That meant a good deal to me. I am preparing to write about that time in my life when I was squeezed between conflicting tendencies which tightened around me, pulling and pushing me in opposite directions at the same time. For instance, I wanted to be an independent producer and director of films, going my own way without restriction or reservations, but I also wanted the power, equipment, and prestige of a Major Studio behind me. With the huge success of On the Waterfront, this seemed possible then. I also wanted to write my own screenplays, while I still valued and heeded the insights and talents of better writers. I wanted to write my own story and that of my family, but I also wanted to write about the social history that I’d witnessed in my time. I wanted to be in with the big shots of the entertainment world, but I also wanted to lead a quiet, reflective life. I wanted money, plenty of it, but I certainly didn’t want to pay for that money with onerous services. I wanted to be a bourgeois with a townhouse and a country home, a cook and a housekeeper, two cars, a regular winter vacation in the Caribbean; but I also wanted to keep my expenses down so I would never feel compelled to do a film or a play about which I was not enthusiastic. I wanted to be a member of the rough gang, the street people, like those I’d gotten to know in Hoboken, plain old “Gadg.” I wanted to be a lefty, a radical, certainly a socialist—at least that—but I also wanted to be a Democrat, sitting squarely mid-America, loyal and loving to the U.S.A. I wanted to lead an irregular life, wandering here and there around the earth as the impulse moved me, keeping my own hours; I also wanted to be the head of a nuclear family, a firmly established and respected Anatolian paterfamilias, with all household events on time, clean sheets every third day, heavy “Turkish” towels, linen napkins, and a good dinner served each night at seven. I loved Molly, my smart, immaculate, completely honest and absolutely trustworthy wife, but I also wanted adventures and to be, every so often, irresponsible and out of control. I wanted it all. But how did I shape these contradictions into the unit of contradiction that the actor from the Berliner Ensemble spoke of? The answer is, I didn’t. I wasn’t able to. What I did was give in to them all, and when they warred with each other, I yielded alternately but completely to conflicting devotions. I swayed back and forth, all the way at each end; I was unresolved.