The Joys of Success

Ok, so you Worked late at the office again last night. Or you feel as if your entire life is on hold while you finish your M.B.A. You're tired, you're cranky and you're wondering, Why am I doing this?

For many of us, it's never been enough simply to get by. Somewhere in our formative years, we latched onto the concept of success. Whether or not it appealed to us, we usually accepted the fact that all the world respects a success; and besides, it's the successful guy who has the big bank account, the two (or more) vacation homes, the fast cars and who almost always gets the girl. And that's the point of success, right?

Well, maybe. The rewards of success mean different things to different people at different stages of life. So with that in mind, we approached an eclectic group of people who have reached the top of their fields and asked them to tell us what it is they most enjoy about their success. Freedom from worry? Livein help? Early retirement? A spare Porsche to drive when the Mercedes is in the shop?

Their answers, a wonderful mix of materialism and philosophy, may surprise you--as well as make those late nights at the office seem more worth while.

Tom Brokaw, 44 (anchor man, NBC Nightly News): Luxury makes me uncomfortable. That's not to say I haven't enjoyed the fruits of success, but I found that once I could afford everything I wanted, my tastes still didn't change that much. I didn't want the ostentatious car or the French villa in the countryside. My tastes remained fundamentally the same. For instance, after the Democratic Convention in San Francisco, (continued on page 230)Joys of Success(continued from page 133) my family and I went backpacking in Montana, and to me that seemed the perfect vacation.

The possession I enjoy most is our small house in the countryside of northwest Connecticut. It's not at all grandiose, just comfortable. It's someplace I will live someday. Incidentally, we're building a tennis court up there, and I've learned that no matter how much money you spend on the tennis court, it doesn't improve your backhand.

Success, if you look at it from a monetary point of view, does buy freedom. It means not having to be worried about making ends meet every month. Interestingly, that worry is something I still haven't been able to escape. I grew up in modest circumstances. My mother still watches how she spends her money. One of my friends says, "Tom will never stop looking over his shoulder."

One thing I wanted to buy all my life was a Porsche. I never did. To me, it still seems like a lot of money for a car. Instead, I drive a 1977 Chevy pickup truck with one broken door.

One of the ironies of success is that when you work so hard to achieve a certain professional status and happiness, you have to make sacrifices, often financial, along the way. Then, when you finally reach a point where you can afford to buy what you want, people want to give you stuff. The more you have, the more people want to give you. It seems unfair. Where were they when you needed them?

I've always had an enormous curiosity about things and a propensity for enjoying the sharing of information with others. From the time I was a kid, I was always the town crier. Because this profession is so rewarding in an emotional and intellectual way, I couldn't get enough of it. It sure beats working. The best reward of my career is having a built-in excuse to be wherever the action is.

I've never said, "If I get here or there, I'll be successful." I don't think I perceive success as many people do. Too often, success is measured by dollars and cents or by a title. My brother works for the telephone company in Orange County, California. I think he is successful. He has the life he wants and he does his job well.

Sometimes, when I read about how successful I'm supposed to be, it seems like they're talking about a third person. I'm still treated as less than immortal by my children, and I've never surrounded myself with the trappings of success. Also, I think journalism has a kind of blue-collar mentality about it. In other worlds, a man who had accumulated a lot might be called mister and be deferred to. In journalism, it's just as likely that one of your confederates may address you with, "Hey, Bozo."

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Marvin M. Mitchelson, 56 (famed divorce and palimony attorney): I recently bought a castle--an actual castle--right here in Los Angeles. It's above Sunset Boulevard and was built in 1920. It's a Normandy-style castle on two and a half acres. I'm restoring it to its former beauty--I just love to restore things, and I adore antiques. There's a feeling of being back in the Old World when I'm working on my castle, and I like that. In fact, much of the pleasure comes from doing the work--maybe building a moat around it and a few other things--and the anticipation of living there. It's a lot of fun, really, though I'd be the first to admit that it's quite indulgent. It's not necessary to a happy life, but it gives me a lot of pleasure.

Actually, I've done three homes already--the last one, I worked on for 19 years. It was an A-frame built out over a mountain. You'd go down a spiral staircase and look through the pool, sort of like a James Bond movie. The swimming pool was in front of the house. I remember every morning as I dashed out, running past the swimming pool on the way to the airport or court or the office, I'd say to myself, "My goodness, I'm rushing out the door and not really enjoying this place." You see, the anticipation is much different from the reality. And I think that's the same with any goals we set. You have to have a dream out in front of you, but when you get it, you push up to the next plateau. I think that's indigenous to our nature as human beings. I know it's certainly part of my character.

