John Corcoran: A teacher who couldn't read. John Corcoran: The Teacher Who Couldn't Read Who Couldn't Read

For as long as John Corcoran could remember, he had not been able to read.

Letters in words changed places, vowels were confused with consonants and drowned in his mind, as in a dark well. At school, he sat at his desk, motionless and silent as a stone, and tried his best to become invisible.

He was sure that he was forever doomed to be different from everyone else. His life would have gone very differently if someone had hugged him and said: "Don't be afraid, I will help you". But in 50 1990s no one had heard of dyslexia.

Seven-year-old Johnny could not explain to his teachers that his left hemisphere, which is responsible for arranging symbols in a logical sequence, had failed. In the second grade, he was forever ranked as a dumbass.

"... I remember when I was 8 years, I asked God: "Please, tomorrow, when it's my turn to read, make it so that I can read" And in the class I pretended to be invisible, and when the teacher said: "Johnny, read," I just waited because he need to continue the lesson ... "

Corcoran says.

Then, to hide his illiteracy, Corcoran began to violate discipline. From the fifth to the seventh grade, he was constantly expelled and suspended from classes.

"... The teachers thought that I had emotional, psychological and behavioral problems, not problems with reading..."

he says. Through various fraudulent ways, he managed to finish school and get a certificate in 1956 year.

“... I handed over other people's work, met with whom I needed and talked with applicants. I stole tests and asked friends to do assignments for me. I didn’t understand what was written, but I understood the system, I understood people…”

Corcoran says.

Then it turned out that he plays basketball well, and in high school no one cared whether he could read or not. John Corcoran graduated from high school and went to college, where he was waiting for an athletic scholarship and a place on the basketball team. College was a round-the-clock disguise exercise for John.

He collected information all the time: which of the teachers asks to write an essay? Who likes to give tests where you just need to put a tick?

He scribbled in a notebook, pretending to write down lectures, and then immediately tore out the pages so that no one would see that he could not write. He sat for hours at the table in his room, looking at an open textbook so that his neighbor would not guess that he was illiterate.

He started having insomnia. He made a vow that 30 days in a row will go to morning mass, if the Lord allows him to receive a diploma.

And he got it, in his specialty "English teacher". There were not enough school teachers, so John Corcoran turned out to be a teacher who could neither read nor write.

Every day he gave the task to someone from the class to read the textbook aloud, take roll call, write on the blackboard. He ran standard tests, which he could verify by attaching a sheet of slits to them.

He began to sluggish depression, insomnia became the norm. He has worked in various schools 17 years.

“... I created an oral and visual environment where there were no written words. In each class I had two or three assistants who wrote and read ... "

he says. Looking back, Corcoran recalls:

“...As a teacher, it really hurt me to think that I couldn't read. This is a shame for me, a shame for the country and a shame for the school ... "

AT 1965 John met Catelyn, who became his fiancée and later his wife.

She was the only one he trusted with his secret.

“... I have to tell you something,” he told her before the wedding. ─ I can't read...

But she did not believe him, he is a teacher.

“... So I understood,” says John, “that love is not only blind, but also deaf ...”

Catelyn realized her mistake only years later, when she saw John trying to read a children's book to their one and a half year old daughter.

Throughout their life together, his wife read and wrote documents, letters for John ... Why didn’t she teach him to read and write?

Because he was sure that no one could help him. When John turned 28 years, he borrowed money and bought a small house, renovated it on his own and rented it out.

Then he bought, repaired and passed another one and another. Business grew. John became a developer. He quit school, hired a secretary, a lawyer and an accountant.

One day the day came when John Corcoran found out that he had become a millionaire. Excellent!

If you are rich, no one will notice that you are trying to push the door that says "to myself". However, in 1982 year his luck changed.

Houses were empty, investors took money. A mountain of envelopes grew on the table with demands to repay a bank loan and subpoenas. He begged bankers to extend loan repayments, urged builders to keep their jobs, and frantically tried to figure out what to do with the paper pyramid on his desk.

He knew that soon he would be standing before the judge, and he would have to answer the question: "Mr. Corcoran, can't you read?" autumn 1986 the year he turned 48 years, John mortgaged his own house to pay off some of the debts, and then went to the city library, where there was a reading circle, approached the woman who led him, and said: "I can not read". And cried.

He was given as a tutor 65 -year-old Eleanor Condit. Using the phonetic method, very slowly and patiently, letter by letter, she taught him to read and write.

After a little over a year, his business began to pick up a bit, while John slowly learned to read. He swallowed everything: books, magazines, newspapers...

As he drove, he read aloud every sign that came his way, and an exhausted Kathy begged him to stop. Reading was amazing, magical, like singing.

And he slept again at night. One day he realized that he could do what he had to do 25 years ago.

He found a dusty box in the attic, opened the lid, took out a bunch of yellowed sheets and read his wife's letters in which she wrote how much she loved him. The next step was public recognition. At a conference in San Diego, speaking to 200 astounded businessmen, John Corcoran revealed that he ran a business without being able to read or write.

Now Corcoran is a champion of the ideas of literacy.

"... I think illiteracy in America is a form of child neglect and child abuse... "

he says. He became a member of the city's illiteracy council and the author of two books: "The Teacher Who Couldn't Read" and "Road to Literacy", and also created a foundation that educates the illiterate in the states of California and Colorado.

For as long as John Corcoran could remember himself, it had always been difficult for him to speak. Words were difficult to form into sentences, vowels were "swallowed" and echoed in the ears. At school, John sat at his desk, sullen and silent, knowing that he was very different from other children. If someone sat down next to him, put his arm around his shoulders and said:

I will help you. Don't be afraid!

