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As organized by Jubal HarshaW, landed on the flat of theExecutive Palace shortly before ten o’clock the next morning. Theunpretentious pretender to the Martian throne, Mike Smith, had not worriedabout the purpose of the trip; he had simply enjoyed every minute of theshort flight south, with utter and innocent delight.The trip was made in a chartered Flying Greyhound, and Mike sat up in theastrodome above the driver, with Jill on one side and Dorcas on his other,and stared and stared in awed wonderment as the girls pointed out sights tohim and chattered in his ears. The seat, being intended for two people, wasvery crowded, but Mike did not mind, as a warming degree of growing closernecessarilY resulted. He sat with an arm around each, and looked andlistened and tried to grok and could not have been happier if he had been tenfeet under water.It was, in fact, his first view of Terran civilization He had seen nothing at all inbeing removed from the Champion to suite K-12 at Bethesda Center; he hadindeed spent a few minutes in a taxi ten days earlier going from the hospitalto Ben’s apartment but at the time he had grokked none of it. Since that timehis world had been bounded by a house and a swimming pool, plus5urroundiflg garden and grass and trees-he had not been as far as Jubal’sgate.But now he was enormously more sophisticated than he had been ten daysago. He understood windows, realized that the bubble surrounding him was awindow and meant for looking out of and that the changing sights he sawwere indeed the cities of these people. He understood maps and could pickout, with the help of the girls, where they were and what they were seeing onthe map flowing across the lap board in front of them. But of course he hadalways known about maps; he simply had not known until recently thathumans knew about maps. It had given him a twinge of happy homesicknessthe first time he had grokked a human map. Sure, it was static and deadcompared with the maps used by his people-but it was a map. Mike was notdisposed by nature and certainly not by training to invidious comparisonseven human maps were very Martian in essence -he liked them.Now he saw almost two hundred miles of countryside, much of it sprawlingworld metropolis, and savored every inch of it, tried to grok it. He was startledby the enormous size of human cities and by their bustling activity visibleeven from the air, so very different from the slow motion, monestary-gardenpace of cities of his own people. It seemed to him that a human city mustwear out almost at once, becoming so choked with living experience that onlythe strongest of the Old Ones could bear to visit its deserted streets and grokin contemplation the events and emotions piled layer on endless Layer in it.

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Such was not the case with Jubal, despite his years of pickling; stayingsociable with Mike during the experiment dulled the edge of his wits. So,when he attempted to ask Mike what he had done, Mike thought that he wasinquiring about the events during the raid by the S.S.-concerfling which Mikestill felt latent guilt. He tried to explain and, if needed, receive Jubal’s pardon.Jubal interrupted when at last he figured out what the boy was talking about.Son, I don’t want to know what you did, nor how you did it. What you did wasjust what was needed-perfect, just perfect. But-. He blinked owlishly. .-don’ttell me about it. Don’t ever tell anybody about it.“.Not?“.’Not.’ It was the damnedest thing I’ve seen since my uncle with the twoheads debated free silver and triumphantly refuted himself. An explanationwould spoil it.“.I do not grok rightly?“.Nor do I. So let’s not worry and have another drink.“Reporters and other newsmen started arriving while the party was stillclimbing. Jubal received each of them with courteous dignity, invited them toeat, drink, and relax-but to refrain from badgering himself or the Man fromMars.Those who failed to heed his injunction were tossed into the pool.At first Jubal kept Larry and Duke at flank to administer the baptism asnecessary. But, while some of the unfortunate importunates became angryand threatened various things which did not interest Jubal (other than tocaution Mike not to take any steps), others relaxed to the inevitable andadded themselves to the dousing squad on a volunteer basis, with the fanaticenthusiasm of proselytes-Jubal had to stop them from ducking the doyenlippmann of the New York Times for a third time.During the evening Dorcas came out of the house, sought out Jubal andwhispered in his ear: .Telephone, Boss. For you.“.Take a message.“.You must answer it, Boss.“.I’ll answer it with an ax! Duke, get me an ax. I’ve been intending to get rid ofthat Iron Maiden for some time-and tonight I’m in the mood for it.