The most spectacular proof was my mother's first cousin Edwin. He was managing editor of the New York Times. He had traveled all over Europe, proving that words could take you to places so glorious and so far from Virginia sticks that your own kin could only gape in wonder and envy. My mother often used Edwin as an example of how far a man could go without much talent.

"Edwin James was no smarter than anybody else, and look where he is today." my mother said, and said, and said again, so that I finally grew up thinking Edwin James was a dullclod who had a lucky break. Maybe she felt that way about him, but she was saying something deeper. She was telling me I didn't have to be brilliant to get where Edwin had got to, that the way to get to the top was to work, work, work.

一个最出色的例证就是母亲的大表兄埃德温，他是《纽约时报》的总编辑，足迹遍及全欧各地，足以证明文字工作能把一个人从弗吉尼亚州的穷乡僻壤送到如此荣耀和如此遥远的地方，亲戚们感到又惊又羡，只有目瞪口呆。我母亲常常以埃德温做例子，说明一个人即使天分不很高也可以前程远大。

“埃德温·詹姆士并不比任何人聪明，可是你看他今天的地位。”母亲一而再再而三地说。结果我长大以后竟把埃德温看成交了好运的呆子。或许，她对他真是那种看法，然而，她说那种话另有深意。她是在告诉我：达到埃德温的地位，不必有过人的聪明，攀上高峰的途径，就是干、干、干！

When my mother said that I might have the word gift, she started trying to make it grow. Though desperately poor, she signed up for a deal that supplied one volume of "World's Greatest Literature" every month at 39 cents a book.

I respected those great writers, but what I read with joy were newspapers. I lapped up every word about monstrous crimes, dreadful accidents and hideous butcheries committed in faraway wars. Accounts of murderers dying in the electric chair fascinated me, and I kept close track of fast meals ordered by condemned men.

In 1947 I graduated from Johns Hopkins and learned that the Baltimore Sun needed a police reporter. Two or three classmates at Hopkins also applied for the job. Why I was picked was a mystery. It paid $30 a week. When I complained that was insulting for a college man, my mother refused to sympathize.

当母亲看出我可能有文字天赋时，便开始着意培养。虽然穷得要命，她仍给我订了一套《世界文学名著》，每本39美分，每月一本。

我尊敬那些伟大的作家，但读来兴味最浓的却是报纸。我贪婪地读着报上的每一个字——骇人的犯罪行为、恐怖的意外事故，以及发生在远方战场上的野蛮屠杀。有关杀人犯死在电椅上的描述使我着迷，我还十分留意死囚们最后一餐所点的饭菜。

1947年，我从约翰·霍普金斯大学毕业，得悉巴尔的摩《太阳报》需要一名采访警方新闻的记者，有两三个霍普金斯的同班同学也在申请这份工作，我为什么中选至今仍是个谜。这工作一周薪水30美元，当我抱怨它对一个大学毕业生简直是侮辱时，母亲没有给予丝毫同情。

"If you work hard at this job," she said, "maybe you can make something of it. Then they'll have to give you a raise."

Seven years later I was assigned by the Sun to cover the White House. For most reporters, being White House correspondent was as close to heaven as you could get. I was 29 years old and puffed me with pride. I went to see mother's delight while telling her about it. I should have known better.

"Well, Russell," she said, "if you work hard at this White House job, you might be able to make something of yourself."

“如果这份工作你加劲干，也许能干出些成就；那时，他们就会给你加薪。”

七年后，《太阳报》派我跑白宫新闻。对大多数记者来说，充任白宫记者不啻一步登天。我当时29岁，满身骄矜之气，我去找母亲，期望看到我报告这个消息后她的高兴劲儿。其实，我早应明白我不该抱这样的期望。

“好啊，罗斯，”她说，“如果你在这份跑白宫的工作上加劲干，也许能搞出些成就。”