Sure, I wanted men to like me, but the women were something special. They'd come around the bus after the show and they'd ask to talk to me. They felt I had the answers to their problems because my life was just like theirs. Of course, it was impossible to find time to talk to each one or to answer every letter that came along. I ain't Dear Abby with nine secretaries answering the mail. Besides, I had a few problems maybe they could have solved for me. Sometimes I think some people were disappointed when they met me and found out I wasn't any smarter or happier than they were. I'm proud and I've got my own ideas, but I ain't no better than nobody else. I've often wondered why I became so popular, and maybe that's the reason. I think I reach people because I'm with 'em, not apart from 'em. It's not the fancy clothes I wear, or the way I fix my hair, and it sure ain't my looks because I don't think I'm anything special. It's the way I talk to people. You can tell when you meet somebody — in their eyes, or the way they stand — if they think they're above you or below you. After I was performing for a while, I got to like being with a crowd. I loved to get right down with 'em, with a long cord on my microphone, if I could. And if I was at a state fair or something, where they put you too far from the audience, I'd say, This ain't the way I like it.