I've always been in the theater. I've always gone to it. That's been my way to cope. Early on in my career, I remember running - fleeing - to the theater as a way of coping with all the meshugaas that was going on for me.

My first language was shy. It's only by having been thrust into the limelight that I have learned to cope with my shyness.

I remember acting in a school play about the melting pot when I was very little. There was a great big pot onstage. On the other side of the pot was a little girl who had dark hair, and she and I were representing the Italians. And I thought: Is that what an Italian looked like?

I remember back in the early '70s, when I had a disastrous Grand Prix, my wife, Lynn, said to me, 'Don't worry, you're going to be a late boomer.' That's what she said to me, and I've always held that thought.

That's the way I remember them, heading for an exit.

I've never liked the recognition, the questions, the publicity. I have often felt like running away and hiding.