Part Two In A Nutshell 21 страница

immediately after a defeat, I made it a rule never to see the players right after a

defeat. I wouldn't discuss the defeat with them until the next day. By that time, I had

cooled off, the mistakes didn't loom so large, and I could talk things over calmly and the

men wouldn't get angry and try to defend themselves.

5. I tried to inspire players by building them up with praise instead of tearing them

down with faultfinding. I tried to have a good word for everybody.

6. I found that I worried more when I was tired; so I spend ten hours in bed every night,

and I take a nap every afternoon. Even a five-minute nap helps a lot.

7. I believe I have avoided worries and lengthened my life by continuing to be active. I

am eighty-five, but I am not going to retire until I begin telling the same stories over

and over. When I start doing that, I'll know then that I am growing old.

Connie Mack never read a book on HOW TO STOP WORRYING so he made out his own

roles. Why don't YOU make a list of the rules you have found helpful in the past-and

write them out here?

Ways I Have Found Helpful in Overcoming Worry:

1 __________________

2 __________________

3 __________________

4 __________________

~~~~

One At A Time Gentleman, One At A Time

John Homer Miller

Author of Take a Look at Yourself

I Discovered years ago that I could not escape my worries by trying to ran away from

them, but that I could banish them by changing my mental attitude toward them. I

discovered that my worries were not outside but inside myself.

As the years have gone by, I have found that time automatically takes care of most of

my worries. In fact, I frequently find it difficult to remember what I was worrying about

a week ago. So I have a rule: never to fret over a problem until it is at least a week old.

Of course, I can't always put a problem completely out of mind for a week at a time, but

I can refuse to allow it to dominate my mind until the allotted seven days have passed,

either the problem has solved itself or I have so changed my mental attitude that it no

longer has the power to trouble me greatly.

I have been greatly helped by reading the philosophy of Sir William Osier, a man who

was not only a great physician, but a great artist in the greatest of all arts: the art of

living. One of his statements has helped me immensely in banishing worries. Sir William

said, at a dinner given in his honour: " More than to anything else, I owe whatever

success I have had to the power of settling down to the day's work and trying to do it

well to the best of my ability and letting the future take care of itself. "

In handling troubles, I have taken as my motto the words of an old parrot that my father

used to tell me about. Father told me of a parrot that was kept in a cage hanging over

the doorway in a hunting club in Pennsylvania. As the members of the club passed

through the door, the parrot repeated over and over the only words he knew: " One at a

time, gentlemen, one at a time. " Father taught me to handle my troubles that way:

" One at a time, gentlemen, one at a time. " I have found that taking my troubles one at a

time has helped me to maintain calm and composure amidst pressing duties and

unending engagements. " One at a time, gentlemen, one at a time. "

Here again, we have one of the basic principles in conquering worry: LIVE IN DAY-TIGHT

COMPARTMENTS. Why don't you turn back and read that chapter again?

~~~~

I Now Look For The Green Light

Joseph M. Cotter

1534 Fargo Avenue, Chicago, Illinois

From the time I was a small boy, throughout the early stages of young manhood, and

during my adult life, I was a professional worrier. My worries were many and varied.

Some were real; most of them were imaginary. Upon rare occasions I would find myself

without anything to worry about-then I would worry for fear I might be overlooking

something.

Then, two years ago, I started out on a new way of living. This required making a self-

analysis of my faults-and a very few virtues-a " searching and fearless moral inventory" of

myself. This brought out clearly what was causing all this worry.

The fact was that I could not live for today alone. I was fretful of yesterday's mistakes

and fearful of the future.

I was told over and over that " today was the tomorrow I had worried about yesterday".

But it wouldn't work on me. I was advised to live on a twenty-four-hour programme. I

was told that today was the only day over which I had any control and that I should

make the most of my opportunities each day. I was told that if I did that, I would be so

busy I would have no time to worry about any other day-past or future. That advise was

logical, but somehow I found it hard to put these darned ideas to work for me.

