又预付了丧葬费用

　　1971年2月3日上午，牧师离开教堂到坟场去，心想也许最多只有五六个人出席赫伯特・华思的葬礼。气 温在冰点以下，天色阴沉，还刮着风，眼看就要下雪了。他暗忖，葬礼不妨简简单单，大家敷衍过去 算了。
　　两天前，停尸所一位执事打电话给他，说华思没有亲人，尸体也没有人认领，希望牧师去主持葬 礼。
　　牧师只知道这老头儿是个卖家用杂货的小贩。牧师太太跟他买过擦碗布，牧师自己也依稀记得见过他:“身材 瘦小，灰白头发梳得很整齐，从不强人所难，总是彬彬有礼。我们即使没什么要买，通常也向他买点 东西。”
　　谁会来参加这么一个人的葬礼?
　　
　　形单影只，推销的是快乐和真情
　　华思73岁，身高只有1米5左右。他没有亲人,polo ralph lauren，没有朋友，孤零零住在印第安纳州印第安纳波里斯市北区一幢整洁的木屋里。
　　华思27年来一直挨家挨户兜销杂货，最后11年更是每星期至少有6天在街上奔走。他手里提着两个大购物 袋，每样东西都只卖两毛五，惟有花哨的端锅布垫卖五毛。布垫是他邻家一个十几岁的女孩手织的，他替她卖，但 是不拿佣金。“我从批发商那里买不到这么漂亮的布垫呢，”他对女孩说，“有这些布垫卖，我对顾客服务就周到 了。”
　　他每天早上8点半钟左右出门，踏上仔细考虑过的路线，八九个钟头后回家。他从来不当自己是小贩。“我是 推销员，”他对主顾说，“做买卖懂得运用心理学。我只卖顶刮刮的货色。我的路线是研究过的，每年到每户人家 三趟，不多不少。这样才不惹人家讨厌。无论你买不买东西，我一定说谢谢,franklin et marshall。我要大家知道我是懂规矩的。”
　　他提高嗓子叫喊:“今天要不要端锅布垫?买一条漂亮的红手帕给小弟弟吧?”之后，总希望跟人家聊聊天， 解解闷。他喜欢谈他母亲，而他过去一向孝顺母亲。天气暖和的那几个月里，他每个星期天都到公墓去，在母亲坟 前献一束鲜花。那墓碑是双人用的，留了空地用来刻上他自己的姓名和生卒年月。1968年3月，他给自己挑选 了一具灰色棺木，又预付了丧葬费用。
　　华思一直有件憾事，他的主顾大多都听他说过好几次:“我年轻时应该结婚。没有家，生活真寂寞。我一个亲 人都没有。”不过他只是说说罢了,mecurial vapor pas cher，并不是要人家可怜他。
　　有一次，听他说话的那位家庭主妇虽急于回屋里去做家务，听了他辛酸的感慨，不免感动，就安慰他道:“什 么话，华思。你朋友多着呢!”“是呀，我做买卖的确认识了许多人。”他回答，然后提起购物袋,moncler pas cher，半走半小跑地匆匆往另一户人家去了。无论是在热得他满头是汗的夏天，或者在冻得他流眼泪鼻涕的冬天，这个 瘦小曲背的老头儿从来不改变他的步速。
　　大家都喜欢他，因为他自尊自重,louboutin，不求人，自食其力，从不向人要什么，最多是在大热天向人要杯冷水。他也从不向邻居推销，如有邻居要向他买 东西，他就说:“我是你的街坊嘛。希望你当我是街坊，不是站在你门口的推销员。”他常常替人家扫树叶、铲雪 ，而且做这类吃力工作时也总是尽心尽力。“我手脚也许慢一点，但从不马虎。”他得意地说。
　　
　　突然去世，每个认识他的人都说“我一定要去参加葬礼”
　　华思每天傍晚回来，都会在他家附近的加油站歇息，在那里坐一阵，聊聊天，吃杯香草冰激凌，同时把口袋里 的零钱换成钞票。“我不抽烟，不喝酒，”他常说，“就喜欢吃香草冰激凌。”
　　1月30日星期六，华思将几条车道的积雪铲清之后，跟平时一样到超级市场去。但是在等面包送到的时候， 他悄无声息地倒下了。
　　那天，邻居听到他的死讯之后，大多数都立即放下了工作，沉默良久。谁都没听说过他有病;大家都不相信这 小老头竟然就这样过去了。
　　两天后，华思的名字在报纸讣告栏里出现。他的顾客打电话彼此询问:“是我们的华思吗?”
　　一位检察官太太打电话问停尸所的职员:“你们对于无亲无故的人怎样安排葬礼?”
