I read a story in the papers the other day about Mr. Pound62 who supported the Nazis and Mussolini during World War II despite being born an American. He was arrested in Italy when it was liberated and was later charged by the American forces for treason. It reminded me of how much we didn’t know about the war until afterwards. It’s unthinkable nowadays in the age of cable news and the Internet, but we didn’t know anything about The Holocaust until much later.

  As I reach the end of my life, I have to conclude that most of the harm done in the world is done by those who think they know what happiness is for other people and try to help them achieve it. If everyone was preoccupied with themselves there would be much less harm done.

  Happiness is, of course, getting what you want, but the secret of happiness is learning that it’s easier to like what you have. If you wake every morning and say to yourself, “I am nothing. I deserve nothing.” then everything that happens after that is a bonus. It’s people who think they deserve something that end up unfulfilled, let down, angry and unhappy. Part of being happy is about ceasing restlessness or the notion that there is always something better around the corner or something that you’re missing out on.

  Once more I have digressed a little so let me end this chapter with what I started, namely why I think the twenty-first century will be louder, cheaper, faster, nastier and sexier than the hundred years that preceded it. Let me start with louder.

  Since Edison invented the phonograph, later called the gramophone, life has gotten noisier. Television followed as did the jet engine. And now, of course, we have more human beings on the planet using all the devices and contraptions that man has made. If mankind’s output were measured in decibels, our species must surely be producing record amounts of noise. This can only mean one thing: we must all be getting collectively deafer. This, in turn, will surely mean we will all have to shout and be shouted at just to hear one another in the future and our music will have to be played even louder just for us to hear it.

  The good news is that ear plugs, along with everything else you might care to buy, are becoming cheaper and cheaper. At the beginning of the twentieth century the idea that every household would have a car, several televisions and foreign holidays was laughable. Yet, nowadays, a child grows up expecting not only each of these but much, much more. Everything in the future will be cheaper still, though doubtless the average American will still not have enough and will still yearn for more.

  Although most major cities are stuck in gridlock these days, people in the twentieth century will also find their lives moving faster and faster. Cellular phones are already injecting lives with an immediacy hitherto unheard of. This will only get worse as people struggle to do more and more. Doubtless this will lead to more nervous breakdowns, more hip replacements and more accidents. It should be hoped that people will be more content through doing more, but history has shown that this is seldom the case.

  It truth, it is hard to know if the world has gotten nastier in the twentieth century, or if the television news stations have just gotten better at reporting the gruesome details of the latest war, kidnapping or murder. It would be nice to think that the world will not allow events like The Holocaust to be repeated, but of course recent events in Rwanda have shown just how slow we are to learn from past mistakes. Generally however, I expect the twenty-first century to be nastier than the twentieth. The Internet is chiefly to blame for this, although computer games are surely just as culpable. It would be nice to think that there is no evil in the world and that all disagreements are really just exercises in misunderstanding. This is not the case. There are people in the world who genuinely wish others harm and the Internet will bring them together and offer them anonymity. Moreover, if history proves nothing else, it shows that over time, humans become more and more inventive when it comes to ways to harm each other.

  Lastly, the twenty-first century will be sexier than any period before it. As we entered the twentieth century, women were afraid to show their ankles. These days, women’s vaginas practically have their own webpages. In order to be a movie star in the twenty-first century, you will need to look like a porn star as films become more and more risqué. These days, sex sells everything from underwear to chewing gum and soap powder and it is a winning formula that will continue to marginalize the prudish, the plain-looking and the elderly.

  Whereas in the twentieth-century there was a distinction between men and women, in the twenty-first century the lines of gender will become more and more blurred. I am thankful I shall not be around to see it. Not because I think people that live in the twenty-first century won’t enjoy their lives, I have no doubt that they will, but because there comes a point in your life when you realize you are just not cut out for modern living. Your values are old-fashioned. You are old-fashioned, and that’s okay.

  All that I ask is that you keep the noise down to an acceptable level.

  * * *

  59 A concern that computer systems reliant on a two-digit readout for years would not be able to handle the transition from 99, representing 1999, to 00, being the year 2000.

  60 August 6, 1945

  61 John Hersey, Pulitzer Prize-winning American journalist whose account of the aftermath of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, Japan, is arguably one of the finest pieces of American journalism, 1914-1993

  62 Ezra Pound, American poet and critic, 1885-1972

  CHAPTER 9

  The Trappings of Notoriety

  Fame, I find, is a particularly American pastime. I hesitate to describe myself as famous, but since fame is something that people, particularly Americans, are interested in, it has been suggested to me that I should write about it here.

