It has been rumored that the extra share of profits was given with "a string to it." That is not so. There was no single thing a man must have to do to entitle him to his share. He need not own a home, start a bank account, support a family, or even measure up to a standard of work in the shops. Manhood and thrift were the only requisites, and the company stood ready to help any man attain those. The first obstacle was the fact that 55 per cent. of the men did not speak English. Investigators visiting their miserable homes were obliged to speak through interpreters. A school was started where they might learn English, and the response was touching. More than a thousand men enrolled immediately, and when the plan was discussed in the shops 200 American workmen volunteered to help in teaching, so thoroughly had the Ford spirit of helpfulness pervaded the factory. The paid teachers were dismissed, and now those 200 men, on their own time, are helping their fellow-employees to learn the language of their new country. Shortly after the newspapers had carried far and wide the news of Ford's revolutionary theories a man knocked late one night at the door of the manager's home. "Will you give me a job?" he asked. "Why, I don't know who you are," the manager replied. "I'm the worst man in Detroit," said the caller defiantly. "I'm fifty-four years old, and I've done thirty-two years in Jackson prison. I'm a bad actor, and everybody knows it. I can't get a job. The only person that ever played me true is my wife, and I ain't going to have her taking in washing to support me. If you want to give me a job, all right. If you don't I'm going back to Jackson prison for good. There's one man yet I want to get, and I'll get him." Somewhat nonplussed by the situation the manager invited the man in, talked to him a bit, and called up Ford. "Sure, give him a chance," Ford's voice came over the wire. "He's a man, isn't he? He's entitled to as good a chance as any other man." The ex-convict was given a job in the shops. For a couple of months his work was poor. The foreman reported it to the manager. The manager wrote a letter, telling the man to brace up, there was plenty of good stuff in him if he would take an interest in the work and do his best. The next morning he came into the manager's office with his wife, so broken up he could hardly hold his voice steady. "That letter's the finest thing, outside of what my wife has done, that I've ever had happen to me," he said. "I want to stick here, I'll do the best I know how. I'll work my hands off. Show me how to do my work better." A couple of months later he came into the office and took a small roll of bills out of his pocket.