"A play that never ended," is Athol Fugard's recollection, in a conversation with me in 1986, of the first performance of The Blood Knot: it went on for four hours "on a terrible little stage, only about six inches high at one end." The momentous event took place in Johannesburg in 1961 with Fugard and Zakes Mokae playing Morrie and Zach. The tiny rehearsal room of the African Music and Drama school in Dorkay House, a rundown factory in the automobile district, was packed on that suffocating summer's evening. Egg boxes were glued to one wall to shut out the noise of traffic, but through blacked-out windows on the opposite side came the beat of drums from a nearby mine compound. The play, I wrote in the London Times, gave South African theater international status. During that original South African run of The Blood Knot, Fugard spoke to me of his roots in the Karoo--a starkly beautiful region of semi-desert in the Eastern Cape where he was born, grandson of an Afrikaner patriarch, Veldkornet Potgieter. "So I think like an Afrikaner," he explained, "and believe that certain things about South Africa achieve their truest statement made from an Afrikaner background. The tragedy," he added, "is their love of country has become a passionate but shriveling emotion." In Johannesburg, while writing plays during the morning, Fugard earned a meager living at the African Music and Drama school. The students were part-time, with jobs as messengers, factory workers, cleaners, teachers--all living under apartheid's oppressive conditions. Yet the place hummed with enthusiasm as young singers and musicians aspired to emulate Miriam Makeba and Hugh Masekela, while for the sinewy, darkly bearded, intense Fugard, working in the rehearsal room meant, he told me, "continuity without the compromise that led to vulgarity." He also affirmed his belief that in his country the creative impetus must come from cooperation between the races. The humble surroundings of Dorkay House seemed peculiarly appropriate as a setting for Athol's magical performance in Krapp's Last Tape, which was directed in 1961 by his friend Barney Simon. The local tour of The Blood Knot and its London production enabled him to risk writing full-time. With his wife Sheila and their baby daughter Lisa he returned to the Eastern Cape, sharing a cramped apartment with his parents in Port Elizabeth. The early sixties were a time of intensified arrests throughout South Africa and he wrote to me--I was back in London--to describe a journey to Johannesburg to discuss his new play, People Are Living There: "I can't begin to tell you how important that trip was for me--just the trip, the twenty-four hours in the compartment going up, and again coming back. I think I came nearer to understanding my purpose than ever before. It is to love the ugly--the unloved because that is all that ugliness is. . . . Has this poor, blighted country ever been uglier? Is it possible for the stain of injustice on this earth to be deeper?" By December 1964 he was at last able to afford a small cottage on the coast and wrote happily, "The sea is at our doorstep. There is enough land and need for the highly moral activity of tree-planting and the beginnings of a vegetable patch. . . . I'd never realized fully how much of an Afrikaner I really am, until the moment when I kicked off my shoes and stood barefoot on the earth. I keep looking at my toes to see if roots haven't appeared." His sense of rootedness became a recurring theme. "I know that I have mastered the code of one time, one place," he confided in another letter. "My life's work is possibly to witness as truthfully as I can the nameless and destitute of this one little corner of the world." And so he wrote about Johnnie and Hester Smit living in a back street of Port Elizabeth and in the first production of Hello and Goodbye, directed by Barney Simon at the Library Theatre in Johannesburg, gave a poignant and wonderfully comic performance as Johnnie. …