Hero’s Life

I originally published this essay several years ago and also included it in early editions of the FreeCapitalist Primer.  As I’ve had repeated requests recently I’ve decided to republish the essay here.  There is also a .pdf download version.

The Hero’s Life – The Power of Taking Deliberate Action
by C. Rick Koerber

Many of us admire heroes from a distance, yet we often fail to make the choice to live the hero’s life ourselves. There is no modesty in failing to take on the personal mantle of being a hero in your world. The challenge for most of us is that we simply fail to grasp the simple concept that choosing to be a hero is ours to make and is the only way to effectively change the world.  The individual who grasps this concept can live the life of a hero, starting today!

I’m convinced that each human being, even the very simplest, wants to live a life that matters. I would argue that herein lays the truth regarding all human beings’ craving for the feeling of importance.  Individual heroes are our mind’s projection of our own personal desire for living a life we love. It is for this reason that citizens everywhere might make exceptional progress in their own affairs by cultivating a respect for heroes of all kinds.

Most of us fail to realize that we can cultivate the life of a hero through our own daily choices, waiting instead for someone else to rescue us when facing life’s most difficult challenges.  Yet, through our own observation and study of those who have gone before us in time or accomplishment, we are actually able to get in touch with a personal and valuable portion of our own consciousness.  Or to say it more simply, by choosing heroes for ourselves, men and women we deliberately choose to admire and whose lives and accomplishments we purposefully reflect upon, we find ourselves able to recognize the power of a hero inside our own lives.

The realization in the mind of a man or woman that he or she can actually transcend the normal victimhood of life and become a hero-increasingly able to make a difference in the lives of loved ones, and in the community around them -is a realization that gives the mind and heart a source of courage, a reservoir of faith and hope, and an example of how to face the challenges of life.

“Ye Are Gods”
The Lord says he created man to act for himself rather than to be acted upon. To me, this means the difference between living life as a hero and living life as a victim. More poignantly, it is the difference between living life as a god and living life as a devil. When the Savior was accused of blasphemy for proclaiming himself the Son of God, he responded:

Is it not written in your law, I said, Ye are gods? If he called them gods, unto whom the word of God came, and the scripture cannot be broken; Say ye of him, whom the Father hath sanctified, and sent into the world, Thou blasphemest; because I said, I am the Son of God? If I do not the works of my Father, believe me not.

All of us are the children of God, yet the devil would like us to be miserable, to forget our royal heritage, and to live life as a thing acted upon rather than as one with courage and deliberateness, who makes the world a better place.

Do we do the works of God? Do we choose liberty and life?

Five Minutes That Changed My Life Forever

There is a clear difference between acting for ourselves, and being acted upon. The difference begins with perception.

A few years ago, I was in a business meeting with three of my top executives. We were having an unplanned meeting to deal with some of the pressing business issues of the day. During the conversation, it dawned on me that none of us had spent any time deliberately preparing for our discussion.

I noticed that we were being acted upon by the pressure of expectations outside ourselves, a pattern, in hindsight, appears to be something to which we had become habitually addicted. This is how a person assents to perpetual victimhood.

As I pondered our situation, an idea flashed into my mind.  I said to each of my associates there in that meeting, “I’d like to take exactly five minutes to focus in complete silence on this one very specific issue.”
I asked each executive to write down any ideas that came to mind while we pondered that one simple matter-very deliberately, together and in silence. The challenge I issued to them was to think of a solution, or more than one if possible, to this very specific problem our company was facing. I asked them, “If this challenge was left entirely up to you, what would you do?”

I asked them to consider all possibilities, no matter how bold. Once I confirmed that each understood, I looked at the clock and said, “Okay, five minutes; please don’t make a sound.”

The seconds began ticking by. I’m not sure much happened in the first minute or two, other than three grown men looking occasionally at each other-acknowledging the oddity of the moment. After about two or three minutes, one of the men began to jot down an idea. A few seconds later another started to write. By the time there was only thirty seconds left, we were all writing quickly. At the end of five minutes, we all had a bright look on our faces. The feeling in the room was much different than the pressure felt just five minutes earlier.

I next requested that each of us share the ideas we had written down. One at a time we began to do so. By the time each of us had finished sharing our ideas, the power of deliberateness was evident. The amazing reality was that in just five minutes of deliberate acting (in this case our action was simply to think) we made more progress than we had done in many months of discussion previously, on that very same issue.
That simple five-minute experiment has changed my life forever.

