by W. C. Fields
But let us get down to the more definite problems of the moment. For instance, how should the young man just out of college go about insuring himself of a successful career in the present-day business world?
That is a big question, and one not easy to answer— even for an expert of my caliber. However, I would say that the young man's first step should be the choice of a suitable occupation. From my wide observation of the matter, I would counsel him to eschew the more common fields of endeavor and try his luck in one that is uncrowded. Just for instance, there is great room for expansion in the truffle industry today. Verily, it is crying out for young blood. The truffle industry is divided into four phases:
1. Raising the truffles
2. Training pigs to rout out the truffles
3. Packing the truffles
4. Manufacturing old kit bags to pack the truffles in
". .. how should the young man just out of college go about insuring himself of a successful career in the present-day business world?"
Sally of the Sawdust (© 1925, United Artists)
But there are many other neglected fields that offer just as fine opportunities as the truffle industry, among which are the manufacture of magic-lantern slides, carriage-wheel striping, designing paper panties for lamb chops, ice-cream-cone embossing and Castanet tuning.
When the young man has finally chosen what his life work shall be, the next important problem is how to approach a prospective employer. At this point I should like to offer a few valuable hints pertaining to the actual application for employment.
1. Never show up for an interview in bare feet.
2. Do not read your prospective employer's mail while he is questioning you as to qualifications.
3. Remember to have no liquor bottles visible on your person; but if you should forget, at least have the decency to offer your prospective employer a pull.
After the young man has finally landed a job in his chosen field of endeavor he must make up his mind on one important score, namely, that there is only one way to rise to the top of the heap in any occupation or profession, be it humble or lofty: you must give it your all; you must do a little bit more than is expected of you. For instance, young man, you may be only an elevator operator—but if a customer wants to go to the eighth floor, take him to the ninth or tenth. The small extra effort may prove the turning point in your career. The same principle is true in the more glorified professions: if you are a politician, spurn the opportunities for petty graft here and there—try to get a post on some New Deal agency where there's real money.
"Remember to have no liquor bottles visible on your person; but if you should forget, at least have the decency to offer your prospective employer a pull."
Never Give a Sucker an Even Break (© 1941, Universal Pictures)
In short, model your life after Old Tom, who gave his very life for the furtherance of his profession's ideals.
Possibly you do not know the story of Old Tom? Well, I will tell it to you—and a most remarkable story it is, too. Old Tom was the only common house fly who ever received a degree from Harvard Medical School. Of course, there were many flies who hung around the laboratories for short periods, but Old Tom was the only one earnest enough to work through the whole curriculum.
Strangely enough, upon graduation, Old Tom became inoculated with the desire for adventure, despite his primary interest in medicine. And this is how I come to know his history so well. You see, my grand-uncle Daldo B. Daldo was the proprietor of a thriving flea circus at the time, and glamour-hungry Old Tom joined his troupe, where he soon became a star specialty act.
Shortly afterwards Granduncle Daldo succumbed from injuries sustained in a friendly game of cards (one of the players evidently mistook him for someone else and shot him ). He left my Grandaunt Fancy Dalbo, his wife, a three-quarters interest in the world-famed Old Tom, which, after considerable litigation with relatives, she disposed of to Professor Hymie Schickelgruber, a fly trainer of renown in those days.
At the zenith of his career, Old Tom was the toast of the fair sex as well as the foul. He was seen nightly in both high spots and low spots. Tom learned to love the Professor, and the Professor looked upon Tom as his own child. Other flies grew to know and love the Professor too. They gathered about him in hordes.
One night at a swanky night spot around 135th Street, a smartly-dressed young lady passed the Professor's table. He doffed his velour hat and smiled coyly. He mistook her for a girl he had met in Johannesburg, or perhaps Rhodesia. She rebuffed his seeming familiarity with a flippant "Amscray, bum, you draw flies!" This he accepted as a fervent compliment. He clicked his heels and, bowing graciously, backed over a cuspidor and struck his head on the brass footrail, much to the amusement of the uncouth, although beautiful, young lady.
But to revert to Old Tom—for an account of one of his most exciting adventures, read Professor Hemmendinger's article in Die Mitwoch Zeitung of January 29, 1876, Dusseldorf (try to get the Abend green flash edition; they are rather scarce).
Professor Hemmendinger—associated with flies and fly circuses for over thirty years—describes one of the bloodiest battles he ever witnessed between Tom and a renegade fly, a real toughie, who had crawled in through an opening in the screen to the fly circus. Seven fly cops with much difficulty and loss of blood managed to quell the excitement and stop the battle after Old Tom had vanquished his rough, loud-mouthed adversary.
"Professor Hemmendinger — associated with flies and fly circuses for over thirty years —"
Two Flaming Youths (© 1927, Paramount Pictures)
Professor Hemmendinger traced the cause of the fight to certain names which the intruder flung at Old Tom. (The Professor spent much of his time standing, sitting or lying around in saloons listening to bar flies. He recognized and translated twenty-seven distinct fly dialects.) He claims that the renegade referred to Old Tom as a "horse fly, a plant louse, you Diptera Muscidae, you Hymenoptera, you low ichneumon fly." Tom, of course, was a Musca domestica. He had lived with the Morgans and the Vanderbilts. Naturally, he could not brook such insults.