“.Boss ... you want to answer this one. It’s the man you spoke to for quite along time this afternoon.“.Oh. Why didn’t you say so?“ Jubal lumbered upstairs, made sure his studydoor was bolted behind him, went to the phone. Another of Douglas’ sleekacolytes was on the screen but was replaced quickly by Douglas. .It took youlong enough to answer your phone.“.It’s my phone, Mr. Secretary. Sometimes I don’t answer it at all.“.So it would seem. Why didn’t you tell me that this Caxton fellow is analcoholic?“.Is he?“.He certainly is! He isn’t missing-not in the usual sense. He’s been off on oneof his periodic benders. He was located, sleeping it off, in a fleabag inSonora.“.I’m glad to hear that he has been found. Thank you, sir.“.He’s been picked up on a technical charge of .vagrancy.’ The charge won’tbe pressed-instead we are releasing him to you.“.I am very much in your debt, sir.“.Oh, it’s not entirely a favor! I’m having him delivered to you in the state inwhich he was found-filthy, unshaven, and, I understand, smelling like abrewery. I want you to see for yourself what sort of a tramp he is.“.Very well, sir. When may I expect him?“.Almost at once, I fancy. A courier arrow left Nogales some time ago. AtMach three or better it should be overhead soon. The pilot has instructions todeliver him to you and get a receipt.“.He shall have it.“.Now, Counsellor ... having delivered him, I wash my hands of it. I shallexpect you, and your client, to appear for talks whether you fetch along thatdrunken libeller or not.“.Agreed. When?“.Shall we say tomorrow at ten? Here.“.’Twere best done quickly.’ Agreed.“Jubal went back downstairs and paused at his broken door. .Jill! Comehere, child.“.Yes, Jubal.“ She trotted toward him, a reporter in close formation with her.Jubal waved the man back. .Private,“ he said firmly. .Family matter. Gohave a drink.“.Whose family?“.A death in yours, if you insist. Scat!“ The newsman grinned and accepted it.

I know. You’ve probably never encountered complete honesty before -Iknow I hadn’t. Innocence. Mike has never tasted the fruit of the Tree ofKnowledge of Good and Evil . . . so we, who have, don’t understand whatmakes him tick. Well, on your own head be it. I hope you never regret it.“Jubal looked up. .Oh, there you are! I thought you had stopped to distill thestuff.“Larry answered, .Couldn’t find a cork screw, at first.“.Machinery again. Why didn’t you bite the neck off? Duke, you’ll find someglasses stashed behind The Anatomy of Melancholy up there-.I know where you hide them.“.-and we’ll all have a quick one, neat, before we get down to seriousdrinking.“ Duke got the glasses; Jubal poured and held up his own. .Thegolden sunshine of Italy congealed into tears. Here’s to alcoholic brotherhood. . . much more suited to the frail human soul, if any, than any other sort.“.Health.“.Cheers.“Jubal poured his slowly down his throat. .Ah~“ he said happily, and belched.Offer some of that to Mike, afterwards, Duke, and let him learn how good itis to be human. Makes me feel creative. Front! Why are those girls neveraround when I need them? Ftvnt!!“.I’m still .Front,’ . Miriam answered, at the door, .but-.I know. And I was saying: .-to what strange, bittersweet fate my tomboyambition-.“.But I finished that story while you were chatting on the telephone with theSecretary General.“.Then you are no longer .Front.’ Send it off.“.Don’t you want to read it first? Anyhow, I’ve got to revise it- kissing Mikegave me a new insight on it.“Jubal shuddered. .Read it?’ Good God, no! It’s bad enough to write such athing. And don’t even consider revising it, certainly not to fit the facts. Mychild, a true-confession story should never be tarnished by any taint of truth.“.Okay, Boss. And Anne says if you want to come down to the pool and havea bite before you eat, come on.“.I can’t think of a better time. Shall we adjourn to the terrace, gentlemen’?“At the pool the party progressed liquidly with bits of fish and otherScandinavian high-caloric comestibles added to taste. At Jubal’s invitationMike tried brandy, somewhat cut with water. Mike found the resultingsensation extremely disquieting, so he analysed his trouble, added oxygen tothe ethanol in an inner process of reversed fermentation and converted it toglucose and water, which gave him no trouble.Jubal had been observing with interest the effect of his first drink of liquor onthe Man from Mars-saw him become drunk almost at once, saw him sober upeven more quickly. In an attempt to understand what had happened, Jubalurged more brandy on Mike-which he readily accepted since his waterbrother offered it. Mike sopped up an extravagant quantity of fine importedliquor before Jubal was willing to concede that it was impossible to get himdrunk.