Walking Down the Middle of a Busy Street
On another occasion I learned more about the power of acting for myself, of being deliberate and choosing the hero’s life.  I remember making the decision to take a walk down the double yellow line in the center of a busy downtown street in front of my office building.

Now, before you rush to conclusions, this wasn’t something silly, nor was it a decision I took lightly, odd though it may seem. I had been given the difficult church assignment to work with two single women in our local church congregation. They were both single mothers who didn’t regularly attend meetings, lived in very poor conditions, and didn’t seem to like the idea of receiving assistance from anyone in the church.
For months, I struggled with my assignment. It was difficult to even obtain their phone numbers. I prayed about my assignment and made token efforts semi-regularly to reach out to them. Whenever I reached out, my efforts seemed easily and quickly dismissed. It had been nearly six months since I was first given the assignment when I realized, very clearly, that I was failing to make any difference in the lives of these two women whatsoever.

I felt bad about the situation, but I didn’t have any idea of what to do. I attempted to justify myself by remembering each of the times I had tried to reach out but had been rebuffed; however, nothing seemed to quench the gnawing within me-that seemed to be saying, “You’re failing.”

I was being acted upon, by my own fears and doubts, and I didn’t realize then that there was an external force inviting me to get out of my own victim story and write a new chapter-the hero’s story.
Long ago I heard it suggested that the universe has a way of giving us exactly the trial required for us to grow and improve.  One day as I sat in my office, a very strange thing happened.  I didn’t know it at the time, but it was one of those moments in life, an invitation-to face a very real and future altering test.
Unannounced and out of the blue, in the middle of a weekday, as I sat in my office focused on the computer in front of me, both women came into my office at the same time asking to see me.

My secretary came in to interrupt my schedule and asked, assuming I would say no, if I would see these two young women. I was a bit surprised to see them, to say the least. I agreed to see them without hesitation.  As they sat across from my desk, the idea struck me-how odd it was to have both of them, two very specific souls who I had been so concerned over but had felt so helpless to affect-now sitting together, directly in front of me.

They proceeded to explain that due to some unforeseen circumstances they were both facing a situation where they would soon be homeless. As a matter of fact, one of them was required to be out of her house that very day. They had successfully secured a new apartment, planning to move in together, but the new place was a mess, needed cleaning, and required some minor repairs. In addition, they had no help for the move.

They had no pickups, no friends to assist, and no plans for making the move happen; yet they had planned the move for that very day.  Now, here they were, sitting in my office asking for my help.
At first I was more than happy to agree.  I had been pondering for months over how I might reach out to them and here was my opportunity.  I agreed to help but explained that since it was the middle of the workday it would be several hours before I could arrive.

As I thought about my commitment, I envisioned myself showing up at about 5:30pm, helping load boxes etc., but really nothing more.  They both quietly expressed understanding that I was busy and that I would take the time to come by and help them later that evening. They smiled briefly and then politely left my office.

After they were gone, I sat pondering the situation. “Certainly,” I thought to myself, “I want to help them, but I have a huge workload today.” I even remember thinking it was silly to expect to move so quickly, and to schedule a move with so little planning.  Of course, they explained, it wasn’t their fault; it was unanticipated, etc., but I had heard such excuses many times before.

As I sat there in my office, justifying to myself that there was nothing else I could do, a feeling deep inside again started to gnaw at my core. The feeling was direct and poignant, and I could not deny it. I knew for certain that all my rationalizations meant nothing. I knew I had been praying for months for a way to reach out to each of these women, and for months the only thing preventing me from making the world a better place for them and myself was my own lame pattern of excuses.

I acknowledged to myself that I was not acting like a hero, and I knew it. I also knew that I was of no matter in this situation to these women or to the Lord; I had not chosen to be a significant source for good in the situation. The more powerfully I went over this acknowledgment in my mind, the more powerfully I felt inspired to do something about it.

I suppose it had been fifteen minutes since I had escorted the women from my office. I sat by myself in silence, tortured by the idea that I had failed, that there was no excuse for the poor choice I had made, and that the bigger problem I was up against was my own self-deception about my own intentions.
Not comfortable at all with the conclusions I was coming to, I began thinking about what else I could do.  I started to ask very specific questions, in my own mind, about the possibilities-rather than focusing on rationalizations for my limitations.