I have a Rolls-Royce and a 1969 Mercedes with the license plate Palimony on it. My wife gave me the plate, and it's a fun thing for me. I drive both cars. This is actually my fourth Rolls-Royce and, yes, I always had wanted one. They're really great cars, and there's something great about driving them when they work, though often they're in the shop. Perhaps we never get over our status symbols, but I do like the car better for what it is than for the fact that it may be a status symbol.

I also collect art. I've been a strong Impressionist collector for about 14 years. I also collect Napoleonic memorabilia. But my favorite work of art is Botticelli's Birth of Venus up there [he points to his office ceiling, where there's a circular glass reproduction of that work]. Of course, the real one is in Florence, but I like the symbol. There's a legend that the model died when she was 26 and managed to be the girlfriend of Botticelli and Michelangelo at the same time. For me, she's the symbol of beautiful women, and I have her around in different places.

What have I always wanted that I still don't have? Well, among other things, I'd love to be a symphony conductor. I have a whirlpool bath built here in my office. At night, after a whirlpool bath, I come out here, open the curtains, which gives me a view of the entire city, and turn on the stereo and conduct a full symphony.

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Wally Amos, 48 (former theatrical agent; creator and owner of Famous Amos Chocolate Chip Cookies): I'm not a status-oriented person and I'm really not into material things. However, there was a time, back when I was in show business and wearing fancy suits, when I was obsessed with having a Rolls-Royce. As a joke, a friend gave me a toy Rolls, but that's as close as I got to actually owning one. Now I drive a Ford Bronco. Prior to that, I had a VW convertible. I switched because I was tired of driving a small car. I'm a tall guy, and I wanted to ride high.

It wasn't until after I had lost all my desire for material things that I got to the place I am now. I didn't start my cookie store to make a million, I just wanted to make a living. The reason I decided to open the store was to have fun, to make the cookies the way I thought they should be made. I didn't open the store to put myself in a pressure situation. I just wanted to be happy.

For a long time, I was happy as an agent. Then things began to change. I was constantly coordinating other people's lives while mine was going to hell. I realized I could be doing the same thing in ten years and still not get anywhere, so I began to think of alternative ways of making a living.

Most people equate success with material possessions and making a lot of money. I thought that way myself once. But when I started the cookie business, that was out of my mind; I achieved success by giving up the idea of becoming a success.

Of course, success is different for everybody. My mother felt a great sense of accomplishment from her work. She was--and is--a proud lady and was in demand as a domestic. I don't know that she wanted fancy cars. When I was a youngster growing up in Tallahassee, we never had a lot of material things, but I didn't long for them. I always had what I needed--nice clothes and enough food. My parents never talked about wishing that we had this or that.

Today, one of my biggest feelings of success, something that I really enjoy, is working in the back yard. The house I have now is the first I've ever owned, so I had never worked in a yard before. I had never realized how important dirt was. (continued on Page 232) I could happily spend all day watering and weeding. When I moved in, everything in the yard was wild. I cut and pruned it all myself--I wanted every new leaf to be mine. And they were. What could make you feel more successful than that?

When my shirt and hat and packaging material were accepted for the Smithsonian Institution's Business Americana collection, I thought it was a great honor. We were the first black business to be accepted. But certainly I didn't look at that as a confirmation of my success.

Our belief system is backward, because we want other people to verify us, to confirm our worth. But the individual has to confirm his own worth. I wasn't a failure for 39 years before I started my cookie business. I have value just because I am.

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Amy Heckerling, 32 (motion-picture director of Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Johnny Dangerously and the upcoming National Lampoon's Vacation in Europe): The one thing I had to rush out and get as soon as I could afford one was a video recorder. I had to have it to tape all those old movies. And then I never watched them. Still, it's one of the best rewards I could get, one of my most valued possessions. I know I'm really committed to a guy when I take my VCR over to his place.

I make a lot more money now than I did as an assistant editor, and it seems like even more when you're a kid from the Bronx. I get things in small steps. I drove my Datsun into the ground for ten years. Now I'm driving a four-year-old Volvo that I bought used. To me, that seemed like enough of a step up. I'm not ready for a new car. I live in a two-bedroom apartment. I just don't want to feel too successful all at once. It would confuse me.

