One of the surest ways to achieve your own success in life is by helping others to attain theirs. Almost anyone can contribute money toward those less fortunate. But the truly affluent person is the one who can afford to give of himself, of his time and energy, to the benefit of others. In so doing he enriches himself beyond measure.
John Wanamaker, the Philadelphia merchant king, once said that the most profitable habit was that of "rendering useful service where it is not expected." And Edward Bok, the great editor of Ladies Home Journal, said he rose from poverty to wealth through the practice of "making myself useful to others without regard to what I received in return."
Helping Takes Effort
It takes a conscious effort to give your time and energy to others. You can't simply say, "All right, I'm willing to help anyone who needs my help." You must make a creative project of rendering service to your fellow man.
Perhaps some down-to-earth examples will help you think of ways you can win friends by helping others. There was, for instance, a merchant in an eastern city who built a successful business through a very simple process. Every hour or so one of his clerks checked the parking meters near the store.
Pennies Win Friends
When the clerk spotted an "expired" sign, he dropped a penny in the slot, and attached a note to the car telling the owner that the merchant was pleased to protect him against the inconvenience of a traffic ticket. Many motorists dropped in to thank the merchant—and remained to buy. The owner of a big Boston men's store inserts a neatly printed card in the pocket of each suit he sells, It tells the purchaser that if he finds the suit satisfactory, he may bring the card back after six months and exchange it for any necktie he chooses. Naturally, the buyer always comes back pleased with the suit—and is a ripe prospect for another sale.
The highest paid woman employee of the Bankers Trust Co. in New York City got her start by offering to work three months without pay in order to demonstrate her executive ability. And Butler Stork gave of himself so freely as a prisoner in the Ohio State Penitentiary that he was released, beating a 20-year sentence for forgery. Stork organized a correspondence school that taught more than 1,000 inmates a variety of courses without charge to them or the state. He even induced the International Correspondence School to donate textbooks. The plan attracted so much attention that Stork was given his freedom as a reward.
Put Your Own Mind to Work
Assess your own ability and energy. Who need your help? How can you help them? It doesn't take money. All it takes is ingenuity and a strong desire to be of genuine service. Helping others solve their problems will help you solve your own.
Remind you of Charles Dickens?
A Christmas Carol
by Charles Dickens
Yes! and the bedpost was his own. The bed was his own, the room was his own. Best and happiest of all, the Time before him was his own, to make amends in!
"I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future!" Scrooge repeated, as he scrambled out of bed. "The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees, old Jacob, on my knees!"
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.
"They are not torn down!" cried Scrooge, folding one of his bed-curtains in his arms, "they are not torn down, rings and all. They are here -- I am here -- the shadows of the things that would have been, may be dispelled. They will be! I know they will."
His hands were busy with his garments all this time; turning them inside out, putting them on upside down, tearing them, mislaying them, making them parties to every kind of extravagance.
"I don't know what to do!" cried Scrooge, laughing and crying in the same breath; and making a perfect Laocoon of himself with his stockings. "I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!"
He had frisked into the sitting-room, and was now standing there: perfectly winded.
"There's the saucepan that the gruel was in!" cried Scrooge, starting off again, and frisking round the fireplace. "There's the door, by which the Ghost of Jacob Marley entered. There's the corner where the Ghost of Christmas Present, sat. There's the window where I saw the wandering Spirits. It's all right, it's all true, it all happened. Ha ha ha!"
Really, for a man who had been out of practice for so many years, it was a splendid laugh, a most illustrious laugh. The father of a long, long line of brilliant laughs.
"I don't know what day of the month it is," said Scrooge. "I don't know how long I've been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!"
He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clang, hammer; ding, dong, bell! Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious!
Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sunlight; Heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious. Glorious!
"What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him.
"Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder.
"What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge.
"To-day?" replied the boy. "Why, Christmas Day."
"It's Christmas Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can.
Charles Dickens (February 7, 1812 - June 9, 1870) was an English novelist, generally considered the greatest of the Victorian period. His masterful prose soon won praise by critics and his ability to create memorable characters solidified his position in the ranks of must-read authors. The fact that none of his works have never gone out of print attests to the popularity of his novels and short stories. Charles Dickens died on June 9, 1870 after suffering a stroke. He was buried in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. The inscription on his tomb reads: "He was a sympathizer to the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed; and by his death, one of England's greatest writers is lost to the world."
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