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The interview was finished with inanities, Jubal fielding any questions Mikefailed to understand; Mackenzie signed off with a promise to the public that acolor & depth special interview with the Man from Mars would follow in thirtyminutes. .Stay synched with this station!“ He stayed on the phone and waitedfor his technicians to report.Which the crew boss did, almost at once: .Nothing wrong with thattransceiver, Mr. Mackenzie, nor with any part of this field setup.“.Then what was wrong with it before?“The technician glanced at Larry and Duke, then grinned. .Nothing. But ithelps quite a bit to put power through it. The breaker was open at the board.“Harshaw intervened to stop a wrangle between Larry and Duke, one whichseemed concerned with the relative merits of various sorts of idiocy morethan with the question of whether Duke had, or had not, told Larry that acertain tripped circuit breaker must be reset if it was anticipated that theboirowed equipment was going to be used. The showman’s aspect of Jubal’spersonality regretted that the .finest unrehearsed spectacular since Elijahbested the Priests of Baal“ had been missed by the cameras. But the politicalfinagler in him was relieved that mischance had kept Mike’s curious talentsstill a close secret-Jubal anticipated that he still might need them, as a secretweapon . . . not to mention the undesirability of trying to explain to skepticalstrangers the present whereabouts of certain policemen plus two squad cars.As for the rest, it merely confirmed his own conviction that science andinvention had reached its peak with the Model-T Ford and had been growingsteadily more decadent ever since. And besides, Mackenzie wanted to get onwith the depth & color interview- They got through that with a minimum ofrehearsing, Jubal simply making sure that no question would be asked whichcould upset the public fiction that the Man from Mars had just returned fromSouth America. Mike sent greetings to his friends and brothers of theChampion, including one to Dr. Mahmoud delivered in croaking, throatrasping Martian Jubal decided that Mackenzie had his money’s worthAt last the household could quiet down. Jubal set the telephone for two hoursrefusal, stood up, stretched, sighed, and felt a great weariness, wondered ifhe were getting old. .Where’s dinner? Which one of you wenches wassupposed to get dinner tonight? And why didn’t you? Gad, this household isfalling to wrack and ruin!“.It was my turn to get dinner tonight,“ Jill answered, .but-.Excuses, always excuses.“.Boss,“ Anne interrupted sharply, .how do you expect anyone to cook whenyou’ve kept every single one of us penned up here in your study allafternoon?“.That’s the moose’s problem,“ Jubal said dourly. .I want it clearly understoodthat, even if Armageddon is held on these premises I expect meals to be hotand on time right up to the ultimate trump. Furthermore-.Furthermore,“ Anne completed, .it is now only seven-forty and plenty of timeto have dinner by eight. So quit yelping, Boss, until you have something toyelp about. Cry-baby.“.Is it really only twenty minutes of eight? Seems like a week since lunch.Anyhow ~OU haven’t left me a civilized amount of time to have a pre-dinnerdrink.“.Poor you?’Somebody get me a drink. Get everybody a drink. On second thought let’sskip a formal dinner tonight and drink our dinners; I feel like getting as tightas a tent rope on a rainy day. Anne, how are we fixed for smorgasbord?“.Plenty.“.Then why not thaw out eighteen or nineteen kinds and spread .em aroundand let anybody eat what he feels like when he feels like it? What’s all theargument about?“.Right away,“ agreed Jill.Anne stopped to kiss him on his bald spot. .Boss, you’ve done nobly. We’llfeed you and get you drunk and put you to bed. Wait, Jill, I’m going to help.“.I may to help, too?“ Smith said eagerly.Sure, Mike. You can carry trays. Boss, dinner will be by the pool. It’s ahot night.“.How else?“ When they had left, Jubal said to Duke, .Where the hellhave you been all day?“.Thinking.“.Doesn’t pay to. Just makes you discontented with what you seearound you. Any results?“.Yes,“ said Duke, .I’ve decided that what Mike eats, or doesn’t eat, isno business of mine.“.Congratulations. A desire not to butt into other people’s business is at leasteighty percent of all human .wisdom . . . and the other twenty percent isn’tvery important.“.You butt into other people’s business. All the time.“.Who said I was Wise? I’m a professional bad example. You can learn a lotby watching me. Or listening to me. Either one.“.Jubal, if I walked up to Mike and offered him a glass of water, do yousuppose he would go through that lodge routine?“.I feel certain that he would. Duke, almost the only human characteristic Mikeseems to possess is an 0verwhelming desire to be liked. But I want to makesure that you know how Serious it is to him. Much more serious than gettingmarried. I myself accepted water brotherhood with Mike before I understoodit-and I’ve become more and more deeply entangled with its responsibilitiesthe more I’ve grokked it. You’ll be committing yourself never to lie to him,never to mislead or deceive him in any way, to stick by him come what maybecausethat is just what he will do with you. Better think about it.“.I have been thinking about it, all day. Jubal, there’s something about Mikethat makes you want to take care of him.