  I struggle with the question “Why am I famous?” Although I have expressed opinions about the world at large in my writing, I hesitate to call myself a philosopher. All I really do is talk about myself. I am aware however, that I have a storytelling voice and this I think comes across in my writing and when I am talking to people. When I tell a story, I tell it like stories should be told. I don’t have it forced out of me in bits and pieces. I begin at the beginning and I go all the way through to the end.

  I think I enjoy hearing my own voice, even though I think I have an ugly voice. More probably, I just enjoy the fact that people are willing to listen to me. I remember Mrs. Churchill63 saying of parties that we were both at, “In the beginning people speak to one another and then, after a while, only Quentin is speaking and everyone is listening to him.” I bowed my head in shame when I heard this because, of course, I shouldn’t do that.

  Story telling isn’t something that men typically do, in my opinion. When you ask a man, “What happened?” men do not gather around to listen to the story. Women do. They huddle together and then one will begin, “Well, I was walking down the street…” And you can tell they are beginning a story.

  Men will say, “Well, I don’t know.”

  And you will prompt him by asking, “Tell us what happened.”

  And he will say, “Well, nothing much.”

  And he will have to have the saga dragged out of him at great reluctance.

  Certainly my ability to tell a tale is, perhaps, the one skill I have that has contributed to my rise to notoriety. I prefer to think of myself as notorious because people that are famous are famous for a reason. People that are notorious are famous for no reason. Or no good reason.

  Another explanation for my notoriety is my willingness to have my picture taken. I enjoy being photographed a great deal and when I am being photographed I will posture this way and that. I prefer being asked if I will give permission to have my photo taken because typically people look awful when they are photographed unaware or unprepared. You end up looking like a human being, which is not the point at all. I must confess however, that these days I am tired of being photographed because now they tend to take so many. If they only take a few pictures, that’s fine. If I’m only with them for half an hour, that’s wonderful. But if I am with them for too long, I get tired of it.

  Being recognized on the street can be tricky. Many a time I’ve been walking home when I’ve realized someone is trying to take my picture. They end up walking backwards in front of you. I don’t like being photographed while I walk because I feel like I have to walk a certain way. I can’t stumble, but I can’t look at the pavement to see where I’m walking because I have to keep my head up. You have to walk in a very blithe, breezy, airy way, which at my age takes some doing.

  When I do live performances, I have no problem with photographers using flashes. I understand this makes me almost unique among live performers, though this may be because I know my one-man show back to front and left to right. It strikes me that photographers using flash bulbs are more prone to upset members of my audience rather than me.

  When I was performing at the Duke of York’s Theatre in London, one photographer kept taking photos all through the performance and every time she took a photo her camera’s flash went off. Anyway, when we got to the question and answer part of the show one of the audience members asked me, “Can’t you stop the person using flashlight photography?”

  To which I answered, “I will try.” And I looked up at the box where the photographer in question was sitting and said, “And that means you.” and she stopped.

  I know that in some theatres they have notices that read “No part of this performance may be photographed or recorded.” Whether that’s to prevent the show from being shown to people who have not paid for a seat, or whether it’s to keep the performers or audience at ease, I don’t know.

  I never was photographed by Mr. Mapplethorpe.64 I don’t think I had the right equipment for such an undertaking, but I’ve been photographed by various people over the years, some of them very important.

  I remember being photographed by Mr. Scavullo65 and him being very efficient. He takes you into a room which is white: the floor is white, the ceiling is white and the walls are white. And they are all joined by a process which has no edge, so that the floor curves and becomes one with the walls and the ceiling.

  In the middle of the room there’s a little red cross on the floor and he says, “Stand there.” And you put one foot on that and he is fed with cameras by his assistant. He stretches out his hand, a camera is placed into it and he photographs you. You quickly realize that if he stands still, you move. And if he moves, you stand still. You only have to move a little bit. People always say, “I never know what to do when I’m photographed,” but you don’t have to do anything. You just sit or stand there and go into a pose.

  On another occasion I was photographed by Greg Gorman66 and when I saw the photographs I thought how wonderful they were. But mostly you just accept your photographs as they are. I don’t really care what I look like. If photographers say, “We’ll show you the photographs,” I’ll say, “Oh, that’s nice,” but if they forget, it doesn’t bother me.

  Friction only seems to occur when a photographer and his subject disagree on how the subject should look. Photographers typically want to be in control of their image and subjects typically want to be in control of how they are seen.

  Of course if I were a movie star, I would have to care what I look like. I mean, we say we’re all above all that, but actors and actresses can’t afford to be above it. You cannot release photographs in which you look absolutely terrible, and you have an assistant, an agent, and studio heads and everything, so you are watched over like a hawk. And I suppose, in the end movie stars end up believing that they look in real life the way they do on the screen. I would imagine that’s hard for them to deal with.