I pondered and then got on my knees and prayed. I knew I must do something. The idea then came to my mind that I must act very deliberately. I felt certain my failure to deliberately chart a course forward was the same as deliberately charting a course to nowhere; so, I started looking for ways to act deliberately in a manner to appropriately rectify this situation.

I committed to myself to do something right then, without delay. I had no way to reach either woman. This was a time before cell phones were common. They had errands to run and were planning to meet me back at the home where the move was to take place at 5:30 p.m. that evening.  It was only noon and I knew there was no way that I could wait five hours to do something. Or better stated, I knew I could make a difference and that I would not wait another minute to do it.

As I sat pondering, a very strange idea came to my mind. It was as if a voice said to me, “Okay, if you want to act deliberately, go walk down the middle of the street.” I’m not kidding. That is the idea that came into my mind.

At first, I chuckled. I wondered if the source hadn’t been my own frustration and as an expression of that frustration I was now telling myself to go play jacks in the middle of the highway or something similar. However, I recognized the source of the idea and knew that I could not deny it. I knew that I was prepared to act and was going to act, so I got up from my office chair immediately and headed out the door.

On my way out of the office, my secretary, surprised to see me heading out of the office so quickly and without warning, asked me where I was going. Not worried how strange it would sound, I simply replied, “I’m going to go walk down the middle of the road.”

This I’m sure sounded curiously alarming. He got up and started following me out of the building. As I made my way quickly down the stairs and outside to the sidewalk, he again asked what I was doing. I looked out at the double yellow line in the center of road. I remember thinking to myself that this was a bit crazy and wondering what I hoped to accomplish. I turned to my secretary and explained that I was going to help the two women that I had mistakenly dismissed earlier. I told him the only way I could change what I did was to take deliberate action. I’m not sure how convincing I sounded, but I took off for the center of the road.
When I reached the double yellow line, I decided to start walking west.

My secretary walked with me (staying on the sidewalk paralleling my course). I stopped responding to his questions and just kept walking, paying close attention and keeping my feet, one step after the other, on the double yellow line.

I soon approached a busy intersection controlled by a traffic light. I paused, wondering to myself how much danger I was really willing to put myself in, in order to keep walking the line. As I stood there, wondering how this action was going to make a difference, a car came turning the corner and almost ran me over. Of course, I couldn’t complain since I was the one standing in the middle of the road.
The car swerved to avoid hitting me, and pulled over to the side of the road. To my great astonishment, inside the car were the two women I was looking for. The woman in the passenger side rolled down her window and with a somewhat astonished look on her face asked what I was doing walking down the middle of the road.

I responded with a sigh of relief by telling them that I had been inspired to do so, that it was the only way I was going to be able to reach them, that I had made a mistake earlier, and I wanted to take charge of getting them moved starting that very minute.

The entire story is too long to tell, but suffice it to say, the mood between the three of us changed dramatically. We all recognized that something was much different than only a short time before.

I went to work. I called over 25 men in the middle of the day without any warning. I simply requested in a rather pursuasive way that they all meet me with boxes, trucks, hand-trucks, dollies, etc.

I was only successful at reaching a small handful; for the rest, on each of their answering machines, I left a very deliberate and determined message. I had no idea how many would show up. For some reason, I had no doubt that I could orchestrate and accomplish the task.  But, I had no idea what I was about to witness.

I arrived at the house to help with the move (ironically, my soon-to-be wife was with me that day, but that is another story). At first, we were the only ones there; not even the two women who needed the help were present to witness the miracle that was about to take place. After a short time, men and women began to arrive from all directions.

Almost everyone that I had called came to help, and many brought friends who had received word of the project. In what seemed like less than thirty minutes, we had so much help I couldn’t count everyone. We had trucks, boxes, and lots of hands. Literally, in just a few hours, we had the entire home packed and moved, including having cleaned and made the needed repairs to the new apartment.

I had spent almost the entire time simply directing traffic, so to speak. I had never before witnessed such an effective and heartfelt response to any similar situation. The people who showed up to help had a unique spirit about them, and the work was accomplished almost as a by-product.

When the two women finally arrived to help get the move started, they were astonished to discover all the work had already been completed. They were moved, and everything was already accomplished. I remember a brief moment while standing in the middle of the living room in the center of human traffic watching all the work being done throughout the house, being coordinated by my basic directions. At that moment, the feelings I experienced were the feelings of a hero. Not a hero in the sense of being recognized by anyone else as such, but a hero in my own mind. I knew that I had finally stepped up to the plate and had accomplished something worthwhile.