He jumped up and walked off as fast as he could towards the "Petersburg Side." [One of the quarters of St. Petersburg.] He had asked someone, a little while before, to show him which was the Petersburg Side, on the banks of the Neva. He had not gone there, however; and he knew very well that it was of no use to go now, for he would certainly not find Lebedeff's relation at home. He had the address, but she must certainly have gone to Pavlofsk, or Colia would have let him know. If he were to go now, it would merely be out of curiosity, but a sudden, new idea had come into his head.However, it was something to move on and know where he was going. A minute later he was still moving on, but without knowing anything. He could no longer think out his new idea. He tried to take an interest in all he saw; in the sky, in the Neva. He spoke to some children he met. He felt his epileptic condition becoming more and more developed. The evening was very close; thunder was heard some way off.The prince was haunted all that day by the face of Lebedeff's nephew whom he had seen for the first time that morning, just as one is haunted at times by some persistent musical refrain. By a curious association of ideas, the young man always appeared as the murderer of whom Lebedeff had spoken when introducing him to Muishkin. Yes, he had read something about the murder, and that quite recently. Since he came to Russia, he had heard many stories of this kind, and was interested in them. His conversation with the waiter, an hour ago, chanced to be on the subject of this murder of the Zemarins, and the latter had agreed with him about it. He thought of the waiter again, and decided that he was no fool, but a steady, intelligent man: though, said he to himself, "God knows what he may really be; in a country with which one is unfamiliar it is difficult to understand the people one meets." He was beginning to have a passionate faith in the Russian soul, however, and what discoveries he had made in the last six months, what unexpected discoveries! But every soul is a mystery, and depths of mystery lie in the soul of a Russian. He had been intimate with Rogojin, for example, and a brotherly friendship had sprung up between them--yet did he really know him? What chaos and ugliness fills the world at times! What a self-satisfied rascal is that nephew of Lebedeff's! "But what am I thinking," continued the prince to himself. "Can he really have committed that crime? Did he kill those six persons? I seem to be confusing things ... how strange it all is.... My head goes round... And Lebedeff's daughter--how sympathetic and charming her face was as she held the child in her arms! What an innocent look and child-like laugh she had! It is curious that I had forgotten her until now. I expect Lebedeff adores her--and I really believe, when I think of it, that as sure as two and two make four, he is fond of that nephew, too!"

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But he had hardly become conscious of this curious phenomenon, when another recollection suddenly swam through his brain, interesting him for the moment, exceedingly. He remembered that the last time he had been engaged in looking around him for the unknown something, he was standing before a cutler's shop, in the window of which were exposed certain goods for sale. He was extremely anxious now to discover whether this shop and these goods really existed, or whether the whole thing had been a hallucination.He felt in a very curious condition today, a condition similar to that which had preceded his fits in bygone years.He remembered that at such times he had been particularly absentminded, and could not discriminate between objects and persons unless he concentrated special attention upon them.He remembered seeing something in the window marked at sixty copecks. Therefore, if the shop existed and if this object were really in the window, it would prove that he had been able to concentrate his attention on this article at a moment when, as a general rule, his absence of mind would have been too great to admit of any such concentration; in fact, very shortly after he had left the railway station in such a state of agitation.So he walked back looking about him for the shop, and his heart beat with intolerable impatience. Ah! here was the very shop, and there was the article marked 60 cop." "Of course, it's sixty copecks," he thought, and certainly worth no more." This idea amused him and he laughed.But it was a hysterical laugh; he was feeling terribly oppressed. He remembered clearly that just here, standing before this window, he had suddenly turned round, just as earlier in the day he had turned and found the dreadful eyes of Rogojin fixed upon him. Convinced, therefore, that in this respect at all events he had been under no delusion, he left the shop and went on.This must be thought out; it was clear that there had been no hallucination at the station then, either; something had actually happened to him, on both occasions; there was no doubt of it. But again a loathing for all mental exertion overmastered him; he would not think it out now, he would put it off and think of something else. He remembered that during his epileptic fits, or rather immediately preceding them, he had always experienced a moment or two when his whole heart, and mind, and body seemed to wake up to vigour and light; when he became filled with joy and hope, and all his anxieties seemed to be swept away for ever; these moments were but presentiments, as it were, of the one final second (it was never more than a second) in which the fit came upon him. That second, of course, was inexpressible. When his attack was over, and the prince reflected on his symptoms, he used to say to himself: "These moments, short as they are, when I feel such extreme consciousness of myself, and consequently more of life than at other times, are due only to the disease--to the sudden rupture of normal conditions. Therefore they are not really a higher kind of life, but a lower." This reasoning, however, seemed to end in a paradox, and lead to the further consideration:--"What matter though it be only disease, an abnormal tension of the brain, if when I recall and analyze the moment, it seems to have been one of harmony and beauty in the highest degree--an instant of deepest sensation, overflowing with unbounded joy and rapture, ecstatic devotion, and completest life?" Vague though this sounds, it was perfectly comprehensible to Muishkin, though he knew that it was but a feeble expression of his sensations.

