My friend, Jack, was a taxi driver. We became friends quite by accident. Five years ago, I made a trip to Chicago. The moment I stepped into a cab, I realized it was different. The floor was covered with a rug (小地毯). There were small reproductions of paintings by Van Gogh inside the cab. And the windows were spotless. I told the driver I had never ridden in a more attractive taxi.
"I like to hear my passengers say that," he replied. "How long have you been decorating your cab?" I asked. "It's not mine," he said. "It's a company cab. I hit upon the idea years ago when I worked as a clean-up man for the taxi company. Each car that came in at the end of the day was like a garbage pit. Cigarette butts and matches covered the floor. Sticky stuff like peanut butter was on the seats or door handles. I thought that if the company and the drivers would give people a car worth keeping clean, they might be more considerate."
"As soon as I got my taxi license, I tried out my ideas. I put a lot of extra decorations into the cab they gave me to drive. I got a nice rug and some flowers. When each passenger got out, I checked to make sure that everything was in order for the next fare. After about a month of my bringing in a spotless cab, the boss reserved the same car for me each day. That was when I put up the reproductions of great paintings."
"I've never been disappointed by people in the past ten years—no garbage. Like I say, people appreciate beautiful things. If we planted more flowers and trees in the city and made the buildings more attractive, more people would tend to keep the city clean."
Later, we became good friends. I was impressed by the taxi-driver, who had hit on a great truth—a sense of beauty comes with the gift of life. Most people don't have to be instructed about the rarity of beauty. They respond when they find it. And, if they are made to feel a part of it, they will try to add to it.
