Just before finding out if he had Huntington's Chorea, the hereditary nerve disease that killed his father.
Just after converting to Catholicism.
Just in the middle of thinking about where he stood in the cosmic scheme of things.
And wanting to be remembered for more than a novelty record played on daring FM stations every Thanksgiving.
Not the greatest songs in the world.
More than a couple clunkers in the lyrics.
But honest and pure at a time when honesty and purity were being faked and sold by the pound.