The conversation proceeded. The readiness of the fair-haired young man in the cloak to answer all his opposite neighbour's questions was surprising. He seemed to have no suspicion of any impertinence or inappropriateness in the fact of such questions being put to him. Replying to them, he made known to the inquirer that he certainly had been long absent from Russia, more than four years; that he had been sent abroad for his health; that he had suffered from some strange nervous malady--a kind of epilepsy, with convulsive spasms. His interlocutor burst out laughing several times at his answers; and more than ever, when to the question, " whether he had been cured?" the patient replied:The pleasure is, of course, mutual; but life is not all pleasure, as you are aware. There is such a thing as business, and I really do not see what possible reason there can be, or what we have in common to--""Oh, there is no reason, of course, and I suppose there is nothing in common between us, or very little; for if I am Prince Muishkin, and your wife happens to be a member of my house, that can hardly be called a 'reason.' I quite understand that. And yet that was my whole motive for coming. You see I have not been in Russia for four years, and knew very little about anything when I left. I had been very ill for a long time, and I feel now the need of a few good friends. In fact, I have a certain question upon which I much need advice, and do not know whom to go to for it. I thought of your family when I was passing through Berlin. 'They are almost relations,' I said to myself,' so I'll begin with them; perhaps we may get on with each other, I with them and they with me, if they are kind people;' and I have heard that you are very kind people!"

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Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o'clock one morning, a train on the Warsaw and Petersburg railway was approaching the latter city at full speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only with great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was impossible to distinguish anything more than a few yards away from the carriage windows.Some of the passengers by this particular train were returning from abroad; but the third-class carriages were the best filled, chiefly with insignificant persons of various occupations and degrees, picked up at the different stations nearer town. All of them seemed weary, and most of them had sleepy eyes and a shivering expression, while their complexions generally appeared to have taken on the colour of the fog outside.When day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages found themselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both were rather poorly dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were evidently anxious to start a conversation. If they had but known why, at this particular moment, they were both remarkable persons, they would undoubtedly have wondered at the strange chance which had set them down opposite to one another in a third-class carriage of the Warsaw Railway Company.One of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with black curling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad and flat, and he had high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly compressed into an impudent, ironical--it might almost be called a malicious--smile; but his forehead was high and well formed, and atoned for a good deal of the ugliness of the lower part of his face. A special feature of this physiognomy was its death-like pallor, which gave to the whole man an indescribably emaciated appearance in spite of his hard look, and at the same time a sort of passionate and suffering expression which did not harmonize with his impudent, sarcastic smile and keen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large fur--or rather astrachan--overcoat, which had kept him warm all night, while his neighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Russian November night entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless mantle with a large cape to it--the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the winter months in Switzerland or North Italy--was by no means adapted to the long cold journey through Russia, from Eydkuhnen to St. Petersburg.The wearer of this cloak was a young fellow, also of about twenty-six or twenty-seven years of age, slightly above the middle height, very fair, with a thin, pointed and very light coloured beard; his eyes were large and blue, and had an intent look about them, yet that heavy expression which some people affirm to be a peculiarity. as well as evidence, of an epileptic subject. His face was decidedly a pleasant one for all that; refined, but quite colourless, except for the circumstance that at this moment it was blue with cold. He held a bundle made up of an old faded silk handkerchief that apparently contained all his travelling wardrobe, and wore thick shoes and gaiters, his whole appearance being very un-Russian.

