Our Changing World
Some years ago, a man came into my office whom I've never forgotten, and for whom I've never stopped being sorry. I've often thought that there must be thousands of people in the same boat. My secretary had given him an appointment, and he started right off on the wrong foot by arriving 15 minutes late. He then told me a long, sad story. As I remembered, it went something like this. Mr. Nightingale, everyone tells me I have a beautiful singing voice. In fact, they tell me my voice is better than most of the male singers in this country including, and right here he tossed off the names of our highest paid male singing stars. Well, I asked him why he'd come to me, and he replied it was because I was in the radio and television business. And I then asked him what he had done to get his voice heard by people other than his family and friends, who all raved about what a great voice he had. And right here he got a sort of pained look on his face and said something to the effect that someone ought to do something about the fact that he had such a great voice. At first I thought he was kidding, but after studying him for a moment, I realized he was quite serious. So I overcame the urge to throw him out into the hall and then tried to explain as patiently as I could that when we have something we think is worthwhile, it's up to us to do something about it. I told him that in his case, his course was clear. Since he had the finest larynx since Caruso, he should do two things. One, he should study voice under a competent coach, and two, he should sing every chance he got. Sing in church, sing for service clubs, sing for nothing, but sing until he qualified for the big chance he felt someone ought to give him. I then went on to explain that the world didn't give two hoops in you-know-where whether he had a good voice or not. He could make Perry Como sound like the baritone in a Salvation Army quartet, but unless he brought his songs to the people, the world would keep turning, the sun would still come up, and he could just forget about the whole thing. Well then, thinking that maybe I was being a little rough on him, I told him how all the big stars got started, how they worked and kept going and kept picking themselves up every time something or someone knocked them down until they had earned the greatness and its corresponding rewards they sought. Well, I guess I made quite a little speech, but I couldn't reach him. He finally left the same way he came in, petulant and hurt because the world didn't stand at attention just because the good Lord had given him a great voice. He probably went back to his hometown where his mother would sit in pure rapture while he shook the kitchen walls with his booming basso or whatever he had. This was quite a number of years ago. I wonder whatever became of him. Probably the same thing thousands of other youngsters do, even though they've been awarded the precious gift of real talent. Nothing at all. While the great stars keep coming along, working their way up the hard way, and someday knowing the acclaim of the world that will pay any price for greatness except making it easy to get there. Something to think about, isn't it? Well, I'll be back in just one minute. Having an outstanding talent is like raising a great crop. Unless you take it to market and sell it, the world will never miss it because no one ever knew it existed. If you think you've got something the world should know about, make it your career to see that the world knows about it. Thank you.
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