"Anderson, Bill - Whispering Bill" - читать интересную книгу автора (Anderson Bill)

our house sat back off the road several hundred yards, the property was
fenced, and we'd installed an iron security gate at the end of the
driveway, but in spite of all that nothing seemed to deter the flow of
traffic.we woke up several mornings to find phonograph records and tapes
of songs from would-be singers and songwriters hanging from our outside
doorknobs.all kinds of strange correspondence found its way into our
mailbox, including one threat on my life and a series of handwritten
letters from a lady who said she was destitute and knew we could help
her out financially if only we would.after the third or fourth note, i
began to feel sorry for the lady and contacted the county welfare office
in hopes of finding her some help.

why, i know this lady, the social worker told me, and, my goodness,
she's got a good job.why in the world would she write letters like
this?i didn't have the slightest idea, but as soon as the authorities
confronted her, the letters stopped.

a cleaning lady we hired was late coming to work one morning and becky
asked her why.i had to go to court with my son, she answered casually.
he done kilt some dude.

jamey's allergies were another problem.his doctor had told us that all
the sniffling and sneezing he'd been doing since we'd moved to the
country was because he was allergic to something growing out there.you
need to get him back to concrete, the doctor said.whereupon i lost my
cool and snapped, well, i'm allergic to concrete!i didn't want to go
back to anywhere.

it wasn't like our house was always under seige.most of the time the
area was peaceful and quiet, most people respected our privacy, and to
me there was just no more beautiful setting in the whole wide world.i
could come home from a long tour or a hectic day at the studio or the
office, watch the big iron gate swing shut behind me, gaze at the sun
going down over the tops of the tall trees, and feel like the pressures
and problems of the world were a million miles away.i'm not a hermit by
any means; i like people and i enjoy being around them, but as an
entertainer i've made my living being around people, sometimes
twenty-four hours a day, for the past almost thirty years.and i'm the
kind of person who needs to have a little time every once in a while to
be alone, a place to get away from the pressure-packed existence of my
daily life in show business, a shelter where i can curl up and hide and
recharge my batteries.Some people relax by retreating to a creek bank
with a fishing pole in their hands, some seek out a golf course, others
head for the back of a noisy pool hall with their fingers wrapped around
a cold can of beer.but my house and my property were my refuge.the last
thing i wanted to do was leave them behind.

but becky didn't share my enthusiasm.in fact, she was so nervous and
unhappy living where we did that when i was out of town she started
sleeping with the lights on.i've never been afraid to be alone before,