英语报刊选读读者文摘原文版INSPIRINGSTORIES（3）.pdf

英语报刊选读读者摘原版INSPIRINGSTORIESINSPIRINGSTORIES（3 3）Father TimeI lost my dad last year.Sure,lots of memorable stuff happened to me in 2011.My daughters started first grade.I read and will never forget Unbroken.I did a pull-up for the first time!But Dads passing?That defines last year for me.It signals a shiftin all the many things uniquely us:Michigan football.ClevelandStadium mustard.Knowing how to parallel park,change a tire,andbalance a checkbook the“right way.”Handwritten letters on hisLudlow Antiques stationery to his homesick firstborn at U of M.An appreciation for Neil Diamond(shhh).And,did I mention,Michigan football?“Good job on the Today show,honey,”hed say.“Very informative.Was that a new blouse?”I came to realize the expanse ofthe void when,late last fall,I got this job the job of being the editor-in-chief of your Readers Digest,the most trustedmagazine in America.I was humbled by the opportunity.Incredulous,really.I texted friends,war-dialed my sister.But first Itold Mom,who said the one thing I needed to hear:“I wish your father were here.He would be so proud,honey.”Thats my intent,as I shepherd Readers Digest and its website,books,and apps through the coming years.I hope to do him and you proud.Oh,and Ill try to keep the Michigan football stuff to a minimum.Though Tom Brady?Michigan.Im justsayin g.The Titanic Coat:One Familys LegendIn an inspiring follow-up to the Titanic story,Readers Digest national affairs editor David Noonan tells of a family heirloomthat survived the fatal tragedy on April 15,1912.My great uncle Denis OBrien boarded the Titanic as a third-class passenger at Queenstown,Ireland.He was 21,a jockeyfrom County Cork who wasoffered a job riding horses for an American family.Hisolder brother Michael,my grandfather,who had made hisown trip across the Atlantic a few years earlier,waswaiting for him in New York.In one version of thestory different family members recall hearing differentINSPIRING STORIES 3details over the yearsMichael sent Denis a proper overcoat so he wouldnt look too poor when he came through EllisIsland.That may or may not be true.What we know for sure is that Denis didnt make it,though his overcoat did.As the ship was sinking,Denis,who is sometim es listed as Timothy OBrien in Titanic passenger records,wrote a note toMichael.He gave the note and his overcoat to a woman in a lifeboat and asked her to see that his brother got them.She did.A photo of my grandfather wearing what we have always ca lled“the Titanic coat”holds a special place in the familyarchives.In the picture,he looks small and dapper and not poor at all.No one knows what the note saidthat part of the story got lost over the course of the past hundred yearsand I oftenwonder what few words Denis chose that night.I also wonder what he was thinking later,as he stood on that tilting deck withno coat and faced the end of his too-short life in that cold ocean,beneath those cold stars.The Night I Met EinsteinWhen I was a very young man,just beginning to make my way,I was invited to dine at the home of a distinguished New Yorkphilanthropist.After dinner,our hostess led us to an enormous drawing room.Other guests were pouring in,and my eyesbeheld two unnerving sights:Servants were arranging small gilt chairs in long,neat rows;and up front,leaning against thewall,weremusical instruments.Apparently I was in for an evening of chamber music.I use the phrase“in for”because music meant nothing to me.I am almost tone deafonly with great effort can I carry thesimplest tune,and serious music was to me no more than anarrangement of noises.So I did what I always did whentrapped:I sat down,and when the music started,I fixed my face in what I hoped was an expression of intelligent appreciation,closed my ears from the inside,and submerged myself in my own completely irrelevant thoughts.After a while,becoming aware that the people around me were applauding,I concluded it was safe to unplug my ears.Atonce I heard a gentle but surprisingly penetrating voice on my right:“You are fond of Bach?”I knew as much about Bach as I know about nuclear fission.But I did know one of the most famous faces in the world,withthe renowned shock of untidy white hair and the ever-present pipe between the teeth.I was sitting next to Albert Einstein.“Well,”I said uncomfortably and hesitated.I had been asked a casual question.All I had to do was be equally casual in myreply.But I could see from the look in my neighbors e xtraordinary eyes that their owner was not merely going through theperfunctory duties of elementary politeness.Regardless of what value I placed on my part in the verbal exchange,to this manhis part in it mattered very much.Above all,I could feel that this was a man to whom you did not tell a lie,however small.“I dont know anything about Bach,”I said awkwardly.“Ive never heard any of his music.”A look of perplexed astonishment washed across Einsteins mobile face.“You have never heard Bach?”H e made it sound as though I had said Id never taken a bath.“It isnt that I dont want to like Bach,”I replied hastily.“Its just that Im tone deaf,or almost tone deaf,and Ive never reallyheard anybodys music.”A look of concern came into the old mans face.“Please,”he said abruptly.“You will come with me?”He stood up and took my arm.I stood up.As he led me across that crowded room,I kept my embarrassed glance fixed on thecarpet.A rising murmur of puzzled speculation followed us out into the hall.Einstein paid no attention to it.Resolutely,he led me upstairs.He obviously knew the house well.On the floor above,he opened the door into a book-linedstudy,drew me in,and shut the door.“Now,”he said with a small,troubled smile.“You will tell me,please,how long you have felt this way about music?”“All my life,”I said,feeling awful.“I wish you would go back downstairs and listen,Dr.Einstein.The fact that I dont enjoy itdoesnt matter.”Einstein shook his head and scowled,as though I had introduced an irrelevance.“Tell me,please,”he said.“Is there any kind of music that you do like?”“Well,”I answered,“I like songs that have words,and the kind of music where I can follow the tune.”He smiled and nodded,obviously pleas ed.“You can give me an example,perhaps?”“Well,”I ventured,“almost anything by Bing Crosby.”He nodded again,briskly.“Good!”He went to a corner of the room,opened a phonograph,and started pulling out records.I watched him uneasily.At last,he beamed.“Ah!”he said.