I know a lot of people to whom possessions are a big deal. When I was younger, I was afraid that if I started wanting things, my energies would go into the wrong places and I'd end up too depressed or envious of what other people had. I always went out of my way to avoid record stores or department stores or anyplace that sold things I wanted. Now people are always saying, "Why don't you get a better car?" I've spent so long avoiding possessions that I just want to tell them to leave me alone.

The people around me in Hollywood are not into what I'm into. I like lying around with my boyfriend and cat, watching TV. But people here seem to really enjoy their cars. Cars are status symbols everywhere, but in Hollywood they're especially prevalent. Offices also seem to be very important. I had a boyfriend who was very much into art-deco things. His office was gorgeous and very, very tasteful, and he thought a great deal about it. So do other guys in the business.

When Fast Times at Ridgemont High was showing, I went into a theater a couple of weeks after it had been out. I could tell that the people in the audience were all repeaters, because they were talking with the film. Seeing all those kids talking along with my movie, knowing that they had seen it more than once, was an incredible high. I wish I could bottle that feeling and have it for times when I need it.

What do I want now? A baby. That's something you can't buy, though money helps. I also have always wanted a building in New York--an old brownstone kept in good order. New York is where I'm from, and I'm miserable being away. I figure that if I owned a little piece of real estate, it would give me the feeling of still being a New Yorker. I'd like a bicoastal life.

As for vacations, I've always felt that I should be doing something at all times. I had never realized the importance of taking time off to clear out your head. I always wanted to go to Europe, but I was either working or, if I wasn't working, I didn't have enough money. So the first time I saw Europe was when I was on a two-week whirlwind tour scouting locations for Vacation in Europe. In order to get there, I had to have a purpose.

My needs are not great. To me, it's luxury enough not to have to worry about money. It's nice knowing I can go to New York when I want to. For a long time, I couldn't afford the plane ticket.

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Rocky H. Aoki, 46 (founder and chairman of Benihana of Tokyo, Inc.; champion balloonist and powerboat racer): People tend to measure success with money, possessions and power. I've made a certain amount of money, so I'm considered successful. But success is a journey. If you stop satisfying yourself, that's the end of life. You've got to keep trying to achieve. For me, making money is not the only success. It's also personal freedom and the ability to say "To hell with what other people think." Success means being able to do anything I want, and that includes making world and national records. I want to make history.

When I made a world record in ballooning, I was quite happy, but for only a short period of time. If you're a professional adventurist, you have to look for new challenges.

As far as possessions go, I always think about their resale value. When I buy a car, I want to make sure I will make money when I sell it. When I buy a house--and the one I am in now is my seventh--I think about how much money I'll make when I sell. I'm like a used-car salesman--anything I buy I want to sell.

Success and possessions are different things, and possessions mean nothing to me now. I have a good friend, the chairman of a big chemical company, who leases everything. Why? Because there are fewer headaches. I agree with him. I don't want to own so many houses, because it just means more headaches. I'm changing from a house to a condo, a place where I can lock one small door. I have a big house in Miami, and all that means is that I have to worry about the two guys who work there, about cutting the grass, about fixing the garage doors and about the cars. Owning a lot of things is one way for me to make myself very miserable. I want to go back to renting and leasing everything.

When dreams become reality, they often end up as nightmares. I had 30 cars, which was my dream. But in reality, 30 cars are a nightmare--you just can't keep them without moving the engines. That meant someone would have to start them up regularly, and that became a nightmare. I've been racing for nine years and once had seven boats. They, too, became a nightmare, so I simply donated them all and became much happier once they were gone.

They look at me as a hero in Japan. Although many corporations have come here and become successful, few individual Japanese have. I'm paid $30,000 to speak before groups in Japan. In Japan, the symbols of success are pretty much the same as they are here. Money is very big, but your family is also very important. They say, "Sure, Rocky Aoki is making money, but he was a taxi driver and a factory worker 20 years ago."

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Rick Mears, 33 (two-time winner of the Indianapolis 500): I had never planned to drive Indy cars. For me, racing was a hobby, what I enjoyed doing. I was going to work construction for my dad. I worked during the week to make money for the weekend. I did what I enjoyed most, and so I gave it 110 percent.

It's nice to make a living at racing. It would be nice to make enough to be able to say that I was comfortable and could take care of myself, but I'm not there yet, and I don't know if I ever will be. I'm very fortunate to have what I do have. I don't feel any different than when I got out of high school. People change more toward you than you change--they tend to put you on a pedestal, and I've had trouble with that.