But no one took into account his disease - tongue-tied tongue. And John could not explain that the left hemisphere of his brain, responsible for logical thinking, was not sufficiently developed.

In the second grade, John was put at the last desk, in the third, the teacher suggested that the children beat John on the legs when he refused to read and write. When John was in the fourth grade, he had an asthma attack: the teacher called him to the blackboard, but he could not utter a word. So John "passed" from class to class, never staying for the second year.

John did not go to the graduation party on the occasion of graduation, but went to cheer for his favorite basketball team. After the evening, Mom met John, kissed him and started talking about going to college. College? But this is madness! However, after much deliberation, John finally decided to go to college at the University of El Paso, Texas, where he could play his favorite basketball.

In college, John was constantly asking new buddies: Which examiner gives the easiest tests? Who gives you the choice of answers?

John left the classroom, tore up the sheets of paper on which he was supposed to answer questions so that no one would ask to see his notes. In the evening he lay in bed for a long time, unable to calm down and fall asleep. Finally, he vowed to himself that by hook or by crook he would go to college and graduate.

And John Corcoran still received a college diploma and in 1961 became ... a teacher.

John started working in California. Every day he called a student to the blackboard and asked him to read the textbook aloud. He gave students standard problems, the correct answers to which were circled. And on weekends, John lay in bed for a long time, experiencing bouts of despair.

A few years later, John met Kathy, a student and nurse - a serious girl with a strong character.

I have to confess something to you, Cathy,” John said in 1965 on the eve of their wedding. - I can not read.

But John is a teacher, Cathy thought in confusion. Why did he say that? Maybe he meant that he didn't read very well?

Cathy realized what her husband meant only when she saw how John was unable to read the book of his little one and a half year old daughter. And Cathy began to help John: she filled out his papers and answered letters. Why didn't John ask her to teach him to read and write? He just didn't believe anyone could do it.

When John was 28, he borrowed money, bought a house, renovated it, and rented it out. Then he bought and rented another. His business went well, and John hired a legal secretary who became a business partner.

One day the secretary informed John that he had become a millionaire. Wonderful! Who will pay attention to the fact that a millionaire pulls the door towards himself, although it says "from himself" on it, or stands in front of the toilet, looking at which door a man will come out of?

In 1982, John's business took a turn for the worse. His houses were no longer rented, and investors refused to invest in his land projects. John began to receive letters threatening to be sued for non-payment of debts. John begged the bankers to give him a loan, asked the builders not to quit their jobs... At night he dreamed that a judge in a black robe was asking him: "Tell the court the truth, John. Are you really unable to read?"

Finally, in the fall of 1986, at the age of 46, John Corcoran did two things he swore to himself never to do. He mortgaged his house to get his last bank loan and drove to the Carlsbad Library. There, John asked to be introduced to the woman who headed the general education courses, and tearfully confessed to her:

His teacher was 65-year-old Eleanor Condit. Every day, methodically and persistently, she taught John how to read and write. After 14 months, business in his land company improved, and John learned to read.

John Corcoran's next step was confession: he gave a speech to 200 stunned businessmen in San Diego, telling them about his past problems. Having made a confession, John poured out his heart and headed the board of directors of the San Diego Literacy Society. He began to travel a lot around the country and give speeches.

Illiteracy is a form of slavery! he said with conviction. We can't waste time blaming anyone for this. Our goal is to convince people to learn to read and write!

Now John read everything that caught his eye: books, magazines, signs on road signs ... And Kathy was very happy for him. Finally, John began to sleep peacefully at night!

There was one more thing left to do, which John had long dreamed of, to get out the dusty box that was kept in his office, tied with a faded red ribbon, and read the letters Kathy wrote to John twenty-five years ago on the eve of their wedding.

Gary Smith

DON'T BE AFRAID OF FAIL

You have often been haunted by failures, many of which you don’t even remember.

You often fell when you were learning to walk.

You almost drowned when you first tried to learn to swim, didn't you?

You missed the ball many times when you were learning to play baseball.

Good baseball players also took a long time to learn how to do a return-to-home circuit.

R.H. Macy was rejected seven times before opening his own store in New York.

English novelist John Creasey received 753 rejections before publishing 564 books.

Baseball player Babe Ruth failed 1330 times, but made 714 circuit runs on all three "bases" with a return to the "home".

Remind yourself of the opportunities that you missed without even trying to do something.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN NEVER GIVED UP

Each of us has a sense of duty. Everyone strives to win. I have these qualities too

Abraham Lincoln

The greatest example of perseverance and the will to win is the life of Abraham Lincoln. This man never gave in to difficulties and always overcame them.

Lincoln was born into a poor family, and trouble haunted him all his life. He lost eight elections, failed twice in business, suffered from nervous breakdowns.

Life might have broken Lincoln, but he did not give in, striving for victory, and as a result became the greatest president in the history of the United States of America.

Lincoln had many difficulties and troubles. Below are the stages of Lincoln's life path, which led him to the White House.

1816 His family lost their home. Lincoln went to work to help his parents.

1818. Lincoln's mother died.

1831 Failed in business.

1832. Ran for state legislature but lost.

1832. Lost his job, wanted to go to law school, but did not pass the competition.

1833. Borrowed money from a friend to start a new business, but went bankrupt at the end of the year. For the next seventeen years, Lincoln paid off this debt.

1834 Ran again for state legislature and won.

1835. Was engaged, but the bride died, and Lincoln grieved her loss.

1836. He fell ill on a nervous basis and lay in bed for six months.

1838. Elected speaker of the state legislature, but did not get the required number of votes.

1840. Run for election to the Electoral College (in the presidential election), but failed.

1843. Elected to Congress, but did not pass.

1846 Re-elected to Congress, won, moved to Washington and got a good job.

1848. Re-elected to Congress, but lost.

1849. Wanted to take the post of an employee of the state office, registering land transactions, in his home state, but he was refused.

