"When this happened," Mrs. Yates said, as she told her story, "everything was chaos
and confusion. One bomb struck so near my home, the concussion threw me out of bed.
Army trucks rushed out to Hickam Field, Scofield Barracks, and Kaneohe Bay Air
Station, to bring Army and Navy wives and children to the public schools. There the Red
Cross telephoned those who had extra rooms to take them in. The Red Cross workers
knew that I had a telephone beside my bed, so they asked me to be a clearing-house of
information. So I kept track of where Army and Navy wives and children were being
housed, and all Navy and Army men were instructed by the Red Cross to telephone me
to find out where their families were.
"I soon discovered that my husband, Commander Robert Raleigh Yates, was safe. I
tried to cheer up the wives who did not know whether their husbands had been killed;
and I tried to give consolation to the widows whose husbands had been killed-and they
were many. Two thousand, one hundred and seventeen officers and enlisted men in the
Navy and Marine Corps were killed and 960 were reported missing.
"At first I answered these phone calls while lying in bed. Then I answered them sitting up
in bed. Finally, I got so busy, so excited, that I forgot all about my weakness and got out
of bed and sat by a table. By helping others who were much worse off than I was, I
forgot all about myself; and I have never gone back to bed again except for my regular
eight hours of sleep each night. I realise now that if the Japs had not struck at Pearl
Harbour, I would probably have remained a semi-invalid all my life. I was comfortable in
bed. I was constantly waited on, and I now realise that I was unconsciously losing my
will to rehabilitate myself.
"The attack on Pearl Harbour was one of the greatest tragedies in American history, but
as far as I was concerned, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. That
terrible crisis gave me strength that I never dreamed I possessed. It took my attention
off myself and focused it on others. It gave me something big and vital and important to
live for. I no longer had time to think about myself or care about myself."
A third of the people who rush to psychiatrists for help could probably cure themselves if
they would only do as Margaret Yates did: get interested in helping others. My idea? No,
that is approximately what Carl Jung said. And he ought to know -if anybody does. He
said: "About one-third of my patients are suffering from no clinically definable neurosis,
but from the senselessness and emptiness of their lives." To put it another way, they are
trying to thumb a ride through life-and the parade passes them by. So they rush to a
psychiatrist with their petty, senseless, useless lives. Having missed the boat, they
stand on the wharf, blaming everyone except themselves and demanding that the world
cater to their self-centred desires.
You may be saying to yourself now: "Well, I am not impressed by these stories. I myself
could get interested in a couple of orphans I met on Christmas Eve; and if I had been at
Pearl Harbour, I would gladly have done what Margaret Tayler Yates did. But with me
things are different: I live an ordinary humdrum life. I work at a dull job eight hours a day.
Nothing dramatic ever happens to me. How can I get interested in helping others? And
why should I? What is there in it for me?"
A fair question. I'll try to answer it. However humdrum your existence may be, you surely
meet some people every day of your life. What do you do about them? Do you merely
stare through them, or do you try to find out what it is that makes them tick? How about
the postman, for example-he walks hundreds of miles every year, delivering mail to your
door; but have you ever taken the trouble to find out where he lives, or ask to see a
snapshot of his wife and his kids? Did you ever ask him if his feet get tired, or if he ever
gets bored?