　　“呃，我们会找牧师来祈祷，”那职员则答，“派两三个人送灵柩到坟场并参加葬礼。尽力而为 就是了。”
　　“华思下葬时如果没有熟人在场,那就太凄凉了，”这位太太心想，“哼，会有熟人在场的。我一定去。”许 多认识华思的人也打定了同样的主意。
　　葬礼之前一天，《明星报》一位记者写了段关于华思的讣告。这位记者访问过华思，写他的小贩生活。他在讣 告中提到，华思告诉过他，就怕将来死了没有人送殡。华思的顾客大多数这才知道他去世了。
　　那天晚上，左邻右舍都在谈论华思，怀念华思，想起他生前多么寂寞。突然之间，每个人都想起自己也经历过 寂寞。大家想起华思曾担心死后没有人送终，人人都感到难受。许多人决定无论如何都要参加葬礼,doudoune moncler pas cher。
　　
　　人山人海，谁也想不到这是为一个孤独的小贩送葬
　　对这些人来说，参加华思的葬礼只是尽个人义务，所以没有向别人提起。男人照常离家上班，没想到在坟场碰 到太太。
　　男女老少，穷人阔人，9点钟就开始陆续来到坟场，比预定举行葬礼的时间足足早了一个钟头。貂皮大衣、喇 叭裤及破旧布袄混杂一起。穿制服的军人和穿深色衣服的商人在面积220公顷的公墓里大步走向华思的墓地。老 年人，有些还拄着拐杖，拖着疲乏的双腿坚决地一步一步前进。卡车司机、计程车司机和送货工人把车停在公墓外 面，步行将近1公里多到达墓地。年轻的母亲抱着小宝宝，东遮西掩，惟恐小宝宝受到凛冽寒风侵袭 。
　　街上车辆拥挤，牧师的车来到离公墓还有两个街口处就给挡住，无法前进。他只好绕道到另外一个入口进去。 公墓里面，职员在拥塞狭窄道路上指挥车辆。牧师糊涂了，怎么都想不起今天究竟是什么知名人物下葬。他停好车 ，步行到墓穴旁边，这才恍然大悟:这些人一定都是来给华思送葬的。
　　坟场方面没料到会有这么多人来。“我们全体职员都出动了,mercurial vapor，设法维持秩序，但是没有用。”公墓经理后来说，“汽车一定不少于600辆。谁也不知道停在更远处的还有多 少，更不知道有多少人因为无法驶近坟场，只好离去。”
　　印第安纳史迹基金总干事布朗也认识华思，怕没人参加华思的葬礼，便决定自己去一趟。他和别人一样，看到 墓地里竟人山人海时，不禁大感意外。他忽然想起坟场里历史悠久的永别亭，上面有座五层高的钟楼，楼顶挂着口 古钟，不久前刚重新系好绳索。这口钟可能四十多年没有敲过了。他走到钟绳旁抓住绳索，使劲一拉，敲出清晰的 钟声，3公里外都能听到。他足足敲了半个小时，双手都起了水泡。最后，他敲起丧钟:一声声隔得很久，响得很 长，充满哀思。
　　10点半钟，雪片纷飞，牧师缓缓扫视了周围的逾千人，讲了一篇简短而真挚的悼词:“华思做梦也没想到他 有这么多朋友。人情冷淡，人对人有时候漠不关心，不过今天上帝一定很高兴。”
　　祈祷结束，人们还是流连不去。志同道合的感觉使陌生人变成了朋友。有些人很兴奋，有些人很满足，每个人 都因为来这里而觉得欣慰，没有人急于离开。“那天华思使大家有了同感，”有位商人后来说，“他使我重新对人 类肃然起敬。”
　　华思一生自食其力。他只希望自己下葬时有几个人来送葬。其实,franklin and marshall，他施舍的恩惠远远超过他所要求的。
　　（林飞雄摘自《海外星云》2002年第3期）
　　
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但是碍着我的面子

你的影子会“活”过来吗

只是偶尔有人把硬币丢在小盆里

.
Ron DiFrancesco's voice softens and trails off. He barely finishes his sentences as he recalls his experience on Sept. 11, 2001. He speaks as if it happened yesterday.
"It was a living hell," he says. "I was mere seconds from death. ... I didn't know I was going to get out."
DiFrancesco is believed to be the last person out of the South Tower of the World Trade Center before it collapsed. According to some reports, he was one of only four people to escape from above the 81st floor.
A decade later, survivor's guilt still weighs heavily on him.
"I will carry with me to my grave whether I should have taken somebody with me," he says, "I still harbor a lot of guilt.
"Time does heal a bit, but it doesn't make you forget what happened. And I think, for our generation, it's our marking point in history. It changed the world that day," he says.
DiFrancesco prefers not to go into detail about his horrifying experience on 9/11. He says it forces him to relive the nightmare. In the past 10 years, he has given only a few interviews, including one for John Geiger's book The Third Man Factor and another for an article in the Ottawa Citizen. Based on those accounts, this is what happened to DiFrancesco:
The first plane had just struck the North Tower, and from his office on the 84th floor of the South Tower, DiFrancesco, a 37-year-old Canadian money-market broker for Euro Brokers, could see smoke billowing from the building. Moments after he left his office to evacuate, the second plane smashed into the South Tower, hitting the building between the 77th and 85th floors.
