He was one who fit the term, writer. Poems of Frost he would have known how to inhabit from his own life. The lonely choice of the road less travelled, less defined. He would have known the woods on a snowy evening. He would have known what it was like to be one acquainted with the night. He knew how to speak about the fate of the hired man. He would have known within the lines the necessary questions raised by the soul toward the shape of one's own life. He knew pain. He knew death. He could have looked at his own life at different points and wondered about its own shape of things, including those we don't know whether to call them failures or successes.

His own poetry extended to and included the consciousness of Frost's poetry. I cannot picture his development without hearing the lines of poetry within. Within his speeches and public utterances, the actor gifted in delivery.