The big menace of my teen age came into my life in Barney Gordon's saloon. I'll call him Rocky, because he's still around. For almost a month he came there three or four times a week to hear me sing. I never saw him because he sat in another room, out of sight. But each time he sent a dollar to me by a waiter with a request that I sing his favorite song, "I Lost You so Why Should I Care?" I had got pretty curious about this man who stayed in the back room while I sang his favorite ballad. And one night he sent the waiter to ask if I'd have a drink with him. "Tell him I don't drink nothing but milk," I told the waiter, "and that the customers get disgusted and say they won't buy me any damned milk." Word came back that this customer would be very happy to buy me milk if I'd sit with him. I went to the other room. To my surprise the man who always wanted to hear "I Lost You so Why Should I Care?" turned out to be just my age. He was very good-looking and immaculately dressed. "Why do you sit back here," I asked him, "where you can't watch me as I sing your song?" A dreamy look came into his eyes. "I like to visualize you as I listen to you sing. It relaxes me."