DiFrancesco was thrown against a wall by the force of the impact, and then he rushed to the nearest stairwell and headed down. On the way, he ran into a group of people trying to escape; they told him to go up the stairs instead, because the flames were too bad below.
As they debated which way to go, they heard someone calling for help. DiFrancesco and his colleague Brian Clark, an executive vice president at Euro Brokers, went to rescue the man, but DiFrancesco became overwhelmed by smoke and had to turn back.
He began to go up the stairs to find clear air, but the doors on each landing were locked, a safety mechanism to keep smoke from filling the whole building in the event of a fire. Panic set in as it became harder to breathe, so he turned around and started back down.
He reached a landing in the impact zone and joined others lying on the floor, gasping for air. But a voice told him to get up and keep going. He ran down the stairs, covering his face with his forearms as he fought through the flames.
Finally he reached the ground floor, where a security guard directed him to a different exit. As he reached it, he heard a giant roar as the building began to collapse. He turned and saw a fireball heading right at him. Days later, he woke up in the hospital with lacerations on his head, burns all over his body, and a broken bone in his back.
Ten years later, DiFrancesco, who is now 47 and living in Toronto, Canada, says the memories and the aftermath of 9/11 permeate his everyday life.
"The scars on my head and my arms remind me every day how fortunate I am," he says. "There are mementos throughout the house. In our living room, we have quite a few pictures of New York and a picture of the World Trade Center. We have a couple of albums of cards that people had sent, and there are some memorial books we look at [too]. They actually gave my wife the watch that was on my wrist on 9/11. It was broken, but it stopped at the exact time the building came down."
But the effects of his experience that day go much deeper than his scars and mementos. DiFrancesco's near-death experience changed his entire outlook on life.
"For me, being so close to death, I don't fear dying or moving on," he says. "When I was almost down and out, I did see the light, and I was prepared to go, but I'm here. … If I was to die tomorrow I would hate leaving my wife and kids, but I don't fear dying now."
DiFrancesco's whole mentality changed, too. He's constantly on alert, even when there's no imminent threat.
"I'm very aware of my surroundings and what's going on, what I'm doing, and what other people are doing," he says. "Whenever I go into a building or a room, I need to know where the exit is, because that day I wasn't in control, and I almost didn't make it out. It's a bit obsessive I think, but it's changed the way I think and the way I act."
Even seemingly normal occurrences cause terrifying flashbacks.
"When I see tall buildings and planes, it jogs my memory," he says. "Loud noises [and chaos] really bother me. I'm a little claustrophobic, so when [I'm] in a big crowd, it gets to me a lot. I also find screaming and yelling really gets to me."
But out of the pain and chaos came compassion, hope, and a deeper meaning to the idea of paying it forward. DiFrancesco and his family have always been religious and involved in community service, but the overwhelming outreach from their friends and neighbors after 9/11 moved them to make it a bigger part of their lives.
"When I was in the hospital, people were taking care of meals for the family, and that went on for months," he says. His community went out of its way to help get the DiFrancesco family back on their feet.
"My car was left at the train station, and my wife didn't know where it was. A neighbor came and found my car and brought it back to us," he explains. "And I only had the one key that was melted in the World Trade Center, so he went and got new keys made for my car."
The lengths to which his community went to support them inspired DiFrancesco and his wife more than ever to pay it forward and to teach their kids to do the same. Now, DiFrancesco is on the board of two charities: Villa Colombo, a home for Italian seniors, and Camp Trillium, a charity that promotes and offers recreational experiences for children with cancer and their families.
For the DiFrancescos, volunteering for Camp Trillium is a family event.
"I participate in this cancer bike ride ... we ride basically 60 miles a day for four days," he says. "My children and my wife are actively involved [too]. My two older children ride with me, and my two younger [kids] and my wife volunteer for the four days."
DiFrancesco has always enjoyed cycling, especially for a good cause, but ever since 9/11, his riding has taken on a different meaning, and he rides for an hour or two almost daily.
"I love the peacefulness of the road, riding my bike, and riding in a pack ... [it's] a bit of healing for me," he says. "I find it cathartic."
The healing process is an ongoing one for his family. Over the years, DiFrancesco and his wife have been collecting friends' and families' stories of how 9/11 affected them -- and may even consider putting them into a book.
"We both find it fascinating what you were doing that day ... people went home, picked up their kids from school, and hugged them and kept them close," he says. "Just hearing [their] stories ... it's interesting to find out what everyone was doing on that day."
There are still questions that may never be answered, and survivor's guilt is ever-present.
"I don't understand all of it," he says. "Why did I survive and 61 of my colleagues didn't?"
For DiFrancesco, though, one message is clear.
"When your number is up, He will call you. Coming so close to death, I believe you can't change destiny," he says. "Be happy with every day we have here."