1854. Elected to the US Senate, but lost. 1856 Ran for Republican Vice President but received less than 100 votes. 1858. Again elected to the Senate and lost. I860. Elected President of the United States of America.

The path was thorny and difficult. The ground slipped from under my feet, I stumbled, fell, but got up and said to myself: "This is just a small setback, but not a failure."

Abraham Lincoln Source unknown

A LESSON TEACHED BY THE SON

My son Daniel got into surfing at the age of thirteen. Every day before and after school, he put on a diving suit, swam behind the line of buoys, and waited to be challenged by three to six foot buddies. And then one fateful day, Daniel's love for surfing was severely tested.

Your son had an accident,” the lifeguard told my husband Mike over the phone.

Something serious?

Very serious: when he surfaced, the corner of the board hurt his eye.

Mike took his son to the emergency room, from there he was sent to the plastic surgery department. The boy's face was sewn up near the eye and bridge of the nose in twenty-six places.

I was on the plane after the treaty lectures when Dan's wound was stitched up. Mike came to meet me at the airport straight from the operating room. After greeting me at the entrance to the hall, he said that Dan was waiting in the car.

What about him? I asked. I remember that day in the morning I thought that the sea was very nasty waves.

He had an accident, but now he feels good.

The worst fears of a mother on the move came true. I ran to the car with such agility that the heel of my shoe fell off. I opened the car door, and my youngest son with a blind eye wrapped his arms around me, exclaiming:

Oh mom, I'm so glad you're back home!

I burst into tears in his arms and began to say how terrible it was that I was not at home when the lifeguard called.

Everything is in order, mom, - my son reassured me. You don't know how to surf anyway.

What? I asked, confused by his logic.

I'll get better soon. The doctor says I can be back in the water in eight days.

Has your son gone mad? I was about to say that he would not be allowed to go near the water again until at least thirty-five, but I bit my tongue just in time. And mentally offered up a prayer that he would forget about his surfing forever and ever.

For the next seven days, my son besieged me with requests to allow him to return to surfing. When I vigorously answered "no" for the hundredth time, he cut me down with my own weapon.

Mom, you taught us not to give up what we love.

Then he gave me a "bribe" - a framed poem by Langston Hughes that he bought "because it reminded me of you."

Mother- to my son

So, I'll tell you, my son,

In my life I did not walk up the crystal stairs.

There were a lot on my way

Nails sticking out rusty and debris,

And torn clumsy boards,

And places not covered with carpets.

But all the time

I climbed up.

Having reached the platform,

Turned, walked along the transition,

Where a ray of light did not penetrate.

So do not turn back and you, my son,

And do not sit limply on the steps, Deciding that it will be too difficult to continue. Don't give up and don't give up. Even now I am still striving forward, I am walking, I am climbing, although even now I am not walking along the crystal stairs.

I gave up.

Then Daniel was just a boy who was fond of surfing. Now he is a man who is aware of his responsibility. He is included in the list of twenty-five best surfers in the world.

I was tested for loyalty by the most important principle that I teach my listeners in different cities: "Enthusiastic people become adherents of what they love, and they never give up what they love."

Daniela Kennedy

Crash? NO! ONLY A TEMPORARY RETRACT

Seeing the essence of things in the bud is what genius is.

Lao Tzu

If you come to visit me in my office in California, you will see on one wall of the room beautiful old-fashioned Spanish tiles, a soda machine and nine leather-covered mahogany chairs. Unusual? Yes. But if these chairs could talk, they would tell how I once almost lost all hope and was ready to capitulate.

It was the end of the Second World War, and the work was very stressful. Bob, my husband, borrowed money and bought a small dry cleaner. We, the parents of two cute babies, have a typical house, and we had to pay all the necessary fees on time. Then came a black day. There was no money to pay the dues for the house, or anything else.

I had no special talents, no practice, and no college education. I didn't think too highly of myself. But I remembered that sometime in the past, a teacher at school found some abilities in me. She inspired me to take up journalism and named me advertising manager and feature editor for the school newspaper. I thought, "If I can write an article in the Buyer's Column for a small weekly newspaper in our country town, then maybe I can earn a cash deposit for the house."

I didn’t have a car, I didn’t have a nanny who could sit with the children. So I put the kids in a squeaky baby stroller with a big cushion tied on the back. The wheel of the carriage fell off every now and then, but I put it in place with the heel of my shoe and continued to push it in front of me. I was determined that the children would not lose their home, as it happened to me more than once in my childhood.

However, the editorial staff of the newspaper told me that there was no work. I had an idea. I asked if I could buy ad space in bulk and retail it as a Buyer's Column. They agreed, later confessing that they mentally gave me a week's time, after which I would get tired of driving a heavily loaded carriage along country roads and give up my idea. However, they were wrong.

The Buyer's Column idea worked. I made enough money to pay the down payment on the house and to buy the used car that Bob found for me. Then I hired a high school student who looked after the kids from 3pm to 5pm every day. When the clock struck three, I grabbed samples of newspapers and flew out the door to rush to the right addresses.

However, one sad day I was rejected when I came to pick up an advertisement.

Why? I asked.

They explained to me that Ruben Alman, the owner of the pharmacy, does not advertise his products with me. His institution was very popular in the city, Alman's opinion was very much considered.

My heart sank. These four failed advertisements would have given me enough money to pay the next down payment on the house. After some thought, I decided to have another talk with Mr. Alman. Everyone loves and respects him, he is the duty of wives to listen to me. Before that, whenever I tried to contact him, he was unavailable: he was either not there, or he was busy. I knew that if he advertised with me, other merchants would follow suit.

