Stammering, Its Cause and Cure by Benjamin Nathaniel Bogue (recommended reading .TXT) 📖

I had now tried upwards of fifteen different methods for the cure of my stammering. I had tried the physician; the surgeon; the elocution teacher; the hypnotic specialist; the osteopath; a clairvoyant; a mail-order scheme; the world’s greatest speech specialist—so-called, and several other things. My parents had spent hundreds of dollars of money trying to have me cured. They had spared no effort, stopped at no cost. And yet I now stammered worse than I had ever stammered before. Everything I had tried had been a worthless failure. Nothing had been of the least permanent good to me. My money was gone, months of time had been wasted and I now began to wonder if I had not been very foolish indeed, in going to first one man and then another, trying to be cured. “Wouldn’t it have been better,” I asked, “if I had resigned myself to a life as a stammerer and let it go at that?”

My father before me stammered. So did my grandfather and no less than fourteen of my blood relations. My affliction was inherited and therefore supposedly incurable. At least so I was told by honest physicians and other scientific observers who believed what they said and who had no desire to make any personal gain by trafficking in my infirmity. These men told me frankly that their skill and knowledge held out no hope for me and advised me from the very beginning to save my money and avoid the pitfalls of the many who would profess to be able to cure me.

But I had disregarded this honest advice, sincerely given, had spent my money and my time—and what had I gotten? Would I not have been better off if I had listened to the advice and stayed at home? Everything seemed to answer “Yes,” but down in my heart I felt that things were better as they were. Certainly some good must come of all this effort—surely it could not all be wasted.

“But yet,” I argued with myself, “what good can come of it?” Stammering was fast ruining my life. It had already taken the joy out of my childhood and had made school a task almost too heavy to be undertaken. It had marked my youth with a somber melancholy, and now that youth was slipping away from me with no hope that the future held anything better for me than the past. Something had to be done. I was overpowered by that thought—something had to be done. It had to be done at once. I had come to the turning point in my life. Like Hamlet, I found myself repeating over and over again,

“To be or not to be, That is the question.”

Was I discouraged? No, I will not admit that I was discouraged, but I was pretty nearly resigned to a life without fluent speech, nearly convinced that future efforts to find a cure for stammering would be fruitless and bring no better results.

It was about this time that I stepped into the office of my cousin, then a successful lawyer and district attorney of his city, later the first vice-president of one of the great American railroads with headquarters in New York, and now retired. He was one of those men in whose vocabulary there is no such word as “fail.” After I had talked with him for quite a while, he looked at me, and with his kindly, almost fatherly smile asked, “Why don’t you cure yourself?”

“Cure myself?” I queried. “How do you expect me, a young man with no scientific training, to cure myself, when the learned doctors, surgeons and scientists of the country hare given me up as incurable?”

“That doesn’t make any difference,” he replied, “‘while there is life, there is hope’ and it’s a sure thing that nobody ever accomplished anything worth while by accepting the failures of others as proof that the thing couldn’t be done. Whitney would never have invented the cotton gin if he had accepted the failures of others as final. Columbus picked out a road to America and assured the skeptics that there was no danger of his sailing ‘over the edge.’ Of course, it had never been done before, but then Columbus went ahead and did it himself. He didn’t take somebody else’s failure as an indication of what he could do. If he had, a couple of hundred years later, somebody else would have discovered it and put Columbus in the class with the rest of the weak-kneed who said it couldn’t BE done, just because IT NEVER HAD BEEN DONE.

“The progress of this country, Ben,” continued my cousin, “is founded on the determination of men who refuse to accept the failures of others as proof that things can’t be done at all. Now you’ve got a mighty good start. You’ve found out all about these other methods—you know that they have failed—and in a lot of cases, you know WHY they have failed. Now, why don’t you begin where they have left off and find out how to succeed?”

The thought struck me like a bolt from a clear sky: “BEGIN WHERE THE OTHERS LEAVE OFF AND FIND OUT HOW TO SUCCEED!” I kept saying it over and over to myself, “Begin where the others leave off— begin where the others leave off!”

This thought put high hope in my heart. It seemed to ring like a call from afar. “Begin where the others leave off and find out how to succeed.” I kept thinking about that all the way home. I thought of it at the table that evening. I said nothing. I went to bed—but I didn’t go to sleep, for singing through my brain was that sentence, “Begin where the others leave off and find out how to succeed!”

Right then and there I made the resolve that resulted in my curing myself. “I WILL do it,” I said, “I will begin where the others leave off—and I WILL SUCCEED!!” Then and there I determined to master the principles of speech, to chart the methods that had been used by others, to find their defects, to locate the cause of stammering, to find out how to remove that cause and remove it from myself, so that I, like the others whom I so envied, could talk freely and fluently.

That resolution—that determination which first fired me that evening never left me. It marked the turning point in my whole life. I was no longer dependent upon others, no longer looking to physicians or elocution teachers or hypnotists to cure me of stammering. I was looking to myself. If I was to be cured, then I must be the one to do it. This responsibility sobered me. It intensified my determination. It emphasized in my own mind the need for persistent effort, for a constant striving toward this one thing. And absorbed with this idea, living and working toward this one end, I began my work.