Richard's backing out did not surprise me. It's called "buyer's remorse," and it affects all of us. It's those doubts that get us. The little 1 chicken won, and a chance at freedom was lostIn another example, I hold a small portion of my assets in tax lien certificates instead of CDs. I earn 16 percent per year on my money, which certainly beats the 5 percent the bank offers. The certificates are secured by real estate and enforced by state law, which is also better than most banks. The formula they're bought on makes them safe. They just lack liquidity. So I look at them as 2 to 7-year CDs. Almost every time I tell someone, especially if they have money in CDs, that I hold my money this way, they will tell me it's risky. They tell me why I should not do it. When I ask them where they get their information, they say from a friend or an investment magazine. They've never done it, and they're telling someone who's doing it why they shouldn't. The lowest I yield I look for is 16 percent, but people who are filled with doubt are willing to accept 5 percent. Doubt is expensive.My point is that it's those doubts and cynicism that keep most people? poor and playing it safe. The real world is simply waiting for you to get rich. Only a person's doubts keep them poor. As I said, getting out of the rat race is technically easy. It doesn't take much education, but those doubts are cripplers for most people."Cynics never win," said rich dad. "Unchecked doubt and fear creates i a cynic. Cynics criticize, and winners analyze" was another of his favorite sayings. Rich dad explained that criticism blinded while analysis opened -< eyes. Analysis allowed winners to see that critics were blind, and to see opportunities that everyone else missed. And finding what people miss is | key to any success.Real estate is a powerful investment tool for anyone seeking financial independence or freedom. It is a unique investment tool. Yet, every time I mention real estate as a vehicle, I often hear, "I don't want to fix toilets." That's what Peter Lynch calls "noise." That's what my rich dad would say is the cynic talking. Someone who criticizes and does not

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Noise" is either created inside our heads or comes from outside. Often from friends, family, co-workers and the media. Lynch recalls the time during the 1950s when the threat of nuclear war was so prevalent in the news that people began building fallout shelters and storing food and water. If they had invested that money wisely in the market, instead of building a fallout shelter, they'd probably be financially independent today.When the riots broke out in Los Angeles a few years ago, gun sales went up all over the country. A person dies from rare hamburger meat in Washington State and the Arizona Health Department orders restaurants to have all beef cooked well-done. A drug company runs a national TV commercial showing people catching the flu. The ad runs in February. Colds go up as well as sales of their cold medicine.Most people are poor because when it comes to investing, the world is filled with Chicken Littles running around yelling, "The sky is falling. The sky is falling." And Chicken Littles are effective because everyone of us is a little chicken. It often takes great courage to not let rumors and talk of doom and gloom affect your doubts and fears.In 1992, a friend named Richard came from Boston to visit my wife and me in Phoenix. He was impressed with what we had done through stocks and real estate. The prices of real estate in Phoenix were depressed. We spent two days with him showing him what we thought were excellent opportunities for cash flow and capital appreciation.My wife and I are not real estate agents. We are strictly investors. After identifying a unit in a resort community, we called an agent who sold it to him that afternoon. The price was a mere $42,000 for a two-bedroom townhome. Similar units were going for $65,000. He had found a bargain. Excited, he bought it and returned to Boston.Two weeks later, the agent called to say that our friend had backed out. I called immediately to find out why. All he said was that he talked to his neighbor, and his neighbor told him it was a bad deal. He was paying too much.I asked Richard if his neighbor was an investor. Richard said "no." When I asked why he listened to him, Richard got defensive and simply said he wanted to keep looking.The real estate market in Phoenix turned, and by 1994, that little unit was renting for $1,000 a month-$2,500 in the peak winter months. The unit was worth $95,000 in 1995. All Richard had to put down was $5,000 and he would have had a start at getting out of the rat race. Today, he still has done nothing. And the bargains in Phoenix are still here; you just have to look a lot harder.