Then like a shot from out of the dark, I found the answer- and where do you suppose I

found it? On a North-western Railroad platform at seven P. M. on May 31, 1945. It was an

important hour for me. That is why I remember it so clearly.

We were taking some friends to the train. They were leaving on The City of Los Angeles,

a streamliner, to return from a vacation. War was still on-crowds were heavy that year.

Instead of boarding the train with my wife, I wandered down the tracks towards the

front of the train. I stood looking at the big shiny engine for a minute. Presently I looked

down the track and saw a huge semaphore. An amber light was showing. Immediately

this light turned to a bright green. At that moment, the engineer started clanging a bell;

I heard the familiar " All aboard! " and, in a matter of seconds, that huge streamliner

began to move out of that station on its 2, 300-mile trip.

My mind started spinning. Something was trying to make sense to me. I was experiencing

a miracle. Suddenly it dawned on me. The engineer had given me the answer I had been

seeking. He was starting out on that long journey with only one green light to go by. If I

had been in his place, I would want to see all the green lights for the entire journey.

Impossible, of course, yet that was exactly what I was trying to do with my life-sitting in

the station, going no place, because I was trying too hard to see what was ahead for

me.

My thoughts kept coming. That engineer didn't worry about trouble that he might

encounter miles ahead. There probably would be some delays, some slowdowns, but

wasn't that why they had signal systems? Amber lights-reduce speed and take it easy.

Red lights-real danger up ahead-stop. That was what made train travel safe. A good

signal system.

I asked myself why I didn't have a good signal system for my life. My answer was-I did

have one. God had given it to me. He controls it, so it has to be foolproof. I started

looking for a green light. Where could I find it? Well, if God created the green lights,

why not ask Him? I did just that.

And now by praying each morning, I get my green light for that day. I also occasionally

get amber lights that slow me down. Sometimes I get red lights that stop me before I

crack up. No more worrying for me since that day two years ago when I made this

discovery. During those two years, over seven hundred green lights have shown for me,

and the trip through life is so much easier without the worry of what colour the next