When I started racing, building cars with my brother and dad, I was struggling, really struggling. It was a strain to make ends meet. I was divorced about a year and a half ago, but I remember that my ex-wife once wanted to buy a bathing suit and we couldn't afford it. She went over to my dad's and washed dump trucks to earn enough money to buy it. We counted every dollar. Still, I have always had a good life. My dad made a comfortable living, but we were not rich by any means. I worked, was married and had two kids, and we really had to watch it. But just about the time the bills stacked up and I started to get nervous about where the money would come from, I'd luck out and win a race just in the nick of time to pull us out of the hole.

Of course, I love cars. I have a Ferrari, but still there are other cars I'd like to have that I don't have. I like antique cars--Packards and Mercedes especially. I'd love to buy one, but you've got to plan for the future and keep your head screwed on straight. The Ferrari was my gift to myself for winning the Indy in 1979. It's foolish. It's not foolish. I felt like I earned it, and I enjoy it very much.

Still, if I buy a new car, I get sick to my stomach, whether or not I can afford it. I've always wanted cars, but I never let myself want something I can't afford. The Ferrari was very impractical. It's a nice car, but I don't get to drive it a lot. I think about selling it from time to time, but then I wash it and think, Nah, I don't want to sell this. I have eight cars, including pace cars from Indy and two cars from winning the championship in two years. Some I keep at my house, some at my brother's house and some at my dad's.

The nicest financial reward is simply not having to watch every penny--being able to buy something on the spur of the moment without worrying that it will break me, like going fishing and being able to buy a new pole and tackle or getting the right gun for a hunting trip. I wouldn't have been able to do those things before.

There's no one possession that makes me feel as if I've made it. It doesn't matter how much money you make, there's never enough to do what you want. You can buy a 40-foot boat, but there's always some guy who is going to pass you in a 60-footer. If you work your way up to a 60-footer, a guy will go by with a 100-footer. There's always something bigger and better.

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Joe Sedelmaier, 51 (director of TV commercials; creator of Wendy's "Where's the beef?" campaign and Federal Express' fast-talking executive): Success is getting your kicks. Everything works out in averages. We don't always win, but as long as your average is up there and you get your kicks somehow, that's great. For me, it's that amazing feeling I get seeing something happen, something suddenly take life, something I have created. It's like magic.

I can remember when I was about 12 years old. I had saved enough money on my paper route and got together enough money with my friends to buy an eight-millimeter camera. I pulled it all together, created, shot and edited a little fantasy. Making it happen was its own reward--the high you get from doing it is the best thing that comes out of work. The interesting thing is that the high never gets any better. The tremendous high I got as a kid with that film is the same high I get today. My work may be better, but the feeling is the same. And it's important to have those moments.

I couldn't be one of those guys who don't get creative kicks out of their work and, instead, do water colors on the week-ends to make up for it. So many people in the advertising business don't like what they do, but they say, "I'm making so much money, I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing." I think it's a carry-over of the old Puritan work ethic that says you can't enjoy life, that the enjoyment has to be replaced with weekend water colors. I don't have weekend water colors. For me, the big rewards are those special moments--and that's all there is. That's all I can hope for.

One of the best things about success is control. Now I have more control than I ever did. Artistic control is the best thing I could have possibly earned.

I like to read, to swim, to be with my family. I enjoy going to the theater, the symphony, eating good food, wearing nice clothes. All those material rewards are sort of nice, but they're just the dessert. I couldn't enjoy them if I didn't get my kicks out of what I do. I never longed for big cars or any of that stuff. There was a time when I was working for a big corporation and earning a lot of money, but I was very unhappy. Once you don't get those creative kicks anymore, you're dead. And when you do get them--when you create a character, see it come to life and watch people react--that's fantastic. I don't even call that work.

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Gore Vidal, 59 (author): Success is an exertion of power over others and, obviously, over yourself, too. So at what point does that register? I'd say with me it registered only once. Power for me is power over an audience, particularly a physical audience. When Nixon beat McGovern, only Massachusetts voted for McGovern. I was giving the Ford Hall Forum Lectures in Boston, opening the series. There must have been about 1200 people in Jordan Hall, which is a huge old place. And I took questions and gave answers, droning on and on. Then somebody said, "Why do you think it is that Massachusetts is the only state in the Union that voted for McGovern against Nixon?"

I said, "Well, I could flatter you and I could tell you that Boston is the Athens of America"--I got a bit of applause for that local reference--"but I'm not going to flatter you. I'll tell you the truth. Since the beginning of the republic, Massachusetts has been the most corrupt state in the Union, and you know a crook when you see one." Well, the house fell apart. That's success. That is power.

