I Hear America Singing – Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass
Back in the Sixties, in the summer, I used to take the Staten Island Ferry, to Staten Island, and back – just to listen to groups of Italian young men serenade us from both ends of the Ferry, simultaneously.
Life was good then. As a young man from the Midwest, I fell in love with New York City. A city that people actually lived in!
But my wife could not stand it – and insisted we move to California. Where she found another life she could not stand! I loved Beth, with all my heart – but could not stand her continual problems. This was a kind of singing Walt could not have stood either.
He could not admit that some things could not be fixed.