light will be. No matter what colour it may be, I will know what to do.

~~~~

How John D. Rockefeller Lived on Borrowed Time for Forty-five Tears

John D. Rockefeller, Sr., had accumulated his first million at the age of thirty-three. At

the age of forty-three, he had built up the largest monopoly the world has ever seen-the

great Standard Oil Company. But where was he at fifty-three? Worry had got him at

fifty-three. Worry and high-tension living had already wrecked his health. At fifty-three

he " looked like a mummy, " says John K. Winkler, one of his biographers.

At fifty-three, Rockefeller was attacked by mystifying digestive maladies that swept

away his hair, even the eyelashes and all but a faint wisp of eyebrow. " So serious was

his condition, " says Winkler, " that at one time John D. was compelled to exist on human

milk. " According to the doctors, he had alopecia, a form of baldness that often starts

with sheer nerves. He looked so startling, with his stark bald dome, that he had to wear

a skullcap. Later, he had wigs made-$500 apiece-and for the rest of his life he wore

these silver wigs.

Rockefeller had originally been blessed with an iron constitution. Reared on a farm, he

had once had stalwart shoulders, an erect carriage, and a strong, brisk gait.

Yet at only fifty-three-when most men are at their prime- his shoulders drooped and he

shambled when he walked. " When he looked in a glass, " says John T. Flynn, another of

his biographers, " he saw an old man. The ceaseless work, the endless worry, the streams

of abuse, the sleepless nights, and the lack of exercise and rest" had exacted their toll;

they had brought him to his knees. He was now the richest man in the world; yet he had

to live on a diet that a pauper would have scorned. His income at the time was a million

dollars a week- but two dollars a week would probably have paid for all the food he

could eat. Acidulated milk and a few biscuits were all the doctors would allow him. His

skin had lost its colour-it looked like old parchment drawn tight across his bones. And

nothing but medical care, the best money could buy, kept him from dying at the age of

fifty-three.

How did it happen? Worry. Shock. High-pressure and high-tension living. He " drove"

himself literally to the edge of the grave. Even at the age of twenty-three, Rockefeller

was already pursuing his goal with such grim determination that, according to those who

knew him, " nothing lightened his countenance save news of a good bargain. " When he

made a big profit, he would do a little war dance-throw his hat on the floor and break

into a jig. But if he lost money, he was ill! He once shipped $40, 000 worth of grain by

way of the Great Lakes. No insurance. It cost too much: $150. That night a vicious storm

raged over Lake Erie. Rockefeller was so worried about losing his cargo that when his

partner, George Gardner, reached the office in the morning, he found John D.

Rockefeller there, pacing the floor.

" Hurry, " he quavered. " Let's see if we can take out insurance now, if it isn't too late! "

Gardner rushed uptown and got the insurance; but when he returned to the office, he

found John D. in an even worse state of nerves. A telegram had arrived in the

meantime: the cargo had landed, safe from the storm. He was sicker than ever now

because they had " wasted" the $150! In fact, he was so sick about it that he had to go

home and take to his bed. Think of it! At that time, his firm was doing gross business of

$500, 000 a year-yet he made himself so ill over $150 that he had to go to bed I

He had no time for play, no time for recreation, no time for anything except making

money and teaching Sunday school. When his partner, George Gardner, purchased a

second-hand yacht, with three other men, for $2, 000, John D. was aghast, refused to go

out in it. Gardner found him working at the office one Saturday afternoon, and pleaded:

" Come on, John, let's go for a sail. It will do you good. Forget about business. Have a

little fun. " Rockefeller glared. " George Gardner, " he warned, " you are the most

extravagant man I ever knew. You are injuring your credit at the banks-and my credit

too. First thing you know, you'll be wrecking our business. No, I won't go on your yacht-I

don't ever want to see it! " And he stayed plugging in the office all Saturday afternoon.

The same lack of humour, the same lack of perspective, characterised John D. all

through his business career. Years later he said: " I never placed my head upon the pillow

at night without reminding myself that my success might be only temporary. "

With millions at his command, he never put his head upon his pillow without worrying

about losing his fortune. No wonder worry wrecked his health. He had no time for play

or recreation, never went to the theatre, never played cards, never went to a party. As

Mark Hanna said, the man was mad about money. " Sane in every other respect, but mad

about money. " Rockefeller had once confessed to a neighbour in Cleveland, Ohio, that

he " wanted to be loved"; yet he was so cold and suspicious that few people even liked

him. Morgan once balked at having to do business with him at all. " I don't like the man, "

he snorted. " I don't want to have any dealings with him. " Rockefeller's own brother

hated him so much that he removed his children's bodies from the family plot. " No one

of my blood, " he said, " will ever rest in land controlled by John D. " Rockefeller's

employees and associates lived in holy fear of him, and here is the ironic part: he was

afraid of them- afraid they would talk outside the office and " give secrets away".

He had so little faith in human nature that once, when he signed a ten-year contract

with an independent refiner, he made the man promise not to tell anyone, not even his

wife! " Shut your mouth and ran your business" -that was his motto. Then at the very peak

of his prosperity, with gold flowing into his coffers like hot yellow lava pouring down the

sides of Vesuvius, his private world collapsed. Books and articles denounced the robber-

baron war of the Standard Oil Company! - secret rebates with railroads, the ruthless

crashing of all rivals. In the oil fields of Pennsylvania, John D. Rockefeller was the most

hated man on earth. He was hanged in effigy by the men he had crushed. Many of them

longed to tie a rope around his withered neck and hang him to the limb of a sour-apple

tree. Letters breathing fire and brimstone poured into his office -letters threatening his

He hired bodyguards to keep his enemies from killing him. He attempted to ignore this

cyclone of hate. He had once said cynically: " You may kick me and abuse me provided

you will let me have my own way. " But he discovered that he was human after all. He