Success also means being number one in your field. But a writer never knows that. Nor does an actor. In politics, it's easy. If you enter a room and they play Hail to the Chief--that's how you know you've made it in Washington, D.C. Otherwise, you're nothing but a spear carrier around there.

Politicians who are not Presidents don't feel successful--particularly the powerful ones. There are some who just settle back and ultimately accept the fact that as far as they're going to get is being chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee. Although they have certain power, I'd say every last one of them wanted to go into politics to be President. And getting to be President is as much an accident as anything else.

I've never felt particularly successful about anything. I don't think successful people ever think they're successful. Failures probably tend to feel they're more successful than successful people do.

Although I own homes in Ravello, Italy, and Los Angeles, I've never wanted to own a house. I've always liked the idea of living in one room and moving whenever I felt like it. I have to have houses, because I have books. Without books, I can't do the work that I do. So I get a place in which to put the books, and I may just as well get a place in a landscape that I like.

I've never liked automobiles. I don't even own a car. Sometimes I'll rent one. I've never wanted to own anything.

I can't talk about many successful people. I know some, but I don't ask them questions. They tend not to be very introspective. Let me tell you something that Disraeli wrote that might apply to this. In Endymion, one of the characters says, "Sensible men are all of the same religion."

"And pray, what is that?" asks another character.

"Sensible men never tell," came the reply.

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Kathleen Turner, 27 (actress, Body Heat, Romancing the Stone): For me, the reward of success is not money but the relief from the pressure to take every job. For an actress, the only right you really have is to say no. I think success is great freedom of choice and the ability to say no without fear. I recently got married, and I think success played a large part in that decision. I think I've reached a certain level of self-confidence and feel different about myself. A couple of years ago, all my attention was focused on proving things to myself and to others. At that point, you don't have the confidence to make a commitment like marriage. You have to get that out of the way first. I couldn't have gotten married--and I think my husband feels the same way--until reaching that certain point of confirmation.

Possessions don't mean a lot to me. But there is one possession that makes me feel that I've made it. Last June, I bought a 1970 Mercedes-Benz 280SL. It's a little convertible, a real classic, the rounded one they made before they made the one that looks like an elephant. When I ride around with the top down and people look at me, I say to myself, "I bet they think I'm a movie star." It makes me feel ... wow. I hadn't had a car in eight years. This is my big splurge.

The first time I felt successful was just in the past year. I finally became free from the anxiety of "Do they want me?" That happened when people started approaching me with projects without my having to go after them. Actually, that started a couple of years ago, but then people had a set idea of what I could do, and that idea was defined by the glamorous role I played in Body Heat. I have three scripts now--one is about a cabdriver; another is about a lawyer and mother of two kids.

I think success is great. I meet people who feel guilty or are apologetic about it, but that doesn't make sense, because everything you work for is aimed toward that. Of course, for an actor, success is never a given. After you prove yourself in one part, you go on to another. You're constantly proving yourself.

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Allen H. Neuharth, 60 (chairman and chief executive officer of Gannett Company, Inc., publisher of 120 newspapers, including USA Today): For me, the greatest reward is being able to sit at a window on the world and then tell the world what you see through that window. I'm still basically a newsperson who happened to get into general management. Sitting at the window and getting to paint the picture is how I get my kicks. Doing that, and seeing it in print, is a bigger high than reading a profit-and-loss statement. But if those statements weren't good, I would have to concentrate more on them.

I think success for individuals in whatever field they are in is having their achievements match their abilities and ambition. When I was editor of my high school paper, I had the same feeling of success. There were only 100 people in my high school, but I was the guy who knew what was going on and what kind of picture to paint. The same thing was true of college.

To me, the rewards are not just financial. The pleasure comes out of participating in figuring out what makes the world work and conveying that information. I'm reasonably well rewarded financially, but I would do it for a hell of a lot less money if necessary.

I don't mean to belittle the material rewards of success. I enjoy the good life, as I think most people do. It's nice to be able to wear what you want, go where you want, eat what you want--without worrying about the money. But I've never had as an objective the idea of accumulating any great wealth. I'm not wealthy; I'm well to do. If I had concentrated as hard on making money for myself as I had on professional successes, I would be a hell of a lot richer. But it wouldn't have been as much fun.