This time, when I entered the pharmacy, Mr. Alman was in the prescription section at the back of the room. I gave him a charming smile and held out the Buyer's Column, neatly marked with a child's green crayon. I said:

Everyone respects your opinion, Mr. Allman, would you take a look at my work?

He twisted his mouth and shook his head vigorously.

My heart broke and seemed to hit the floor with such force that everyone around me heard it.

All my enthusiasm vanished in an instant. I walked over to a nice old soda dispenser in front of the drugstore, feeling like I didn't have the energy to drive home, took my last dime out of my pocket and grabbed a Cherry Coke. I frantically tried to figure out what to do next. Will my children lose their home, as it happened to me during my childhood? Was my teacher wrong and the talent she was talking about was just fiction? My eyes filled with tears.

What's the matter, dear? I heard a low voice. I looked up and saw the sympathetic face of a pleasant gray-haired lady sitting in a chair next to the machine gun. Out of desperation, I told her my story, ending with the words:

But Mr. Alman, whom everyone respects so much, did not want to look at my work.

Show me your Buyer's Column, said the lady. Taking the newspaper, she carefully read the marked text. Then she turned in her chair, stood up, turned her head towards the prescription department and in a commanding voice that could be heard across the block, shouted: - Ruben Alman, come here!

This lady turned out to be Mrs Alman!

She told Reuben to advertise in my newspaper. This time, his mouth stretched into a wide smile. Mrs. Alman then asked me to name the four merchants who had rejected my services. Walking to the phone, she called each of them. Then she hugged me and said that they were ready to put advertisements in my newspaper.

Ruben and Vivien Alman became our close friends and regular advertising clients. I found out that Ruben is a very nice person. He used to put advertisements on others, now he promised Vivienne not to do it again. If I had asked the people in the city earlier, I might have found out right away that I should have talked to Mrs. Alman from the very beginning. Our conversation with her near the old machine was a turning point. My advertising business has expanded to four offices with 285 employees serving 4,000 advertisers on contracts.

Later, when Mr. Alman upgraded the old pharmacy and removed the soda machine, my nice husband Bob bought it and installed it in my office. If you are in California, we will sit together on chairs near him. I will pour you a Coca-Cola with a cherry and remind you that you should never give up, you should remember that help is always closer than we think.

And then I'll tell you that if you can't find the right person to help you, look further. Try a workaround. And I will end with the wonderful words of Bill Marriott:

Collapse? Never encountered this. I've only dealt with temporary retreats.

Dottie Walters

SO I CAN DO BETTER, I EXPECT...

1. Inspiration.

2. Permissions.

3. Cheers.

4. Ready coffee.

5. Your turn.

6. When someone clears the way.

7. Clarifications of other rules.

8. Prizes.

9. Wider fairway.

10. Revenge.

11. Rate cuts.

12. Having a lot of time.

13. When oil prices rise.

14. The right person.

15. Disasters.

16. When time is almost up.

17. Notorious scapegoat.

18. When the children leave home.

19. When the Dow Jones hits 1500.

20. When the lion lies down next to the lamb.

21. Common consent.

22. Better times.

23. A more favorable horoscope.

24. To return my youth.

25. Two-minute warning.

26. When the legal profession will be reformed.

27. When will the president be re-elected.

28. An age that gives me the right to be eccentric.

29. Tomorrow.

30. Money or something even more substantial.

31. Annual medical examination.

32. When my circle of friends improves.

33. When the stakes get higher.

34. Beginning of the semester.

35. When my road is clear.

36. When the cat stops scratching the sofa.

37. When there is no risk.

38. When the barking neighbor's dog leaves the city.

39. When my uncle comes home from work.

40. When someone opens me.

41. More reliable guarantees.

42. Lower capital gains.

43. When the statute of limitations ceases to operate.

44. When my parents die. (Joke!)

45. When a cure for AIDS is found.

46. When the things I don't understand or don't approve disappear.

47. When the wars end.

48. When my love will be reborn.

49. When someone will protect me.

50. Clearly written instructions.

51. When birth control improves.

52. When will the amendments to the Constitution on the equal rights of women and men be cancelled.

53. An end to poverty, injustice, cruelty, deceit, incompetence, epidemics, crime and low-quality advertising.

54. When a competitor's patent expires.

55. When Baby Chicken returns.

56. When my subordinates grow wiser.

57. When my "ego" improves.

58. When the pot boils.

59. My new credit card.

60. Piano tuner.

61. End of this meeting.

62. When will my accounts receivable be paid off.

63. When unemployment will be ended.

65. When my suit comes back from the dry cleaners.

66. When self-respect returns to me.

68. When it will not be necessary to pay alimony.

69. That the glimpses of a brilliant mind, hidden in my first clumsy attempts, be noticed, well rewarded. And I could calmly and comfortably work on a sequel.

70. When will receive a new interpretation of "Regulations" Robert.

71. When sharp pains and ailments stop and subside.

72. When the queues in the bank become smaller.

73. When the wind becomes fresher.

74. When my children become thoughtful, neat, obedient and independent.

75. Next season.

76. Someone to help me gather my courage.

77. For my life to be called a dress rehearsal and to be allowed to make changes to its script before the premiere.

78. When logic prevails.

79. Next time.

80. When you stop blocking my light.

81. When my ship comes.

82. The best deodorant.

83. Completion of my dissertation.

84. Sharp pencil.

85. When the check will be paid.

86. When my wife, the movie or the boomerang will come back again.

87. Doctor's approval, father's permission, minister's blessing or lawyer's consent.

89. When California falls into the ocean.

90. Less turbulent time.

91. When the ice breaker comes*.

92. Opportunities to call at the expense of the subscriber.

93. Debt write-offs.

94. When will my urge to smoke decrease.

95. When the prices go down.

96. When prices increase.

97. When prices stabilize.

98. When will my grandfather's estate be put in order.

99. Prices for the weekend.

100. Cheat sheets.

101. When you start first.

David B. Campbell

* The title of Y. O'Neil's play "The Iceman Is Coming" (1939) is played up.