couldn't take hate -and worry too. His health began to crack. He was puzzled and

bewildered by this new enemy-illness-which attacked him from within. At first " he

remained secretive about his occasional indispositions, " tried to put his illness out of his

mind. But insomnia, indigestion, and the loss of his hair-all physical symptoms of worry

and collapse-were not to be denied. Finally, his doctors told him the shocking truth. He

could take his choice: his money and his worries-or his life. They warned him he must

either retire or die. He retired. But before he retired, worry, greed, fear had already

wrecked his health.

When Ida Tarbell, America's most celebrated female writer of biographies, saw him, she

was shocked. She wrote: " An awful age was in his face. He was the oldest man I have

ever seen. " Old? Why, Rockefeller was then several years younger than General

MacArthur was when he recaptured the Philippines! But he was such a physical wreck

that Ida Tarbell pitied him. She was working at that time on her powerful book which

condemned the Standard Oil and all that it stood for; she certainly had no cause to love

the man who had built up this " octopus". Yet, she said that when she saw John D.

Rockefeller teaching a Sunday-school class, eagerly watching the faces of all those

around him-" I had a feeling which I had not expected, and which time intensified. I was

sorry for him. I know no companion so terrible as fear. "

When the doctors undertook to save Rockefeller's life, they gave him three rules-three

rules which he observed, to the letter, for the rest of his life. Here they are:

1. Avoid worry. Never worry about anything, under any kind of circumstances.

2. Relax, and take plenty of mild exercise in the open air.

3. Watch your diet. Always stop eating while you're still a little hungry.

John D. Rockefeller obeyed those rules; and they probably saved his life. He retired. He

learned to play golf. He went in for gardening. He chatted with his neighbours. He

played games. He sang songs.

But he did something else too. " During days of torture and nights of insomnia, " says

Winkler, " John D. had time for reflection. " He began to think of other people. He

stopped thinking, for once, of how much money he could get; and he began to wonder

how much that money could buy in terms of human happiness.

In short. Rockefeller now began to give his millions away! Some of the time it wasn't

easy. When he offered money to a church, pulpits all over the country thundered back

with cries of " tainted money! " But he kept on giving. He learned of a starving little

college on the shores of Lake Michigan that was being foreclosed because of its

mortgage. He came to its rescue and poured millions of dollars into that college and

built it into the now world-famous University of Chicago. He tried to help the Negroes.

He gave money to Negro universities like Tuskegee College, where funds were needed to

carry on the work of George Washington Carver. He helped to fight hookworm. When Dr.

Charles W. Stiles, the hookworm authority, said: " Fifty cents' worth of medicine will

cure a man of this disease which ravages the South-but who will give the fifty cents? "

Rockefeller gave it. He spent millions on hookworm, stamping out the greatest scourge

that has ever handicapped the South. And then he went further. He established a great

international foundation-the Rockefeller Foundation-which was to fight disease and

ignorance all over the world.

I speak with feeling of this work, for there is a possibility that I may owe my life to the

Rockefeller Foundation. How well I remember that when I was in China in 1932, cholera

was raging all over the nation. The Chinese peasants were dying like flies; yet in the

midst of all this horror, we were able to go to the Rockefeller Medical College in Peking

and get a vaccination to protect us from the plague. Chinese and " foreigners" alike, we

were able to do that. And that was when I got my first understanding of what

Rockefeller's millions were doing for the world.

Never before in history has there ever been anything even remotely like the Rockefeller

Foundation. It is something unique. Rockefeller knew that all over the world there are

many fine movements that men of vision start. Research is undertaken; colleges are

founded; doctors struggle on to fight a disease-but only too often this high-minded work

has to die for lack of funds. He decided to help these pioneers of humanity-not to " take

them over", but to give them some money and help them help themselves. Today you

and I can thank John D. Rockefeller for the miracles of penicillin, and for dozens of

other discoveries which his money helped to finance. You can thank him for the fact

that your children no longer die from spinal meningitis, a disease that used to kill four

out of five. And you can thank him for part of the inroads we have made on malaria and

tuberculosis, on influenza and diphtheria, and many other diseases that still plague the

world.

And what about Rockefeller? When he gave his money away, did he gain peace of mind?

Yes, he was contented at last. " If the public thought of him after 1900 as brooding over

the attacks on the Standard Oil, " said Allan Kevins, " the public was much mistaken. "

Rockefeller was happy. He had changed so completely that he didn't worry at all. In

fact, he refused even to lose one night's sleep when he was forced to accept the

greatest defeat of his career!

That defeat came when the corporation he had built, the huge Standard Oil, was

ordered to pay " the heaviest fine in history". According to the United States

Government, the Standard Oil was a monopoly, in direct violation of the antitrust laws.

The battle raged for five years. The best legal brains in the land fought on interminably

in what was, up to then, the longest court war in history. But Standard Oil lost.

When Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis handed down his decision, lawyers for the

defence feared that old John D. would take it very hard. But they didn't know how much

he'd changed.

That night one of the lawyers got John D. on the phone. He discussed the decision as

gently as he could, and then said with concern: " I hope you won't let this decision upset

you, Mr. Rockefeller. I hope you'll get your night's sleep! "

And old John D.? Why, he crackled right back across the wire: " Don't worry, Mr. Johnson,

I intend to get a night's sleep. And don't let it bother you either. Good night! "

That from the man who had once taken to his bed because he had lost $150! Yes, it took

a long time for John D. to conquer worry. He was " dying" at fifty-three-but he lived to

ninety-eight!

