“The steward was astounded because I had thought of thecoloured cooks as human beings， and not merely as cogs in theorganisation of a great railway. What people want，” continuedProfessor Phelps， “is a little attention as human beings. When I meet a man on the street with a beautiful dog， I always commenton the dog’s beauty. As I walk on and glance back over myshoulder， I frequently see the man petting and admiring the dog.
My appreciation has renewed his appreciation.
“One time in England， I met a shepherd， and expressed mysincere admiration for his big intelligent sheepdog. I asked himto tell me how he trained the dog. As I walked away， I glancedback over my shoulder and saw the dog standing with his pawson the shepherd’s shoulders and the shepherd was petting him.
By taking a little interest in the shepherd and his dog， I madethe shepherd happy. I made the dog happy and I made myselfhappy.”
Can you imagine a man who goes around shaking handswith porters and expressing sympathy for the cooks in the hotkitchen—and telling people how much he admires their dogs—canyou imagine a man like that being sour and worried and needingthe services of a psychiatrist？ You can’t， can you？ No， of coursenot. A Chinese proverb puts it this way： “A bit of fragrance alwaysclings to the hand that gives you roses.”
You didn’t have to tell that to Billy Phelps of Yale. He knew it.
He lived it.
If you are a man， skip this paragraph. It won’t interest you.
It tells how a worried， unhappy girl got several men to proposeto her. The girl who did that is a grandmother now. A few yearsago， I spent the night in her and her husband’s home. I had beengiving a lecture in her town； and the next morning she drove meabout fifty miles to catch a train on the main line to New YorkCentral. We got to talking about winning friends， and she said：
“Mr. Carnegie， I am going to tell you something that I havenever confessed to anyone before—not even to my husband.” Wasreared in a social-register family in Philadelphia. “The tragedyof my girlhood and young womanhood， was our poverty. We could never entertain the way the other girls in my social setentertained. My clothes were never of the best quality. I outgrewthem and they didn’t fit and they were often out of style. I wasso humiliated， so ashamed， that I often cried myself to sleep.
Finally， in sheer desperation， I hit upon the idea of always askingmy partner at dinner—parties to tell me about his experiences，his ideas， and his plans for the future. I didn’t ask these questionsbecause I was especially interested in the answers. I did it solelyto keep my partner from looking at my poor clothes. But a strangething happened： as I listened to these young men talk and learnedmore about them， I really became interested in listening to whatthey had to say. I became so interested that I myself sometimesforgot about my clothes. But the astounding thing to me wasthis： since I was a good listener and encouraged the boys to talkabout themselves， I gave them happiness and I gradually becamethe most popular girl in our social group and three of these menproposed marriage to me.”
Some people who read this are going to say： “All thistalk about getting interested in others is a lot of damn nonsense！
Sheer religious pap！ None of that stuff for me！ I am going to putmoney in my purse. I am going to grab all I can get—and grab itnow—and to hell with the other dumb clucks！”
Well， if that is your opinion， you are entitled to it； but if youare right， then all the great philosophers and teachers sincethe beginning of recorded history—Jesus， Confucius， Buddha，Plato， Aristotle， Socrates， Saint Francis—were all wrong. Butsince you may sneer at the teachings of religious leaders， let’sturn for advice to a couple of atheists. First， let’s take the late A.
E. Housman， professor at Cambridge University， and one of themost distinguished scholars of his generation. In 1936， he gavean address at Cambridge University on “The Name and Nature ofPoetry”. It that address， he declared that “the greatest truth ever338 ·
uttered and the most profound moral discovery of all time werethose words of Jesus：‘He that findeth his life shall lose it： and hethat loseth his life for my sake shall find it.’”
We have heard preachers say that all our lives. But Housmanwas an atheist， a pessimist， a man who contemplated suicide； andyet he felt that the man who thought only of himself wouldn’t getmuch out of life. He would be miserable. But the man who forgothimself in service to others would find the joy of living.
If you are not impressed by what A. E. Housman said， let’sturn for advice to the most distinguished American atheist ofthe twentieth century： Theodore Dreiser. Dreiser ridiculed allreligions as fairy tales and regarded life as “a tale told by an idiot，full of sound and fury， signifying nothing.” Yet Dreiser advocatedthe one great principle that Jesus taught-service to others. “If he[man] is to extract any joy out of his span，” Dreiser said， “he mustthink and plan to make things better not only for himself but forothers， since joy for himself depends upon his joy in others andtheirs in him.”
If we are going “to make things better for others”—as Dreiseradvocated—let’s be quick about it. Time is a wastin’. “I shallpass this way but once. Therefore any good that I can do or anykindness that I can show—let me do it now. Let me not defer norneglect it， for I shall not pass this way again.”
So if you want to banish worry and cultivate peace and happiness，here is Rule 7：
Forget yourself by becoming interested in others. Do every day agood deed that will put a smile of joy on someone’s face.
How To Keep From Worrying
About Criticism