EVERYONE CAN DO SOMETHING

The main difference between an ordinary person and a wrestler is that the wrestler perceives everything as a challenge, while the ordinary person is either a lucky gift or a disaster.

Don Juan

Roger Crawford had everything he needed to play tennis, except for two arms and a leg.

When the parents first took a look at Roger, they saw an infant with a thumb-like protrusion sticking out of his right forearm. And with one finger sticking out of the left. He didn't have palms. The arms and legs of the baby were shortened, on the wrinkled right foot - only three fingers, the shrunken left leg soon had to be amputated.

The doctor said that this disease occurs in newborns in the United States in one of 90,000 cases. The doctor said that Roger would probably never be able to walk and take care of himself.

Luckily, Roger's parents didn't believe the doctor.

My parents always taught me that I would be physically handicapped only as much as I wanted to, - said Roger. “They never let me feel sorry for myself or get the better of me by others because of my physical handicaps. I once got into trouble because I was late in submitting papers at school. I asked my father to write a note to my teachers asking for a two-day reprieve. Instead, my father told me to start work two days early.

Roger's father constantly encouraged him to play sports, taught him to catch and throw a volleyball, played football with him after school. At the age of twelve, Roger was able to take a place in the school rugby team.

Before every game, Roger cherished the dream that he would score a goal. One fine day he had such a chance. The ball was in his hands and Roger ran forward on his artificial leg towards the goal line. The coach and his teammates did their best to cheer him on. However, at the ten-yard mark, a player from the other team caught up with Roger and grabbed his left ankle. Roger tried to escape, but - alas! - the artificial leg remained in the hands of the opponent.

However, I remained standing,” Roger recalled. - Not knowing what else to do, I galloped to the goal line. He ran up and threw his hands up. Goal! But it was not even in the earned six points. You should have seen the look on the face of the boy holding my artificial leg.

Roger's love for the sport grew, and with it, his self-confidence grew. Although not every obstacle submitted to Roger. When he had breakfast with the other boys, they saw how difficult it was for him to handle the instruments, and this caused excruciating pain to Roger, as well as his failures when trying to learn to type on a typewriter.

I learned a very useful lesson from this,” said Roger. - If you can't do everything, then you need to focus on what you can do.

Roger learned to hit the ball with a tennis racket. Unfortunately, when he hit too hard, the weak grip caused the racket to fly away. Luckily, Roger stumbled across a strange-looking racket in a sporting goods store and accidentally slipped his finger between the bars of its handle. Roger adjusted the bridges and now he could hit and serve the ball as well as any healthy player. He trained every day and soon began to play and lose matches.

However, Roger did not give up. He continued to train - and played, played. The operation on two fingers of his left hand contributed to the fact that he was able to grip the racket more firmly, which made his game much better. Roger had no role models, but he fanatically fell in love with tennis, constantly improved and eventually began to win.

Roger continued to play tennis in college and ended his tennis career with 22 wins and 11 losses. He later became the first person with a disability to be certified as a tennis instructor by the United States Professional Tennis Association. Currently, Roger travels around the country, sharing his experience with numerous listeners, talking about how to learn to win no matter who you are.

The only difference between you and me is that you are able to see my faults and I cannot see yours. But we all have them. When people ask me how I managed to overcome my physical handicaps, I tell them that I didn't overcome anything. I just realized what I can't do, like playing the piano or eating with chopsticks. But most importantly, I learned what I can do. And I do what I can, putting my whole soul and heart into it.

Jack Canfield

YES YOU CAN

Experience is not something that happens to a person. This is what a person does when something happens to him.

Aldous Huxley

What if, at the age of 46, you were burned beyond recognition in a horrific motorcycle accident, and then four years later found yourself paralyzed from the waist down in a plane crash? Can you expect to become a millionaire, a respected politician, a happy newlywed or a prosperous businessman? Can you imagine yourself rafting? Skydiving? Running for Congress?

Mr. Mitchell went through all this after two terrible accidents, when his face was a motley blanket of transplanted patches of skin, his hands lost fingers, and his thin legs rested motionless in a wheelchair.

Mitchell had 16 surgeries after a motorcycle accident, when more than 65 percent of his skin was burned and he was unable to pick up a fork, dial a phone number or take a bath without help. However, Mitchell, a former Marine, never gave up.

I am the commander of my ship,” he said. - I can consider this situation as a temporary retreat or as a starting point.

Six months later, he was piloting an airplane again.

Mitchell bought himself a Victorian house in Colorado - a kind of old manor, a plane and a bar. He later teamed up with two friends, started a timber processing company, and became the second most important industrialist in Vermont.

And four years later, after a motorcycle accident, the plane piloted by Mitchell crashed onto the runway during takeoff. Mitchell was damaged 12 thoracic vertebrae and paralyzed the entire body below the waist.

I thought, what the hell is going on with me? What did I do to deserve this?

Unbroken by failure, Mitchell worked day and night to find his own way. He was elected mayor of Crested Booth, Colorado, with a mission to rid the city of mining that was destroying the beauty of the environment. Later, Mitchell ran for Congress, using his extraordinary appearance as a trump card and going to the polls under the slogan: "Not just another pretty face."

