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In the morning she asked me to put her car in the barn; it looked as if it was going to rain. Looking through her bag for the car keys, I found a little notebook. Across the cover, she’d written “Mr. and Mrs. Elia Kazan.” It contained her plans for the decoration of the house we’d bought. On one …

BACK at the Belvedere by midnight, I wrote in my diary:

Constance was not at the restaurant at eight when I said. I should have understood this because I’d given her only a few hours notice and she might have left home before my wire arrived. I then called her home; no one answered. I had anot…

In a few days she wanted a divorce. This was a relief, a kind of solution. Then she changed her mind, apparently after a conversation with a close friend, another wife, the gist of which, as I heard it later, was: “If you want him, you’ll have to take him as he is. What’s happened to you happens to…

She had good reason for concern. I’d done the most foolish in a series of foolish acts. Molly had urged me to direct a play she’d found by Paul Vincent Carroll, and although I didn’t favor the play, in an effort to please her and make up for my recent neglect of her as a wife, as well as to deflect…

I WAS in Carly Wharton’s office, going over our casting problems, when a secretary came in and said, “Turn on the radio.” It was December 7, 1941, and that was how I heard about the attack on Pearl Harbor. A couple of weeks later, after I’d waited for some kind of call to arms, I went to my draft b…