George Bernard Shaw was right. He summed it all up whenhe said： “The secret of being miserable is to have the leisure tobother about whether you are happy or not.” So don’t bother tothink about it！ Spit on your hands and get busy. Your blood willstart circulating; your mind will start ticking—and pretty soonthis whole positive upsurge of life in your body will drive worryfrom your mind. Get busy. Keep busy. It’s the cheapest kind ofmedicine there is on this earth—and one of the best.
To break the worry habit， here is：Rule 1： Keep busy. The worried person must lose himself inaction， lest be wither in despair.
Chapter 37
Don’t Let the Beetles Get You Down
Here is a dramatic story that I’ll probably remember as long asI live. It was told to me by Robert Moore， of 14 Highland Avenue，Maplewood， New Jersey.
“I learned the biggest lesson of my life in March， 1945，” hesaid， “I learned it under 276 feet of water off the coast of IndoChina. I was one of eighty-eight men aboard the submarineBaya S.S. 318. We had discovered by radar that a small Japaneseconvoy was coming our way. As daybreak approached， wesubmerged to attack. I saw through the periscope a Jap destroyerescort， a tanker， and a minelayer. We fired three torpedoes atthe destroyer escort， but missed. Something went haywire inthe mechanics of each torpedo. The destroyer， not knowing thatshe had been attacked， continued on. We were getting ready toattack the last ship， the minelayer， when suddenly she turnedand came directly at us. （A Jap plane had spotted us under sixtyfeet of water and had radioed our position to the Jap minelayer.）
We went down to 150 feet， to avoid detection， and rigged for adepth charge. We put extra bolts on the hatches; and， in order tomake our sub absolutely silent， we turned off the fans， the coolingsystem， and all electrical gear.
“Three minutes later， all hell broke loose. Six depth chargesexploded all around us and pushed us down to the ocean floor—adepth of 276 feet. We were terrified. To be attacked in less thana thousand feet of water is dangerous—less than five hundredfeet is almost always fatal. And we were being attacked in a trifle more than half of five hundred feet of water—just about kneedeep， as far as safety was concerned. For fifteen hours， thatJap minelayer kept dropping depth charges. If a depth chargeexplodes within seventeen feet of a sub， the concussion will blowa hole in it. Scores of these depth charges exploded within fiftyfeet of us. We were ordered ‘to secure’—to lie quietly in our bunksand remain calm. I was so terrified I could hardly breathe. ‘this isdeath，’ I kept saying to myself over and over. ‘this is death！… Thisis death！’ With the fans and cooling system turned off， the airinside the sub was over a hundred degrees; but I was so chilledwith fear that I put on a sweater and a fur-lined jacket; and stillI trembled with cold. My teeth chattered. I broke out in a cold，clammy sweat. The attack continued for fifteen hours. Thenceased suddenly. Apparently the Jap minelayer had exhausted itssupply of depth charges， and steamed away. Those fifteen hoursof attack seemed like fifteen million years.
All my life passed before me in review. I remembered all thebad things I had done， all the little absurd things I had worriedabout. I had been a bank clerk before I joined the Navy. I hadworried about the long hours， the poor pay， the poor prospectsof advancement. I had worried because I couldn’t own my ownhome， couldn’t buy a new car， couldn’t buy my wife nice clothes.
How I had hated my old boss， who was always nagging andscolding！ I remembered how I would come home at night soreand grouchy and quarrel with my wife over trifles. I had worriedabout a scar on my forehead—a nasty cut from an auto accident.
“How big all these worries seemed years ago！ But how absurdthey seemed when depth charges were threatening to blow meto kingdom come. I promised myself then and there that if I eversaw the sun and the stars again， I would never， never worry again.
Never！ Never！ I Never！！！ I learned more about the art of living in those fifteen terrible hours in that submarine than I had learnedby studying books for four years in Syracuse University.”
We often face the major disasters of life bravely—and thenlet the trifles， the “pains in the neck”， get us down. For example，Samuel Pepys tells in his Diary about seeing Sir Harry Vane’shead chopped off in London. As Sir Harry mounted the platform，he was not pleading for his life， but was pleading with theexecutioner not to hit the painful boil on his neck！
That was another thing that Admiral Byrd discovered downin the terrible cold and darkness of the polar nights—that hismen fussed more about the “pains in the neck” than about thebig things. They bore， without complaining， the dangers， thehardships， and the cold that was often eighty degrees belowzero. “But，” says Admiral Byrd， “I know of bunkmates who quitspeaking because each suspected the other of inching his gearinto the other’s allotted space; and I knew of one who could noteat unless he could find a place in the mess hall out of sight ofthe Fletcherist who solemnly chewed his food twenty-eight timesbefore swallowing.
“In a polar camp，” says Admiral Byrd， “little things like thathave the power to drive even disciplined men to the edge ofinsanity.”
And you might have added， Admiral Byrd， that “little things”
in marriage drive people to the edge of insanity and cause “halfthe heartaches in the world.”