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Michael Graves, 50 (award-winning architect; professor at Princeton University): Architectural success is defined differently in the academic and commercial worlds, and often there is very little crossover. In the academic world, there are people with strong theories who are published and are well known. Then there are architects who have great commercial buildings that sometimes may not be looked at by students of architecture with admiration or even any great interest. I followed the model of trying to teach and practice simultaneously, but I wasn't very successful in my early years in getting many buildings. When you're young, you are offered small commissions by your neighbors. I became known as the cubist-kitchen king--pictures of some of my kitchens were even published. Many academics never build and are very happy. However, teaching in itself is very gratifying. I taught for 21 years. I still do. It keeps up my critical skills.

There are architects whose greatest goal is still to build the tallest building in America. Nothing interests me less. To me, the creative high comes from making the initial drawing and then seeing the building. I had seen my municipal-services building in Portland, Oregon, through various stages of completion. One day it had been a skeleton, and a few days had passed before I went back. It was like no other day of my life. It was really extraordinary. I loved the building. I looked across the street from it and saw an ordinary steel-and-glass building. I thought that the architect of that building couldn't possibly have felt the way I did. How could the workmen be interested in constructing repeated floors in a relentless pattern? I liked my building. Not only that, I thought it had a kind of potency that had impact.

As for material rewards, it's awfully nice being out of debt after you've been in debt for 15 years. I'm rather frugal, and I still can't afford to finish my house. But my children are in college, and they need money. You can't imagine how nice it is to write a check for the education of your kids or to send your daughter to Florence. It's an extraordinary kind of thing for me.

In a material sense, one of my great passions is looking at, designing and buying furniture. I bought a Biedermeier chair a few years ago. I never sit in it--it's uncomfortable--but I like it very much.

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Paige Rense, 50 (editor in chief of Architectural Digest and Bon Appetit): My weekend house in Montecito, near Santa Barbara, which I got about a year ago, is my sweetest reward. Of all my possessions, it gives me the most pleasure. It's a very simple little house. When I'm in town, I go up there every weekend, and I'm going on a two-week vacation there soon. I didn't have a decorator. It isn't even done. I just had some country things put in, and there it is.

To me, luxury has very little to do with acquisitions. It's an inner freedom. At some point over the past few years, I began to feel a certain inner freedom--and as a result, I'm not as driven anymore. Now I actively seek simplicity in every area of my life. When you're driven, your eye is always fixed on the next thing. My eye is now firmly on the present.

What I enjoy most is peace. I no longer yearn to travel; in fact, I find it very difficult. For me, the perfect luxury trip would be one without a single appointment. In the past, I enjoyed working while I traveled, because it meant that I wasn't a spectator. Now I'm perfectly content to be a spectator.

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Paul Shaffer, 35 (bandleader on Late Night with David Letterman): For me, the best reward for what success I have is getting to play with performers I have idolized since I was a kid. I remember in particular when James Brown was on the Letterman show. It was a huge thrill for me and everyone in the band. So was playing with Ellie Greenwich, who wrote a lot of my favorite songs when I was a kid, or Darlene Love, lead singer for Bob B. Soxx and The Blue Jeans. She sang lead on The Crystals' He's a Rebel.

The highs come from playing with someone else when there's a musical feeling and concentration between you. I don't play alone much, but it can happen then, too. It takes a lot of concentration to create that feeling and hit that groove. That concentration used to be easier when I was a kid; maybe then I didn't have so many worldly cares. Now it takes more to blot out the outside and strive for that high. If you get that high while you're creating music, ideally, people will get the same high when they listen. To me, it's all about hitting that groove. Otherwise, what would I be doing here?

I haven't been all that materialistic, because I've been striving so hard to hit that groove and to work and learn from people I respect. I don't really own anything, to tell you the truth. I don't even live that differently from the way I did when I started out. I've never had time to get a bigger place or fix up anything. When I get home at night, I just fall into bed. I've been too busy working to enjoy material possessions.

It's nice to be able to get any equipment I need. I have a video-tape machine. I needed a synthesizer, and it felt good to be able to buy it without worrying. It's nice to travel, if I get time off. But I don't travel extravagantly. My idea of a vacation is a lovely pool with a bar beside it. I don't worry much about where it is.

Nobody feels successful all the time, especially in show business. A hit today is passe tomorrow. It's great to be working in New York, but you always have to be ready to go play the lounge at a Holiday Inn. I've always loved playing the piano. Even when I was putting my time in at lounges in Canada, I was enjoying myself almost as much as I am now.

Is there anything I've always wanted that I don't have? I check the Playmate Data Sheet every month, and I still haven't made Favorite Entertainer of any of them.

"You have to have a dream in front of you, but when you get it, you push up to the next plateau."