I was in Cuba in the winter of 1937. I was playing in Cuba, and I'm in the shower, and I slipped and caught myself with my right arm. I felt something pull right then. Then, in '38, when I came back, my arm was messed up.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
I was in a play directed by my father, and I was doing a fight scene, and the choreography went haywire, and I flew backward over a chair and ripped my thumb all the way to my wrist and had to have surgery to sew up all the tendons in there.
When I was a kid, we went to St. Augustine, Fla., and I was lying on the couch one night with a Q-tip, cleaning my ear out after I'd taken a shower. I hit my arm on something, jabbed the Q-tip through my ear drum, busted my ear drum and couldn't get back in the water the rest of the time we were there.
One of the first things I did on arriving at school was to break my left arm falling into a bomb crater.
When I was 12, I snapped my arm in two. My wrist still has a funny bump because they didn't join it back together so great.
I was playing baseball, and I tripped over first base - I'm very clumsy - and I fell and broke my wrist. That was pretty painful.
Something went wrong with my right arm. I no longer could throw hard, and it hurt like the dickens every time I threw.
I flailed my arm in a throwing motion before I could even walk.
I had this maroon 'Lion King' tracksuit that my mum couldn't take off me. I wore it until the sleeves ended at my elbows and the trousers ended at my knees.
At the age of 61, my hip went. I was skiing in Chile with my son, and there was a turn, and I kept falling. I thought, 'What an idiot; what's going on here?'
My arm came back just as quickly as it went sore on me in 1915. I awoke one morning and learned I could throw without pain again.