Despite his shocking appearance and physical injuries, Mitchell took up rafting, fell in love and married, received a master's degree, continued to fly and was actively involved in conservation and politics.

His unbending and active stance explains his appearances on The Tonight Show and Good Morning America, as well as his regular publications in the newspapers and magazines Parade, Time, and others.

Before I was paralyzed, I could do 10,000 things,” says Mitchell. - Now there are 9000 left. I have to focus on either 1000 lost skills or 9000 left. I tell people that I've hit two huge bumps in my life. If I chose not to use them as an excuse to leave the stage, then perhaps you, in those situations that are holding you back, will see new perspectives. You can step back a little so you have a wider view and say, "Maybe it's not that hard."

Remember - what matters is not what happens to you, but how you act at this moment.

Jack Canfield & Mark W. Hansen

RUN, PETTY, RUN

When Patty Wilson was at a very young and tender age, the doctor discovered that she had epilepsy. Her father, Jim Wilson, jogged regularly in the morning. Once, when the girl was about thirteen, she smiled shyly and said:

Dad, I would love to run with you every day, but I'm afraid I'm going to have a seizure.

Father said:

If it happens, I know how to act, so start running.

And they jogged every day. They both liked it very much, and no seizures happened during the run.

When Patty was in her first year, she told her father:

Dad, I'd really like to break the women's world distance record.

My father flipped through the Guinness Book of World Records and found that the longest distance run by a woman was 80 miles. Patty stated:

I'm going to run from Orange County to San Francisco (400 miles). In my sophomore year,” she continued, “I will run as far as Portland, Oregon (over 1,500 miles). As a junior, I'll run to St. Louis (about 2,000 miles). In my senior year, I will run to the White House (over 3,000 miles).

Patty was ambitious and enthusiastic. She looked at her epilepsy as just some "inconvenience". The girl focused her attention not on what she had lost, but on what she had left.

That year, Patty made the run to San Francisco. She ran in a T-shirt with the inscription: "I love epileptics!" Beside her ran her father, her mother and a nurse, followed by a car in case of possible trouble.

In her second year, her classmates ran after Patty. They made a big poster that said, "Run, Patty, run!" Since that time, they have become her motto and the title of the book she wrote. During the second marathon, on the way to Portland, she broke her leg. The doctor forbade her to run. He said:

I must put a plaster splint on your ankle, and this will create an insurmountable obstacle for you.

Doc, you don't understand, she replied. - It's not just my quirk, it's an obsession! I am not doing this just for myself, I am doing this so that many people throw off the chains that bind them hand and foot. Is there any way I can continue running?

The doctor gave her a choice. He suggested "putting an adhesive bandage around the leg rather than a cast splint." He warned her that it would hurt and blister. Patty told the doctor to wrap the leg with an adhesive bandage.

She completed her run in Portland with the governor of Oregon escorting her last mile.

After four months of almost non-stop running from the West to the East Coast, Patty arrived in Washington and shook hands with the President of the United States. She told him:

I wanted people to know that epileptics are normal people and can lead normal lives.

I recently told this story in one of my seminars, and after finishing it, a man came up to me with tears in his eyes, held out a large, strong hand and said:

Mark, my name is Jim Wilson. You talked about my daughter Patty.

He said that thanks to her noble efforts, money was raised and a medical center for the treatment of epilepsy was opened, the construction of which cost 19 million dollars.

If Patty Wilson was able to do so much with so little, then how much more can you achieve when you are in perfect health and strength?

Mark W. Hansen

WILL AND DECISION

The small village school house was heated by an old-fashioned pot-bellied stove. The duty of the little boy was to come to school early in the morning, kindle the stove and heat the room before the arrival of the teacher and his classmates.

One day, when they arrived at school, the children saw that the building was engulfed in flames. The little boy was pulled out of the burning house, unconscious. He suffered extensive burns to his lower body and was taken to the nearest hospital.

Lying on the bed, the burnt, half-conscious boy heard the doctor quietly tell his mother that her son would surely die and that would be the best outcome, because the fire had disfigured his entire lower body.

However, the courageous boy did not want to die. He made a decision to survive, and to the surprise of the doctor, he succeeded. When the threat of death had passed, he again overheard the quiet conversation between the doctor and his mother. The doctor said that it would be better if the boy died, since he was doomed to remain a cripple - the lower limbs would not function.

garmin_1, where he posted a screenshot from an article about an illiterate school teacher.
The information itself is 7 years old. But very revealing:

According to this man, John Corcoran, he was illiterate at school, but the teachers simply moved the guy from class to class, refusing to notice his problems.

"I remember when I was 8 years old, I asked God:" Please, tomorrow, when it's my turn to read, make it so that I can read. "And in the classroom I pretended to be invisible, and when the teacher said:" Johnny, read " , I just waited because he needs to continue the lesson", Corcoran says. Then, to hide his illiteracy, he began to violate discipline. From the fifth to the seventh grade, he was constantly expelled and suspended from classes: "The teachers thought that I had emotional, psychological and behavioral problems, not problems with reading."

By deceit and cunning, he managed to graduate from school in 1956 and get a certificate: "I handed over other people's work, met with whom I needed and talked with applicants. I stole tests and asked friends to do assignments for me. I did not understand what was written, but I understood the system, I understood people."

For achievements in sports, Corcoran was taken to Texas Western College of Education after school. There, according to him, he also constantly deceived. In 1961, Corcoran graduated from college with a bachelor's degree. He claims that he was still illiterate at the time. But no matter what, right out of college he got a job! There were not enough teachers, and the school district in El Paso, where John Corcoran went to school, gave a job almost all college graduates . (Still almost everyone but he got it! - A.G.).

