Session: 123456789101112131415161718192021         Page 206207208209210211212213214215216217218219220221222223224225226227228229230231232233234235236237238239240241 of 1029

or other, and I went out to spend ten days with him in Mill Valley. It was rather sad. Here was this great playwright living just 25 miles from San Francisco, but he rarely got into the city. She had installed two electric gates. To get onto that property, you had to go through not one electric gate, but two; unless a button was pushed at the top of the hill, those gates didn't open. She could watch over the terrain like an old feudal lord watching for invading armies. And when people found out where Eugene O'Neill lived and visitors or tourists would come, she'd practically shoot them before letting them get through these gates.

Well, Gene by this time was quite sickly and very thin.

Was he writing at all?

Yes, he was. He always wrote standing up. He had a tall desk and he would stand at it and write in longhand in tiny script. Did I show you his handwriting?

Yes.

Terribly small.

And would he still write even though he had Parkinson's Disease?

Well, it was getting harder and harder for him.

Now, he had bought in some New Orleans whorehouse--I don't