第12章 Ways to Make People Like You(1)

Chapter 4

Do This and You’ll Be Welcome Anywhere

Why read this book to find out how to win friends? Why notstudy the technique of the greatest winner of friends the worldhas ever known? Who is he? You may meet him tomorrowcoming down the street. When you get within ten feet of him， hewill begin to wag his tail. If you stop and pat him， he will almostjump out of his skin to show you how much he likes you. And youknow that behind this show of affection on his part， there are noulterior motives： he doesn’t want to sell you any real estate， andhe doesn’t want to marry you.

Did you ever stop to think that a dog is the only animal thatdoesn’t have to work for a living? A hen has to lay eggs， a cow hasto give milk， and a canary has to sing. But a dog makes his livingby giving you nothing but love.

When I was five years old， my father bought a little yellowhaired pup for fifty cents. He was the light and joy of mychildhood. Every afternoon about four-thirty， he would sit inthe front yard with his beautiful eyes staring steadfastly at thepath， and as soon as he heard my voice or saw me swinging mydinner pail through the buck brush， he was off like a shot， racingbreathlessly up the hill to greet me with leaps of joy and barks ofsheer ecstasy.

Tippy was my constant companion for five years. Then onetragic night—I shall never forget it—he was killed within ten feetof my head， killed by lightning. Tippy’s death was the tragedy ofmy boyhood.

You never read a book on psychology， Tippy. You didn’tneed to. You knew by some divine instinct that you can makemore friends in two months by becoming genuinely interestedin other people than you can in two years by trying to get otherpeople interested in you. Yet I know and you know people whoblunder through life trying to wigwag other people into becominginterested in them.

Of course， it doesn’t work. People are not interested in you.

They are not interested in me. They are interested in themselves—

morning， noon and after dinner.

The New York Telephone company made a detailed studyof telephone conversations to find out which word is themost frequently used. You have guessed it： it is the personalpronoun “I.” “I.” “I.” It was used 3，900 times in 500 telephoneconversations. “I.” “I.” “I.” “I.” When you see a group photographthat you are in， whose picture do you look for first?

If we merely try to impress people and get people interestedin us， we will never have many true， sincere friends. Friends， realfriends， are not made that way.

Napoleon tried it， and in his last meeting with Josephine hesaid： “Josephine， I have been as fortunate as any man ever wason this earth; and yet， at this hour， you are the only person inthe world on whom I can rely.” And historians doubt whether hecould rely even on her.

Alfred Adler， the famous Viennese psychologist， wrote a bookentitled What Life Should Mean to You. In that book he says： “It isthe individual who is not interested in his fellow men who has thegreatest difficulties in life and provides the greatest injury to others.

It is from among such individuals that all human failures spring.”

You may read scores of erudite tomes on psychology withoutcoming across a statement more significant for you and for me.

Adler’s statement is so rich with meaning that I am going torepeat it in italics：It is the individual who is not interested in his fellow men whohas the greatest difjculties in life and provides the greutest injuryto others. It is from umong such individuals that all humunfailures spring.

I once took a course in short-story writing at New York University，and during that course the editor of a leading magazine talked toour class. He said he could pick up any one of the dozens of storiesthat drifted across his desk every day and after reading a fewparagraphs he could feel whether or not the author liked people.

“If the author doesn’t like people，” he said， “people won’t like hisor her stories.”

If that is true of writing fiction， you can be sure it is true ofdealing with people face-to-face.

I spent an evening in the dressing room of Howard Thurstonthe last time he appeared on Broadway—Thurston was theacknowledged dean of magicians. For forty years he had traveledall over the world， time and again， creating illusions， mystifyingaudiences， and making people gasp with astonishment. Morethan 60 million people had paid admission to his show， and hehad made almost ＄2 million in profit.

I asked Mr. Thurston to tell me the secret of his success. Hisschooling certainly had nothing to do with it， for he ran awayfrom home as a small boy， became a hobo， rode in boxcars， sleptin haystacks， begged his food from door to door， and learned toread by looking out of boxcars at signs along the railway.

Did he have a superior knowledge of magic? No， he told mehundreds of books had been written about legerdemain andscores of people knew as much about it as he did. But he had two things that the others didn’t have. First， he had the ability to puthis personality across the footlights. He was a master showman.

He knew human nature. Everything he did， every gesture， everyintonation of his voice， every lifting of an eyebrow had beencarefully rehearsed in advance， and his actions were timed tosplit seconds. But， in addition to that， Thurston had a genuineinterest in people. He told me that many magicians would lookat the audience and say to themselves， “Well， there is a bunch ofsuckers out there， a bunch of hicks; I’ll fool them all right.” ButThurston’s method was totally different. He told me that everytime he went on stage he said to himself： “I am grateful becausethese people come to see me， They make it possible for me tomake my living in a very agreeable way. I’m going to give themthe very best I possibly can.”