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Being friends with my father, Dave, was easy. He never scolded me. My mother took care of that by the time he came home from the store. After dinner I got in his lap and he read the pages I pointed to in thin books. He brought me surprise presents and showed me how to shoot a marble hard off the end of my index finger. No other girl I knew could do that. They all did thumbies with the finger crooked around the shooter.

As it was her turn to direct, Nelly Farrower had the choice of plays and chose Streetcar. There followed the usual bitching about how everybody’d seen it and why not something experimental for a change, of which Nelly disdained to hear a word while she budgeted, cleared the schedule with the house committee, ordered the script. She was on the verge of making the cast call when she had a stunning idea.