One day, while I was playing with my new doll, Miss Sullivan put my big rag doll into my lap also, spelled "d-o-l-l" and tried to make me understand that "d-o-l-l" applied to both. Earlier in the day we had had a tussle over the words "m-u-g" and "w-a-t-e-r." Miss Sullivan had tried to impress it upon me that "m-u-g" is mug and that "w-a-t-e-r" is water, but I persisted in confounding the two. In despair she had dropped the subject for the time, only to renew it at the first opportunity. I became impatient at her repeated attempts and, seizing the new doll, I dashed it upon the floor. I was keenly delighted when I felt the fragments of the broken doll at my feet. Neither sorrow nor regret followed my passionate outburst. I had not loved the doll. In the still, dark world in which I lived there was no strong sentiment or tenderness. I felt my teacher sweep the fragments to one side of the hearth, and I had a sense of satisfaction that the cause of my discomfort was removed. She brought me my hat, and I knew I was going out into the warm sunshine. This thought, if a wordless sensation may be called a thought, made me hop and skip with pleasure.We walked down the path to the well-house, attracted by the fragrance of the honeysuckle with which it was covered. Some one was drawing water and my teacher placed my hand under the spout. As the cool stream gushed over one hand she spelled into the other the word water, first slowly, then rapidly. I stood still, my whole attention fixed upon the motions of her fingers. Suddenly I felt a misty consciousness as of something forgotten--a thrill of returning thought; and somehow the mystery of language was revealed to me. I knew then that "w-a-t-e-r" meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free! There were barriers still, it is true, but barriers that could in time be swept away.I left the well-house eager to learn. Everything had a name, and each name gave birth to a new thought. As we returned to the house every object which I touched seemed to quiver with life. That was because I saw everything with the strange, new sight that had come to me. On entering the door I remembered the doll I had broken. I felt my way to the hearth and picked up the pieces. I tried vainly to put them together. Then my eyes filled with tears; for I realized what I had done, and for the first time I felt repentance and sorrow.I learned a great many new words that day. I do not remember what they all were; but I do know that mother, father, sister, teacher were among them--words that were to make the world blossom for me, "like Aaron's rod, with flowers." It would have been difficult to find a happier child than I was as I lay in my crib at the close of that eventful day and lived over the joys it had brought me, and for the first time longed for a new day to come.

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It is with a kind of fear that I begin to write the history of my life. I have, as it were, a superstitious hesitation in lifting the veil that clings about my childhood like a golden mist. The task of writing an autobiography is a difficult one. When I try to classify my earliest impressions, I find that fact and fancy look alike across the years that link the past with the present. The woman paints the child's experiences in her own fantasy. A few impressions stand out vividly from the first years of my life; but "the shadows of the prison-house are on the rest." Besides, many of the joys and sorrows of childhood have lost their poignancy; and many incidents of vital importance in my early education have been forgotten in the excitement of great discoveries. In order, therefore, not to be tedious I shall try to present in a series of sketches only the episodes that seem to me to be the most interesting and important.The most important day I remember in all my life is the one on which my teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, came to me. I am filled with wonder when I consider the immeasurable contrasts between the two lives which it connects. It was the third of March, 1887, three months before I was seven years old.On the afternoon of that eventful day, I stood on the porch, dumb, expectant. I guessed vaguely from my mother's signs and from the hurrying to and fro in the house that something unusual was about to happen, so I went to the door and waited on the steps. The afternoon sun penetrated the mass of honeysuckle that covered the porch, and fell on my upturned face. My fingers lingered almost unconsciously on the familiar leaves and blossoms which had just come forth to greet the sweet southern spring. I did not know what the future held of marvel or surprise for me. Anger and bitterness had preyed upon me continually for weeks and a deep languor had succeeded this passionate struggle.Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in, and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line, and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began, only I was without compass or sounding-line, and had no way of knowing how near the harbour was. "Light! give me light!" was the wordless cry of my soul, and the light of love shone on me in that very hour.I felt approaching footsteps, I stretched out my hand as I supposed to my mother. Some one took it, and I was caught up and held close in the arms of her who had come to reveal all things to me, and, more than all things else, to love me.The morning after my teacher came she led me into her room and gave me a doll. The little blind children at the Perkins Institution had sent it and Laura Bridgman had dressed it; but I did not know this until afterward. When I had played with it a little while, Miss Sullivan slowly spelled into my hand the word "d-o-l-l." I was at once interested in this finger play and tried to imitate it. When I finally succeeded in making the letters correctly I was flushed with childish pleasure and pride. Running downstairs to my mother I held up my hand and made the letters for doll. I did not know that I was spelling a word or even that words existed; I was simply making my fingers go in monkey-like imitation. In the days that followed I learned to spell in this uncomprehending way a great many words, among them pin, hat, cup and a few verbs like sit, stand and walk. But my teacher had been with me several weeks before I understood that everything has a name.