Amazing, but he worked as a teacher for 17 years! He taught orally, but for the rest he relied on voluntary assistants: " I created an oral and visual environment where there were no written words. In each class I had two or three assistants who wrote and read".
Corcoran recalls: As a teacher, it really hurt me to think that I couldn't read. It's a shame for me, a shame for the country and a shame for the school. He eventually quit teaching and went into real estate, eventually becoming a successful realtor.

Corcoran returned to the question of his literacy when he was 48 years old. Turning to a specialized center, in a year he learned to read at the level of the sixth grade of the school. Corcoran is now a champion of literacy: "I think illiteracy in America is a form of child neglect and child abuse."

The former illiterate teacher has written two books, The Teacher Who Couldn't Read and The Road to Literacy, and set up a fund that educates the illiterate in California and Colorado.

There are quite a few sources, but they all lead one way or another to

Image copyright Alamy

John Corcoran grew up in the US state of New Mexico in the 1940s-1950s. He was one of six children in the family, graduated from high school, went to university and became a teacher in the 1960s. He devoted 17 years of his life to this work. However, in a conversation with a BBC correspondent, he admitted that he had kept a very unusual secret all this time.

When I was a child, my parents told me that I was a winner, and for six years I believed what they told me.

I started talking late, but I went to school with great hope of learning to read like my sisters. In the first year of school, everything went well, because little was required of us: stand in the right row, sit down, keep our mouths shut, and go to the bathroom on time.

But in the second grade we were taught to read. But for me it was like opening a Chinese newspaper and staring at it - I did not understand what all these lines meant. I was six, seven, eight years old, and I still did not understand how to talk about this problem.

I remember asking at night during prayer, "God, please teach me to read tomorrow when I wake up." And sometimes I turned on the light, took a book and looked into it, hoping for a miracle. But the miracle didn't happen.

At school, I found myself in a backward group with other children who had difficulty learning to read. I didn't know how I got there, I didn't know how to get out of there, and I didn't know exactly how to ask.

Of course, the teacher did not call us a "backward group" (we did not have any cruelty at school), but the students used this expression. And when you find yourself in a backward group, you start to feel backward.

At parent-teacher meetings, the teacher told my parents: "He is a smart boy, he will succeed." And I was transferred to the third grade.

"He's a smart boy, he'll do well," and I was promoted to the fourth grade.

"He's a smart boy, he'll do well," and I ended up in the fifth grade.

However, I didn't succeed at all.

"God, I can't do this"

In the fifth grade, I practically gave up trying to master reading. Every day I got up, got dressed, went to school, and it was like I was going to war. I hated the school class. It was a hostile environment and I needed to find a way to survive in it.

By seventh grade, I spent most of the day in the principal's office. I got into fights, I was sassy, I acted like a clown, I disrupted the order, I was expelled from school.

However, this behavior did not correspond to what I felt inside myself - I did not want to behave like this. I wanted to be someone else, I wanted to be successful, to be a good student, but I just couldn't.

By the time I entered the eighth grade, I was already tired of tormenting myself and my family. I decided that I would behave as I should - if you behave well in high school, then you can find your way in this system. I wanted to listen to my teachers and do whatever was necessary to fit into the system.

I wanted to be an athlete - I had athletic ability. I also had an ability for mathematics - I could count money even before school and memorized schedules well.

I also had social skills - I hung out with the guys from college, met with a student who gave a speech at the graduation ceremony. I was a little king - the girls agreed to do my homework for me.

I could write my name and memorize a few words, but I couldn't write a whole sentence - in middle school, I was still at the level of second or third grade in reading. But I never told anyone that I couldn't read.

When I wrote tests, I peeped into someone else's work or gave my assignments to someone else who answered questions for me - it was a simple scam. However, when I went to college on an athletic scholarship, things got more complicated.

I thought, "God, this is beyond my power, how can I get through this?"

I was part of a community that had copies of old exam papers. There was one way to cheat. I tried to go to class with someone who could help me. There were teachers who used the same tests every year. But I had to resort to more sophisticated tricks.

In one exam, the teacher wrote four questions on the blackboard. I sat at the far end of the classroom, near the window, behind the older students.

I carefully copied the four questions from the blackboard into my blue notebook, but I didn't know what they meant.

I arranged with my friend to stand near the window. He was probably the smartest guy in school, but he was shy and asked me to set him up with a girl named Mary, with whom he wanted to go to a dance on the occasion of the end of the term.

I handed him a blue notebook and he answered my questions. In the meantime, I took out another notebook from under my shirt and pretended to write in it.

I prayed that a friend would give me my notebook with the correct answers. I was desperate, I needed to take this course, I took a risk.

Mission Impossible

There was another exam that I did not know how to pass.

One night I was walking past the teacher's office, he wasn't there. I opened the window with the knife and climbed in like a thief. Now I have crossed the line - I was no longer just a cheating student, I became a criminal.

I got inside and started looking for exam tickets. They were supposed to be in the office, but I couldn't find them. There was a locked file cabinet - there should have been tests in it.

For two or three nights in a row, I tried to find exam tickets, but I could not succeed. Then I took three friends with me, and at night we all entered the office. We took out a file cabinet with four drawers, put it in the car and drove it to the residential part of the college.

I made an appointment with a locksmith. I put on a jacket and tie - I pretended to be a young businessman who leaves for Los Angeles the next day, and the locksmith was supposed to save me by opening the filing cabinet.

He opened it and gave me the key. To my great relief, there were over 40 copies of the exam in the top drawer. I took one copy to my dorm room, where one of my classmates made a fake copy for me with the correct answers.

We took the file back, and by five o'clock in the morning I was walking to my room and thinking: "Mission impossible!" I felt good because I was so smart.

