On Rod Mckuen

It was the sixties when he came from nowhere in particular, it seemed. The country was divided into haves and have-nots, as is usually the case. But further trouble brewed in Vietnam, young boys were being sent to jungles, and many stayed, although unwillingly. His name was Rod McKuen, poet, war correspondent of the mad Korean War, he wandered into many lives and was adored as idols were so very much in short supply. So many albums, countless poetry creations, it was the human hiding in between the lines and looking back I say those truly were the days when Frank Sinatra did it, like McKuen, just his way. What makes a poet or a butcher or a baker, who is the judge and who the final undertaker. Two million copies in three years, and who did read those golden words from number one in USA? He spoke to us from heart to heart, he soothed and took our hand on all his journeys into Awe. He was persona grata and a trusted friend, one who would stand out in the storm, and all alone until the masses felt their need to be united and to be counted as they stood in someone's shadow.