And then I wrote...

by Dick Schilling, Editor Emeritus

... certain people you have never met can become important persons in your life because of circumstances and time.
For me, one of those people was Rod McKuen, who died recently at the age of 81, or approximately my age.
I fell in love with McKuen’s music, prose and poetry at a significant period in my life, when I was in my mid 30s, a decade after an exciting and pleasurable stint as a Navy officer, and fewer than 10 years into what would be my long career as a small city newspaper editor, and before the cynicism which that occupation would eventually instill in me had developed.
My introduction to McKuen came in the release of three LP albums over the course of a couple years, The Sea, The Sky and The Earth. All three were collaborative efforts with Anita Kerr and The San Sebastian Strings. The words were his and the music hers. They are love songs, to the things the titles refer and to the people who are strongly and keenly aware of their surroundings. A friend, after listening to all three in succession one frigid winter night, insightfully said “if that doesn’t turn you on, you don’t have an on/off button!”
I own those three albums and some others, including a two record set recorded live at Carnegie Hall.
I also have a couple books of his poetry.
In addition to his collaboration with Kerr, Rod worked with Frenchman Jacques Brel and translated some of his songs into English for release here. My favorite among those is If You Go Away, which in French says something a little different, Ne Me Quitter Pas. maybe, in my fractured French, which means more nearly “Don’t Leave Me.” A heart tugger.
McKuen detested the war in Viet Nam, and sang so.
He hated the city of Amsterdam, and sang so. I know why that hate arose, but the story isn’t fit for a family newspaper.
McKuen felt deeply about unfair racial relations, and wrote about them in The Mud Kids. I copied those lyrics to read to my class of Confraternity of Christian Doctrine high school seniors, but that probably did not impress them, since we had “solved” that problem with the Civil Rights Act.
A day trip to Madison, WI to catch an evening concert one spring marked the only time I cared enough about a performer to make that sort of effort.
A career of 200 albums, many gold and platinum, 30 books of poetry, 60 million books sold, and soundtracks for a couple of hit motion pictures. And, a Grammy.
And yet, most folks would say, “Rod who?”
And he might sing, as he did, Doesn’t Anybody Know My Name?