The War Years (Mr. O'Connor, Mr. Pinter and the Telephone)
After an absence of fifteen years, Mr. O'Connor, once a hooligan like the rest of us, stood on my doorstep. He wanted me to take part in a program about eccentrics. Ever delicate in these matters, I asked, 'What's in it for me? '
He assured me that I would be paid and ran back into the street to bring in a 'tape' machine. Holding a microphone in front of my face, he said, 'Say something about life and death .' . . I was amazed to receive later a substantial sum for sitting in my room and talking about myself. If only I could get some of the back pay!
When I had lived in my room for some fifteen years, and I was feeding a starving outcast, we were called on by a small deputation of guests from a party going on elsewhere in the house. . . As the rest of us sipped and chatted, one visitor sat silent. Through thick horn-rimmed spectacles he gave the scene a panoramic stare. His name was Mr. Pinter. Later he confessed that this was the moment when he first felt that he might write a play.
To the unfurnished life I found I could add a whole new dimension by installing a telephone. . . Even when I had returned to my room defeated by not finding any of my friends in their homes, I could still by telephone pan the suburbs for a few last nuggets of conviviality. Through it work came to me from publishers I didn't know and bookings at schools I had never heard of.
After a while, if you have a telephone of your own and billing in the book, you have appointments with fear. Most of mine were merely tedious - an extension of the treatment I received in the streets. . . Others only wanted to amuse their friends. . .After many years these calls thinned out, but they never ceased altogether.
If one of these telephone conversations began with a white-faced voice saying, 'I must see you,' I always invited whoever was speaking to visit me. I chose a time when I would be at home whether they arrived or not, in case this too was a hoax. . .I realized I was placing myself in some danger. . . There might be a whole army of ill-wishers on the other side of the door. There never was. Indeed most of the people who visited me in these circumstances seemed more apprehensive than I.
He assured me that I would be paid and ran back into the street to bring in a 'tape' machine. Holding a microphone in front of my face, he said, 'Say something about life and death .' . . I was amazed to receive later a substantial sum for sitting in my room and talking about myself. If only I could get some of the back pay!
When I had lived in my room for some fifteen years, and I was feeding a starving outcast, we were called on by a small deputation of guests from a party going on elsewhere in the house. . . As the rest of us sipped and chatted, one visitor sat silent. Through thick horn-rimmed spectacles he gave the scene a panoramic stare. His name was Mr. Pinter. Later he confessed that this was the moment when he first felt that he might write a play.
To the unfurnished life I found I could add a whole new dimension by installing a telephone. . . Even when I had returned to my room defeated by not finding any of my friends in their homes, I could still by telephone pan the suburbs for a few last nuggets of conviviality. Through it work came to me from publishers I didn't know and bookings at schools I had never heard of.
After a while, if you have a telephone of your own and billing in the book, you have appointments with fear. Most of mine were merely tedious - an extension of the treatment I received in the streets. . . Others only wanted to amuse their friends. . .After many years these calls thinned out, but they never ceased altogether.
If one of these telephone conversations began with a white-faced voice saying, 'I must see you,' I always invited whoever was speaking to visit me. I chose a time when I would be at home whether they arrived or not, in case this too was a hoax. . .I realized I was placing myself in some danger. . . There might be a whole army of ill-wishers on the other side of the door. There never was. Indeed most of the people who visited me in these circumstances seemed more apprehensive than I.