~~~~

Reading A Book On Sex Prevented My Marriage From Going On The Rocks

B. R. W.

I hate to make this story anonymous. But it is so intimate that I could not possibly use

my name. However, Dale Carnegie will vouch for the truth of this story. I first told it to

him twelve years ago.

After leaving college, I got a job with a large industrial organisation, and five years

later, this company sent me across the Pacific to act as one of its representatives in the

Far East. A week before leaving America, I married the sweetest and most lovable

woman I have ever known. But our honeymoon was a tragic disappointment for both of

us-especially for her. By the time we reached Hawaii she was so disappointed, so

heartbroken, that she would have returned to the States, had she not been ashamed to

face her old friends and admit failure in what can be-and should be-life's most thrilling

adventure.

We lived together two miserable years in the Orient. I was so unhappy that I had

sometimes thought of suicide. Then one day I chanced upon a book that changed

everything. I have always been a lover of books, and one night while visiting some

American friends in the Far East, I was glancing over their well-stocked library when I

suddenly saw a book entitled Ideal Marriage, by Dr. Van de Velde. The title sounded like

a preachy, goody-goody document. But, out of idle curiosity, I opened it. I saw that it

dealt almost entirely with the sexual side of marriage-and dealt with it frankly and

without any touch of vulgarity.

If anyone had told me that I ought to read a book on sex, I would have been insulted.

Read one? I felt I could write one. But my own marriage was such a bust that I

condescended to look this book over, anyway. So I got up the courage to ask my host if I

could borrow it. I can truthfully say that reading that book turned out to be one of the

important events of my life. My wife also read it. That book turned a tragic marriage

into a happy, blissful companionship. If I had a million dollars, I would buy the rights to

publish that book and give free copies of it to the countless thousands of bridal couples.

I once read that Dr. John B. Watson, the distinguished psychologist, said: " Sex is

admittedly the most important subject in life. It is admittedly the thing which causes

the most shipwrecks in the happiness of men and women. "

If Dr. Watson is correct-and I am persuaded that his statement, sweeping as it is, is

almost, if not wholly, true-then why does civilisation permit millions of sexual

ignoramuses to marry each year and wreck all chances for married happiness?

If we want to know what is wrong with marriage, we ought to read a book entitled What

is Wrong With Marriage? by Dr. G. V. Hamilton and Kenneth MacGowan. Dr. Hamilton

spent four years investigating what is wrong with marriage before writing that book, and

he says: " It would take a very reckless psychiatrist to say that most married friction

doesn't find its sources in sexual maladjustment. At any rate, the frictions which arise

from other difficulties would be ignored in many, many cases if the sexual relation itself

were satisfactory. "

I know that statement is true. I know from tragic experience.

The book that saved my marriage from shipwreck, Dr. Van de Velde's Ideal Marriage, can

be found in most large public libraries, or bought at any bookshop. If you want to give a