Heroes: The Power of Being Deliberate
There is a power that comes with deliberateness. In both of my stories, which were actual occurrences in my life, there were clear, small but significant moments when I learned something amazingly powerful. I learned something of the difference between acting and being acted upon.

I felt the difference between being a victim of circumstance and a hero who had chosen to act deliberately. In those minutes, a brief glance through the mundane in life, I knew that I had chosen to be an agent, a hero, and even in a very meaningful but humble way, a god-who had in those instances acted deliberately to create a better world.

Much of life is about finding importance and making a difference. The answer to our search is unique for each of us, as unique as the individual situations and challenges we face each day. I have learned through my own experience something of the sacred and amazing possibilities that lay at the core of why each of us is here on the earth. Through many small moments like the two experiences, I have come to know that what I have accomplished as a result of being very deliberate in my efforts has enabled me to tap into the power of a hero, which is literally the power to change the world.

I am convinced that within the immediate grasp of anyone reading this essay is the possible choice of living the hero’s life, the choice of being a god-or perhaps more comfortably, the child of God. But it is a choice.
The individual who grasps this concept can begin living a new life, today!

Updated: Some Things are Worth Thinking About

Today, my three-year-old daughter asked me a question that I can’t stop thinking about. So, I want to share with you what Bethany actually told me, and even more importantly, what she asked me.  But, I want to put it into context first. Otherwise, I don’t think you’ll quite understand – when I announce my answer.

Doing what I do for a living, there is no shortage of opinion about the way I live my life.  On the average day I get a few emails, text messages, Facebook messages, phone calls and even the occasional written letter telling me someone’s opinion about “this or that” aspect of my life.

Recently, an old friend told me that after listening to my radio show he thought to himself, “That’s not the Rick I grew up with.”  In a letter I received today a complete stranger wrote to me saying, “I have been listening to you on the radio for more than two years.  You don’t know me and we’ve never met, but you’ve changed my life.  Your ideas have helped me and my family tremendously.  My wife and I got to talking about you and all that you’re up to and just wanted to write and say ‘Thank you, from the bottom of our hearts.’  We’re behind you 100%.”

I try not to think very much about any of these kinds of things.  If they are insulting or complimentary, I try to appreciate them for what they are and then move on.  Once and a while however, someone tells me something or asks me a question, that is just worth thinking about. Today, I was surprised however, that it was my 3-year old daughter.

I don’t mean to give you the wrong idea.  But, most people’s opinions about me and my life are so uninformed by the actual facts, that it’s really not worth spending  much time contemplating what they have to say.  I never imagined things would be this way, but when you put yourself out in public, every single day – via radio, seminars, courses, Internet, etc., there’s just no shortage of opinions – most of which are not worth much.  I, of course, usually like the compliments more than the insults.  I’ve received some meaningful messages that I’ve saved, and are close to my heart.  But, once again – very few are worth thinking about.

So, today when my little girl started talking to me about my work, it was a little bit unusual.  Of course, she sees me working almost every day (except Sundays).  She even knows a little bit about a few of the things I do.  I certainly care more for her opinion than most of the people I usually hear from, but she is only three-years old after all.  Actually, I’m sure she’d want me to clarify, that she’s “almost four.”  I think she turned almost four in her mind, the day after her third birthday.

There we were, today was a calm Sunday afternoon, spending some quality daddy/daughter time while mom and the two boys took naps.  Bethany tolerated as much football as she could stand, and then got out her spelling cards.  We worked on three and four letter words and also the names of about thirty colors.  I had no idea that a three-year-old could realistically be expected to spell magenta, let alone know what it means.  I’m still not sure I know what what it means without a few samples.

Anyway, we were going through three letter words, one letter at a time, and out of the blue she looks up at me and says, “Daddy I love you.”

This was an unexpected surprise.  I was touched, as any parent would be.  But, I was also a bit taken back.  It seemed unrelated to anything we were doing.  Then, as I look back in my minds eye, without much of a pause she looked straight up at me again and asked, “Dad, why do you work so much?”

I tried as best as I could to explain to her about my “work” and my schedule.  I’m not sure anything I said really sunk in – certainly not as deep as her comment and question had penetrated me.  Nevertheless, we finished with our spelling cards, and the evening went on, pretty much like normal.  Except, I just couldn’t stop thinking about her question.

