Memory is short and memory is almost a decaying thing in this world…we can’t remember. A chap called me day before yesterday and asked me to call a friend of mine who has lost a section of his memory—the whole thing is gone. He remembers me, he talks about me, and asked me to call him. So I called him…he’s an actor, a man sixty-two years old…and every time he came home in New York City, which was once a week, he would come to cocktails, until finally he felt he couldn’t have any more and then he became a teetotaler and I had his Cokes for him and whatever sweet drinks he wanted. But he was always a glum, heavy, heavy picture—-the world was coming to an end, everything was wrong. He had a show on Broadway that ran two years, and while it was running for two years the world was coming to an end, the whole vast world. So I called him and he remembered me, just all excited, ”Oh, Neville, so nice of you to call. I was wounded.” I said, “You were wounded? When?” He said, “I was wounded in Trinidad.” Well, he made a picture called An Affair in Trinidad with Rita Hayworth. He had nine days work and they paid him quite a lot of money for his nine days. He flew out here. I had friends of mine meet him, who would get him rooms, and then he had his nine days. He was here about three weeks and then he returned to New York City. But here, recently, he went on another picture and I haven’t heard the details of it, but in some strange way he was beaten and they found him unconscious. When they picked him up, they put him in this place, and here, no memory between the Affair in Trinidad and now. He asked about my little girl, is she still in grammar school? Well, my little girl that he knows so well is graduated from college.784 ¶4