These experiences, however, were valuable to me, even though they were costly, for they taught me a badly-needed lesson, to wit:  That drugs and medicines are not a cure for stammering.

Many of the people who came in contact with me, and those who talked the matter over with my parents, said that I would outgrow the trouble.  “All that is necessary,” remarked one man, “is for him to forget that he stammers, and the trouble will be gone.”

This was a rather foolish suggestion and simply proved how little the man knew about the subject.  In the first place, a stammerer cannot forget his difficulty—­who can say that he would be cured if he did?  You might as well say to a man holding a hot poker, “If you will only forget that the poker is hot, it will be cool.”  It takes something more than forgetfulness to cure stammering.

The belief held by both my parents and myself that I would outgrow my difficulty was one of the gravest mistakes we ever made.  Had I followed the advice of others who believed in the outgrowing theory it eventually would have caused me to become a confirmed stammerer, entirely beyond hope of cure.

Today, as a result of twenty-eight years’ daily contact with stammerers, I know that stammering cannot be outgrown.  The man who suggests that it is possible to cure stammering by outgrowing it is doing a great injustice to the stammerer, because he is giving him a false hope—­in fact the most futile hope that any stammerer ever had.  I wish I could paint in the sky, in letters of fire, the truth that “Stammering cannot be outgrown,” because this, of all things, is the most frequent pitfall of the stammerer, his greatest delusion and one of the most prolific causes of continued suffering.  I know whereof I speak, because I tried it myself.  I know how many different people held up to me the hope that I would outgrow it.

My father offered me a valuable shotgun if I would stop stammering.  My mother offered me money, a watch and a horse and buggy.  These inducements made me strain every nerve to stop my imperfect utterance, but all to no avail.  At this time I knew nothing of the underlying principles of speech and any effort which I made to stop my stammering was merely a crude, misdirected attempt which naturally had no chances for success.

I learned that prizes will never cure stammering.  I found out too, something I have never since forgotten:  that the man, woman or child who stammers needs no inducement to cause him to desire to be cured, because the change from his condition as a stammerer to that of a nonstammerer is of more inducement to the sufferer than all the money you could offer him.  I have never yet seen a man, woman or child who wanted to stammer or stutter.

The offer of prizes doing no good, I took long trips to get my mind off the affliction.  I did everything in my power, worked almost day and night, exerted every effort I could command—­it was all in vain.