Here it is 5:31am and while I am certain I’m going to regret not being in bed, I can’t find the end to my day without witting something that is at the core of my real answer to my daughter’s question.

I titled this entry, “Some things are worth thinking about,” because I highly recommend that if you’ve taken the time to read this far, perhaps you could spend some time coming up with your own best answer to that same question.  It has been richly rewarding for me to come up with my answer.  Of course, Bethany is asleep right now, and I better not wake her up to tell here I finally have a better answer now, than the one I gave her before dinner.

But, then again, if I take much longer, I could just tell her, first thing when she wakes.

Well, I’ll just write my answer down here, in case that doesn’t happen.

So, “Why,” is it that I “work so much?”

I think I’ve failed as much as I’ve succeeded at most things in life.  There are a few exceptions, but work is not one of them.  I’ve learned tons and that’s one of the reasons I enjoy working so much.  I love what I do.  I love standing up for what is right and I like helping people see what they haven’t been able to see on their own.

I’m driven, and have had a unique passion for my work since I was about seven years old.  I’m getting better at what I do, and despite all the failures and successes, I believe I have a work to do, here on this earth, that is unique to me and can benefit those I love and this wonderful country I would peacefully give my life defending.

The short answer is this…

I love my wife.  I love my children.  I have the love and respect of these and several other family members and dear friends.  As I picture in my mind, the faces of my wife, of each of my children, of my very close family members and friends, and even the friends and heroes of mine who have already departed this life—I realize unmistakably that I love my life.  I thank God for the many blessings that have been mine and the opportunity to do the work I do.

While I have much ground to cover, many mistakes still to correct, people still to build better relationships with, wrongs in my life to right, apologies to make, new relationships to build, new people to meet, several matters to resolve, complete and accomplish and some yet even to begin — I work because it is in my work that I find meaning and hope satisfied for all those who put their confidence in me and a satisfaction of my own hopes and values.  I would not be a good husband, father, or even a good citizen if I gave up on the work I do.  Alea jacta est.

I have enjoyed thinking about my own answer, and even more to the point, how it is that it took my three-year old daughter to bring me to this point of contemplation.  For those of you who don’t yet have any three-year olds and those who have long since passed up these days—you’re missing something, my friends, you really are missing something.

In response to my daughter’s comment that she loved me, I could only say, “thank you sweetheart for sharing that with me.”  Though she wouldn’t have understood, I might have added, “that sure makes all the difference.”  I feel the same about my boys – but I hope that my bonding, reflective moments with them, over the years ahead will involve fewer tears and more masculine expressions.  Whatever that means.

How powerful is a little, perspective adjusting reflection in the early hours of the morning!

Are You a Capitalist, by 1886 Standards?

For many years now I’ve been using the title “FreeCapitalist” and have enjoyed watching the odd expression in the faces of others as they attempt to contemplate my meaning. I have my own reason’s for calling myself a capitalist, and a few of them are not what most would suspect. In this same line of thinking, I am always learning something new. Recently I stumbled across something that related directly to my own personal reasons for using the title. Surprisingly, it was while I was reading an essay first published in 1886 by Rev. James W. Cole entitled, “Earning the Capital.” I thought it might be valuable to re-publish a portion of his essay to illustrate a point about capitalism that is seldom noticed in our world today, one hundred and twenty two years later.

Selection from “Earning the Capital” By Rev. James W. Cole

What is capital? Most writers on economics answer, “Capital is surplus; the storage of the labor of the brain and muscle; the overplus from the daily needs and uses of men.” If this general definition be a true one, it can apply only to the outer, material forms of wealth. For one’s wealth does not consist solely in the possession of money, however vast that sum may be. A simple definition of the word will show this. Strength is strongness. Length is longness. Breadth is broadness. Wealth is ” wealness ” or wellness; things that make for one’s well-being.

Is the miser a wealthy man? Do the millions of gold some men get tend to their well-being? Is it not true that the getting of money develops in some the baser elements of their nature, so that occasionally you may see persons whose riches have but served to make them meaner than the meanest poverty could ever make them? Can such persons be truthfully said to be wealthy or well-being persons?

The word, you see, has broken away from its original foundation, and is by many persons regarded as simply synonymous in meaning with money. But money is not an end; it is a means to an end, and that end is nobly to live the life that is given you. If money or any other product of the earth will help you do that, then get it, get all you can of it; but if it would hinder you in your development of true manhood, then avoid it. Earn something else by your brain and muscle, if you would be wealthy.