Tom was strong and handsome in those days. He ran his clean, powerful hind limbs back over his sturdy body, sleeking his wings and stroking his head with vigorous determination. Then, hissing between his teeth, he leaped clear over a lead pencil and attacked his adversary. It called for quiet nerves, a level head and grit, and if ever a fly had these attributes, it was Old Tom. He was like Orson Welles in that respect and yet in other ways resembled Sumner.
There was a great fluttering of wings in the fly arena. Flies flew in every direction. It seemed imminent that an accident in midair would occur and at least a couple of flies would crash to earth.
While it lasted, the fight was a spectacle of unforgettable drama. It's a shame that Henri Ferber could not have witnessed it as a sports writer.
Soon after the battle Old Tom's adventurous spirit reasserted itself and he went to live in an old boarding house in the Bowery. There he met an English relative named Cecil, a famous fly in his own right, whose grandfather had been the original fly in the ointment. Tom and Cecil would crawl on the ceiling at night while Cecil painted alluring pictures of Liverpool and its drays and lorries and Percheron horses.
Tom dreamed of Percheron horses for several weeks and then decided to beat his way to Liverpool on a cattle boat. Once he got there, he lived for some time at the old Langehanke Delicatessen and Beer Shop on Lime Street. Tiring of the humdrum life and the continual rains, he joined three tsetse flies and embarked on a sailing vessel for Zomba, Africa, where he led an attack on a group of German explorers.
Eventually he was caught by the Earl of Swafham on the Zambezi River, who, not knowing that Tom was an English sympathizer, placed him on a hook as fish bait—but he escaped. Crippled by this cruel and humiliating experience, he returned to England on a private yacht, and started life anew by working as a model for a fish-fly manufacturing concern at Stoke Poges. Later he took up q
uarters with the Lord of Epping Forest and followed His Lordship to his ducal castle in Scotland, where he became such a favorite that he was permitted to indulge not wisely but too well on sugar. He soon developed Bright's Disease. And here is where Old Tom's great professional heroism comes in; it should stand as a beacon light for every young man and woman embarking on a career. Follow me closely, now:
When Lord Epping discovered Tom's ailment he hastily summoned a Harley Street physician. The great doctor, whose name I do not care to mention for ethical reasons, donned his greatcoat, galoshes and umbrella and rushed posthaste to St. Pancras Station. He was making the trip against his better judgment, since a serious epidemic of ingrowing toenail was raging in London, and his services were sorely needed. However, when his train reached Rugby the conductor shouted, "Telegram for Dr. Effingham!" (I'm sorry that I'm now compelled to reveal the doctor's name.) Dr. Effingham accepted the telegram and said, "That will be all, thank you," and gave the fellow tuppence. Then he slit the telegram and read of Tom's death!
The real story behind the tragedy is this: Tom had learned of Lord Epping's summons to Dr. Effingham, and realized that there was not one chance in a hundred for recovery. So, with the words of the Hippocratic Oath on his drawn, pale lips, he leaped off a shelf onto a strip of fly paper. Yes, Old Tom committed insecticide! But it was for the furtherance of the profession's ideals: he knew that this was the only way to turn Dr. Effingham back to London, where his incredible skill might stem the crushing epidemic.
I am happy to report that Old Tom's beautiful sacrifice was not in vain. Dr. Effingham, after reading the telegram, opened his great portmanteau and removed a full quart of a well-known brand manufactured in the North. He took several swigs. Some careless person had left the window of his compartment open, and the doctor fell out, landing upon the engine bumper of a south-bound express. He arrived back at Waterloo Station in time for his morning practice.
R. I. P., Old Tom. I never knew a fly with higher ideals!
But now, to get back to the stark, work-a-day aspect of life: I feel sure that at this point thousands of my readers are saying to themselves, "It's all very fine for Mr. Fields to go on about the ideals of business, but with conditions as they are today, it looks very much as though the nation won't have any business to be idealistic about pretty soon. What is Mr. Fields going to do about that?"
My friends, it is a wise and justifiable question. And I, as a candidate for the highest office in this fair land, will tell you straight from the shoulder exactly what I intend to do to put business back on its feet. My plan is simplicity itself.
In the first place, just what is wrong with business today? Ask any expert and he will tell you that business suffers from two distinct ailments:
1. Overtaxation
2. Labor unrest, strikes, picketing, etc.
Well, the solution ought to be plain to anyone. There are 50,000,000 workers and 10,000,000 unemployed. Merely remove all taxation from business and stipulate that employers must spend this great saving in hiring pickets—one picket for every five workers they employ. Presto, no more taxes, no more unemployed, no more labor unrest—everybody happy!
"...with conditions as they are today, it looks very much as though the nation won't have any business to be idealistic about pretty soon. What is Mr. Fields going to do about that?"
(© 1940, Universal Pictures)
This is the platform that W. C. Fields, "The Friend of the People," stands firm upon, and I dare F. D. R. himself to think up a scheme that sounds half as good.
Remember, folks, cast a vote for Fields and watch for the silver lining. Cast several votes for Fields and watch for the police.
"Remember, folks, cast a vote for Fields and watch for the silver lining. Cast several votes for Fields and watch for the police."
The Old Fashioned Way (© 1934, Paramount Pictures)