I was a patchy student. Sometimes I couldn’t do something like write. That was a writer’s block kind of thing, exaggerated up to a disease. So I flunked everything to do with writing or any expression in writing. Of course, it seems funny later that I did produce a book or two, but at that time, it was an unbelievable hurdle. There were no psychiatrists in those days, so I finally went to a nerve specialist. You’re too young to remember that they were called neurologists or nerve specialists. They were naturally shrinks, but they didn’t have the Freudian overtones. He told me I was sick. I was manic depressive. Naturally, I was delighted, but I was in tears most of the time. Somehow you get over all these things. I never thought I would. It’s the end of the world again, you know. But early unsuccesses shouldn’t bother anybody, because it happens to absolutely everybody. Every one of us goes through this and it’s a funny thing that they don’t tell you when you’re young that depression now and then is perfectly normal, that sense of failure is also normal, but so is a sense of excitement and delirium normal. And I may be talking only for artists, but I doubt it. I think everybody has these inadequacy feelings that are helped by religion or psychiatry or just plain grow up. That’s all I did, was just grow up.