my

novel West of the Water Tower for a top Hollywood price. I lived abroad with my family

for two years. We summered in Switzerland and wintered on the French Riviera- just

like the idle rich.

I spent six months in Paris and wrote a novel entitled They Had to See Paris. Will Rogers

appeared in the screen version. It was his first talking picture. I had tempting offers to

remain in Hollywood and write several of Will Rogers' pictures. But I didn't. I returned to

New York. And my troubles began!

It slowly dawned on me that I had great dormant abilities that I had never developed. I

began to fancy myself a shrewd business man. Somebody told me that John Jacob Astor

had made millions investing in vacant land in New York. Who was Astor? Just an

immigrant peddler with an accent. If he could do it, why couldn't I? ... I was going to be

rich! I began to read the yachting magazines.

I had the courage of ignorance. I didn't know any more about buying and selling real

estate than an Eskimo knows about oil furnaces. How was I to get the money to launch

myself on my spectacular financial career? That was simple. I mortgaged my home, and

bought some of the finest building lots in Forest Hills. I was going to hold this land until

it reached a fabulous price, then sell it and live in luxury-I who had never sold a piece

of real estate as big as a doll's handkerchief. I pitied the plodders who slaved in offices

for a mere salary. I told myself that God had not seen fit to touch every man with the

divine fire of financial genius.

Suddenly, the great depression swept down upon me like a Kansas cyclone and shook me

as a tornado would shake a hen coop.

I had to pour $220 a month into that monster-mouthed piece of Good Earth. Oh, how

fast those months came! In addition, I had to keep up the payments on our now-

mortgaged house and find enough food. I was worried. I tried to write humour for the

magazines. My attempts at humour sounded like the lamentations of Jeremiah! I was

unable to sell anything. The novel I wrote failed. I ran out of money. I had nothing on

which I could borrow money except my typewriter and the gold fillings in my teeth. The

milk company stopped delivering milk. The gas company turned off the gas. We had to

buy one of those little outdoor camp stoves you see advertised; it had a cylinder of

gasoline; you pump it up by hand and it shoots out a flame with a hissing like an angry

goose.

We ran out of coal; the company sued us. Our only heat was the fireplace. I would go

out at night and pick up boards and left-overs from the new homes that the rich people

were building... I who had started out to be one of these rich people.

I was so worried I couldn't sleep. I often got up in the middle of the night and walked for

hours to exhaust myself so I could fall asleep.

I lost not only the vacant land I had bought, but all my heart's blood that I had poured

into it.

The bank closed the mortgage on my home and put me and my family out on the street.

In some way, we managed to get hold of a few dollars and rent a small apartment. We

moved in the last day of 1933. I sat down on a packing case and looked around. An old

saying of my mother's came back: " Don't cry over spilt milk. "

But this wasn't milk. This was my heart's blood!

After I had sat there a while I said to myself: " Well, I've hit bottom and I've stood it.

There's no place to go now but up. "

I began to think of the fine things that the mortgage had not taken from me. I still had

my health and my friends. I would start again. I would not grieve about the past. I would

repeat to myself every day the words I had often heard my mother say about spilt milk.

I put into my work the energy that I had been putting into worrying. Little by little, my

situation began to improve. I am almost thankful now that I had to go through all that

misery; it gave me strength, fortitude, and confidence. I know now what it means to hit

bottom. I know it doesn't kill you. I know we can stand more than we think we can.

When little worries and anxieties and uncertainties try to disturb me now, I banish them

by reminding myself of the time I sat on the packing case and said: " I've hit bottom and

I've stood it. There is no place to go now but up. "

What's the principle here? Don't try to saw sawdust. Accept the inevitable! If you can't

go lower, yon can try going up.

~~~~

The Toughest Opponent I Ever Fought Was Worry

Jack Dempsey

During my career in the ring, I found that Old Man Worry was an almost tougher

opponent than the heavyweight boxers I fought. I realised that I had to learn to stop

worrying, or worry would sap my vitality and undermine my success. So, little by little, I

worked out a system for myself. Here are some of the things I did:

1. To keep up my courage in the ring, I would give myself a pep talk during the fight.

For example, while I was fighting Firpo, I kept saying over and over: " Nothing is going to

stop me. He is not going to hurt me. I won't feel his blows. I can't get hurt. I am going to

keep going, no matter what happens. " Making positive statements like that to myself,

and thinking positive thoughts, helped me a lot. It even kept my mind so occupied that I

didn't feel the blows. During my career, I have had my lips smashed, my eyes cut, my

ribs cracked-and Firpo knocked me clear through the ropes, and I landed on a reporter's

typewriter and wrecked it. But I never felt even one of Firpo's blows. There was only

one blow that I ever really felt. That was the night Lester Johnson broke three of my

ribs. The punch never hurt me; but it affected my breathing. I can honestly say I never

felt any other blow I ever got in the ring.

2. Another thing I did was to keep reminding myself of the futility of worry. Most of my

worrying was done before the big bouts, while I was going through training. I would

often lie awake at nights for hours, tossing and worrying, unable to sleep. I would worry

for fear I might break my hand or sprain my ankle or get my eye cut badly in the first

round so I couldn't co-ordinate my punches. When I got myself into this state of nerves, I

used to get out of bed, look into the mirror, and give myself a good talking to. I would

say: " What a fool you are to be worrying about something than hasn't happened and may

never happen. Life is short. I have only a few years to live, so I must enjoy life. " I kept

saying to myself: " Nothing is important but my health. Nothing is important but my

health. " I kept reminding myself that losing sleep and worrying would destroy my

health. I found that by saying these things to myself over and over, night after night,

year after year, they finally got under my skin, and I could brush off my worries like so

much water.

3. The third-and best-thing I did was pray! While I was training for a bout, I always

prayed several times a day. When I was in the ring, I always prayed just before the bell

sounded for each round. That helped me fight with courage and confidence. I have

never gone to bed in my life without saying a prayer; and I have never eaten a meal in

my life without first thanking God for it... Have my prayers been answered? Thousands

of times!

~~~~

I Prayed To God To Keep Me Out Of An Orphan's Home