When that noble man, the late Prof. Louis Agassiz, was asked why he did not use his great talents to gain money, when he was offered three hundred dollars each for a course of six lectures, he replied with lofty scorn, ” I cannot afford to lecture for money.” To him there were far more valuable and wonderful things in this world than money. Alas! that there are but few like him.

The citizens of ancient Rome were wont to place the statues and images of their great ancestors on pedestals, and in the vestibules of their houses, in order to remind themselves and their children of those ancestors’ virtues and glorious deeds, and to inspire them to emulate them; and for one hundred and seventy years they allowed no painted or graven image of a deity among them, with the result, as Plutarch tells us, that for two hundred and thirty years after the founding of Rome no husband deserted his wife, nor any wife her husband, and for six hundred years there was no parricide known, and for forty-three years, during the reign of Numa Pompilius, the temple of Janus, the god of war, continued closed, there being no war, nor sedition, nor conspiracy.

Would that Americans could be diverted long enough from their worship of Mammon to cultivate some of the virtues of those old heathen! Perchance, then, they might, for the peace of their families and the good of the republic, imitate the example of that famous Themistocles of Athens, who, when two suitors, one a poor man and the other rich, sought for the hand of his daughter in marriage, chose the poor man, saying he desired as a son-in-law a man without riches, rather than riches without a man.

But now you are a man, and a man of business desires and wishes to succeed in some particular business. You have virtues and some talents, but, it may be, very little money, perhaps none. Can you succeed without money? Certainly. Some of the richest men in this country began their business life without a dollar. Nature is just as ready to help you to get riches as she was to help them. She will give as good returns today and tomorrow as yesterday.

Money is but one of the numerous and valuable things to be found in her vast storehouses on land, and in the seas, and in the air, and in the sun, and you can get it out if you wish and will. Perhaps you have heard it said that, ” it takes money to get money.” No, it doesn’t. Money is not a loadstone, drawing its kind only. Money is only lumps of matter dug out of the ground, and shaped in certain forms and stamped with a design, and you can get an abundance of it without digging in the earth for it, and trying to catch it with another piece of the same kind.

What! Get money without capital? No, with capital. Why, man, you are a capitalist! Wages are only a form of income. An everyday laborer is a capitalist. Every person to whom God has given brains and a good body is a large capitalist.

Your mind, your muscle, is your capital, and with them you may earn what you will. All the riches of the world are the product of the labor of brain or muscle. Your brain may be a veritable gold mine if you will but develop it.

In 1882, at Christie’s rooms, London, a little daub of matter, only twelve by nine inches, that a brain had put on canvas, sold for thirty thousand dollars. It was Meissonier’s “Napoleon the First in the Campaign of Paris.” The same artist’s “1814″ was sold for one hundred and seventy thousand dollars; eight years later, Millet’s “Angelus” brought one hundred and ten thousand dollars, and Murillo’s “Conception of the Virgin” one hundred and seventeen thousand dollars. Great fortunes, you see, that the brain produced.

The musician Paderewski spent a few weeks in this country a year ago, and then carried home with him one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars, as the proceeds of his brain.

Sir Walter Scott was a silent partner in the firm of the publishers of his books. The firm failed, and he was involved in debt six hundred thousand dollars in consequence. He was then fifty-six years of age. Summoning all the energy of his mighty brain to the task, he labored incessantly, by night and day, sending out volume after volume, until in five years he had paid it all by the product of his brain. Yes, brains are great money-getters, if you use them for that purpose.

The son of a farmer in the state of New York, a sickly lad, Samuel J. Tilden, so used his brains as to bring him a fortune, by the practice of law, of five millions of dollars. A Swedish young woman, Jenny Lind, twenty-eight years of age, came to the United States with nothing but her voice, that her brain had cultured, and in ninety-eight nights she had sung out of the pockets of the American people seven hundred and twelve thousand dollars. Another Swede, Ole Bornemann Bull, so manipulated a violin as to draw out of the same American people in a single season more than a hundred thousand dollars; while an American-born lad of English ancestors, Edwin Booth, so used his brains while an actor, that in less than two months’ time he had taken in from the people of San Francisco alone, over ninety-six thousand dollars.

But why multiply instances in literature, art, oratory, music, the drama, all going to prove that your brain is your capital, and that all you need to do if you wish for money is to use it.