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I began working in journalism(新闻工作)when I was eight.It was my mother’s idea.She wanted me to “make something” of myself, and decided I had better start young if I was to have any chance of keeping up with the competition.
With my load of magazines I headed toward Belleville Avenue.The crowds were there.There were two gas stations on the corner of Belleville and Union.For several hours I made myself highly visible, making sure everyone could see me and the heavy black letters on the bag that said THE SATURDAY EVENING POST.When it was suppertime, I walked back home.
“ How many did you sell, my boy?” my mother asked.
“ None.”
“ Where did you go?”
“ The corner of Belleville and Union Avenues.”
“ What did you do?”
“ Stood on the corner waiting for somebody to buy a Saturday Evening Post.”
“ You just stood there?”
“ Didn’t sell a single one.”
“ My God, Russell!”
Uncle Allen put in, “ Well, I’ve decided to take the Post.” I handed him a copy and he paid me a nickle(五分镍币).It was the first nickle I earned.
Afterwards my mother taught me how to be a salesman.I would have to ring doorbells, address adults with self-confidence(自信),and persuade them by saying that no one, no matter how poor, could afford to be without the Saturday Evening Post in the home.
One day, I told my mother I’d changed my mind.I didn’t want to make a success in the magazine business.
“ If you think you can change your mind like this,” she replied, “ you’ll become a good-for-nothing.” She insisted that, as soon as school was over, I should start ringing doorbells, selling magazines.Whenever I said no, she would scold me.
My mother and I had fought this battle almost as long as I could remember.My mother, dissatisfied with my father’s plain workman’s life, determined that I would not grow up like him and his people.But never did she expect that, forty years later, such a successful journalist as me would go back to her husband’s people for true life and love.
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