Eugene O'Neill Looms Large

The broadcast biography of him
last night bringing back his tortured
productive genius, including the idea
he might have been a little in love with
death, aligned freshly his inspiration in my
college days.

From this seventy-five years
perspective, in long retirement, years
after Lion In Winter, my last connection
to good playwriting - being able to charge
ahead on stage with a sense of human in-

the memory of O’Neill seems as
fresh as my long departed youthful
ambitions. He was the embodiment of
of hope for connection, for recognition, no
matter that

what became of me, is of little
concern to anyone beyond the
few remaining friends and family.
But this man has left a pathway for
future dramatists as concrete as man’s
struggle for meaning.