  I realize now that I look old. When I first arrived in America, I did not look as old and I was able to disguise the fact that I looked old. Ms. Loy67 used to hold her head higher and higher to prevent the shadows under her chin from showing in photographs. I sort of regret looking old, in a vague way, but I don’t sit in my room chewing my nails, worrying about it. I’ve had to let vanity go. I haven’t thrown it anywhere. It’s been taken from my hands.

  The other day a gentleman rang me up and said he was an officer of Madame Tussauds, the waxworks company, and that they were going to open a venue on Times Square and would I permit them to make a waxwork figure of me. The venue, of course, instantly made the proposition raffish, since Times Square is associated with peep shows, strip joints, and such other delightful places. Apparently, however, it is now being cleaned up and made respectable.

  Madame Tussauds has, of course, a museum in London, which I visited once when I lived there. I remember going down into the Chamber of Horrors where Mary Queen of Scots was constantly being beheaded. Upstairs however, there were waxworks of all the crowned heads of state standing about in their royal robes and in the next room there were stage and film stars.

  Quite why they want to make a waxwork imitation of me, I can’t imagine, but, as is my policy, I naturally said yes. Whom they shall stand me in between, I can’t imagine. Perhaps the Mayflower Madame68 will be on one side and Mrs. Simpson69 will be on the other.

  They took me to a place that was sort of like a hotel in which they had hired a room for the day. Then they sat me in a chair and questioned me about everything I wore and the type of makeup I have on my face. They then asked me to give them my clothes, which I declined to do because I have so few. In the end I gave them my black velvet jacket which I don’t wear as often as I used to. I couldn’t give them my hat because I don’t have another.

  I was less frightened of the physical treatment that awaited me. This is because of my background being a model for sculpture classes in art schools. They pressed instruments against my cheekbones to measure the width of face, then they measured my forehead to see at what point my hairline started followed by the distance between the top of my head and my chin to ascertain how long my face is. It took at least two or three hours to get everything done. They were very nice to me and gave me cups of coffee the whole time. It will apparently take at least two years before Times Square’s Madame Tussauds opens70. I doubt I will be around to see it, but at least when it does I shall be immortalized as a waxwork.

  Did I set out to be famous? Of course not. I was at the mercy of the world for far too long. Personally, I think that life itself just happens, and we make of it what we can. Those people who are a success in life are the people who sorted out very early what they wanted to do and had the capacity to do it. That wasn’t me. I have just been lucky to live long enough to see the meagre seeds that I planted grow and bear fruit.

  There are lots of people who want to be great dancers. They do not have the ability to be great dancers, but they won’t give up going to dancing lessons and attending auditions. I once knew a girl in London who went to an endless number of auditions and was always very angry because she had never been chosen. I said to her, “You must find some way of earning a living off of the stage.”

  To which she replied, “Why should I?”

  I couldn’t sway her, but I knew perfectly well she was going to reach middle age and be a failed actress instead of being a successful ‘something else’. I don’t know what became of her. When I ceased going to the café she frequented, I ceased to see her.

  I do think I have had a great deal of luck. For instance, most recently when my hand became paralyzed and I couldn’t type anymore, I had to give up the profession of writing. That happened at the exact moment that I met Mr. Lago who said, “Will you be part of Authors on Tour?” and I went into the speaking profession almost immediately. I have had these strange coincidences in my life which I can’t explain other than to say that they are luck.

  Although I have previously stated that I am a victim of fate, I do admit to having pushed fate around a little bit so that I never starved or went bankrupt. After I’d written The Naked Civil Servant, an art master said to me, “What are you going to do now?” to which I replied, “I shall lean forward so that fate can see me.”

  I think I have a good idea of how the world sees me, good and bad, because I receive endless hate letters alongside my fan mail. At first, I was surprised to learn that there were people I’d never met that hated me, but then after a while I thought, “Well, why am I surprised?” The strange thing is, if you’re told someone likes you, you bow your head and lower your eyelids and smile. When you are told they don’t like you, you say “Why?” For some reason we all expect everyone to like us without question, yet we, more than anyone else, know our own faults and foibles.

  One of the hate letters I received said I was preoccupied with my fleeting fame. In a way, I am preoccupied with it because I am mystified by it. I don’t take it for granted though because I can’t see why it’s there. I think it’s important that you do not take your fame for granted. You should always seem grateful for anything that happens to you because you’re famous.

  I think one arrives at the profession of being. You have to earn it and work away at it. You have to give up what you usually do for work and you have to float yourself confidently, feeling that you will succeed and that people will support you and help you and lift you up. It’s like setting out on sea voyage without a boat. I shouldn’t think you can achieve it when you’re young, but you might be able to if you were, for instance, a child star.

  It was not until I came to America that I truly arrived at the profession of being. I was seventy-two when I arrived and it’s only because I have lived so long that I’ve been able to enjoy it. Most people are dead by the time they’re seventy-five.