我乘车返回了家乡伊利诺伊州的迪克森。当时，家乡还没有电台播音员。父亲告诉我，蒙哥马利？沃德新开了家商店，正需要管理体育部的当地运动员。上中学时，我曾在迪克森打过橄榄球，于是我申请了这份工作。我似乎挺适合做这项工作的，结果却被拒绝了。
我失望极了。“一切总会好的。”母亲提醒我。为了方便找工作，父亲送了我一辆汽车。我去爱荷华州的达文波特，到当地电台求职。那里的电台节目总监，苏格兰人彼得？麦克阿瑟告诉我，播音员已有合适的人选。
当我走出他的办公室时，挫折感油然而生。我大声说道：“如果在电台都找不到工作，又怎么能当体育节目的播音员呢？”
等电梯时，麦克阿瑟的声音传入我的耳畔：“你说什么体育呢？你懂橄榄球吗？”然后，他让我站在话筒前，想象一场比赛，并为其解说。
去年秋天，我们的球队赢得了一场比赛——在最后20秒的时间里以65码的距离获胜，我用15分钟将那场精彩的比赛解说下来。彼得对我说，你可以解说周六的一场比赛。
回家途中，母亲的话又在我的耳边响起：“坚持下去，一切都会好的。不经历风雨，怎能见彩虹？”我常想，当年，如果我能到蒙哥马利？沃德那里工作，我的人生又会驶向何方？
心灵小语
如果你坚持下去，一切都会好的，不经历风雨，怎能见彩虹？
记忆填空
1. While them was_____ radio-announcing jobs in Dixon， my father said Montgomery Ward had opened a store and wanted a_____ athlete to____its sports department. Since Dixon was where I had played high school football， I applied.
2. The preceding autumn， my team had____a game in the last 20____with a 65-yard run. I did a 15-minute buildup to that play， and Peter told me I would be broadcasting Saturday’s_____ ！
佳句翻译
1. 不经历风雨，怎能见彩虹？
译________________________________
2. 直到1932年大学毕业，我才发现母亲是对的。
译________________________________
3. 坚持下去，一切都会好的。
译________________________________
短语应用
1. I hitchhiked to Chicago and knocked on the door of every station—and got turned down every time.
turn down：拒绝
造_______________________________
2. If you carry on， one day something good will happen.
carry on：从事；经营；进行；继续
造_______________________________
思想卡片
The Thought Card
哈诺奇？麦卡提 / Hanoch McCarty
I must admit that I was still an angry adolescent in my first years of college. My anger was diffuse—the world didn’t please me in almost any way. My anger was focused—my parents didn’t please me at all. I chafed under my father’s direction and correction.
With limited finances， I chose to go to a local college and commute to classes every day. One day I had a serious fight with my father. I felt he was trying to control me， and I wanted to break free. He saw me as rebellious and tried to reassert his authority. We both exploded in shouts. I stormed out of the house and missed my bus to school. I knew that catching the next bus meant I would be late to my education class. That made me even more furious.
I fumed and sighed all the way to school. My mind was racing with angry thoughts about my father. Like many adolescents， I was stuck in my egocentricity—certain that no one in the world had ever had suck a terrible father nor had anyone had to contend with such unfairness. After all， my father hadn’t even finished high school and here I was， a mighty college student！ I felt so superior to him. How dare he interfere with my life and my plans？
As I ran across the sprawling campus toward the building where my class met， I suddenly realized that I didn’t have the assignment that was due： a thought card.
This class was taught by Dr. Sidney B. Simon， one of the most unusual teachers at the school. His policies and procedures were unique， his grading policy revolutionary， his teaching methods unsettling. Poeple talked about Dr. Simon.
During our first class， Professor Simon explained，“Every Tuesday， you must bring in a 4" × 6" index card with your name and the date on the top line. As for what’s on the rest of the card， that’s up to you.You can write a thought， a concern， a feeling， a question or just plain anything that’s on your mind. It’s your way of communicating with me directly. These cards will be completely confidential. I will return them to you every Wednesday. You’ll find that I will write comments on your cards. If you ask a question， I’ll do my level best to answer it. If you have a concern， I will respond to that as best I can. But remember， this card is your ticket of admission to class on Tuesdays.”
On the first Tuesday of the class， I dutifully brought in my index card with my name and the date written carefully on the top line. I then added，“All that glitters is not gold.” The following day， Dr. Simon returned the cards to the class. Mine had a penciled note，“What does this quote mean to you？ Is it significant？” This comment made me uneasy. Apparently he was taking these cards seriously. I surely didn’t want to reveal myself to him.
The week progressed. The course met every day for 1 hour. Dr. Simon was quite brilliant. He taught by asking questions， raising issues that none of my teachers had ever raised before. He challenged us to think and to think deeply. Social issues， political issues， personal issues all were grist for the mill in this class. It was a class in methods of teaching social studies and it was far-ranging. The teachers I had in high school taught social studies—history， geography， economics and so on， as rote subjects， lists of facts and names and dates to be memorized and returned to paper on exams. Rarely had anyone asked us to think.
At first， I thought he was going to propagandize us for or against something， but not Professor Simon. Instead， he simply asked us to think， explore， research， question and then come up with our own responses. Frankly， I became even more uncomfortable. There was something delightful， refreshing and inviting about his teaching， but since I had rarely experienced this style， I had no“coping strategies” to help me deal with him. I knew how to do well in a class： sit up front， tell the teacher how much you “enjoyed” the lecture， turn in neat typed papers written according to a formula and memorize， memorize， memorize！This class was clearly something different. I couldn’t use these time-worn， time-tested methods to pass.