But then I went up the stairs, got into bed, and started crying like a baby.

Why didn't I ask for help? Because I did not believe that someone could teach me to read. It was my secret and I kept it.

Cage with lions

My teachers and parents said college graduates got better jobs, better lives, and I believed it. My goal was just to get this piece of paper. Maybe someday I'll learn to read through prayer or a miracle, I thought.

So, I graduated from college, where at that moment there was a shortage of teachers, and I was offered a job. It was the most illogical thing imaginable - I had just come out of a cage with lions and now I was in the same cage.

Why did I choose to teach? Looking back, it seems crazy. However, I went through high school and college and never got caught - so a teaching position could be a good hiding place. After all, no one will suspect a teacher of not being able to read.

I taught many different subjects: physical education, social studies. I also taught typewriting - I could type up to 65 words per minute, but I didn't understand what I was typing. I never wrote on a slate, and there was not a single printed word in my class. We watched a lot of films and we had a lot of discussions.

I remember how scared I was. I had to ask students to say their names so that I could hear them. And I immediately chose two or three students who were best able to read and write to help me. They were my indispensable assistants, and they did not suspect anything - after all, I was a teacher.

One of my biggest fears was teachers' meetings. They were held once a week, and if a discussion arose, the director called someone to write ideas on the board. I lived in fear of being called, I was afraid of this every week, but I had a backup plan for this case.

If he called me, I would get up from my chair, walk two steps, clutch my chest and fall to the floor in the hope that they would call an ambulance. Anything to avoid getting caught. And I never got caught.

Sometimes I thought I was a good teacher because I worked hard and was really interested in what I was doing. But I was wrong. I was not part of this class, I was illegal. I was not supposed to be there, and sometimes the work caused me physical pain. But I was trapped, I couldn't tell anyone about it.

"Katie, I can't read"

I got married while I was a teacher. Marriage is a sacrament, an obligation to be honest with another person, and for the first time I thought, "Okay, I'll trust this person, I'll tell her."

I rehearsed in front of the mirror: "Kathy, I can't read. Kathy, I can't read."

One evening we were sitting on the couch and I said, "Kathy, I can't read." But she didn't understand what I meant. She thought I meant to say that I don't read much.

You know love is blind and deaf. So we got married, we had a baby, and it wasn't until years later that she found out my secret.

I read aloud to our three year old daughter. We regularly read aloud to her, but I didn't really read, but made up stories on the fly - like telling the tale of Goldilocks and the three bears and adding a bit of drama.

But one day I had a new book in my hands - the fairy tale of the Brothers Grimm "Rumpelstiltskin", and my daughter said: "You read it differently than your mother."

But she didn't say anything, there was no conflict, she just kept helping me.

Image caption John Corcoran and his granddaughter Kayla Mertes. John's secret was revealed when he began to read aloud to his daughter

This did not bring relief, because inside I felt retarded and false. I was a liar. I taught my students to seek the truth, and I myself was the main deceiver in the class. Relief came only when I finally learned to read.

I taught at a high school from 1961 to 1978. Eight years after leaving this job, something has changed.

Literacy course

I was 47 years old, almost 48, when I saw on TV Barbara Bush, then the first lady of the United States, who spoke about adult literacy. This was her special course. I have never heard anyone talk about the issue of adult literacy before. I thought I was the only person in the world in this situation.

At that moment I was in a desperate situation. I wanted to tell someone about it, I wanted to get help. One day I was standing in line for groceries and two women in front of me were talking about their grown brother who used to go to the library. He was learning to read and they were happy for him, and I couldn't believe it.

On Friday evening, I walked into the library in my striped jacket and asked to meet with the director of the literacy program. I told her that I couldn't read.

This was the second person in my adult life to whom I revealed my secret.

Image caption Barbara Bush inspired John Corcoran to ask for help and learn to read

I started with a volunteer teacher - she was 65 years old. She was not a teacher, she just liked to read and she believed that everyone should master this skill in their life.

The first thing she tried to do was encourage me to start writing. After all, I had so many thoughts in my head, and I never wrote a single sentence in my entire life. The first thing I wrote was a poem about my feelings. In poetry, you don't have to know what a complete sentence is, you don't have to write complete sentences.

She brought me to the literacy level of the sixth grade - I thought I had died and went to heaven. However, seven years passed before I began to feel like a truly literate person.

I cried a lot after I started learning to read - there was a lot of pain and despair. But it filled a huge void in my soul. Adults who can't read seem to be stuck in childhood - emotionally, psychologically, academically and spiritually. We haven't really grown.

My teacher encouraged me to tell my story to motivate others and promote literacy. But I said, "No, not at all. I have lived in this community for 17 years, my children are here, my wife, my parents. I will not tell anything."

Image caption John Corcoran and his family today

But then I decided to do it. It was a shameful secret that I was ashamed of, so the decision was serious.

It was not easy, but since I decided to tell my story, then let it be heard all over America. I talked to everyone who wanted to hear it. I kept my secret for decades and then revealed it to the whole world.

I've been on the Larry King show, on the ABC News, on the Oprah Winfrey show.

People felt embarrassed when they heard the story of a teacher who couldn't read. Some said that it was impossible at all, and that I just made it all up.

But I wanted people to know that there is hope that problems can be solved. We are not backward, we can learn to read, it is never too late.

Unfortunately, we are still pushing children through school without teaching them basic reading and writing skills. But this vicious circle can be broken if not just blaming teachers, but ensuring that they are well prepared.

I have lived in darkness for 48 years. But in the end I got rid of this skeleton in the closet, I said goodbye to the ghosts of the past.

John Corcoran's story recordedSarah McDermott, photos courtesy of John Corcoran.