plays, committed them to mem ory and then played all the parts himself. His act drew an enthusi astic response from the girls and boys. Occasionally a wee maiden, touched by a particularly pathet ic portrayal, burst into tears. Sometimes a lad would laugh up roariously at some comic effort. This reception, coupled with the spirited, unrestrained applause, was his undoing. As he grew old er, the conviction but deepened that he must become an actor. The stage became his goal; not once did he falter in that purpose. Moving on to larger and finer au diences, the world of make-be lieve became the only real world for him. Bill Roberts was born in Bak ersfield, California, in 1928. At the age of six, he suffered the tragic loss of a beloved father by death. Almost penniless, he and his mother moved to Waxahachie, Texas, into the home of Bill’s grandparents. Those were the years of the depression and it was a real struggle for the brave young widow to make ends meet. Bill valiantly did his part: mow ing lawns, working in stores and running errands, but a boy’s wages were meager indeed. At last, when he was 13, he found a job really to his liking: ticket- taker in the local theater. There he could watch the movie stars to his heart’s content: imitating their dialects and gestures and attempting th e ir characteriza tions. This only added fuel to the flame that burned in his young heart so that whatever sum could be spared from the bread-and- butter budget over the years went into drama lessons. “ The theater became my god,” he declares, “ I thought of nothing else from that time on.” This was the pattern of Bill’s life through grade and high schools. After a tour of duty in the Navy, he entered the Univer sity of Texas which—naturally— ranked third in the country in col lege drama. “My ability as an ac tor increased through high school 19
LIGHT of the world!
companied by extravagant dra matic gestures. Already he had settled it in his young heart what he wanted “to be” when he grew up. He must be a performer who would stand on a platform and make people laugh and cry. Of course, the very first requirement was for someone to listen to him, so soon he moved from fowls to human beings—the neighbor chil dren. For them he wrote little
C h ic k e n s w ou ld d o f o r a sta rt. L ike all captive audiences, however, they were not too atten tive. Occasionally, a fa t hen squawked or a restless rooster flew off the perch. Yet these in terruptions did not deter in the least the bright-eyed six-year-old boy who in that odoriferous hen house, with its dust and feathers, delivered his “ pieces” in a reso nant, melodious, moving voice, ac- APRIL, 1967
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